Prologue
The world lies in such quiet and wait as the king prepares to speak to the crowd. A ridiculous spectacle of light and promise as he spits down our throats and lies behind our backs. The world knows not of what they have crowned, this jester, this monster behind the guise of an angel has taken its unlawful place at the top of the world and the world does nothing but listen.
Lying in wait is a slow and torturous state of mind, yet most people here are blind to it. Groveling and worshipping their ‘angel’s’ feet as they toss every last penny they earn into its hands. The king gobbles up every cent with greed and lust for more. What life is this? This cult I have given my life to. This monster I have given my soul to. They all take and take until there is no more left to give, but with the ebbing and flowing of time, birth goes on and death seems to stop.
Babies being born into a life they cannot hope to give up, because the monsters always need more, and your body will make the perfect vessel for harvest. Despite the children being forced into this world of bloodshed, you don’t see them in the crowds or the streets. You see them in the Field. Row after row full of bodies in machines keeping them alive and in shape for harvest of the monsters we created as gods.
The quiet is too loud.
People scream and cheer in the pews of the streets as bullshit is forced down the spines of weak and gullible. Preaching to a choir made of agony and thunderous cries. They sign hymns of its glory as it basks in the praise and fame and grows stronger off of your childrens immortality.
We in the gutters see it for what it is. Venom. An alien we allowed onto Earth and into the Pangea Union. Instead of a Superman or savior from above as a god, we got a virus so contagious it spread all over the world within days. A virus that took all of the humanity from humans.
We call them Altheists. The high class wretches that sit in their pews and atop their pedestals to shower the Vetium with praise. They give and give dollar after dollar with the hope that the Vetium will repay tenfold, but we know it never will. It feeds off of their gullibility and thrives off of their donation and willingness to reproduce for the Field.
We are the Pragnatum. We see beyond the rot being pushed by the Vetium, we keep our money but to what avail? We live in the gutter and the sewer, because we refuse to look to the Vetium as the god it claims to be. We spit in the face of the Altheists and our children stay in hiding from the Hunt.
The Vetium came to us in the year 2038. It promised us great riches and happiness. It read our religious texts and recalled stories from the past as if it were God. It lied and stole our children to feed its empty heart. We fear what happens when it fills up.
The Hunt are a team of ‘angels’ sent by the Vetium to hunt down the children. They take them to the Field and lock them in machines only to be siphoned by the Vetium for eternity.
The Field…. A dark place.. a farm for children. Rows going on forever, filled with children as young as four. Nobody really talks about it..
