Godkiller: Walk Among Us

It began with two words.

Non serviam.

I will not serve.

And then

silence.

For there were none left alive to hear the reply.

In a hail of concrete dust, uranium, and pulverized steel,

the answer to a question,

how do you kill a god?

Better question:

How do you kill an old man that has outlived his era?

A man haunted by the memory of a million souls

extinguished in a moment.

A moment this next generation doesn't even know occurred.

I am not a proud man.

My gifts are earned at a shameful price.

A brothel.

I am entering a brothel

for maybe the hundredth time.

I, Mulciber, who spat in the face of gods.

I spit upon my own frail bones.

Those familiar smells.

Desperation. Compromise.

Veterans of holy wars never die.

We simply forget why we lived.

Check all the Weapons.

I have none

Extend your right hand.

I do not have cybernetics.

It's policy.

The inhibitor ring is a humiliation

to one such as myself.

Were I still young, I would cut this cretin.

But I am not young.

And humiliation assumes there is a soul alive

who cares that you exist.

Strange.

My stomach turns at his touch.

This man will be dead shortly.

Must get to the sweetling and make sure she is safe.

At least he didn't cut your face.

You'd be demoted to janitor.

Is that a demotion?

Sucking' dicks beats cleaning' toilets.

Oh, maybe I could be a specialist.

A concept whore.

Get sucked off by Stitchface for just a few credits more.

Don't give Beezal any ideas.

We'll all wake up without our faces tomorrow.

The Leatherface Girls.

I'm not kidding, Halfpipe.

You keep that shit to yourself.

I don't wanna get slashed up for a marketing stunt.

No, not for a marketing stunt.

What's a body worth these days after all?

Well, hello there, Dr. Mulciber.

To what evil do we owe thanks for your visit?

A kidnapping in the Republic?

A nuke chip gone rogue in Silver City?

Oh no, nothing quite so noble this time,

my dear.

Just another corporate espionage investigation.

Well, I'm glad we can be of service.

I see you've requested Halfpipe again.

That will be 50,000 units.

Thank you for your business.

Your oral hygiene never ceases to amaze.

Keeping the toilet clean.

Come in.

Hi, Dr. Mulciber!

Hello, sweetling.

What's the crime this time, old man?

Missing merchandise,

stolen from an aristocrat who likely stole it

in the first place.

Whoring your gifts to the powers that be?

These are the times that we live in.

Well, let's solve the crime!

Before I forget,

I know the two of you have been building up a collection.

Wow!

You shouldn't have!

Outer City has two natural resources:

flesh and blood.

The flesh of young sweetlings is sold in the brothels,

but the rusted sky and sickened waters

create a demand for clean blood and fresh organs.

Only one who has not lived in servitude

could judge them for seeking to buy back their flesh

with the blood of others.

It's not too much, but I hope it will help.

It will definitely help.

You're a good man, Dr. Mulciber.

Within The Ether is an ocean.

Unlike our oceans,

which are comprised of hydrogen and oxygen,

this ocean is comprised of our thoughts.

For thoughts are as real as atoms.

If there is knowledge you seek,

it is known by someone, somewhere, sometime.

And so it can be found.

Many can enter this ocean, few can navigate it.

Once, I was celebrated for my skill, respected by great men.

I knew, however, they would never understand my methods.

The men of my order are chaste

and sex magic is held in contempt.

Of course, I was found out.

My gifts ridiculed.

My service despised.

Check all weapons.

Extend your right hand.

The Ether is fierce, screaming danger,

answering questions I did not ask.

I am no longer navigating this ocean.

I am deep in the undertow!

Drowning in visions.

Fire is at the door.

Pestilence, fear!

Dragos!

Don't let her kill the boy.

What?

What do you want?

Bring me to the pimp called Beezal.

What the fuck?

The air shaft, go!

Don't gotta tell me twice.

Are, are you...

They're at the door, go!

You there, don't move.

I am an old man, feeble.

It's been a lifetime since I've stood

between death and a lady.

It's been too long.

To defend is human.

To kill, divine.

Run for the hills, sweetling.

The dogs of war are loosed

and you'll never know peace again.

Heh.

I'd forgotten the sensation of turning invisible

while being watched.

Am I enjoying this too much?

Walking unseen amongst the dead can be unsettling.

The living are oblivious,

but the gaze of the dead is constant and fixed,

filling The Ether with judgment:

raw and unbiased by emotion or intellect.

Have you gone mad, Dragos?

Dragos, son of Bafomet,

heir to the throne of the last earthbound reptilians.

When his mother died,

the sky rained blood for a thousand days.

Where is it?

What?

Beezal, pimp, trafficker of stolen body parts.

Appears to have gotten into some trouble.

Where

is it?

Find it.

Come on, we gotta get the fuck outta here.

This is so fucked up.

It hurts me to do this to you.

Master, I found it.

Excellent.

Thank you for your service.

Return to your Gaia, my son, and be free.

This all could have been so much simpler.

Your silence is a betrayal that cannot go unanswered.

And so,

I pity you.

Such immortal sadness.

Such atrophy of soul.

Thou shalt never betray me again.

In the name of Copper, Queen of The Burnt.

I accept this oath of holy service.

Love is the law.

Love under will.

Non serviam.

Ugh!

Scopes!

I'm such a pussy.

Oh no.

Fucking smoke alarm!

Non serviam.

What does that mean?

It means I will not serve.

I understand the translation, Tommy.

But what does it mean to you?

Whom do you refuse to serve?

The Republic?

Yes, you should be careful what you say.

You should also be careful what you read.

This mythology you're reading

might seem noble to you right now.

It's not mythology-

- Tommy, these are exciting stories

but you must understand.

Here in the Republic, in civilization,

this is where morality and principles

and truth and justice exist.