The Mark

TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING: There is a brief execution scene in this story.

Earth, 2092. It had been three and a half years since the Disappearances, when millions of people simply vanished off the face of the Earth. Only those of us left untaken live to tell the tale. But I fear that may not be for long. Everyone was in a panic. Everyone was grieving. World economies collapsed, Wall Street crashed, and a second Great Depression reared its ugly head. Add to that the fact that four wars were going on all at the same time, and everything was looking grim. The Russian-Ukrainian War had been raging for years. Putin’s successors had continued the fight. There was also unrest in Gaza between Israel and Palestine. Neither wanted to give up control of the land. Both claimed it as theirs by right. China and Taiwan were also at war, and so were North and South Korea.

So it was with a sigh of relief that people welcomed UN Secretary General Luciano DeLuca onto the world stage. He had many detractors and naysayers, not believing that he could create peace between these nations, especially Israel and Palestine. But he proved them all wrong. Leaders on both sides of the aisle—North and South Korea, China and Taiwan, Ukraine and Russian, and Israel and Palestine—shook hands and signed treaties. The most awaited of these treaties was the Jerusalem Treaty, signed by Israelis and Palestinians. Finally, there was hope and peace. A perfect Utopia of total love and total brotherhood. Every nation laid down their weapons and destroyed their warheads at DeLuca’s urging. Even I was fooled into thinking that the world had finally healed. And its great healer was Luciano DeLuca. I now know, however, that it was a false sense of peace. DeLuca has shown his true color and it is as black as sin.

The next thing he worked on after establishing peace was to fix the economic issues of the world. At his behest, one nation after the other phased out their currencies and moved towards a more centralized form of trade, consolidating all their currencies. The world had only one currency now and it was so much simpler. As coins and banknotes became more and more obsolete, people began burning and melting their old money. Centers opened and both clinics and hospitals offered surgery to have the new currency implanted into the back of people’s hands or on their foreheads. The procedure was a simple one. It didn’t even take fifteen minutes and you could be an outpatient. All it took was local anesthesia, a small incision, placing the microchip under the skin, and a few stitches. Then you were done.

At first, it was optional. You could still use old coins and banknotes, but it wouldn’t get you much. Maybe a cheap, defective product here and there, but nothing of great value. But now… Now, it’s mandatory. Just the other day, DeLuca appeared on live TV to announce his decision to make everyone have the microchip implanted.

“I’ve indulged you long enough,” DeLuca said, staring piercingly into the camera. “No more! Every man, woman, and child must have the chip implanted in either their right hand or their forehead. Every store and business owner is, by law, obligated to report anyone who tries to buy without the chip. The first offense warrants a warning. Second offense, six months in prison.”

“Is this guy serious?” I thought out loud as I fixed my gaze on the screen. I had to shake my head at the absurdity.

“I’m afraid so,” my coworker Jackie said, stopping to watch the broadcast. “It has come to this.”

Instinctively, I shoved my hands deep into my pockets so that none of my colleagues would see that I didn’t have the Mark. I couldn’t take it as I knew what it was. I had become a Christian shortly after the Disappearances and I studied the Book of Revelation extensively with others who were in the same boat as I was—ones who’d missed the bus just like me.

“If the authorities notice that you still have not been implanted with a chip,” DeLuca continued. “It will result in twenty-five to fifty years imprisonment and hard labor. When you have been long in the work camps, you will be asked if you wish to reconsider. If by then, you have learned your lesson and wish to comply, you will be brought to the prison hospital where you can have the chip implanted in either your right hand or your forehead—your choice. Then you may go free. If, however, you still refuse to receive the chip implant, the punishment shall be death by beheading.”

As if on cue, the broadcast cut to a live feed of an execution. An old man with thinning white hair was dragged into the death chamber, kicking and screaming. He was strapped down to the table attached to the guillotine and his head was secured to the hole that would keep him in place. The prison warden gave the executioner a nod and the rope was cut. In an instant, the old man’s head fell into the basket. A spray of blood gushed out like a geyser from the poor man’s now-headless stump, obscuring part of the camera.

“That is barbaric!” my coworker Sherwin said.

Another coworker puked. Another fainted. Some cried, pitying the old man. Others cheered. There was a battle raging for the souls of mankind and those who cheered DeLuca’s decision had just declared which side of the war they were on.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” DeLuca said as he came back onscreen. “I am a kind and generous man and it pains me to do this to my own people, but I will be forced to do so if you leave me no choice—if you continue to disobey my every word. Please, I beg of you, for everyone’s sake—get the chip implant. I promise you, you won’t even feel a thing.”

“Alright, that’s enough of that now, people,” our editor Astoria said as she marched into the bullpen, remote in hand. She flicked the TV off and looked at all of us with a glare that could rival DeLuca’s evil one. “Everybody, get back to work!”

We did as we were told and tried our best to get back to work despite the disturbing footage we’d just seen. We were reporters and we’d seen a lot of things in our day, but something about that beheading was just…wrong. I know for a fact it was evil. Luciano DeLuca was the one we’d been warned against. He was the Antichrist that was to come. Some even say he was the Devil himself incarnated in human flesh. I believe, however, that he is only a man—an evil man, but a man nonetheless. But who knows? The Devil might possess him at some point.

As I worked, typing away at my keyboard, my IM notification bell dinged and a screen popped up.

Have you gotten your implant yet? My coworker, Joaquin, who sits next to me, asked. He was always one for small talk.

Not yet, I replied. I’m a very busy man. I’m sure so are you.

Well, better hurry up and get your chip. You saw the news.

And you see how busy I am, I replied curtly without meaning to. I didn’t want to lie and I didn’t want to talk about it.

Suit yourself, Joaquin responded. Guess I’ll just have to visit you in jail. Haha! (laugh-cry emoji)

I sighed and kept right on working. I had a deadline to beat and time was running short. When 4:30 struck, I saved my work, clocked out, and turned my computer off. As I walked through the rows and rows of desks and computers, through the lobby, and out the parking lot, I was contemplating on how I was supposed to get groceries or pay my rent. I couldn’t. Not without the Mark. I had to think of something—fast.

I drove one city over to where I lived, and on my way home, I stopped at the local minimart. I knew the owner and the cashier there and I knew I could sweet talk him so that’ where I did my grocery shopping.

“Hey, Sal!” I greeted when it was my time to pay. “You mind if I pay with the good ol’ reliable? I haven’t gotten my schedule for the surgery yet.”

“You know the new law, Sebastian,” Sal said. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to turn you in.”

“Look, man,” I said. “It’s only just been announced today. How long does it take effect and become official law? Weeks, if I’m not mistaken?”

“What’s in it for me?” Sal asked.

“Let me sweeten the pot for you, Sal. Access to all the luxury amenities at The Tower,” I answered. “If someone stops you and questions you for using the pool or the washing machines, or the gym, just mention my name. They’ll let you be, I’ll make sure of that. My pass is your pass.”

“Alright,” Sal said with a sigh. “But once this new law goes into effect, you’re gonna have to get your chip. I can’t be tolerating this no more.”

“Clear as crystal,” I said. “I guess I’m just going to have to get over my fear of needles and scalpels.”

And with that, I was off. Before heading home, however, I had to stop by Christ the Solid Rock Church. I texted Pastor Covington and he passed it on to the members of our terrified little flock. We had to do something about this. But what? I co-op of Believers, perhaps, where we use Old World currency or barter and trade, exchanging one set of goods for another. We could set up codewords and passwords to determine if they were of the Faith or to identify ourselves and reassure them of our intent. Perhaps we could use the ichthys, much like New Testament saints in the Book of Acts. In any case, we had to be prepared for the coming persecution. We have now passed the halfway point of the Tribulation. The Great Tribulation is at hand.