The Church Wants You - Part 14
Mark approached the counter.
"What is going on with the internet?"
As though he had answered the question fifty times already.
"We're aware of the issue."
Then glanced toward a manager's office.
"We don't have information regarding that."
"What do you mean you don't have information?"
"The network is being... optimized."
The employee did not answer.
Instead he reached beneath the desk.
"However, we do have some new programs you may find useful."
He handed Mark a glossy brochure.
The cover showed a smiling family walking through a field at sunset.
The employee smiled mechanically.
"Our new Offline Enrichment Packages."
Inside were three subscription tiers.
Faith. Guidance. Purpose.
Values. Integrity. Character.
Character building workshops.
Grooming and dressing standards.
"What does this have to do with my internet?"
The employee's smile never changed.
"Many residents are discovering healthier alternatives to excessive online activity."
"No. Seriously. What does this have to do with my internet?"
The employee lowered his voice.
"I'd recommend adapting early."
For the first time since entering the building, Mark felt genuinely afraid.
Because the employee didn't sound like a salesman.
He sounded like someone giving a warning.
And as Mark left the Nexora building, he noticed something else.
The giant digital billboard across the street had changed.
It no longer advertised phones.
It displayed a simple message:
REAL LIFE HAPPENS OFFLINE.
And beneath the slogan stood the emblem of the Morality Guards.
The same emblem that now seemed to be appearing everywhere.
Mark drove home in silence.
The Nexora brochure sat on the passenger seat.
Every red light felt longer than usual.
Every billboard seemed different.
A few months ago advertisements had promoted restaurants, concerts, new phones.
Now they promoted purpose.
The same words repeated over and over.
As if the entire town had begun speaking with one voice.
Mark sat at the kitchen counter for a long time after returning from Nexora.
The glossy brochure lay open beside a cold cup of coffee.
A few months ago the entire town would have laughed at something like this.
Now it was being handed out by internet providers.
And nobody seemed capable of stopping it.
His wife Emily entered carrying groceries.
Then she noticed his face.
Mark slid the brochure across the counter.
"That's it?" Mark asked. "That's your reaction?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want somebody to admit this is insane."
Emily lowered herself into a chair.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Finally she broke the silence.
"The community group starts in an hour."
"The one I told you about."
"No. Seriously. You were serious?"
"A lot of people are going."
"A lot of people jumped into volcanoes throughout history too."
Everything felt exhausting.
The endless reminders about discipline and tradition and proper appearance.
"We should sell the house."
Her expression immediately changed.
"We should get out while we still can."
He pointed toward the brochure.
"That company just tried to sell me religion because my internet doesn't work."
Pulled out several envelopes.
She placed them on the counter.
Community support documents.
"The Family Stability Program."
Emily started listing them.
"Thirty percent reduction on the mortgage."
"Priority healthcare at the local hospital."
"Property tax reductions."
"Community assistance grants."
The silence answered the question.
"Most families are staying."
"Because they're being bribed."
"They don't see it that way."
Mark stood and walked toward the window.
Outside several neighbors were returning home.
Most of the men wore collared shirts now.
Even when they were simply walking dogs.
Emily approached carefully.
She lowered her voice instinctively.
As if somebody might hear.
"You shouldn't talk like that."
The room became quiet again.
Then Emily glanced at the clock.
She disappeared into the bedroom.
A minute later she returned carrying a freshly ironed white shirt.
"I am not dressing like some church brochure."
Emily's expression softened.
The kind of sigh that comes from someone who has lost an argument long before it started.
Ten minutes later he stood in the kitchen buttoning the shirt.
Close enough that he could see genuine concern in her eyes.
"I can comb my own hair."
She gently ran the comb through his hair.
Trying to make it acceptable.
Trying to make him invisible.
When she finished she paused.
Then reached toward his collar.
Mark immediately knew what was coming.
Her hands trembled slightly.
Just enough to understand.
She fastened the top button.
The collar closed around his neck.
"I look like I've joined a cult."
Because neither of them found it funny.
The drive across town was quiet.
Outside, more signs had appeared.
STRONG MEN BUILD STRONG FAMILIES.
Mark watched them pass through the window.
Every month there were more.
Every week they became larger.
When they finally arrived, the community center parking lot was almost full.
Mark immediately noticed something.
Nobody had technically been ordered to dress that way.
Which somehow felt worse.
Inside, groups of men talked around tables.
Some attended discussion circles.
Everything appeared calm.
On the walls were slogans.
Dozens of nearly identical men.
She immediately whispered back.
A smiling organizer approached.
For almost an hour they wandered between activities.
Almost excessively friendly.
Nobody raised controversial topics.
Nobody criticized anything.
"What beers do you have?"
The volunteer looked genuinely confused.
As if the question itself was strange.
"We don't serve alcohol."
Another man nearby overheard.
"Alcohol was removed last month."
Nobody even seemed surprised.
The smile faded slightly.
Then the man pointed toward a framed notice hanging on the wall.
Then at the rows of men in white shirts discussing discipline and purpose.
Then at the chess tables.
Then at the bookshelves filled almost entirely with approved material.
For the first time all evening he understood something.
The town was not changing because people were being forced.
The town was changing because people were adapting.
One small compromise at a time.
Until eventually nobody remembered where the line had been.
