The Black Death Revisited
The Black Death Revisited
Samuel Watts clutched his worn King James Bible as if it were his lifeline. The world around him was descending into chaos, but the Scriptures gave him an anchor. A humble farmer by trade, Samuel had once tilled his land with joy, providing food for his family and neighbors in the small town of Cedar Hollow. But those days were gone. The government’s sweeping mandates and centralized farming policies had eradicated independent agriculture, leaving men like Samuel with empty fields and hollowed purpose.
Social unrest boiled over in every city. Inflated prices turned basic commodities into luxuries, and streets once bustling with commerce now housed tents of the homeless. Hospitals became places of dread rather than healing. Rumors swirled of AI-controlled surgeries and dentistry where the anesthesia was laced with nanotech, venom peptides, and self-replicating mRNA viruses. People who underwent these procedures often emerged with debilitating diseases—or didn’t emerge at all.
Those who entered hospitals told harrowing tales, and others never came out to tell their story. Patients were hooked up to intravenous drips containing mysterious substances that seemed to drain their life rather than restore it. Rumors also spread that hospitals received financial incentives for every patient they managed to kill, further fueling distrust among the population. Close acquaintances whispered that doctors and nurses, complicit in the grand conspiracy, knowingly ended lives. The mainstream media, however, dismissed these accusations as baseless conspiracy theories, further eroding public trust.
Samuel saw it all happening. His neighbor, John, had gone into the hospital for a minor ailment and never returned. When John’s wife demanded answers, she was met with vague assurances and a cremated body. "He just deteriorated," the doctors claimed. But John’s wife, weeping, told Samuel, "They killed him, Sam. I know they did."
The town became a place of macabre improvisation. With whiskey for anesthesia, cotton for blood, and tongs as tools, people performed their own tooth extractions. They would rather endure agonizing pain than step foot in a dentist’s office. Samuel had to pull his own molar once, gritting his teeth in prayer, refusing to let the system claim another victim.
As the globalists tightened their grip, the Central Bank Digital Currency (CBDC) became unavoidable. It was the gateway to the Mark of the Beast: a chip implanted in the hand that linked every transaction, location, and even health status to a centralized database. Refusal meant exclusion from society. Acceptance meant eternal consequences. Samuel had no doubt of its significance, quoting Revelation to anyone who would listen: "And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name."
The cities fractured. Some became gleaming smart cities, sterile and monitored by drones. Speakers mounted on every street corner broadcast propaganda: "Trust in progress. Trust in leadership. Together, we thrive." But the sterile façade hid the truth. People in the smart cities were little more than prisoners, their every move surveilled.
Other cities decayed into slums. Rats infested the streets, spreading disease. The bubonic plague reemerged, earning its ancient moniker—the Black Death. Samuel heard the stories: entire families succumbing to fever and swollen buboes. The Health Authority issued vaccines, promising salvation. Yet those who took the injections often developed horrifying symptoms. Turbo cancers, sudden organ failures, and neurological collapses became common among the vaccinated. Distrust in the authorities grew.
The plague swept through the slums, leaving bodies in its wake. Samuel watched as Cedar Hollow’s population dwindled. Many fled to the wilderness, seeking solace in the wild. But the wild wasn’t safe either. Autonomous robots roamed the countryside, scavenging energy from any available source. Some drones ran on biodiesel, others solar panels, and all of them served the globalists, scanning for survivors.
Samuel stayed. His faith kept him grounded as the world unraveled. In the evenings, he would read the Scriptures by candlelight. "For then shall be great tribulation, such as was not since the beginning of the world to this time, no, nor ever shall be," he read aloud from Matthew 24.
The tribulation arrived like a storm. Smart cities fell silent as their sterile order crumbled. Slums became ghost towns, haunted by the Black Death. The wilderness teemed with death—disease, drones, and famine claimed lives in equal measure. The media, ever complicit, continued to churn out lies, but fewer were left to believe them.
Samuel knelt in the ruins of his farm, his Bible open to Revelation. The drones circled above, their red lights scanning the ground. Yet he prayed, knowing his time was near. "And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death."
The great tribulation had begun. Samuel knew the worst was yet to come, but he clung to the promise of Christ’s return. And as the world burned, he whispered into the night, "Even so, come, Lord Jesus."