The Poisoned Herd
The Poisoned Herd
In the quiet town of Ashen Vale, nestled between rolling hills and sprawling farmland, Jacob Harper stood on his porch, Bible in hand, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The golden fields of wheat swayed gently in the breeze, but the air carried an unease that no season of harvest could soothe. Jacob had always been a man of simple faith, tending his land and shepherding his small congregation. But these days, whispers of sinister plots and unseen forces filled his ears as much as the sound of the wind.
For years, news had trickled down from the cities—a shadowy cabal of elites known as "the Council" had taken control of the food supply. They claimed it was to "modernize" agriculture, introducing mRNA vaccines for livestock to prevent disease. But Jacob’s neighbor, a retired vet, had been the first to warn him: "This isn’t about health. They’re injecting something unnatural into the animals."
Soon, stories emerged of families falling ill after eating pork or beef. Strange symptoms—memory loss, trembling hands, and unexplainable aggression—spread like wildfire. The media dismissed it as conspiracy, but Jacob’s small flock had seen enough to know better.
"They’re poisoning the herd," old Mrs. Caldwell had whispered after church one Sunday. "It’s a judgment coming upon the land."
Jacob had prayed for discernment, but his heart ached with a growing realization: this wasn’t judgment from God but the schemes of wicked men.
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Far to the south, in the untainted wilderness of Patagonia, sprawling estates dotted the pristine landscape. Behind fortified gates and under domed greenhouses, the Council’s members thrived. Their cattle roamed freely, untainted by the genetic experiments forced upon the world’s livestock. They dined on pure beef, fresh milk, and organic vegetables while the rest of humanity scrambled for food.
A man named Elias Kain, the Council’s spokesman, appeared regularly on global broadcasts. Clad in bespoke suits, he spoke of “sustainable futures” and “equitable food systems,” while decreeing bans on cattle farming, citing the dangers of “zoonotic pandemics.” "Lab-grown meat," he proclaimed, "is the future of food."
Jacob had watched one such broadcast in horror, clutching the pages of Revelation.
"And no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark..." he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the chilling words. It was all falling into place. The famine, the sickness, the manipulation of food supplies—it wasn’t just greed; it was a prelude to something far darker. The mark of the beast was coming, and the world would be forced to bow.
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Months turned to years, and Jacob’s small community grew thinner. The cattle were gone, confiscated by government enforcers citing "public health mandates." The local grocery store shelves were filled with unrecognizable substances marketed as “protein alternatives.” Jacob refused to touch them, surviving off the remnants of his garden and faith.
But the world outside grew darker. People became lethargic, forgetful, and violent. Cities descended into chaos, their populations hollowed out by sickness and famine. Rumors spread of mandatory food rationing chips—micro-implants linked to a global digital ID system. Without it, one could neither work nor eat.
One cold evening, Jacob’s old radio crackled to life. A faint voice, trembling but resolute, spoke of underground churches, resistance movements, and safe havens for those who refused the mark. Jacob’s spirit stirred. "I must go," he whispered to himself. He packed what little he had: his Bible, a loaf of bread, and a battered leather satchel.
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Jacob’s journey led him through desolate towns and forests, where he found others who shared his convictions. They spoke of the Council’s plans, how the prion-contaminated meat had been the first wave of control, weakening the public physically and spiritually. Then came the famine, driving desperate souls to accept the mark in exchange for sustenance.
In their small gatherings, they prayed, shared scraps of food, and recited Scripture by candlelight. But the persecution was relentless. Drones patrolled the skies, scanning for unregistered gatherings. Many were caught and dragged to camps for "reeducation."
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The darkest days arrived with the onset of the Great Tribulation. The earth itself seemed to groan under the weight of suffering. The skies darkened with ash and smoke as war and pestilence swept across the land. Famine tightened its grip, and the poisoned food supply drove many into madness. Violence became the new law of the land as neighbor turned against neighbor.
Jacob’s small group of believers clung to their faith, but even they were not immune to the encroaching despair. Each day was a fight for survival, scavenging for untainted food and evading the relentless surveillance of the Council’s enforcers. The Council’s stronghold in the southern hemisphere remained a distant and unattainable place, whispered of in rumors but unseen by the suffering masses. Stories of their ecological farms and lavish banquets were a cruel reminder of the divide between the rulers and the ruled.
Jacob knew he might not survive to see deliverance. But he also knew that this world was not his home. As he knelt in the ruins of a once-thriving town, clutching his worn Bible, he whispered the words that had carried him through every trial: "The darkness cannot last forever."
But for now, the darkness reigned. The Great Tribulation, the worst time in human history, had descended upon the earth, and the end was not yet in sight.