The Book Of Joseph (Far Cry 5)

Part Five.

V

"They command you not to kill, not to steal. Do you think they are doing it to save your soul? No. They could not care less about your soul or your life. Killing, stealing - they just want to be the only ones allowed to do those things."

Sermon from the Project at Eden's Gate.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One night, Jacob woke John and me. Without a word, he led us out of the barn and began pouring gasoline on everything inside it. Then, he set it on fire.

After that, he freed the animals and burned the stables as well. As the flames rose higher, the light, crackling, and the cries of the animals woke our guardians. They ran outside in a panic still wearing their pyjamas.

By then, Jacob had swapped his cans of gasoline for a sturdy axe handle. He knocked out the still drowsy man with a few blows. He was left lying on the ground, face bloodied, illuminated by the flames, his wife screaming in terror while we watched the sight without the slightest feeling of pity.

We had been lied to. Now there was no chance that we would call them Mum and Dad.

Jacob also burned the house, cars, and everything our guardians owned. When there was nothing left to burn, we sat on the ground and watched the fire consume and purify the place where we had endured so much suffering, like scouts watching a campfire.

And so we confirmed the suspicions of the psychiatrists who had examined us the first time: the Seed brothers were dangerous. They had a tainted and nefarious bloodline. What did it matter that we had been humiliated, exploited, and starved? The rest of humanity was not satisfied. Who were we to dare to rebel? We had to be stopped. We needed to be separated urgently. The authorities placed Jacob in a juvenile detention centre, which could be more accurately described as a prison for minors. He left between the arms of two police officers, like a guilty man, like our father. But before he did, he reassured us, promised us that we would be reunited soon and that we would never leave each other again.

He told us everything was going to be ok. He couldn't have been more wrong.

For John and me, still at the orphanage, it was time to get back on the adoption merry-go-round. We were visited by infertile couples, visited by people who were bored but too allergic to get a dog, visited by those who wanted to save their souls by doing a good deed; we saw anyone who wanted to adopt a child, whether or not they had good intentions.

John was the first to go. He was the best looking, the least odd. He was adopted by a rich family who, I imagined, lived in luxury in Atlanta or one of those gated communities we had never set foot in.

As for me, I was picked a few times with varying results. Once, and only once, I ignored the psychiatrists advice and talked about the Voice. I was immediately sent back to the orphanage, the same way you return a defective household appliance. I think they were hoping I was still under warranty and they could quickly exchange me for a normal child, free of charge. But most families who welcomed me in treated me well. They were brave people who almost made me forget that my brothers were far away.

I hope they do not suffer when the end comes.

Of course, I came across many other children during these years; temporary siblings, classmates, teammates, and the like. I had a hard time connecting with them. I was different. I could feel it. Everyone saw me as the odd one out, secretive, a lonely orphan. Teachers and professors worried about me spending so much time on my own. They did not know I wasn't alone. The Voice's message was on a constant loop in my head, promising me an extraordinary destiny.