The Church Wants You (All of you) - Part 1
Dear readers,
As the first series, The Church Wants You, was such a success, and I received so many messages from all of you that I decided to continue the story with a sequel.
Thank you for all your support, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter just as much as the first one!
Enjoy!
-------
The spray paint was still wet when Ethan, Jacob, and Andrew finished.
The three boys stood across the street, dressed in their white shirts and dark ties, staring at the black letters covering the barbershop window.
HIPSTERS ARE SINNERS
A man from the Moral Guards office handed Ethan an envelope.
"Good work, Elder Ethan."
Ethan accepted it automatically, while straightening the tie.
Inside were several crisp bills.
His first payment.
No questions asked.
No discussion.
Just another assignment completed.
Jacob grinned.
"Easy money."
Andrew nodded.
"The owner will probably clean it off by tomorrow."
Ethan stared at the window.
For a moment something felt wrong.
The shop looked normal.
Warm lights.
Old-fashioned barber pole.
A small sign advertising haircuts.
Nothing dangerous.
Nothing criminal.
Just a barbershop.
But the feeling vanished as quickly as it came.
The training sessions had become stronger lately.
The thoughts slipped away.
The three boys turned and disappeared into the evening.
---
The next morning Rick arrived at work at 7:15.
Coffee in one hand.
Keys in the other.
Rain drizzled lightly across the quiet street.
He was already tired.
Business had been awful.
For months.
As he approached the shop, something black caught his attention.
Rick stopped.
His stomach sank.
"Oh, come on..."
Across the entire front window, huge black letters dripped downward.
HIPSTERS ARE SINNERS
Rick closed his eyes.
Just stood there.
Silent.
The paint dripped slowly down the glass.
He rubbed his forehead.
Again.
Another incident.
Another warning.
Another message.
He unlocked the door.
Walked inside.
Set down his coffee.
And stared out through the ruined window.
The worst part wasn't the vandalism.
The worst part was that he knew exactly why it happened.
A year ago his barbershop had been thriving.
Young professionals.
College students.
Artists.
Musicians.
Men wanting fades.
Beard shaping.
Modern styles.
Hair coloring.
Undercuts.
Everything.
Back then people wanted something different.
Now?
Now people wanted to look exactly the same.
Every month more customers disappeared.
Every month more men showed up looking nearly identical.
White shirts.
Buttoned collars.
Dark trousers.
Neatly combed hair.
No beard.
No individuality.
No experiments.
No personality.
Traditional cuts only.
Conservative cuts.
Approved cuts.
Even the language had changed.
People no longer asked for modern styles.
They asked for "respectable styles."
They asked for "community standards."
They asked for "appropriate appearances."
And lately...
The ties had appeared.
Everywhere.
Rick hated noticing it.
But he couldn't stop noticing it.
The town was changing.
Fast.
---
Around noon a young customer entered.
Maybe nineteen.
Maybe twenty.
White shirt.
Dark tie.
Of course.
"Morning," Rick said.
"Morning."
The boy sat down.
"Just clean it up on the sides."
Rick nodded.
The haircut began.
Clippers buzzed softly.
For a while neither spoke.
Then—
Everything went dark.
The clippers stopped.
The lights died.
The music vanished.
Silence.
Rick frowned.
"What the hell?"
The customer looked up.
The entire shop had lost power.
What was weirder was the fact that other stores nearby was functioning normally.
The young customer stood.
"Again?"
"Again?" Rick asked.
The boy shrugged.
"Happens a lot lately."
Rick stared.
"A lot?"
The customer nodded.
"Have you paid your bills?"
Rick laughed.
"Of course... And it's not your business to ask such things."
The boy didn't answer.
A few minutes later several customers arrived.
Saw the darkness.
Complained.
Left.
One by one.
Rick watched them go.
There went today's income.
There went tomorrow's income.
There went rent money.
Again.
---
By late afternoon the electricity still hadn't returned.
Rick sat alone in the dark shop.
His phone showed no internet.
No messaging.
Nothing.
Again.
He sighed.
Peter would know what was happening.
Peter always knew what was happening.
Rick opened their chat.
Nothing sent.
No signal.
No network.
Nothing.
Perfect.
---
By evening Rick locked the shop.
The graffiti was partially cleaned.
The power was still gone.
The internet was still dead.
The street felt strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
Groups of young men in white shirts walked through downtown.
Talking softly.
Smiling.
Organized.
Purposeful.
Like they belonged somewhere.
Rick looked away.
He hated feeling jealous.
He just walked home.
---
Their apartment was warm when he entered.
Peter stood in the kitchen.
Holding papers.
Lots of papers.
Bills.
Mortgage statements.
Utility notices.
Bank letters.
Peter didn't even look up.
"Bad day?"
Rick laughed.
"Which part?"
Peter finally met his eyes.
That expression immediately worried Rick.
"What?"
Peter handed him a sheet.
Rick looked.
His smile vanished.
Electricity costs.
Up again.
Way up.
"What the hell?"
Peter handed him another.
Mortgage increase.
Then another.
And another.
Rick stared at the growing pile.
"Tell me these aren't real. They keep increasing our bills!"
"They're real."
Silence.
The refrigerator hummed softly.
Neither spoke.
Finally Rick sat down.
"We can manage."
Peter didn't answer.
"We've managed before."
Still nothing.
"Peter."
Peter exhaled slowly.
"No."
The answer came quietly.
"No, Rick."
Rick looked up.
"What do you mean no?"
Peter sat across from him.
"We can't."
The words hung heavily in the room.
"We can't keep the apartment."
Rick froze.
"We can't keep the shop."
Silence.
"We can't keep both."
---
Rick felt anger rising.
"No."
Peter nodded sadly.
"I ran the numbers three times."
"No."
"We don't have enough."
"We'll figure something out."
Peter laughed bitterly.
"With what?"
Neither answered.
The room suddenly felt much smaller.
They had dreamed about this apartment.
For years.
Saving.
Working.
Planning.
Building a future.
And now it was slipping away.
Not because they failed.
Because everything around them was changing.
---
Peter finally spoke.
"There is one possibility."
Rick immediately hated those words.
"What possibility?"
Peter hesitated.
Then said it.
"The Family Program."
Rick stared.
Then laughed.
Then realized Peter wasn't joking.
"Oh, absolutely not."
"Rick—"
"No."
"Just listen."
"No."
Peter rubbed his temples.
"It would lower taxes."
"No."
"It would reduce mortgage rates."
"No."
"It would reduce utilities."
"No."
Peter's patience finally cracked.
"Then tell me your plan!"
The room fell silent.
Because Rick didn't have one.
---
Peter stood.
Started pacing.
"They get discounts."
"I know."
"They get priority rates."
"I know."
"They get grants."
"I know."
"They get everything."
"I know."
"So what do we do?"
Rick stared at the floor.
Peter lowered his voice.
"What if we just..."
He hesitated.
"...blend in?"
Rick looked up.
"What?"
"It's clothes."
"Peter."
"It's literally clothes."
"Peter."
"White shirts. Ties. A few forms."
Rick couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You've lost your mind."
Peter laughed sadly.
"Maybe."
He looked around the apartment.
The apartment they loved.
The apartment they had spent years saving for.
Then he looked toward the window.
Toward the dark town outside.
"I just don't want to lose everything."
Rick had no answer.
Because for the first time...
Neither did he.
The bills remained spread across the kitchen counter between them.
Like a warning.
While the couple kept arguing.
