Borgina, after eight years of education and the absorption of regular gifts, couldn’t be more excited for today. She’s tasted through her mouth, she’s tasted through her eyes, she’s tasted through her knees, and she’s tasted through her arms. She knows flavors most people wouldn’t even consider but doesn’t have anyone to relate to. The Religious Explorers, the President, the Marked, and the Executives don’t regularly stop to talk to her, but, thankfully, the Fosterers do. They utilize psychologically based techniques to foster affection and provide the Lord’s teaching on how to change our dangerous, sinful world. 

In a land not too far away is a blonde, 8-year-old girl named Borgina. She has been educated to take part in a monumental religious expedition. As the Executives in white lab coats continued to furiously walk between monitors, thrashing against knobs, and cautiously picking at levers, the small, curious child did nothing but quietly think of the happy memories she has collected over the years. The time she beat her friends in the weekly 7-second dash; the time she learned how to cook funeral potatoes; and the time she learned how to beat The Fosterers in Uno.

She isn’t perfect, though. Despite the severe punishment she has been repeatedly given, she can’t help but Whisper In when the adults seem particularly frantic. She doesn’t completely understand what these “adult statements” mean, like, “do you think this will actually change anything,” and, “I don’t think we can augment her DNA any further.” But, she feels closer to them, regardless.

While the Executives normally ignore Borgina, when they do provide a compliment on her readings, she sits straighter, smiles bigger, and concentrates harder. Although, when told she did something wrong, she can’t help but shake. The searing burn lashed against her for Whispering In or questioning The Word tends to remain in her mind for the next couple of days. But, The Fosterers soothe her dismay with a lesson on how these unconscious visions only appear because the wicked devil is trying to break her. Her faith in the One True God overpowers these fear-inducing illusions, allowing her to continue her reception of Visions from God. 

She may never realize these Visions from God and illusions from the Devil at night are actually her dreams; she may never realize why it was important to separate her from her family; nor will she ever truly realize or understand her involvement against the administrations who have “oppressed their people.” But, being told from the moment she obtained consciousness—she is a Messenger—magnified her self-esteem to an unrelatable level. A sense of confidence overpowering any magician or jury.

She is, in her mind, God’s message to the Sinners; the decrepit infecting others with heinous intent. She is illuminating the world infested with impurity to a flavor she knows they will gobble up without thinking twice. With God being claimed to be on their side, these self-proclaimed prophets were able to create something capable of revolutionizing how the world uses fellowship. 

Borgina is proud to have been chosen from birth to be the titular personality pushing for the Church’s advancement. She may not have moms, dads, siblings, cousins, grandparents, etc., but she’s grown accustomed to primarily being around the wearers of the elongated “t” necklaces: the Fosterers with their long-sleeved sundresses and constantly carrying heavily used books, and the Executives with their outdated wide glasses and array of Japanese figurines. 

The Executives have degrees in chemistry, physics, biology, neuroscience, and psychology, which helps them understand The Underground’s data. Despite all of this education, they still require approval and guidance from the President. However, the latter’s priorities have recently involved more financial and social appearances than scientific and executive updates. In his place stood three Religious Explorers (scientists researching and investigating strategies capable of improving the Church’s image, such as scoping out regions where conversions would be more likely to happen) and two of The Marked (the Church’s elite Division of Deployment, Defense, and Conversion), each one identifying niche ideas and concepts pushing their “progressive global outreach.” Without their involvement, the Church’s mission to be an established, authoritative, and wealthy powerhouse would crumble. 

On one side of this largely oval-sized room stood The Marked, who were using their modified pool cues and spotlessly polished amulets as representatives for two players on this organized diagram of the prophesized battlefield: the Church’s and the enemy’s. Located closest to The Marked was one totem—a spider lily made from a blue sapphire—and a circle surrounding the idol. Surrounding this circle, representing 15 miles out, were 3D-printed symbols of the enemy—common soldiers, war machines, and cats with guns on their heads—blocking heavily populated roads in fear of mass stampedes. But, these additional forces wouldn’t disrupt the plan; almost nothing would.

Borgina, the small child who has never experienced cake, a windy breeze, or authentic and unfiltered love, continued to read the holy books, hoping it would enhance the focus she’ll need for the mission. A quest she will embark on within the next 15 minutes. Shutting her eyes until they wrinkle, Borgina imagined the better world she was going to create. A planet where people have mindful and emotional connections, a planet allowing people to speak their thoughts without government intervention, and a planet where people follow the One True God until their untimely passing. While the Religious Explorers and the Fosterers couldn’t read her mind, they noted her serene expression.

Despite Borgina entering a serene mental state, she couldn’t help but Whisper In on the Executives in the laboratory a mile, or five, underground. She doesn’t comprehend what “chemical fallout” is, or what is being “activated”, or who will need “recovery.” Borgina does notice The Marked and the Religious Explorers shaking their heads in confusion a lot, though. She doesn’t ever consider the possibility of this not working since her participation in this endeavor has continually been validated by everyone in The Underground. To this determined girl in faith, she was saving the believers and the potential followers from a world overrun with despair and unstoppable inflammable flames. She was bringing the rules and values she developed over the eight years in The Underground, her community, her home, to the world in need of redemption, of revelations. 

Two additional members of The Marked, cups of fresh, hot milk in each hand, entered the brutalistically designed room asking if the Product was enhanced and recyclable. One of the three Executives overseeing the project fixed their glasses to tell them she is enhanced but isn’t recyclable.

The exact words used by the Executive were, “She was only given the explosive trait since she is a SINGULAR event. We didn’t plan on keeping her since the Skinwalker tests highlighted an intense physical and mental degradation after the first trigger. But, the results, if this succeeds, means our enemies and the wavering will take us seriously.” 

Processing what the Executive with a conformous haircut said, the red-haired Religious Explorer passionately uttered, “Just like the British colonized most of the world; just like the Buddhists erased Muslims in parts of Asia; and just like the Zionists overthrew any kingdom in the Middle East, our Church will be a threat no one will ever want to face.”

“Do you want us to make her recyclable then,” asked an Executive who couldn’t stop twitching and rubbing his nose furiously.

“No,” the older of The Marked barked. “Let’s limit any chance of this getting back to us. We’re already being investigated for the theft of the Coca-Cola secret recipe.”

However, the hairy-on-every-body-part-except-for-the-top-of-their-head Executive known for negatively questioning the validity of everything interrupted the conversation. “Sir, I really don’t think we should send The Product out. There’s a possibility her DNA not accepting and enacting the alterations we’ve implemented. We haven’t confirmed a complete guarantee. If we do this, and it fails, the Church will be vulnerable.”

The 6 ‘5-heighted one of The Marked, gripped the embodiment of an unstoppable constant pushback, quickly growled, “We can’t wait any longer.” But, seeing his intidimation not work, quickly collected himself to walk back the explosive aggression, “They’ve already taken down our strongest propagandists—Stephanie Meyer, Donny Osmond, Ryan Gosling—we can’t risk them eradicating us first. This isn’t a game of cat and mouse any longer. They’ve destroyed our stocks in Herbalife, Kaiser, and North Korea’s Bureau 39.” Pausing for a second, the 260-pound patriarch looked at everyone with almost a feeling of unconditional religious love and finished with, “The Word of God must spread so we can be basked in the fortune of His holiness.”

The girls are going to be so jealous of me. They’re going to wonder how my time out of the Mormon Republic and with the Sinners was, Borgina excitedly pondered. I wonder if they have souvenirs. They probably do. If it’s anything like Josoville, they do. I wonder how close the thrill park with mice and ducks are. I would love to see why mice are so popular outside of The Underground. I don’t know how or why they try to live down here. They are usually shocked to pop!

Suddenly, startling the 8-year-old, the President aggressively, ruthlessly, and loudly entered the Delivery Room. “What is taking so long,” the President inquired at a volume deafening the deaf. “We have sent countless messages showing off our sovereignty, but they continue to mock us, calling us ‘Ostrichs,’ ‘Soakers,’ and ‘Heaven Seekers,’” The President’s almost tomato-like colored face with veins trying to escape his forehead uttered before coming centimeters away with the person in the middle of the room during his entry. He doesn’t normally visit, but even this seems over-the-top to the Executives, The Marked, and the Religious Explorers. To The Fosterers? This was nothing new. 

“We need to remind them how we’ve become one of the wealthiest organizations and why we belong at the top of the Christian sect. They didn’t accept The Night of a Million Bees, The Night of Forced Acceptance, nor The Night of Dirty Sodas. I’m tired of this disrespect,” the President shouted, completely ignoring his spit drenching those standing nearby. “Send Blobbina,” with an exasperated holler almost giving away their deeply secret basement. 

“Sir, please keep your voice down. We don’t want to accidentally set off the Product,” the shorter and dark-haired one of the Fosterers said, trying to explain to the President the cruciality of a balanced mental and physical state for the Product. Unfortunately, it was too late. Borgina’s attention and serenity were interrupted with uncertainty. She attempted to shut her eyes tighter, fortify the hands covering her ears, and squeezed her mouth shut until her teeth cracked. Unfortunately, the President, the Executives, the Marked, and the Religious Explorers took this as the moment to send her off before she activates. The Fosterers in the room quickly took to the child’s side. 

“You are going to change the world for the better,” the pale and blonde Fosterer said, lingering her fingers on Borgina’s own lighter hair and innocent face. Borgina could feel her heart flitter as she prepared herself for Arrival, but flexed all of her muscles to remain firmly in place. Forcing balance, added with her unwavering belief this Delivery will be what the world of Sinners needs to see to change their infallibly corrupt ways, she imagines the first thing she’ll try when Arriving. As the hormones of contentment pumped through the 8-year-old Messenger’s body, the second Fosterer crouched down to meet Borgina’s eyeline, shining a warm and loving smile to the Product, but also hiding the regret slowly trickling out of her body. Fortunately, Borgina never noticed the tears flowing down the Fosterers’ eyes. 

“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and its followers will continue to remember Borgina Borbina as the savior bringing our Word into prominence. Americans, Africans, Asians, and miscellaneous will tremble when our faith is mentioned. Our legacy will become the world’s legacy,” the woman with a tight ponytail whispered with fervor into the 8-year-old’s ears. “Your happiness is what will push The Word forward and our retail properties into transcendence.”

As the female Fosterer’s last sentence dispersed in the air, as the Executives flipped and pulled the right buttons, as the Religious Explorers and the President loudly chanted in the middle of the room, Borgina was viciously ripped from her space. Within a nanosecond of the Product arriving, the thin and naive child opened her eyes, discovering the outside world for the first time. To her disappointment, she only sees elderly men in suits, outdated woodworking wood holding up a giant domed ceiling, and various unrecognizable flags with stars and stripes. 

Unavoidably, before the building’s security could even recognize her, she activated; powerful, burning energy immediately being expelled from the sitting adolescent carcass. Her flesh bubbled and popped from the heat escaping her bloodstream; her eyes and mouth shined brighter than a pulsar; and her throat wanted to scream but was stifled into a voidesque silence from the cooking of her muscles. Her body violently erupted, yet remained psionically intact for longer than she remained physically. She was never told about the searing pain evicting her imploding organs or the shattering of her bones as they splintered between neighboring molecules. She wasn’t told this burning would feel like eternity. Borgina, for those few seconds, experienced only fear, isolation, and pain. 

The Messenger, beamed into the middle of the “Sinners’” Executive and Legislative Harmony Dome during a mandated Human Rights Conference Promoting the Defiance of Fascism, exploded into a terrifyingly bright blue abundance of plasma, blinding neighboring communities who were outside of the 15-mile blast zone but no further than 40 miles. The appearance of a lone 8-year-old girl in a white dress was over as soon as it started, but the manmade fluorescent sapphire mushroom lasted for nearly an hour. The Gift of Unity from the Mormon Republic instantly evaporated the administrative governing leaders, billionaires, and other unnecessary professionals within a 15-mile radius of the “Sinners’’” home base of decisions, the famed dome of color, located within the capital: Washingtonia. 

The Messenger Arrived. 

“In the name of God, Our People will guide others through this religious entrance. The Mormon Republic will continue to enlighten our brothers and sisters on how to defeat our collective enemies—Catholics, Zimbabwe, and Ukraine—without sacrificing our young leaders en masse. The LDS faith will no longer be the joke of the world; we will not be forgotten and ridiculed with laughter; and we will preach The Word of the One True God and be blessed with his grace for the remainder of our lineage’s years. Borgrat was a message, and it has been heard,” said the President while eating loose candies he pulled from his pocket. “Our time… is now.”