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As dawn breaks over the Pacific Northwest, heralding another rainy, golfless day, GooglieGod peers myopically at the screen in front of him, sipping from the endless brew of coffee that sustains his endeavours.
His clawlike fingers, frozen by an eternity of clutching the mouse, peck away at the keyboard as he reads yet another of these minions' missives.
"How can I convince them of my existence?", he mutters, "without seriously imbalancing the Universe below. Perhaps a hint here, a nudge there to demonstrate that I am their Creator - but, no, that's too subtle. These humans need more palpable signs.
"Let them guffaw", he cackles. "they'll become Believers soon enough. Wait until they pop that pod, expecting energy credits or a unit clone, only to find a monster Sealurk ot Demon Boil. Then they will believe and marvel at my Creation. When they enter that fungus patch and encounter not one, not five, but a dozen Demon Isles of the Deep, lurking there for a century, then they will be in awe of GooglieGod's creatures.
"And if not then, eventually they will be called to account by my messenger, Miriam, bearing the Sword of Wrath, or by my Angels, sent to penetrate their puny datalink defenses with searing bolts of righteousness.
"Then they'll see there is a God"
GooglieGod cackles soundlessly, then hits the 'Submit Reply' button and shuffles off to refil the coffee mug.
His clawlike fingers, frozen by an eternity of clutching the mouse, peck away at the keyboard as he reads yet another of these minions' missives.
"How can I convince them of my existence?", he mutters, "without seriously imbalancing the Universe below. Perhaps a hint here, a nudge there to demonstrate that I am their Creator - but, no, that's too subtle. These humans need more palpable signs.
"Let them guffaw", he cackles. "they'll become Believers soon enough. Wait until they pop that pod, expecting energy credits or a unit clone, only to find a monster Sealurk ot Demon Boil. Then they will believe and marvel at my Creation. When they enter that fungus patch and encounter not one, not five, but a dozen Demon Isles of the Deep, lurking there for a century, then they will be in awe of GooglieGod's creatures.
"And if not then, eventually they will be called to account by my messenger, Miriam, bearing the Sword of Wrath, or by my Angels, sent to penetrate their puny datalink defenses with searing bolts of righteousness.
"Then they'll see there is a God"
GooglieGod cackles soundlessly, then hits the 'Submit Reply' button and shuffles off to refil the coffee mug.
<-- GOOGLIE, our GOD
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