A father gives his son a set of chores, dangling some sort of allowance in front of him in return.
The son smiles with a nod, respecting the wishes of the one making the demands.
“Yes, daddy.”
Dusting off the cupboards? Scrubbing the counters?
“Yes daddy, anything for you.”
And all for the chores that boy does?
A few bucks a week. Maybe twenty if he kept the edges on the lawn nice and neat.
But what happens if that boy gets a chore incomplete?
No allowance for him.
“Yes, daddy. I’m sorry.”
Begging for forgiveness, and hoping the father takes pity on him.
And if that boy gets a chore wrong?
Lord help him.
Spare the rod, spoil the child.
Discipline is exercised to make sure the boy knows his place…to follow the rules.
And with just the right pressure applied, the father gets the response he wants.
The one he demands.
“Yes, daddy.”
And what is the greatest conceit of religion?
Following rules for the sake of some great reward.
Or at least, to avoid the wrath of your Father up above.
Follow these ten or so commandments, make sure you follow them to the letter.
Do what you’re told, and you will receive your fair share of the heavenly treasure.
But get it wrong, and punishment will follow.
Call it karma, call it an act of God, but whatever it is will leave you on your knees.
Praying, looking for guidance, acknowledging His almighty will.
“Yes, daddy.”
Oh sure, there was a time for such childish things, wasn’t there…Sanctus?
Before everything you knew was washed away in the proverbial flood.
When the slate was wiped clean of its precious gods.
And what did that leave you, Bellator?
No one to hear your prayers, your cries to the heavens.
No daddy to please.
Much like the loss of your earthly father, the destruction of Yahweh was too much for you to bear.
You needed a set of rules to follow.
A reward to work toward.
A punishment to fear.
Such a calling eventually drew you to your uncle, Solomon Rhodes.
The only family you still had around.
And he was quick to give you rules and commandments to follow.
All for the sake of bringing back the God you once cherished.
You engage in these zealous acts alongside the likes of Renault, and now Gable, and for what?
For the approval of your surrogate father here on Earth.
And all so that you can turn to Solomon, with a smile hidden deep behind that mask.
“Yes, daddy.”
It’s pathetic.
It makes me sick.
And I won’t stand to watch you kowtow to a madman’s desires.
When you step inside the Slaughterhouse henceforth, I make the rules.
And you will follow them to the letter.
The only reward you’ll get is what I provide you.
The only punishment you should fear is what I can do to you.
And when I’m through, I want your acknowledgment, Sanctus.
“Yes, daddy.”