9:25pm, June 25, Wilkenson, Kansas "Listen to me, my children," Reverend Locke said in his deep voice. "We have faced persecution from the untold multitude of Sinners that besmirch this great land. We have stood tall against their stones. We have protected ourselves, when they tried to take our children from us, using their immoral laws. We have persevered, and grown strong as we faced the trials sent by the Great Lord God." He raised his hands high over his head as he spoke, provoking a loud "AMEN!" from the congregation. "We have faced doubts from within. People have left us, and spoken lies about our ways. Calling us Devil Worshippers, Liers, and Evil. But they were the weak. They were the unworthy. They had their chance at Glory, acting as the Heralds for The Most Holy Son. And they spit on it." He paused for a moment, as the congregation growled their contempt for their former brethren. Reverend Locke wiped the sweat from his brow, and smoothed his black hair. His dark skin gleamed under the fluorescent light. Smiling he looked down upon the two hundred believers. Soon they would take their rightful place in the world. "Now my people, the time has come. The Most Holy Son told me, as He saved me from the very Gates of Hell, that He would return. He came to me again last night. In a beautiful vision He told me that tonight was the time." He flung open the dark curtains behind him, revealing the hazy, reddish, storm light that covered the barren Kansas plain. "When He first graced the World, He came as a Babe. Now in this time of true wickedness, He comes as a Man, heralded by Storms. He will cleanse the World. We, the True Believers, must be there to show that there is still some Holiness in the World," he stopped once more. The Congregation was wildly shouting their praises to the Heavens. No noise could be heard over the sound of the hundred voices. Reverend Locke slowly removed his white shirt, revealing the hideous scares he had recieved years ago. He should have died on the operating table. The years of abuse he had inflicted on himself had destroyed his organs. But even as the doctors despaired, The Holy Son had appeared, and like Lazerus, Locke had lived again. With a mission. Fifteen, long, weary, back breaking, and yet so satisfying, years later, it was finally all about to come to fruition. The Congregation slowly quieted, as they looked reverently at his Holy scars. Silence descended in the church when Reverend Locke slowly wrapped the leather bands that marked his office around his wrists. "Now my children," he said once he finished. "Let us pray, before we go out to meet His Most Holy Son." A hundred heads bowed low. A low rumble of a hundred whispered voices filled the church, answering the rumbling thunder outside. ***** 3:30am, June 26, Wilkenson, Kansas The tv reporter brushed the hair out of her eyes, and cursed the rain. It was playing merry hell with the sound, and the raincoat ruined her image. Even worse, she was missing most of her crew. The news was too unexpected, and only her and the camera man had been available. Of course, she thought to herself, it was a story of a lifetime. "We're live in five, four, three," the camera man counted down the last two numbers with his fingers. "Hello. I'm live outside the small town of Wilkenson, Kansas, to report on an unprecedented incident. Not only was the town of Wilkenson devastated by an estimated five tornados, which early reports have declared category four, destroying most of the town. But we have confirmation that a local cult, with an estimated one hundred fifty members, was holding an outdoor religious ceremony when the tornados hit. Rescue teams have only been able to enter the area in the last half hour," she stopped as a gust of wind nearly blew her over. "As you can see the weather is slowing rescue efforts. And much of the focus is on the people trapped in the ruins of Wilkenson. But we have video, from at least one amature storm chaser, which clearly shows the cult leaving their compound early in the storm. It is believed that anyone outside once the tornados hit could not have survived. We'll be keeping you informed as more information comes in. Back to you Leslie," she said. The camera man gave her the all clear, and quickly headed for the news van. She beat him to it. As she stripped off the drenched raincoat, she cursed the stupid cultists that had let themselves get killed on a night like this.