The Apple
“You’re all under Satan’s spell!” The preacher’s voice cut through the bustling campus courtyard like a hammer striking steel. He stood on the wide stone steps, Bible clutched tightly in his hand, eyes blazing with the fire of certainty.
“You think you’re free because you have all your needs met, but you are slaves! Slaves to the lie that knowledge will save you! Slaves to Satan’s deception!” His words rang out, challenging the students walking past, some ignoring him, others slowing to listen.
A few snickers came from the growing crowd that circled him. “This guy again?” someone muttered.
“Hell is your destiny unless you repent!” the preacher continued, unfazed by the shifting energy around him. “You live in the Garden of Eden once again, and you don’t even see it! God has blessed you—freed you from toil, from struggle. Universal Basic Income, AI taking care of your needs—this is God’s gift, not man’s! But you turn away!”
A loud scoff broke the tension. “God’s gift? You mean the government’s, right?” A tall student sneered, crossing his arms.
“You’re delusional!” another shouted from the back. The crowd began to pulse with energy, voices rising in jeers and laughter.
But the preacher didn’t back down. “You laugh now, but you don’t realize you’re making the same mistake as Adam and Eve! You’ve been given paradise again, yet you choose the serpent’s path—choosing knowledge over faith. Going to this university, seeking knowledge, is how you betray God!”
The insult was instant. “Shut up, you old fool!” a student yelled. The crowd roared in agreement. Someone in the back launched a cup of coffee, the brown liquid arching through the air and splashing across the preacher’s face.
Laughter erupted as the preacher staggered, his eyes squeezing shut against the hot liquid. His hand trembled as he wiped at his face, his Bible falling to the ground with a dull thud. The crowd’s laughter echoed in the cool autumn air, growing louder as he struggled to clean himself.
But one person stayed behind, her eyes full of concern. A young woman weaved through the dispersing crowd, her hands searching her bag for a tissue.
“Here, let me help you,” she said softly, offering the napkin. “That was awful. I’m really sorry.”
The preacher blinked at her through his soaked glasses, expecting mockery but finding only sincerity. He took the tissue with a heavy sigh, wiping his face. “Thank you, child. Few here show kindness.”
The girl smiled awkwardly. “It’s not right for anyone to be treated like that. Are you… are you hungry? There’s food in the dorms. You can clean up properly.”
The preacher hesitated, but the softness in her voice disarmed him. With a nod, he followed her.
They sat across from each other in the quiet dormitory cafeteria, the preacher’s fervor still burning beneath his softened exterior. The student, leaning on her elbows, watched him carefully, a mix of curiosity and unease in her eyes.
“God has already given you all you need,” the preacher said, breaking the silence. His voice, though lower now, held the same conviction. “The world you live in—this world of comfort—is His provision. AI, UBI, all of it is Eden restored.”
The student tilted her head, her fingers idly stirring the tea in front of her. “I’m not sure I understand. How is UBI the Garden of Eden?”
“Think about it,” the preacher continued, leaning forward. “In Eden, Adam and Eve didn’t have to work. God provided everything for them. It was paradise. No suffering, no pain. Today, with Universal Basic Income, you don’t need to work. AI runs everything—provides food, shelter, security. You don’t have to toil, just as it was in Eden before the fall.”
“But…” the girl hesitated, her brows knitting in thought. “Isn’t that a good thing? If people don’t have to struggle anymore, isn’t that a blessing?”
“That’s the trap!” the preacher said, his voice sharpening again. “It’s exactly what Satan wants you to believe. Just like in Eden, God has given humanity everything they need, but there’s one thing you’re tempted by—knowledge. And just like the serpent offered Adam and Eve the fruit of knowledge, you’re being tempted by education, by universities like this, to pursue knowledge over faith.”
The student’s eyes widened slightly. “But… education isn’t evil. It’s how we grow, how we understand the world.”
“No,” the preacher said firmly, his eyes locking onto hers. “That’s the lie Satan has been whispering since the beginning. You think knowledge will bring you power, that it will make you free, but it only binds you further. By choosing knowledge over faith, you are repeating Adam and Eve’s mistake. You are turning away from God’s gift of paradise and choosing the serpent.”
The girl sat back in her chair, grappling with his words. She had never heard faith framed this way before. Her fingers tightened around the cup in front of her. “But… I’ve always believed that Jesus wanted us to love and care for each other. To learn and grow so we could understand Him better. How can knowledge be a bad thing?”
The preacher shook his head. “Jesus warned us about the narrow path. It’s not about love alone. It’s about obedience, about trust. The moment you start questioning, the moment you rely on knowledge and logic, you’re stepping off that path. You’re choosing the serpent over God.”
“But isn’t logic part of understanding the world God created?” she asked, her curiosity overtaking her discomfort. “If God gave us minds, isn’t it our duty to use them?”
“That’s exactly what the serpent wants you to believe,” he said darkly. “That you can understand the divine through human reasoning. But knowledge doesn’t bring you closer to God; it pulls you away. The more you learn, the more you rely on yourself, and the less you trust in Him. Satan’s greatest trick was convincing you that knowledge is freedom. True freedom only comes from faith—blind, unquestioning faith.”
The student looked down at her tea, unsure how to respond. She had always seen her faith as something that invited questions, that encouraged love and growth. But this man was offering a different vision, one where faith meant surrendering reason entirely. It felt… wrong. Yet there was an intensity in his belief, something that made her pause.
“I just… I d’t think learning is wrong,” she said quietly. “I believe in God. I believe in Jesus’ teachings, but I also believe we were meant to use the gifts He gave us—our minds, our ability to discover. Doesn’t that honor Him too?”
The preacher sighed, his expression softening just slightly. “You are a good soul. But the path you’re on leads to darkness. The world has made knowledge your idol, and you’ve been tricked into thinking it will save you. The Garden of Eden is here, child, and all you need to do is trust in God’s provision. Reject the serpent’s lie. Reject knowledge.”
The young woman sat in silence, her mind racing, torn between the faith she had always known and the strange, unsettling vision the preacher offered.
The preacher wiped the last bit of coffee from his face, eyes softening as he looked at the student.
“You’re struggling with what I’m saying, I can see that,” he said gently. “But sometimes words alone aren’t enough. You’ve been so entrenched in the lie, in the pursuit of knowledge, that it’s hard to understand the freedom I’m offering. Maybe if you see it for yourself…”
The student shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “See what?”
“The Garden,” he said, smiling for the first time. “Where we live. Where true believers are already free from the burden of knowledge, from sin. We live as God intended—cared for, with no need to work or think beyond worship and love.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You want me to visit?”
“I’m offering you dinner. Meet my brothers and sisters. See what real faith looks like.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine, but something about the preacher’s invitation sparked her curiosity. Against her better judgment, she found herself nodding. “Alright. I’ll come.”
A few days later, the student stood outside a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was far from what she’d expected. No garden, no trees—just a gray, looming building with a single entrance.
The preacher greeted her at the door, his earlier intensity replaced with warmth. “Welcome,” he said, ushering her inside.
As the doors slid open, she was hit by a wave of warm, artificial air. Inside, it was as if she had stepped into a different world. The temperature was perfect—neither hot nor cold—and the lighting was soft, casting a golden hue across the wide, open space. The air smelled faintly of flowers, though there were none in sight.
And there were people—at least a dozen—wandering aimlessly or lounging on enormous bean bags. They were naked, though no one seemed to notice or care. Around the edges of the room, robotic caretakers glided silently, offering drinks, snacks, adjusting the temperature, and responding to any murmured requests.
The student’s breath caught in her throat. She’d never seen anything like this.
The preacher, noticing her hesitation, smiled. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Here, we have no worries. They don’t need to think, or learn. They are free to just be, in God’s presence.”
She glanced around, eyes lingering on the disciples who appeared completely disconnected from the world around them. Her gaze shifted to the wall, where she noticed something strange: a line of sleek, black VR goggles. Many of the people lounging had them on, their heads leaned back against bean bags, faces slack with bliss.
Her stomach twisted.
“You should meet our leader,” the preacher said, guiding her through the room. “He’ll explain everything.”
They approached a dais at the far end of the warehouse, where a man sat in a comfortable chair, watching over the scene. He was striking—tall, with dark, carefully styled hair, and a sharp jawline. His eyes were warm, yet there was something calculating behind them.
The preacher knelt briefly before the man, then rose and introduced her. “This is the Reverend of Bliss,” he said, his voice filled with reverence.
The student’s heart pounded. The Reverend of Bliss. The title was unsettling, but the man’s presence was magnetic.
The Reverend smiled as he stood and approached her, taking her hand gently. “You must be the curious one I’ve heard about,” he said, his voice like honey. “It’s an honor to meet someone still wrestling with their faith. Not many people are brave enough to come here with an open mind.”
She tried to hide her discomfort, offering a weak smile. “I’m… just trying to understand.”
“I admire that,” he said, holding her gaze. “You’re like Eve, standing at the tree of knowledge, torn between the choice God gave you and the lies of the serpent.”
Her pulse quickened. “You think learning is the lie?”
“I know it is,” he said, leading her to sit on a nearby couch. “The moment we seek knowledge for its own sake, we step away from God’s will. Here, we’ve rediscovered the true Eden—a place where knowledge is unnecessary. Our disciples have been freed from the burden of thinking, of toiling. They live in pure worship, blissfully connected to God’s love.”
She glanced again at the people with their VR goggles, some of them murmuring quietly, their hands reaching out as if in prayer. “But… they’re not even aware of their surroundings. How can they worship if they don’t even think?”
The Reverend chuckled softly. “That’s where you’re mistaken. Worship is not about thinking, my dear. It’s about being. It’s about surrendering your mind, your will, your logic, and trusting fully in God. The goggles help them reach a state of pure communion, free from distraction. It is God’s perfect design.”
She hesitated, her thoughts racing. “But what about free will? Didn’t God give us minds for a reason? To make choices, to learn and grow?”
“Yes, and the ultimate choice,” the Reverend said, his tone growing more intense, “is to give that free will back to Him. The choice is not about learning, but about faith—total, unquestioning faith. What you see here is the result of that choice. They are blissful because they no longer need to know. They only need to trust.”
The student felt the weight of his words, but something inside her pushed back. “And if they don’t want to wear the goggles? What if they choose to leave?”
The Reverend’s smile faded, his eyes hardening for a brief moment before softening again. “No one leaves,” he said smoothly. “Once they’ve experienced true bliss, why would they ever want to?”
Her stomach churned. She looked around again, the disciples now appearing less like worshipers and more like prisoners in a gilded cage. The warmth of the air felt suffocating.
The Reverend leaned closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “You’re curious. I can feel it. You want to know what it’s like, don’t you? To let go of all the noise in your head, all the questions, all the doubt. To be free.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. There was something intoxicating about his words, about the way he spoke, but deep inside, a quiet voice screamed in protest.
She stood up abruptly, stepping away from him. “I—I need to think about it.”
The Reverend smiled, though his eyes darkened slightly. “Of course,” he said. “Take your time. But remember—this is the last choice you’ll ever need to make.”