The old man leaned toward the cage and said,
"My name is Marton, and I'm a priest of the Rukhari faith and a police officer who reviewed your case. If I could mark you as a follower of Rukhar before your death, you could get a chance at paradise. I humbly request that you allow me to convert you before your eventual demise."
Dwax thought a bit and accepted.
"Do what you will, Marton. I'm going to die anyway. What's the difference between dying as a Rukhari and dying as any other religion under the stars anyway? It's all the same."
The old man smiled.
"That's alright. Rukhar doesn't require you to believe anyway. You just have to do the ritual, and you will become his child in the world."
Dwax scratched his chin.
"Do it."
Marton happily stood up and disappeared at the end of the coridor. Dwax couldn't see him anymore. He laid on the soft mattress of his cell and watched the fluorescent lights flicker. He remembered all the times he had to sleep on cardboard.
He has been getting meals every morning and every evening. He couldn't dream of getting this much food back on the streets. The people might be allowing him to live in this paradise before killing him. The mere thought of it sent Dwax into a sour mood. All he wanted was to live this life outside. Was that too much to ask?
While Dwax was thinking, Marton returned. He had three cups. One had ink, one had blood, and one had ash. There was a fresh wound in Marton's hand. The blood was Marton's blood.
"O exalted one who keeps the stars in his palm, please keep us in your mind and allow us to enter your paradise. This young sinner wishes to convert to your covenant. Please take mercy on him and cleanse him with your blood. Burn his evil away with your simmering ashes. And write your glorious name on his heart with your ink."
Marton gestured for Dwax to approach him. Dwax obliged. He smeared blood on the young man's forehead. He then smeared ash over his eyelids. Finally, he wrote "Rukhar" in a stylized way on Dwax's bare chest, over where his heart is.
Marton then smiled, satisfied.
"Welcome to the faith, brother."
Dwax smiled back.
"I don't have much time left. Will you visit me in the meantime?"
Marton couldn't refuse Dwax's expectant eyes. This was the last wish of a life cut short anyway. He would do whatever he could to ease his suffering until the very end. This young man was not a monster like many who found themselves in these cells. He was just an unfortunate boy.
"Of course, I will visit you."
In the coming days, he came just as he promised. However, each time he visited, he was visibly sicker.
Marton held a special place in Dwax's heart. He was the only person who had been nice to him since his mother died a miserable death at the hands of other homeless people.
"Cough cough. I don't think I can visit you anymore. I'm quite sick, you see. I came to you today to inform you that your execution has been postponed indefinitely. We can't afford to lose a healthy individual."
Marton flipped the rag he had been coughing into to reveal a bright red bloodstain. It wasn't just him. A large majority of the prison population was also affected. People were dying left and right. Worse yet, everyone was displaying different symptoms. The sickness eluded every bit of classification. The sickness mostly showed itself by creating cancerous growths on its victims. Something in Dwax's genome had saved him. He didn't know what that was, but he was grateful for it.
Marton tried to unlock Dwax's cell, but his deformed fingers didn't trigger the finger scan.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." He disappeared for ten minutes and unlocked the cell from the mainframe manually. Dwax walked out. He waited for Martin to come back outside of his cell.
Marton hobbled back to where Dwax was.
"Dwax, I have a request from you. This is really important for me. Do you understand?"
Dwax knitted his brows.
"Do tell."
Marton grimly stared at Dwax. He was having a hard time saying it.
"I'm dying, Dwax."
Marton gestured toward the prisoner that was neighboring Dwax's cell. The prisoner's face was melting off his skull. Whatever had hit Marton hit that prisoner even harder. Pained moans reverberated through the jail cells. Although these people weren't upstanding members of society, they still didn't deserve this.
"We have been attacked by mutagen bioweapons launched from orbit. Large swaths of the population have been infected. Very few are unblemished."
Marton held Dwax by the shoulders with his eyes begging. Pus from his scarred hands stuck to Dwax's skin.
"Give me a proper funeral, brother. Give me a funeral of ash. Burn me. I don't want to rot where I fell. "
Dwax wanted to do right by his friend Marton. His heart was being torn to pieces every time Marton coughed.
"I will, brother. I swear by Rukhar's name."
Marton's miserable eyes gleamed with appreciation. A huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Come to our temple. We have been holding a prayer since our fate was sealed. Come join us. "
Dwax smiled at Marton.
"Of course, friend. I'll do anything for you."
Marton picked up a bag and filled it with canned food. He understood what was awaiting Dwax after the sickness burned through the world. He wanted to give Dwax the best chance he could.
Dwax had nothing anyway. What was he going to do? Return to his home? He didn't have a home. He was alright about loitering around a temple a bit for a friend. A friend is the scarcest commodity in this world. Dwax thought he should value the one he got while he still had him. Marton sat in his car and typed an address. He then laid on his back. The small bit of walking he did had tired him out. He was pretty old, to begin with, and the sickness was not doing him any favors. Scenes of sidewalks strewn with corpses flew by as the car carried the two to their destination. The scenes were nothing short of heartbreaking.
The car suddenly stopped in front of a building. It was a grand cathedral among towering skyscrapers. The temple was crowded. Those who seek solace in the embrace of their gods had flocked to this place one last time.
There was a huge bonfire in the garden. Upon closer inspection, the human figures could be made out among the crackling wooden furniture. Dwax looked around. The worshippers bowed down and begged toward a statue of a man on fire. It was the statue of Rukhar. The image of the god in the universe. The worshippers believed he had been besmirched through the hypocritical media's ink, after which it had been burned and mutilated. Thus, the faith incorporated blood, ash, and ink as its symbols.
The blood and ash symbolized holiness, and the ink symbolized sin. By accepting all three, the worshippers accepted that they were two-thirds divine and one-third unholy. They then, by accepting their sinfulness, gained the right to ask for forgiveness. Rituals included the other two holy things: blood and ash.
A haggard-looking woman walked up to a certain member of the congregation. The person was dead. She whistled for the other congregation members to come. The able-bodied among the diseased carried the dead man near the bonfire. They hurled his body into the fire and watched it engulf the man as they offered their prayers.
Marton gestured toward a lawn chair. They sat facing each other, and Marton started talking.
"I had three grandchildren. They are all dead now. Cancer takes young bodies faster."
cough cough
"Will you remember me, Dwax? There is no one left to remember me anymore."
Dwax felt like something sat on his heart. He swallowed his tears.
"I will remember you, old man. Don't worry."
Time flowed, and one by one, the congregation members found themselves in the fire. The people who remained were too sick and too old to carry anyone else into the fire. That included Marton.
Dwax took it upon himself to carry the dead into the fire. He was a malnourished man, and it was not easy for him to do so. He nonetheless persevered. He would check for a pulse on the people who seemed out of it, and if they were dead, he would try and haul them into the fire.
While he was doing that, Marton watched him with a faint smile on his face. He was glad that he did good by releasing this boy from jail. As he slowly drifted into that eternal sleep, he thought of his family and his grandchildren. He was going to meet them in paradise.
Dwax put his fingers on Marton's neck and started crying.