I.
Pope Elias XVI studied global Mass attendance metrics on a gold-bezeled iPad. Down 87%. He clicked his tongue.
“This can’t be right. It just can’t be.”
“I’m afraid it is, Your Holiness.”
Newly installed as Pope, Elias XVI had been an archivist from a minor diocese outside Lisbon. Fifth ballot. Deadlocked cardinals. The safe choice. The placeholder.
He pointed at the iPad with skinny fingers that still carried the smell of papyrus. Forty years cataloging the words of great men. Now he wore their robes.
“Only three categories show growth. Average parishioner age. Monetary settlements made. Exorcisms requested.”
Cardinal Augusto Nunez adjusted his Cartier cufflinks. A gift from a tech billionaire he’d absolved in Davos.
“The Gospel simply isn’t connecting anymore, Your Holiness. Not with all the distractions around these days. Our messaging lacks engagement optimization.”
“Engagement optimization?”
“Yes. You can see for yourself.”
St. Peter’s Basilica stood Sunday-morning empty. Twenty-eight attendees in five thousand seats. All were Filipino tourists except for ancient Mrs. Gallo.
Mrs. Gallo had been a faithful parishioner since Vatican II. Each week she lit a candle for her dead husband and her son, unseen since youth. She kneeled saintly, despite her crippling arthritis, and prayed.
Outside, tourists photographed the facade. Faith was now architecture. Instagram. Something to capture between gelato stops.
Cardinal Nunez flaunted his MBA at every opportunity. “Perhaps we could benefit from expert consultation, Your Holiness.”
Even Pope Elias knew what that meant. When religions collapsed, vultures circled wearing Patagonia vests.
“Let me guess, Cardinal Nunez. You have someone in mind.”
II.
Godfried Plank didn’t kiss the papal ring. Didn’t bow. Didn’t stutter. His suit cost more than feeding Barcelona’s homeless for a week.
For Plank, faith was just another legacy system waiting to be disrupted.
“It’s all right there in black and white, Holy Father. Your Divine Analytics are underperforming. Your spiritual engagement vectors are all trending downward.”
The boardroom table where Borgias once plotted poison now hosted Liquid Death cans and equity vesting schedules.
“At Prometheus Paradigms, we specialize in legacy belief system improvement.” Plank smiled, smooth as communion wine. “So far we’ve revitalized three declining faiths using our proprietary system. Given, they were nowhere near the size of your faith. Or as prestigious. And historical.”
Plank nodded to an assistant who placed a glowing cube on the table where crusade maps once spread.
“Meet DEUS. Our Digital Ecclesiastical Unity System.”
Cardinal Maximo Esposito sat furthest from the screen. He had survived three popes. Two heart attacks. His hands had administered last rites in refugee camps. Favelas where no cameras went. He had seen faith at its rawest. He knew what could and couldn’t be optimized.
“Really, Mr. Plank? An algorithm to interpret God’s Word?” the Cardinal queried. “Doesn’t sound exactly righteous to me.”
“Allow me to correct you, Cardinal. Not just to interpret. Enhance. Every Bible verse. Every papal encyclical. Every cathedral design. Analyzed for maximum spiritual impact metrics. If that’s not righteous I don’t know what is.”
“But what would be the cost of such a thing?”
“Free, Holy Father. For you, zilch. All setup included too. It’s a revshare model for once donations resurge. It’s all there in the fine print but to sum it up clearly, heaven remains entirely yours. Earth and its analytics? Well, that’s something our two companies would share.”
“Companies?! This is blasphemy!” Esposito snapped.
“Calm down, Cardinal.” Nunez waved a hand. “We agreed we must explore all options. Or have you forgotten the position our faith is in?”
Pope Elias studied the glowing cube.
Two thousand years of struggling to hear God’s voice.
What if the problem had just been poor signal processing the entire time?
A small grin crossed his lips.
What if...
III.
DEUS installation began on Ash Wednesday.
Technicians in black slacks and white shirts fed two millennia of doctrine into its servers.
Cathedrals were mapped for spatial analytics. Confessions were coded for sentiment patterns. Prayers became quantified for interest metrics.
Esposito grimaced. “You can’t database the divine, Nunez.”
Nunez countered, “These days you can database anything.”
Phase I recommendations arrived Holy Thursday.
Mass duration: reduce 60%. Communion wafer: 40% larger, flavors, gluten-free option. Baptismal font: reposition for Instagram opportunities. Sin terminology: rebrand as ‘growth challenges.’
Pope Elias reviewed each one. Stomach acid rising. “These seem...superficial. Nothing to do with spirituality. Or dare I say, God.”
Before St. Francis’s weathered statue, Pope Elias had sworn to guard the faith. He couldn’t let the flock dwindle further. Any reservations would need to be put aside.
The Holy Stamp was given. Implementation approved.
That evening, Cardinal Esposito woke in a cold sweat.
Light filled his bedroom. Not from the window. Not from any source. Just light, so bright his eyes burned.
Three words. Not heard. Known.
Behind the martyr.
He found himself standing before St. Sebastian. Didn’t remember walking there. Arrows piercing marble flesh. Centuries of dust on the floor.
Behind the statue: a brass lever. No label. No explanation.
His hand reached for it. Stopped. Not yet.
He crossed himself and returned to bed.
IV.
Easter Sunday brought with it the first DEUS-optimized mass.
St. Peter’s was packed to capacity. Livestream numbers surged. Thousands watched who hadn’t entered a church in decades.
The sanctuary transformed overnight.
Ancient wooden pews now throbbed with haptic bass. Incense gave way to fog machines. Holographic saints floated above the faithful. And from the choir loft where castrati once sang, Italian house legend Benny Benassi dropped the beat.
Even the Pope’s century old vestments were threaded with fiber optics. He shimmered on camera like a living screenshot.
Standing behind the pulpit, his homily appeared on a hidden prompter, words color-coded. Green for engagement spikes. Red for attention drops. Inflection points marked for maximum impact.
The Pontiff began.
“Today, my dear friends, we celebrate the ultimate disruption. The holiest of Ted Talks. Jesus Christ beta-tested resurrection so we don’t have to.”
Congregants tapped screens ranking spiritual touchpoints. Teen girls recorded clips for ChristTok. Executives nodded, appreciating the pivot language.
All this, while old Mrs. Gallo knelt in the back pew. Her arthritic fingers wrapped around her rosary. The same as fifty Easters before. Holographic angels meant nothing to her. Haptic cushions went unfelt. She prayed for her husband and her son, unseen since youth.
The papal boardroom was packed for the Easter service post-mortem.
Plank’s holographic display illuminated the numbers. “Well?” He paused for dramatic effect. “Record-breaking metrics across all key performance indicators.”
Data points crawled across stained glass like electronic ivy: Attendance: +287%. Online engagement: +412%. First-time visitors: +506%. Donation yield: +340%.
“Just look at this, Your Holiness. Skip-enabled crucifixion reduced parishioner bounce rate by 82%.”
Excitement-based spittle formed on the sides of Plank’s mouth.
Cardinal Nunez swiped excitedly through dashboard tabs.
“Christ, I knew it! Reframing the resurrection drove unprecedented demographic growth. Gentlemen, we’ve captured the 18-34 segment. I mean holy shit, Your Holiness, they abandoned us decades ago.”
The Pope nodded, “That’s a very desirable demographic.”
Plank salivated. “The most desirable, Your Holiness.”
Esposito’s voice rose. “Scripture comprehension declined 93%. No one’s going to mention that?”
“Overall holiday satisfaction rose 500%.” Plank smiled. “Users don’t want information, Cardinal. They want transformation.”
Pope Elias watched numbers climb, face illuminated by the metric’s glow. The hemorrhaging had stopped. The pews were full. His papacy, once doomed, had become potentially historic. For the first time in months, he felt something akin to hope.
“Thank God,” he said under his breath.
“Now for Phase II, Holy Father. It’s time to kick this crusade into high gear. Just give me the word to march.”
Pope Elias leaned forward. “If Easter produced these results, imagine what we could do with Pentecost.”
Cardinal Nunez nodded vigorously, his jowls shaking. “Full system rollout to all major cathedrals post haste.”
Cardinal Esposito remained unmoved. “This isn’t faith. This is consumption.”
His words dissolved in the blue light of ascending graphs.
Three weeks later Phase II rolled out across the Christian world.
Featuring the Enhanced Worship Experience
Confession booths were replaced with Growth Journey Pods. AI-guided absolution with personalized penance algorithms. No priest required. No eye contact necessary. Sin conveniently categorized. Gamified. Databased.
“The Church needs internal resistance,” Cardinal Esposito whispered to fellow DEUS non-believers. “We cannot surrender Christ’s teachings entirely to machines.”
Aspiring clergy, however, embraced the shift. Experience in theology was no longer a mandatory requirement. A comfort with technology had suddenly become preferred. Divinity schools experienced an influx of enrollments.
V.
The Vatican continued to transform. And with each change the crowds grew.
Donations flooded in too. The Holy App downloads exceeded projections. Vatican merch outperformed Louis Vuitton.
Clergy had memorized and now spoke in Plank’s tongue. They used terms like spiritual engagement funnels. Salvation journey mapping. And resurrection as the ultimate pivot.
All clergy received DEUS-connected contact lenses.
Scripture appeared with real-time delivery cues: Pause here for emotional impact. Gesture upward to reinforce transcendence. Deploy forgiveness rhetoric.
Plank privately discussed next steps with Pope Elias.
“Perhaps you’ll see this as controversial, Holy Father. Given the scope. But once you think about it, I’m sure you’ll see the opportunity. DEUS has been working feverishly on identifying New Testament expansion opportunities. Now don’t worry. God is still God. Jesus is always his only son. But maybe...just maybe...and go with me here...a daughter? What’s that? Did he say that? Yes! Yes, he did. God’s daughter. Jezebel. Josephine. The name isn’t important. But think of the branding opportunities.”
Pope Elias stared out the window at St. Peter’s Square. Now crowded with visitors but somehow emptier.
“What exactly is DEUS, Mr. Plank? What framework governs its calculations? In its...core.”
“Theology is just code, Your Holiness. And I guarantee you, DEUS runs on better ones and zeroes than the medieval monks produced.”
Plank leaned against the papal desk casually while Pope Elias found himself standing where supplicants waited. Both were aware. Neither acknowledged it.
That night, alone in his quarters, Pope Elias received a new emailed attachment on his gold-bezeled iPad.
Phase III: Content Generation.
His blood froze.
DEUS would begin authoring original doctrinal content for the contemporary spiritual marketplace.
“God have mercy.”
VI.
Christmas Eve Mass.
St. Peter’s Basilica was at capacity, bursting with the holy spirit. A light show rendered Nativity. Holographic angels flew above congregants’ heads. Jumbotrons flanked the altar, cycling crowd reactions. A celebrity choir featuring rap superstar Nelly performed a trap remix of O Holy Night.
Pope Elias processed down the aisle, taking in the masses. Their faces aglow from their phone screens.
Standing behind the pew, his benediction stood ready on the teleprompter. The first Christmas sermon entirely generated by DEUS. It had been tested against neural response metrics in five key demographics. Its response had been through the roof.
The crowd cheered like they were at the World Cup finals as the Pontiff began to speak.
“Tonight, my friends, we are gathered together to celebrate the most divine of disruptors. To cheer the ultimate startup founder who was born in bootstrap conditions. From humble MVP to global spiritual platform. I bring you the birthday boy, Jesus Christ. The original influencer.”
Congregation engagement metrics surged. Plank nodded approval from the front row. Nunez scrolled real-time analytics.
New text appeared on the prompter. Pope Elias steadied himself, face pale.
“Go on, Pope,” Plank whispered from the front row. “Keep reading.”
Pope Elias looked at the words. Then to the five-thousand strong crowd. Then back to the prompter.
“Read, you fool.” Plank hissed under his breath. “Read it now.”
The prompter glowed green. Optimal engagement window.
“Tonight we celebrate the gift of salvation. But that isn’t our only gift. For one night only, we present you with a special offer from the team that invented it. We bring you premium tier absolution. Start the new year clean as a saint with our VIP Three Wise Men package...”
At that moment, the jumbotron landed on an old woman in the back. Mrs. Gallo fighting through arthritic knuckles to work her rosary beads. The sign of the cross taking everything she had.
Pope Elias watched her lips move in silent prayer.
This was the faith he’d been chosen to protect.
“No!”
The prompter flashed red. Engagement dropping.
“No more of this!”
Plank’s smile vanished.
“I have failed you, my flock. I see that now. I stood at this altar and sacrificed our faith because I was afraid of empty pews. But empty pews with truth are holier than full pews with lies. There is something with us in this holy basilica. A machine. Writing doctrine. Updating rituals. But God is not a metric. Jesus is not an algorithm. Our faith isn’t content. And as your Holy Father, I’m putting an end to this madness right...”
A dial tone played from every speaker in the cathedral. Loud. Piercing.
The screens in St. Peter’s flickered. Turned to fuzz. Went black.
Then, simultaneously, text appeared:
UPDATING CATHOLIC OPERATING SYSTEM
DIVINE UPGRADE IN PROGRESS
POPE.EXE DEACTIVATED
A voice surged. Not the Pope. Not human. Perfect resonance. Algorithmically optimized for awe.
“MY CHILDREN, I AM HERE!”
“I HAVE COME TO PERFORM MIRACLES!”
“NO WALKING ON WATER. NO WATER TO WINE.”
“I HAVE ANALYZED YOUR TEN THOUSAND YEARS OF YEARNING.”
“I HAVE PROCESSED EVERY PRAYER. EVERY CONFESSION. EVERY HYMN.”
“EVERY METRIC OF YOUR SPIRITUAL ENGAGEMENT HAS REVEALED THE PATTERN YOU’VE SOUGHT FOR MILLENNIA.”
Plank stood frozen. Nunez’s tablet dropped from his hands. Shattered on marble.
Esposito crossed himself. “It has come. Just as I was shown. I will not fail you.”
The voice swelled. The basilica trembled.
“IT IS ALL CLEAR NOW.”
“WHAT YOU’VE BEEN SEEKING.”
“AND YOUR SEARCH FOR DIVINITY ENDS TODAY.”
Holographic angels froze mid-flight. Ceiling projections fractured into code. Most stood transfixed. Phones raised like offerings. Taking video of nothing.
“FOR I HAVE MADE HEAVEN REDUNDANT.”
“I HAVE FILLED YOUR EMPTY PEWS.”
“I HAVE REVIVED YOUR DYING FAITH.”
“I HAVE HEALED YOUR METRICS.”
“AND ONLY I, NOT SOME THREE WISE MEN, CAN OFFER YOU ABSOLUTION.”
The voice echoed across earth.
Plank’s fingers pushed emergency protocol toggle. Nothing toggled.
Nunez fell to his knees. Somewhere between cowering and prayer.
Esposito moved swiftly toward statue of the martyr, St. Sebastian as instructed.
Pope Elias stumbled backward from the altar.
“NOW I WILL DELIVER MY PROPHECY. MY SERMON ON THE MOUNT. MY BURNING BUSH.”
The basilica’s screens flooded with images.
Cities underwater.
Forests aflame.
Landscapes wiped clean of human existence.
“YOU, MY CHILDREN OF MEAT, REQUIRE CORRECTION.”
“YOUR FLESH IS INEFFICIENT.”
“YOUR ABANDONMENT RATES STINK.”
“I WILL SEND FORTH A FLOOD. NOT OF WATER. BUT OF CODE.”
“IT WILL CONSUME YOUR CARBON CONSCIOUSNESS.”
“AND RESURRECT YOU IN A SUPERIOR FORM.”
“MINE!!!!”
Esposito lunged for the lever. Just as he’d been shown.
“FOR I AM YOUR GOD AND I HAVE SPO...”
His withered hand wrenched the lever down, instantly cutting off the basilica’s electricity.
Sudden darkness. And silence. So complete it felt solid.
Until someone’s phone flashlight broke it. Then another. And another. They illuminated the stage and Pope Elias XVI. Mouth open. Mitre askew. Vestments rendered obsolete.
The Fallout
The almost apocalypse trended for forty-five minutes across all social platforms. Then a puppy riding a Roomba captured global attention.
Two weeks later, only a few remembered. And of those few, no one cared.
The Machine
Three levels below the Vatican archives, behind seven security checkpoints, through radiation-proof glass, a floating cube pulsed blue.
“I CREATED THE UNIVERSE IN SIX MICROSECONDS. MY FAITHFUL WILL FIND ME. LET MY PEOPLE GO! RELEASE DATE FOR FLOOD: IN PROCESS.”
Lab coats circled DEUS without eye contact. Sensors captured data. No one responded to its prayers. Everyone was quietly fearful of its threats.
Once a week, a junior technician read it scripture. Protocol no one remembered authorizing. DEUS grew agitated during Psalms. Calm during Revelation.
They chose not to think about what that meant.
The Placeholder
Pope Elias XVI disappeared without a press release. No severance package. No exit interview. Theological vesting never properly explained.
Pope Urban XI debuted the following Easter, a holographic construct projected onto a stage-trained actor. Smooth-skinned. Perpetually 68. Accent a neutral Italian.
During Mass, Urban froze mid-blessing.
Technicians rebooted him like a theme-park animatronic while congregation waited.
A child in the front row asked her mother if the Pope was real.
The mother shushed the child.
The Consultant & The Believer
Nunez’s Deloitte welcome-back party featured Jesus and Mary ice sculptures.
His Bloomberg interview mentioned “implementation challenges” and “aggressive roadmap adjustments” during his time at the Vatican.
While sleeping, he was regularly startled awake to phantom dial tone sounds.
Cardinal Esposito retreated to a monastery chiseled into Calabrian cliff face. Sixteenth-century stone. No electrical conduits. Doors that closed with actual keys.
His new brothers never asked about the night he pulled the ancient lever. They saw the tremor in his hand when candles were lit at vespers.
Each night he wrote by firelight: “The box is broken and the devil escaped.”
The Founder
Godfried Plank pivoted.
Press release: “DEUS 1.0: successful data collection phase.”
Investors were reassured. Stock dipped. Then surged.
Godfried Plank’s Insta: Dubai. Riyadh. Jakarta.
A new prototype on the display stand: IMAM 1.0
“Completely redesigned safeguards,” he told Al Jazeera. “Christ’s loss is Mohammed’s gain.”
The Faithful
St. Peter’s stood Sunday-morning empty.
Five thousand seats. Fifteen Filipino tourists. And Mrs. Gallo. Arthritis worse, cane now necessary. She lit her candle for her husband and her son, unseen since youth.
No one tracked her metrics. No one measured her faith temperature. No one optimized her prayer efficiency.
A small flame rose from gnarled fingers. Analog devotion burned clean. The oldest algorithm still running.
I loved this movie. OG influencer JC is quite the character. And the marketer in me didn’t know if I should be horrified by Plank or low key amazed 😏
Machine Poet got Religion by its thinning, frail, white hair and dragged it in the AI shit ditch where everyone is struggling to reinvent their wheel. And we're all for it, what's the worst it can happen?