Freddy McDonald wasn't your average African-American. He wasn't average in the sense that he carried a gun in a time where guns were largely outlawed in most states. In fact, guns were outlawed in every state. He wasn't average because he carried a gun because the system had eroded to the point that you'd rather shoot a police officer than be arrested by one. Although a larger percentage of police officers were black now but that generally didn't stop the system from coming down on the black community the hardest. Somehow the white folks seemed to still have it best. Ever since the Church had been outlawed, Freddy had carried a gun. All states had decided, without too much approval from the public, to outlaw religion. The year was 2148, when the law against religion had been proposed, the population didn't even bother to protest. Freddy and a few others continued the faith. But Freddy had feared the system was winning. A secret chain of communication between the last remaining churches, if one could call them that, was maintained as diligently as possible. Freddy had long since given up on the bible as anything more than a recipe book for the success of civilizations, although even the recipes were hard to find. Often when a courier would bring him news from some part of the Church's secret communication network, he felt a pang of annoyance at peoples' silly religious faith, the ridiculous statements he'd find in letters from other priests led Freddy to believe the Church was rightly outlawed some days. Why he'd continued on as a priest despite his general dislike of the entire mess was beyond Freddy himself. Instead of Sundays, the people would meet on a random day of the week, they also wouldn't meet in a large group. The services would be split into 3 identical services during the same selected day. Freddy didn't miss the organ music at all. Largely he'd drifted further and further away from standard church procedures and began to discuss ideas with his flock, he'd ceased preaching and began to emerge simply as a wise guide as the last meek humans tried to endure the hardships this modern world fiercely tried to crush them with.
On this particular day, Freddy was feeling less depressed than usual with the state of the world. Essentially humanity had become a slave race. Morality and ethics were so dead their letters on their tombstone had weathered off. Humanity was no longer conscious of itself. It was a collective delusion, far beyond all collective delusions that had come before. Ideas were bred in laboratories and fed into the minds of the people through every conceivable media outlet. All the self destructive knobs on people were pushed and twisted. The souls were bound by the vast spectrum of apparently healthy addictions and all insanity that didn't harm the state's gluttonous tentacles was rigorously encouraged. Alongside the random days for meeting, the location where the last remnants of hopeless cluster of individuals that was the Church was randomized, each week someone would offer up their home, with it this had brought an odd sense of dedication to the Church which Freddy had found refreshing, it was tangible, instead of false affirmations about love of God while people were selfishly pursuing some gain from the Church, the opposite was now true. People loved each other and humanity. Freddy lit a cigarette and sipped on some Scotch.
Freddy wondered if society would ever heal. It had all gone very wrong after the government had decided to in essence, computerize the government itself. Under most circumstances, resources are decided by the free market, but as resources on the earth had dwindled, the government had started to collect vast pools of information and allow complex computer programs to create humanity's policies. Any government which didn't comply found itself on the wrong side of more than a few gun barrels. Resistance had quickly been crushed. Ironically, Scotch and cigarettes were both illegal. Freddy's Church was a distribution center for what was essentially the mafia or the black market. Freddy wasn't sure what to call the distribution of bottles of Scotch or cigarettes. The whole scenario had started out when Freddy had needed wine, which had been made illegal. He could have used grape juice, but that would have made his usual nightcap less interesting.
Freddy inhaled, looked at his watch, people would be arriving at about noon, in about 40 minutes. The grass outside his house needed to be cut. It had grown considerably longer than Freddy would normally have let it.
A voice said "Don't move", and Freddy felt a gun being pressed to the back of his head.