Frostpunk Divine Throne-Chapter 28: Joseph (Two)

"What supported you?" Cyren looked at him, "You embezzled and amassed wealth, overstepped your authority... You anticipated becoming that power individual you imagined, fantasizing about the enjoyment brought by power."
"In your former ideology, all authority is essentially tyrants craving flattery."
Joseph didn't dare look at him, only prostrating beneath him.
"Then I appeared." Cyren said.
Joseph trembled.
"I'm different from those superiors you encountered before. I told you I don't require your flattery, only your ability. I treat you all equally. I want neither money nor applause, this destroyed the cognition you constructed over decades."
"If you're not a dog, then who are you?"
Cyren gazed at him. He knew in Joseph's fantasy, that big Other also gazed at him like this. That was a big Other filled with violence and craving flattery. In his gaze and desire, Joseph transformed his entirety into the Other's desire.
An example would be, someone influenced by videos or articles, sometimes feeling they're not white enough, sometimes not tall enough, sometimes thinking they should have abs, sometimes feeling they should be more youthful, sometimes anxious about education, sometimes about appearance.
He viewed all external voices as a personified, objectified big Other, that is, [others' opinions]. That critical Other demands this one moment, demands that the next. A mentally disordered big Other.
And he viewed his own body as the big Other's desired object. To satisfy that mentally disordered big Other's desire, constantly anxious, constantly catering to that gaze.
Joseph was an extreme version of this mentality. He completely transformed his body into the object of the big Other's desire, sinking into it.
Cyren's arrival shattered his fantasy of the big Other, so that violent big Other was fake. There were other people. This was certainly good, but if so, who was Joseph?
His entire being was constructed in that gaze of desire. If that gaze was essentially false, then who was he? What was his meaning? Why did he live?
So he raised the gun.
"What you wanted to shoot wasn't me, but the trauma triggering your collapse." Cyren pulled him up, looking at his eyes, "You can't bear me looking at you like this, because that's not the gaze from superiors you imagined."
Joseph avoided his sight. His face had long since been covered in tears and grease from crying.
"I am your demon. My existence destroyed your fantasy and meaning. As long as I'm alive, your world won't repair." Cyren forcibly turned his head.
"Creatures who stay in darkness too long cannot even bear sunlight."
"You cannot bear experiencing the pain of reconstructing self again. You attempted to fill the abyss left after worldview collapse with violence. As long as I died, everything would return to that safe state for you."
"I ignited your sin, but burning out one's own evil is too painful, so you chose to kill me."
Joseph didn't answer. He was held by soldiers like a puppet.
Cyren looked at him with a complex expression.
"Father Joseph Hughes, former parish priest of Cylin Church. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, in my capacity as your direct superior, Bishop of Saint Lucia Cathedral, I announce the stripping of your priest title, transferring you to doorkeeper of Saint Lucia Cathedral."
He announced.
"As I said before, I forgive that shot you fired, but the evil you did before needs atonement. I have no authority to forgive you on behalf of people."
Joseph seemed to relax entirely. His whole person slumped on the ground. An unprecedented relief spread through his heart.
The status and position he'd exchanged twenty years for vanished into smoke. He became that doorkeeper again. But those sins and twisted memories also seemed to leave him. He looked at Cyren's sincere gaze. It seemed everything could start anew.
If twenty years ago, he'd met this bishop... everything should have been different, right?
But it was fine. Now wasn't too late either. He could start over. As if it were his first day entering the church, first day praying to the priest. That light from Heaven falling on his black hair looked very beautiful. The cross flickered with gentle light. The Bishop looked at him that way, like looking at his own child.
He raised his head. What greeted him wasn't the humiliation of "mud person," "outsider," and "servant," nor whips and feet. It was the halo of light shining through glass windows. Saints and angels of past generations were all watching him. The angels' faces overlapped with the young bishop's. He was the Father, was the Son, was also the Holy Spirit.
"Lord Bishop." He said, "Please tell me, what am I? What is God? And what... are you?"
Cyren gently brushed the top of his head, saying softly, "I am the Other of justice and compassion. I tell you according to God's teachings: the diligent can obtain fruit, the good can obtain salvation. All who insult, abuse, harm others, steal others' labor fruits, will receive punishment."
"As for what you are... go labor. Go use your hands to find your meaning. When you use your strength to create, to change, to connect with the world, when you personally feel that painful yet vivid creativity, you will understand."
Joseph knelt on the ground, devoutly making the sign of the cross with his right hand on his chest.
Cyren finally closed his eyes, collapsing weakly on the dining table.
Blood gushed from his side. In the last remaining light, he saw Matilda's anxious face.
…
"Madam, you must understand, the best method in this situation is to leave it. For surgery, the survival rate may be below 20%."
Hazy voices came.
"What if we leave it?"
"Uh... there may be problems like infection and abscess, perforation, intestinal obstruction, chronic pain, but at least he won't die."
"..."
"Ah, you're awake!" The doctor saw Cyren's eyes slowly open.
Cyren weakly looked at the surrounding environment. People anxiously surrounded him in a circle.
"Since Lord Bishop has awakened, treatment should be decided by himself." The doctor said, "Hello, I'm Dr. Rhea. I was formerly a surgeon at St. Thomas's Hospital."
"Ah—St. Thomas's Hospital, a name worthy of respect, Doctor." Cyren nodded to him with difficulty. Even though pain continuously assaulted his body, he still maintained respect and courtesy toward people.
From its name alone, St. Thomas's Hospital could be seen as a Church-affiliated hospital, formerly a monastery. In that medieval period, basically only monasteries would treat civilians and the poor.
"Yes sir, I still take pride in it." Dr. Rhea said, "Setting that aside, do you understand your situation?"
Cyren nodded, "I understand. Intervening will most likely result in death. Not intervening has hidden dangers, correct?"
"Not only that, sir." Dr. Rhea supplemented, "Because your wound has already healed, we still cannot determine the bullet's position... We need to make an exploratory laparotomy incision, then search for the bullet in your organs. This is extremely dangerous in all surgical history."