Digital colour painting from pencil sketch, 42x30cm, 28th August 2004.  Tetra-Grammaton "T" window and volumetric lighting created and rendered in 3D Studio MAX.  "Atlas" statue rendered without preliminary sketches.

References: elements from the Science Fiction movie Equilibrium by Kurt Wimmer starring Christian Bale and Sean Bean.

Between the times of the Third World War and the Fall of Father, there was the age of Libria...  And unto this, Grammaton Cleric Preston, destined to bring down the Tetra-Grammaton and unshackle the true source of Man's inhumanity to Man...

  Gazing through the narrow T-window at the remains of his once-great society made him recoil in horror and disgust.  It was as if the Nethers had swallowed the city whole.  Anger and hatred, once vestigial words for feelings he'd never felt, were now very real emotions surging through him, threatening to overwhelm.  Before his whole world had changed, things had seemed so simple and predictable: his sole purpose was to seek out and eradicate Sense-offenders.  In Libria there could be no emotion, no individuality, only conformity, unity, and order.  To that end the obligatory drug Prozium, at the cost of the dizzying highs of human emotion, suppressed the abysmal lows.  There was no jealousy, no rage, and above all, no war.  The Grammaton Cleric was the uncompromising arm of the law that enforced these values, but now that the law and the letter had crumbled, chaos reigned and the future was entirely uncertain...

  Where are you Preston?  

 Where had Preston gone after triggering the destruction of the Prozium factories?  He had searched high and low for him, even having to put down Clerics still loyal to Father and the Tetra-Grammaton in the process, but to no avail.  The only conclusion he could reach was that Preston had turned his back on everything he'd been taught and willingly associated himself with the Resistance, even becoming a champion in its Underground.  It was hard to believe, but it was true.  Those same fools were behind the mayhem he saw on the streets below - the very mayhem that he, Preston and all the other Clerics had at one time worked so hard to eradicate... 

All except Partridge.  He had known him, but was shocked to have found out Preston had put down his former colleague for Sense Offense.  In hindsight it must have somehow, on some level, deeply affected Preston... It was unheard of, that one of the elite number of Cleric was secretly feeling, and the final line of defense had indeed been compromised.  He had missed it himself - a nearly unforgivable lapse.  And yet lately there was even speculation about connections Partridge had with the then Vice Council, Dupont, Father's voice...  How could a society function when its leaders were no different to the very criminals they were suppressing?  The web of intrigue was all too much, but that was in the past now - Partridge was gone and now so was Preston.

What could there be left for men like us?  Damn you, John!

He had to find Preston to try and establish some kind of order.  What about the life they'd led before, did it really mean anything now?  He'd asked himself that same question many times, wondering whether it does...

It does.

Since ceasing the dose, lack of Prozium had revealed in him a dark sense of humour, amongst other things, that he hadn't known he'd had.  His dreams troubled him greatly and he found it increasingly difficult to contain his conflicting feelings whenever certain thoughts came to mind.  Even now he was paying the price...

Looking for a distraction, he caught sight of the statue.  A moment later he managed a crooked smile when he saw the irony of himself reflected in it.  As he released a deep sigh, he supposed he should be glad he was alive.  Taking another look at his broken world outside, he turned away in revulsion and out of habit checked that his weapons were not low, his jaw set with grim determination. 

 

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