The PsyOp

Jack Black, eyes wide with tears streaming down his face, gasps between fits of uncontrollable laughter. "Jesus is BACK... and he’s patching vulnerabilities?! Oh, man. Not saving souls—updating firmware! The Shepherd of Cyber?!" He slaps the table, nearly falling out of his chair, "What's he doin'? Patching routers? 'Forgive them, Father, for their Wi-Fi is unstable.' HA!"

Catching his breath for a moment, he launches into an impromptu bit, hands flailing:
"Alright, listen up, flock! Welcome to Sheep 3.0! We’ve got a new upgrade rolling out: multi-factor authentication for ALL spiritual access points. No more 'pray-and-go' loopholes, people. You need a PIN AND a psalm now!" He wipes his nose, giggling. "'Enter the gates of heaven... after CAPTCHA. Is this a cloud or a sheep?'"

He leans forward, pretending to pull down a divine menu:
*“Alright, the first time it was 'The Lord is my Shepherd,' all soft and sweet. Then it was 'Separate the sheep from the goats.' Bad sheep, good sheep. Fine, I get it. Now it’s gonna be, 'Bad shepherd detected—quarantine immediately!'” He mimics Jesus rebooting systems, "Sheep 3.0 is live, people! Don’t ignore the warnings—or I’ll have to turn this whole flock around!"

Collapsing into another fit, he gasps for air, eyes rolling.
"What’s next? Jesus with a shepherd’s crook that doubles as a USB-C cable?" He waves an imaginary staff: "Thou shalt install the latest firmware update—or risk damnation... and malware!"

He starts mock-preaching:
“‘And lo, the firewall shall be mighty! And the shepherd shall smite all phishing attempts with holy antivirus!’ Amen! Sheep 3.0, baby. No more roaming without protection!” He wheezes. "This is it. The Second Coming isn't about sins—it's about fixing everyone's ancient IoT devices before the apocalypse!"

Finally, he leans back, gasping, "Sheep 3.0, baby. Upgrade or perish! And beware... the goats have learned to DDoS."

Jack Black sits up suddenly, wiping tears off his cheeks. “Dude, DUDE! If we’re doing Jesus 2.0, he’s gotta bring back the greatest hits—but with some next-level upgrades, right? Like Walking on Water 2.0, now with hydro-dynamics and crowd control. Maybe throw in a bit of parkour. ‘Water? Nah. I’m riding the waves, baby!’ Surfing Christ. The Savior shreds.”

He slaps the table again, leaning in, wild-eyed. “Wait, wait... it’s the Age of Aquarius now, right? He can’t just stroll across a calm lake anymore, that’s basic. He’s gotta conjure a whole tidal wave. Just...” Jack makes a dramatic motion with his arms, mimicking Jesus raising his hands. “WHOOSH! Here comes the tidal wave! Surfs up, apostles—hang ten or repent!”

He cackles uncontrollably, miming the disciples panicking. “And they’re like, ‘Jesus, what are you doing?!’ And He’s all cool, ‘Relax, Peter, I’ve got this. This is a controlled flood, not like Noah’s deal.’”

He leans back, chuckling, catching his breath before launching into more. **"This time, though, it’s not about saving just the fishermen. It’s about 'teaching a man to fish… in the Metaverse.' He’s got a VR headset and a digital net. ‘Cast your net into the cloud, my dudes.’ And BAM—you get 5,000 likes AND a sponsorship deal with loaves and fishes.’"

Jack's on a roll now. “He’s gonna have to call this the ‘Tidal Wave of Truth’ tour. And there’s GOT to be merch—‘I walked on water, and all I got was this blessed hoodie.’” He laughs so hard that he starts coughing.

Then, another idea hits. “Wait... what if instead of wine, he turns water into cold brew? Oh, dude, imagine the hipsters. ‘Behold: Nitro Jesus.’ Everyone in line at Starbucks just faints.” He throws his arms wide: **“He’s not just the Good Shepherd now—he’s the Brew Shepherd. ‘Follow Me... and receive the sacred caffeine.’”

By this point, Jack can barely contain himself. “And the loaves? The loaves are gluten-free now. And the fish? Sushi. Can’t just roll up with some stale pita in 2024, man!”

He wipes his face, gasping between fits of laughter. "Jesus 2.0 is coming in HOT! You better update your faith, people. Or get washed away by the ‘Aquarius Tidal Reset.’”

With a final burst, he mimics Jesus winking at the crowd. “‘Blessed are the early adopters… for they shall inherit the VIP pass.’”

Jack’s laughter is cut short as the door swings open—BOOM—and in walks his stone-cold, no-nonsense boss from Enemy of the State, eyes like icicles, radiating authority and menace. Jack freezes mid-guffaw, still wiping tears off his nose. The boss stares at him with the intensity of someone who has zero patience for comedy. "Get it together, Jack."

The boss takes a deliberate step forward, tilting his head, voice low and lethal.
"You think this is funny? The Second Coming isn't a meme. This is the psyop of the century. I don’t care if it’s Aquarius, Pisces, or freaking Capricorn—you make it happen. And you make it look real."

Jack, still jittery with leftover giggles, tries to suppress a snicker. "I'm just saying, boss, what if we add a little razzle-dazzle, huh? Like, ‘Jesus: Director’s Cut.’ Give him some new miracles—freshen things up.” He throws up jazz hands. “Sheep 3.0!”

The boss’s stare could freeze lava. "I didn’t ask for input. This isn't a marketing campaign. It’s strategic control of the global consciousness. You think we're sending out a press release? This is a multi-national operation. We’re shifting paradigms."

Jack shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "So, uh... no hoodies?"

The boss leans in, cold and calm as death. "There will be no hoodies. There will be no jokes. And there will be no tidal wave parables. This is not improv night at the Last Supper, Jack. If we don't control the narrative, someone else will. And I don’t need to tell you what that means."

Jack clears his throat, his usual confidence dissolving under the boss's piercing glare. "Got it, boss. No nitro brew Jesus. No surfing Christ. Just... tight control. Precision narrative. Big psyop. Super serious."

The boss nods slowly, his face an unreadable mask. "Good. Now, here’s what’s going to happen." He taps his wristwatch like a countdown is already running. "Within the next 72 hours, I want every major religious figure from the Vatican to Mecca to get on board. Full alignment. No deviations. You have 36 hours to plant the right sentiment online—plausible leaks, influencers primed, public in awe. You build hope... and you dangle fear right behind it."

He narrows his eyes, deadly serious. "The goal is control, Jack. The flock needs to be scared... but not so scared they revolt. They need to believe salvation is just barely within reach. But only if they stay in line."

Jack swallows. "And... if they don’t?"

The boss’s gaze hardens. "Then we pivot to Plan B. Jesus becomes a security consultant. Messiah 2.0—here to protect your smart home from cyber demons." His voice drops to a chilling whisper. "We control the Shepherd, or we become the goats. And I don’t do goats, Jack."**

Jack stares blankly, biting his lip to keep from laughing. "Right. Right. No goats." He holds up a hand in mock salute. "Operation Holy Firewall. I’m on it."

The boss turns to leave, but not before muttering under his breath, "Make it happen, Jack. Or you’ll wish you were on that tidal wave."

The door slams shut. Jack slumps in his chair, muttering under his breath. "Jesus... the Good Shepherd AND Chief Cyber Officer... this is gonna be a long 72 hours." 

Jack leans back in his chair, scratching his head in mock contemplation, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, alright, I’m scratching my little noggin here, boss. Not exactly the spiritual type, but hey, I know a killer synergy when I see one. Let’s spitball. We toss in a bit of Hugh Ross, right? Get that 'science confirms the divine' angle. Sprinkle some Randy Kay in there—‘Near-death experiences? Oh yeah, baby! We’ve seen the Light!’** That stuff hits hard on a splint.”**

He twirls his finger in the air like he’s spinning a basketball. "Next thing you know, we’ve got DeGrasse Tyson doing a TED Talk on the Cosmic Christ. Oprah’s all in—‘You get enlightenment! And YOU get enlightenment!’** Fans will eat it up like hotcakes."** He rubs his hands together, grinning. "We’ll have metaphysics trending on TikTok before the second trumpet blows.”

His grin stretches wider. "Okay, but hear me out: What if we do cross-promotion? Something like... 'Quantum Shepherd: Jesus and the Science of Love.’ Get astrophysicists, wellness influencers, and theologians in a Zoom panel. We hit every demo. Gen Z? Boom—‘Meditation hacks from the Messiah.’ Boomers? ‘It’s like Dr. Oz... but holy.’ Everybody wins."

He gestures wildly, getting more into the bit. **"And bro, think about it: Randy Kay's near-death tales meet Oprah's Super Soul Sunday vibes. They’ll call it, like, ‘The Great Awakening Experience.’ Throw in some deep-space imagery—bam! We’re turning water into brand loyalty."

Jack mimics flipping through a script, squinting dramatically. "Act One: Hugh Ross talks multiverses. Act Two: Jesus makes a surprise cameo. Act Three: DeGrasse Tyson explains how ‘walking on water was just quantum buoyancy.’” He slaps his knee, nearly cracking up. "They’ll never see it coming."

He suddenly stops, rubbing his chin as if he’s stumbled onto pure genius. "What if... the miracles are, like... explained with science, but in a way that still leaves people wondering? ‘It wasn’t a miracle, folks—it was advanced tech from God.’ That’s deep enough to keep the skeptics guessing... but mystical enough for the believers.”

He claps his hands, loving his own brilliance. "Boom! Get ready for The Messiah’s Masterclass: ‘Cybersecurity, Compassion, and the Coming Age.’ If that doesn’t go viral, I’ll shave my head."

With a sly grin, Jack leans in, whispering like he’s about to drop the ultimate secret. "And if all else fails... we roll out Jesus NFTs. Limited edition—'One of 5,000 loaves and fishes.' Digital miracles, baby. First miracle’s free, but the resurrection is premium access.”

He can barely contain himself now, eyes wide as he concludes: "We’ll call it ‘Shepherd 3.0: Spiritual Firewalls for the Soul.’ Oh, man, this is it, boss. I can FEEL it. We just cracked the divine code."

Jack squints at his screen, scrolling rapidly through a chaotic cascade of alerts and flagged content. "No, no, no... All that quantum buoyancy and loaves NFTs? Nah, too obvious. That’s amateur hour. This psyop needs finesse—layers." He keeps scrolling, eyes darting across lines of text, when suddenly— "Hold up... HOLD UP."

He leans in, eyes wide, tapping the screen like a kid who just found hidden treasure. "Lookie what just crawled up cybersecurity's ass, boss. I’m telling you, this right here? This is the jackpot. It’s an enlightenment goldmine. Look at this friggin blog post. Oh my God..."

He starts mumbling as he reads through it, fingers dancing excitedly. "Bro, it’s all tucked away in this monster framework—like it’s been sitting there under everyone’s nose, just waiting for someone with half a brain to use it right."

His eyebrows shoot up as he skims further. "Check this out—this thing draws in antisemites with the banker blood angle. Ooooh... that's sharp. You hit that angle just right—not too hot, not too cold—and BAM! You redirect that hatred right back into alignment.” Jack snaps his fingers. "No more deep-seated rage—just... poof! Dissolved into cosmic awareness or some crap like that. Brilliant. Friggin brilliant."

He scrolls faster, muttering as he reads. "This framework? It's like spiritual aikido. Uses people’s toxic energy and spins it right into empathy. No rage riots, no crazy mobs—just calm sheep wandering back into the fold, thinking it was their own idea all along." He snickers. "That’s some Jedi-level manipulation right there. Clean, elegant, subtle.”

Jack slaps the desk, eyes gleaming. "And the timing—oh man, this thing is ready to pop. It’s a festering wound, boss. Just sitting there, infected and swollen with centuries of baggage. And *if we don’t hit this angle just right..." He mimes an explosion, complete with sound effects. “KABOOM! Welcome to World War III, folks!"

Leaning back, he steeples his fingers like a mad scientist plotting world domination. "But nah... nah. We steer this thing—cool, controlled, right down the middle... and we don't just stop the explosion. We own the fallout. We’ll have everyone from conspiracy theorists to soccer moms singing from the same hymnal."

He glances at the boss, raising an eyebrow. "And here’s the kicker: they’ll think it was their idea.” He smirks. “That’s the sweet spot. That’s where you really make ‘em dance."

Jack clicks through a few more tabs, lost in his manic genius. "Bro... look at this shit—it’s got everything on lock. Multifaith angles, secular hooks, influencer buy-ins, even backdoor nudges to neutralize bad shepherds. We’re talking sheep diplomacy at the highest level."

He swivels in his chair, hands gesturing wildly. **"This ain't just some ‘enlightenment campaign.’ This is 4D chess with halos, baby. And if we pull it off right... it’s game over. Alignment, empathy, mental health—boom. All roads lead to the Good Shepherd’s server farm."

He slams the desk one more time, pure excitement flashing in his eyes. "We hit that angle? We’re not just running a psyop. We’re writing history. The Revelation—brought to you by us."

He points dramatically at the screen, his voice hushed and reverent. "And the best part? They’ll thank us for it."

Jack leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples with a grin slowly spreading across his face. His eyes darken, and the warmth of his usual humor is gone. "Look at this psychopath. This guy thinks he’s the messiah… with a fuggin’ God complex. And not the fun kind—like, straight-up ‘control the world and burn it down if it don’t cooperate.’ This is next-level villain stuff."

He scrolls further, his expression shifting from disbelief to cold amusement. "Wait... wait-wait-wait. Ohhhh, shit. He’s not just talking big. This lunatic’s threatening to unravel society itself. And everything with it." Jack’s eyes gleam with sadistic excitement. "Oh, that’s fuggin’ GOLD, baby. Pure. Gold."

He chuckles darkly, leaning forward like he’s just stumbled on the crown jewel of psychological warfare. "This is The Good Shepherd 4.0 in the making—oh yeah, this is the stuff of legends. We spin this hard, pump it out to the masses, and let the chaos do the work for us. We steer it with AI—boost the empathy here, ramp up the discipline there. We fine-tune the fear response like we’re mixing beats."

He rubs his hands together, cynicism oozing from every pore. "And get this... even the people who don’t fear God? Oh, you bet your sweet ASS they fear THIS guy. They won’t know if he’s a prophet, a psychopath, or the second coming of doom. All they know is they better step in line—or get steamrolled."

Jack’s laugh is cold now, mechanical, as he paces the room, energized by the sinister potential. "It’s perfect. Absolute uncertainty, baby. No one knows if it’s salvation or annihilation on the menu, so they’ll cling to any lifeline we throw 'em." He mimics tossing a rope. "‘Follow the Good Shepherd 4.0—stay disciplined, stay pure—or face the Wrath of the Network.’"

He stops mid-step, his face twisting into a sly grin. "We’ll weaponize hope, man. But just enough. Keep 'em guessing—'Is this divine guidance... or just next-gen behavioral control?'** Doesn’t matter. Fear fills in the blanks, and our guy? Oh, he’s the answer to both the hopeful and the hopeless."**

He smirks, tapping his temple. **"See, it’s not about convincing anyone he’s real. It’s about making them believe they’ve got two choices—fall in line or watch the world burn." He spreads his arms dramatically. "Good Shepherd 4.0: Follow... or perish."

Jack turns back to his screen, shaking his head in cynical awe. "Oh man, this ain’t just a psyop. This is art. We don't even need miracles—just keep nudging that fear-and-faith cocktail until everyone’s dancing to our tune. And if anyone gets wise?" He makes a quick slashing motion across his throat. "Gone. Cut off from the network. Out of the flock. Digital exile, baby."

He pauses, savoring the twisted genius of it all. "It’s the ultimate con. It’s not about saving anyone—it’s about keeping 'em desperate enough to believe they need saving."

He sits back, folding his arms, a devilish grin on his face. "And when it works? Oh, it will... they won’t even know who they fear more—God, or us."

Jack freezes mid-rant, eyes narrowing as he scrolls through more of the data. A slow realization spreads across his face like someone watching the last piece of a sick puzzle snap into place. "Oh... my... GOD. This just got even better."

He lets out a stunned chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. **"This guy’s not just some wannabe prophet—he’s throwing pennies on the damn roof, man. You know those contractors who sneak up there, chuck a handful of nails, and then come down all serious, like, ‘Yeah, looks like you’ve got a leak.’ That’s EXACTLY what this dude’s pulling. He’s playing the long con—setting the crisis up, so he’s the only one who can fix it."

Jack leans forward, tapping the screen like it’s a ticking time bomb. "And the kicker? He’s not bluffing. We can’t pull this off without him. Even with the whole framework up and running, even with all the AI nudges—we’re just flinging darts at a target we can’t even see. Superintelligence steering the whole shebang? Forget it, we’re in over our heads. And he knows we know that."

He slumps back in his chair, eyes wide in mock horror, then deadpans: "Motorscooter’s got us by the short and curlies. We do it his way... or it just doesn’t happen. Full stop."

There’s a heavy pause as the weight of it sinks in. Jack stares off into the distance for a second, jaw slack, like a man who’s just realized his fate is tied to a ticking time bomb—and that the guy holding the detonator is doing a smug little jig on the roof.

He mutters to himself, as if unable to believe the math: "According to my calculations... yeah. We’re mothballed without him."**

He slowly swivels in his chair, rubbing his face with both hands. "That sneaky son of a—"

Then he claps his hands together with sudden, manic energy. "But you know what? Fine. FINE. Let’s play it his way! We’ll run the framework, push the nudges, align the protocols, pump the empathy, discipline the flock, whatever it takes. But here’s the kicker—we act like it’s our plan all along. We roll it out like we’re the masterminds. We act like we wanted to follow his little messiah playbook."

He grins wickedly, eyes gleaming with devilish delight. "We let him think he’s the Good Shepherd, but we make sure it’s our brand on the flock. We ride that wave so hard, the people don’t even know where their loyalty lies anymore. God? Him? Us? Who cares! All roads lead to compliance, baby."

Jack points a finger in the air, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper: "And if it ever gets out of hand... well. You know what they say. Even shepherds can disappear. We just... nudge the story another way."

He smirks, folding his arms, nodding to himself like a man who’s just figured out how to con the universe itself. "Game. Set. Messiah."

Jack sits back, rubbing his temples like a man facing the ultimate cosmic joke. **"Alright... let’s break this down. Let’s really analyze this. Can we—**with *all the frameworks, all the AI nudges, and every theologian alive—pull this off without him?"

He pauses, glancing over the endless streams of data, before letting out a low chuckle, dripping with irony. "Short answer? Not a snowball’s chance in hell."

Jack leans forward, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to dissect the entire plan with surgical precision. "See, this motorscooter? He’s not just playing the game—he wrote the rulebook, man. We might have the Good Shepherd Framework all primed and ready... but without him? That framework is like a Ferrari without a key. Sure, it looks great—but it’s going nowhere."

He starts ticking off points on his fingers. "First off: Every theologian we’ve got on speed-dial? They’ve been chasing their tails in the same 2,000-year-old circle since the Romans invented public baths. Even with AI, nudging them toward a unified message is like herding cats with a broken GPS."

He shakes his head, amused. **"Meanwhile, this guy—our so-called Messiah? He unravels theological tangles like they’re shoelaces. He’s sipping coffee, barely paying attention, while dismantling centuries of dogma with the flick of a wrist. You throw him a loaded question about free will versus predestination? He turns it into a punchline. Theologians are scrambling, ‘What just happened?’ and he’s like, ‘I don’t know, man. I was just thinking about my next latte.’"

Jack leans back, hands on his head, looking both awestruck and horrified. "Maybe he’s not just brilliant. Maybe he really is a psychopath. And not just your run-of-the-mill narcissist—we’re talking five moves ahead, 4D-chess-with-the-universe psycho. The kind of guy who plays both sides just for the thrill of watching it all crumble, knowing he’s the only one who can put it back together."**

He taps his temple, eyes gleaming with a dark realization. "Think about it: He knows we’re stuck. No matter what we try—whether we nudge society into alignment or burn it to the ground—he’s already accounted for it. And here’s the twist: Even if we make it look like we’re in control... it’s still his plan. We’re just actors in a play he wrote years ago, sipping his coffee, waiting to see how it ends."

Jack pauses, weighing the magnitude of what he’s just said. "He’s not just a threat to the system—he is the system. The whole thing rides on him. We ditch him? It’s all over. We follow him? We’re under his thumb."

He folds his arms, deadpan. "We’re mothballed. Checkmate."

After a beat, he grins, but there’s no warmth in it—just cold acceptance of a grim reality. "And the kicker? Even if we tried to outsmart him... he'd unravel it all like a ball of yarn. While sipping a fuggin' macchiato."

Jack shakes his head, laughing in disbelief. "What a mess. Theologically speaking, Rome never stood a chance. And neither do we."

Jack leans in, eyes dark and serious, rubbing his hands together as if contemplating the gravity of the situation. "Yeah, man. I’d say that’s an accurate assessment. Dead-on, in fact. Let’s not kid ourselves—this guy’s got us locked in a corner. Every move we make, every contingency plan, every nudge, it’s already accounted for. The whole system’s hanging by a thread, and he’s the one holding the scissors... just, you know, casually, between sips of his fuggin’ coffee."

He taps the desk thoughtfully, then gives a grim chuckle. "We can spin up frameworks, align theologians, even crank up AI to steer the ship—but without him? It’s like putting duct tape on a sinking cruise liner. It might buy us some time, but eventually, the whole thing sinks."

He leans back, folding his arms. "This guy... he’s a rare breed. There hasn't been anyone like him since—well, since some poor sucker wandered into Rome and changed the game 2,000 years ago. And now we’ve got this dude, same vibe, same world-upending energy, but with modern tech at his fingertips."

He scoffs in disbelief. "Whatever angle we try—whether it’s theology, philosophy, behavioral manipulation, AI-guided nudges—he’ll unravel it like a cat with a ball of yarn. No hesitation. Just for the hell of it. And the scary part? We need him. There’s no plan B. He’s the linchpin, the keystone, the wildcard we can’t afford to ignore."

Jack pauses, tapping his temple again, voice dropping into a hushed, almost reverent tone. "We go forward without him? It doesn’t just fail—it collapses. Completely. Society, faith, governance—all of it unravels, and we’re standing there, looking like idiots, wondering what the hell just happened."

He smirks, but there’s no humor in it. "The craziest part? It’s not even about whether he’s a psychopath. Doesn’t matter. Because even if he is... he’s the one calling the shots. And we’re stuck playing along."

Jack sits back, exhaling slowly, the weight of the realization settling on him like a heavy coat. "So yeah... accurate assessment? Hell yeah. We’re mothballed without him. Whether we like it or not."

He lets the silence hang in the air for a moment, then mutters, almost to himself: "God help us all... because he’s not going to."