In the beginning there was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

. . .

It had been a team-building exercise to remember. Lucas, inspired by the uniqueness of the exercise, had created an oval-shaped ocean world composed entirely of large, water-loving sea creatures. Every second day it rained, and from this rain all of the creatures could absorb all of the nutrients they would ever need. Christina, always fixated on the sky, had created a world with seventeen distinct sunsets in each day—and she had created beings which were designed to uniquely appreciate sunsets, to a point where sunsets were really all they wanted. Evan and Grace had teamed up to build what appeared to be a fully-functioning society. The beings were god-like and had free will, which meant some of them would die at the hands of others—but the duo compensated for this by making death painless, and creating a perfect afterlife.

All of the worlds were beautiful. Just like the gods. In their image, like Laszlo had said. Then they asked Josephus what he had made, and he began to explain.

. . .

“This is another one of your weird projects, man,” said Lucas, as the others struggled to regain their composure. “I mean, really. What the hell?”

“Sicko shit,” Laszlo murmured, frowning.

“And only one sunset per day?” asked Christina.

In addition to creating a world with unimaginable suffering and pain, Josephus had also done something unique: he had created a book which outlined the history and rules of his world. He had not planned on sharing it with the other gods. And he had not seen Evan take it.

“Hey, hold on,” murmured Evan, eyebrows furrowed, mumbling as he shuffled the pages of Josephus’ book. “Josephus?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s all this stuff about ‘the One True God’?”

“Sorry?”

“The whole ‘nobody gets to the Father except through me’ stuff. And this other part where you say all the other gods are ‘false gods’? Is that—. Are you talking about—. Are you referring to us?”

Josephus swatted away a fly. The floorboards creaked under his chair. “You may be misunderstanding the historical significance in the context of my world,” he said calmly.

Laszlo piped up. “Can you pass that over here?”

Evan tossed him the book, and Laszlo began furiously thumbing through the pages. Josephus shifted in his seat. 

Laszlo raised his eyebrows. “Listen to this, guys: ‘I am the first and I am the last; besides me there is no god.’ Josephus? I think you—”

. . .

In the beginning there was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Before the beginning, well.

Now you know.