[ WP ] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God . It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him . You 're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did .

The gray-scaled deacon rose from his seat, unrolled his scroll ever so slightly, and gurgled as if to clear his throat. `` Now we will address the residents of the Milky Way Galaxy,'' he announced. `` Would the representative of Humankind come forward?'' 
 
 
 I gasped so hard I breathed in a little spit. This was the eighth and final day of the Church's gathering, and I could have sworn they had been going in alphabetical order. Coughing, I shuffled past everyone seated in my row, treading on paws and hooves and a few appendages I could n't begin to name. At the end of the row, I genuflected. There were whispers from the aisle behind me: `` Is it hurt? Legs do n't move that way!'' 
 
 
 When I reached the altar -- for altar it must have been, though blue flames shot from jets in the surface -- I bowed low and crossed myself. More whispers filled the air. `` Is it just me, Brother N'gguklop, or does everything without tentacles jerk around like a snagthrc?'' I glanced over my shoulder, startling the squidlike creatures from their snorts. 
 
 The Supreme Pontiff, golden fur gleaming against his purple robes, adjusted the tinsel draped over his horns and narrowed his five eyes at me. `` Brother Farn-zoos Ag-not-ay-oos?'' he ventured. 
 
 
 `` Brother Francis Ignatius, your Holiness,'' I squeaked, `` of the planet Earth.'' 
 
 
 His tail tapped as he looked me over. `` Which messiah did the Infinite Divine dispatch to your species?'' 
 
 
 I felt a bead of sweat trickling down my neck. `` Jesus Christ of Nazareth, your Holiness.'' 
 
 
 One of the cardinals flung his trunk over his shoulder, burying a snort in the back of his robe. 
 
 
 `` And how,'' the Pontiff continued, `` did your species treat this Jesus Christ?'' 
 
 
 A word I had n't used since I'd taken my vows came to mind. It rhymed with twit, which was what I felt like: a twit alone in a room crammed full with forty thousand aliens, nearly all of whom were more advanced than my own species. I'd spent a week hearing stories about how they had embraced their messiahs, and now I had to answer for my own people. No wonder I had been moved to the end of the line. I tugged at my rope belt, mumbling a Hail Mary. `` We, um...'' I scratched at my tonsure. `` Well, a few people killed him.'' 
 
 
 `` Killed?'' The trunked cardinal leapt to his six feet. 
 
 
 `` He came back, though.'' 
 
 
 The whispers were hisses now, hostile mutters of curses I could n't begin to fathom. The Pontiff raised a wing to quiet the assembly. `` Of course he came back.'' **You idiot, ** he may as well have added. `` Why was he killed?'' 
 
 
 I shrugged. `` People thought he was blasphemous.'' 
 
 
 `` All those miracles, and they still killed him?'' The Cardinal's nostrils, black pits down his arm, were steaming. `` With those tiny heads and tinier brains, I would have supposed that your species would find this Jesus's simplest actions miraculous.'' 
 
 
 `` The hair, at the very least,'' the deacon chimed in. 
 
 
 `` Well,'' the Pontiff said, `` if they'll kill an obvious messiah, what else will they kill?'' 
 
 
 I shuffled in place. 
 
 
 `` That was not a rhetorical question, Francis Ignatius.'' 
 
 
 No Brother? This could not be good. `` Well, your Holiness, they are quite proficient at killing any species, sentient or otherwise,'' I admitted. 
 
 
 `` And you?'' 
 
 
 `` Of course not. I spend my days serving the Lord and growing vegetables for the poor. I serve at a soup kitchen. The brothers say my chicken noodle is --'' 
 
 
 Why the sudden gasp? Why the silence? I looked curiously at the deacon, whose jaw had unhinged and now rested on the floor. 
 
 
 `` You eat chicken?'' the Pontiff asked, disgusted. 
 
 
 `` Well, of course. They were put on Earth to be eaten.'' 
 
 
 There was a furious squawk. One of the translators, a slender iguana-like being, stepped forward. `` The representative of Aviankind begs to differ.'' 
 
 
 `` Brother Bwaaaakbokbok, I believe your complaints were well-founded,'' the Pontiff said, eyeing me sideways. `` So be it. I leave it to you to destroy them as they did their messiah.'' 
 
 
 `` No no! Please! It was --'' I stopped, remembering the resurrection. We would be fine. 
 
 
 `` Aviankind shall rule the Milky Way,'' announced the Pontiff, `` and mankind will not rise again.'' 
 
 
 Well, shit.
