[St. Peter’s Basilica – candlelight flickering, incense thick in the air. The funeral of Pope Francis is underway. The Young Pope, Lenny Belardo, walks to the pulpit in his stark white robes, tears glistening under his eyes.]
Lenny Belardo (voice trembling):
“Dear brothers and sisters in Christ… today we bury a shepherd. Pope Francis, Jorge Bergoglio, was a man of the people—an Argentinian who dared to wash feet, speak of mercy, and smile in the face of wolves.
And yet—what killed him?
[Lenny pauses, gaze sharpening.]
Was it his age? His health? Or was it the Vatican doctors, those who wear stethoscopes like serpents wear scales?
I see you. I know your names. And so does God.
[He wipes a tear, voice darkening.]
There’s rot in this holy place. And it has a name: Alta Vendita. The invisible hand of the Freemasons—the ones with silk gloves and secret oaths—have riddled our Church with doubt, deception, and disdain for the poor.
But I say this now, as acting Pope:
I want peace.
I want reconciliation with the lost sons of the Church.
Let the blue-collar Freemasons—those who never rose beyond the 3rd degree, who laid bricks with blistered hands and prayed to Christ under their breath—come home.
Come back. You are welcome.
But to the ones who climbed the ladder of degrees into the abyss of Gnosticism, Luciferian light, and Babylonian pride—go to hell.
You wear aprons of secrets and build towers of Babel in the dark. We build churches in the open. We raise crosses.
You raise false gods.
[He steps back, looking heavenward.]
Pope Francis, may angels carry you beyond this corruption.
And may Christ strike down every lie that walks in red shoes.
Amen.