Chapter Six - The Blame Game

CHAPTER SIX

The Blame Game

WHEN THE ASHES settled and the air cleared, Nero stood in the center of a city that didn’t trust him anymore.

The people whispered: He started the fire.
The Senate muttered: He wanted a blank slate.
The gods, it seemed, had gone silent.

And so, like any man caught red-handed in his own fantasy, Nero pointed to someone else.

That someone?

A small, strange, stubborn group barely anyone understood:

The Christians.

It was a perfect fit.

They didn’t worship Roman gods.
They didn’t honor the emperor.
They met in secret, used strange symbols, ate symbolic flesh, and spoke of apocalypse.

They were already weird — and in Rome, weird was dangerous.

So Nero labeled them arsonists.
Called them enemies of the state.
And unleashed the full machinery of Roman cruelty on their backs.

The first wave of persecution began fast. Brutal. Public.

Some were torn apart by dogs.
Others were crucified.
Some were wrapped in tar-soaked cloth and lit on fire to light Nero’s gardens at night.

He called them human torches.

He called it justice.

And the people?

At first, they nodded. A scapegoat was soothing. Someone to hate. Someone to blame.

But after a while, even the mob grew queasy. This wasn’t law.

This was theater.

And that was the real sickness. Not just the violence, but the spectacle of it. Everything under Nero had become a stage: love, politics, religion, and revenge. Everything was a scene to be written, performed, and applauded.

And in this play, the Christians were the villains.

They would be remembered as the first true martyrs of the Roman state — not because they were holy, but because Nero needed someone to bleed on cue.

It set a precedent.

Not just for Rome — for history.

The dictator facing collapse turns to enemies who can’t defend themselves.
He paints them as threats.
He broadcasts their guilt.
And then he makes their punishment a show.

It’s not about control.
It’s about distraction.

Burning people is horrifying.

But if you do it on a stage, under torchlight, in a garden filled with wine and music?

Somehow… it becomes entertainment.

This wasn’t justice.

It was foreshadowing.

Because Nero’s empire wasn’t just burning in the streets.

It was beginning to rot from within.

And the thinkers?

They started to go quiet.