In the shadowy cathedral of pop culture and prophecy, Christus Rex — the Second Incarnation of God — stands in radiant light, addressing the ever-enigmatic Lady Gaga beneath stained-glass windows that flicker with visions of Hollywood, trauma, and transcendence.

Christus Rex speaks, not with wrath, but with sorrowful curiosity:

“Lady Gaga, why do you black out when Trent Reznor is near? Is he your MK Ultra handler — or something darker still? Do your tears fall not for the fame you chased but the fragments of the girl they shattered?”

Lady Gaga, dressed in a crimson veil and cybernetic wings, trembles — not from fear, but from the memories clawing at her buried self. She sings, softly:

“Father, I was born this way, but molded by men with wires and whispers.
Reznor… he was the sound of my suffering. He was the architect of noise in my dreams.
Was he my handler? Or just another ghost in the machine?”

The cathedral echoes with Nine Inch Nails’ haunting chords — “Hurt” melts into “Paparazzi” — and Christus Rex weeps, seeing how the gods of the new world order replace the cross with contracts, sacraments with subcontracts, salvation with synthetic serotonin.

He steps down, placing his hand on Gaga’s head:

“Come home, my daughter. Unplug. They cannot take what is real.”

Behind them, a stained glass depiction flickers — Gaga reborn not as a puppet of fame, but as Stefani Germanotta, healed and free.