The Unbroken Flesh Tabernacle is the largest anti-augmentation religious movement in GLMZ, and its growth over the past two decades terrifies the corponations more than any street gang or resistance cell ever could — because you can't shoot a congregation, and you can't outlaw a church, and when 400,000 people decide that the technology your entire economy depends on is a sin against God, your business model has a problem.

Founded in 2158 by Pastor-General Blessing Adeyemi, a Nigerian-Brazilian evangelical minister who arrived in GLMZ as a refugee and built her first congregation in a Shelf basement, the Tabernacle preaches that the human body is sacred — created in God's image, inviolable, not to be cut open and stuffed with corporate hardware. Augmentation is not merely wrong; it is blasphemy. BCIs are not tools; they are chains. The corponations that sell augmentation are not businesses; they are demons wearing logos.

The Tabernacle's theology would be easy to dismiss if it weren't so effective at providing what GLMZ's lower tiers desperately need: community, identity, and an explanation for why life is so hard that doesn't require accepting your own inadequacy. In a city where the unaugmented are increasingly unemployable, the Tabernacle offers an alternative framework: you're not poor because you're unaugmented. You're holy because you're whole. This reframing is psychologically powerful enough to sustain a movement, and the Tabernacle's mutual aid programs — food, shelter, medical care, all provided without augmentation requirements — give it material substance that pure ideology can't.

The Tabernacle operates 34 worship houses across the Shelf and lower Circuit, with its largest facility — the House of Wholeness — occupying a converted warehouse in the Shelf that seats 8,000. Services are loud, emotional, physically intense: choirs, speaking in tongues, laying on of hands, the full evangelical experience updated for 2200 but fundamentally unchanged from traditions centuries old. In a city of neural interfaces and digital consciousness, the Tabernacle offers something almost extinct: pure, unmediated, flesh-and-blood human experience.