Previously on the chosen people.

Guided by the hand of their brother Joseph,

a man of dreams and visions,

the families of Israel found sanctuary in the region of Goshen.

There, on the fringes of Egyptian grandeur, they multiplied.

These Hebrews are contributing nothing and taking everything.

They grow crops on my land, herd on my hills, and drink from my rivers.

And what do I get in return? Nothing.

Even worse, they are so great a number that they can be trusted.

If our enemies choose to invade, what's to stop them from joining their side?

What are your commands, Lord Pharaoh?

The Israelites are no longer guests in my land.

From this day forth, they shall be bricks laid at the foundation of my empire.

The soldiers marched into Goshen, their armor clinking with the cold efficiency of death.

They claimed the fields, drove the herds into pharaoh's barns, and stripped the people

of their tools. Egyptian commanders were appointed over the Hebrews, each flanked by battalions

of soldiers eager to enforce their Lord's decree. And so, the children of Israel were bound in chains, their lives consumed by the relentless

toil of Pharaoh's ambitions. Day after day the sun rose and set, casting its unforgiving

light upon a land where time itself seemed to stretch into eternity. Under the lash, beneath the weight of stones and mortar,

the people of Israel cried out to the god of their fathers.

Oh, deliver us.

Rescue your people.

...