Post by Gabriel Baal on Apr 23, 2016 18:10:00 GMT -5
The curator unlocked the ornately decorated chest in the corner of the chamber. He pulled open the heavy lid, supported by two leather straps. The main chest had been carved from a single piece of heavy oak, the lid attached with brass hinges. Inside the chest, there were nine golden bejewelled cups, with a single larger platinum cup in the centre. One by one, he pulled them out and placed them on a metal tray.
They were all coming – everyone. His message had been simple – Attend in person or forfeit your place. It was a simple message, with precedence from the Induction of Gabriel Baal as the ninth. Tradition dictated that all must be present, and that is what would happen tonight.
The curator slowly walked around the large table, placing a cup in each of the spaces reserved for each of the Nine. The final platinum cup was placed to the right side of the large, throne-like seat at the head of the table. He took a deep breath, checking everything was as it should be, before walking towards the heavy door at the rear of the room.
As he pulled it open, he saw the hood being pulled over the masked head, before the figure turned around and walked towards him.
“We're ready. Everything is in place.”
The Father walked slowly towards him, silently - stalking.
“They will all be here – if not, then we will have more than one induction tonight. Soon enough it will be over and we will ease your suffering. I promise.”
The Father nodded as he sat down on a stone bench, just inside the doors. It would be here he would wait until the Chamber was full – The Father always made an entrance. The Curator turned his back to The Father who sat, silent, waiting. He turned to his right and glanced at the monitor. One by one they had started to file inside – the Order of the Inferno.
Tonight the truth would be revealed and tonight, everything would begin again.
Lilith wrapped her fingers through her hair as she started the slow walk into the Chamber. She’d never been inside before, but the message bad been clear – she had to be here, no matter what. She was nervous. Having been so deep inside Gabriel’s inner circle, she was worried they would want answers - that they would want to know the most intimate parts of their arrangement. She took a deep breath and sat in the seat offered by one of the nameless ushers.
She looked around for Uriel – she’d liked him when they’d met. He’d calmed her. She couldn’t spot him within the sea of humanity – and then the lights went out. The outer ring of seats were plummeted into darkness as nine of the seats were illuminated with spot lights. A smaller, less powerful light illuminated the lower half of the raised cathedra at the end of the table, and the area in which The Curator would stand.
One by one, with a ridiculous level of pomp and circumstance, each of the members of the council were introduced.
“The First Cicle – Donovan.”
A small, older man with greying hair and an unimpressive gait – he quickly scuttled to his place and took his seat. Immediately, he pulled from his pocket an inhaler and took a deep breath.
“The Second Circle – Malachi.”
Tall and sleek – with hair greased into pristine position. He oddly looked both dapper and depraved at the same time. His suit lapels were tinged with neon pink, and the edges of his manicured moustache had been lightened. He was a character.
“The Third Circle – Christian”
A fat, obnoxious looking man with stains on the front of his jacket – his piggy face, huffing and puffing as he waddled towards the table – the perfect fit for his place within the order.
“The Forth Circle – Robert.”
The next entrant was debonair – an Italian cut suit and a leather briefcase in hand. He avoided any kind of eye contract as he walked through the chamber and took his seat.
“The Fifth Circle – Wesley”
Cell phone in hand, the youngest member of the Council so far darted into the office. In one hand he had an iPad - constantly connected, making meetings and setting up deals. Only when he entered his own, individual spotlight did he put all other distractions to one side.
“The Six Circle – Grantham”
Horn-rimmed glasses and a tweed jacket. He was every bit the teacher. He exchanged a look with Donovan. There was no love lost there. He had pens in his top pocket, and the look of an academic. He nodded to each of his brethren as he took his seat.
“The Seventh Circle – Gabriel.”
Lilith’s eyes darted up to the doorway, as it slowly opened. The whole room seemed to hold it’s collective breath – they waited, and waited and… Nothing. The pressure in the room seemed to drop, as the Herald moved on.
“The Eighth Circle – Gideon.”
The forty-something, Eighth was the least liked of the group – it was clear by the reaction of all the others who had come before him. Then again – who likes a politician? He was smug, and striding – fiddling with his cufflinks as he walked. Lilith felt an unnatural need to boo.
“The Ninth Circle – Michael.”
The tension of earlier seemed to return, but it was different. A palpable excitement seemed to buzz throughout the entire room – as if waiting for a rock star to enter. The excitement turned to bewilderment, the bewilderment to worry as finally – finally, the herald moved on without entrance.
Uriel sat perfectly still, with sweat trickling down his back. It was so dark – he always hated the dark. Yet even now as he waited, it wasn’t the dark that terrified him. It was the night – tonight everything would change. Tonight everything would end and begin. Tonight. Just tonight.
“The Curator and The Father of Inferno.”
It had begun.
The Curator pushed open the doors in front of him, and began his slow stride into the room. His head was held high as he moved across the Chamber. Looking around the table, he nodded to each of the members of the council in turn. As his gaze reached the empty seat of the Seventh, he felt his heart skip and his pulse quicken. It was done.
He nodded to the Eighth, and then – Nothing. Michael was no-where to be seen. He felt his eyes open wide in shock, just for a moment, but it was enough. The remainder of the council were exchanging looks now – looks which told him that his previous confidence had been betrayed by that momentary slip. Damn it.
The message he’d received from Michael was, as always, short and to the point.
”Obstacles encountered, navigated. Plan B was a success. Proceed as planned.”
Michael would be here – he had to be. This was their night – the night in which they would rise to the top as the cream so often does. The front doors were closed now – the chamber was secure. The Father could make an overruling, however, that must be their next step. The Curator leaned in as The Father took his seat and whispered in his ear.
“Raise your right hand. I will speak for you.”
Like an obedient dog, The Father raised his hand and The Curator spoke.
“Gentlemen – The Father has proposed an amendment to our bylaws that will allow for a member of this council to arrive after the beginning of the meeting. It will be enforced on this occasion and then stricken from our charter. Our Brothers have been delayed and this is an important night. All in favour, raise your hands.”
Looks were exchanged momentarily, before slowly each of the Seven in attendance raised their hands.
“Carried. We shall allow for late arrivals in this instance only.”
The Curator pulls open a folder lay on the table in front of him. H placed the agenda on the stand in front of him before he begins to speak.
“Gentlemen – you have been sent a copy of today’s agenda I trust?”
The various nods and murmurs answer to the affirmative.
“Excellent – then as you’re all well aware, our first order of business, once we’re all present of course, is to induct a new member into our council.”
The fifth circle, Wesley, raises his hand.
“Is it done then? Has our motion been carried?”
The Curator breaks into a wide toothy smile .
“Michael’s motion has been…”
The Curator is interrupted by three, loud, slow bangs. Boom… Boom… Boom. He looks towards the men stood either side of the door and flicks his head to let them know they were to open the doors. Slowly, they begin to pull apart and as they do, a voice cuts through the air.
“Starting without me, gentlemen? How very rude.”
The voice of Gabriel Baal cut through the air like a knife and The Curator’s blood ran cold.
Gabriel strode through those Oaken doors like a conquering hero – one hand in his pocket, the other flattening the hair on the back of his neck. Lilith couldn’t help but find him attractive, whilst simultaneously hating him at the same. She felt herself sit higher in her seat as he strode across the dimly lit walkway towards the table – all the time, waiting for the hammer to fall.
Uriel sat perfectly still – trying hard to avoid breathing if he could. Gabriel was here and Michael was not – which meant he had to play his part. His heart was beating out of his chest – he’d hoped beyond hope that there would have been a way out of his predicament. There wasn't. Time was up. He had a job to do.
Gabriel stood for a second, next to the empty seat of the Seventh and unbuttoned his jacket. He took his seat, but unlike the others around him, he wasn’t upright and attentive. He turned, as to face The Curator and The Father, and placed his feet up on the huge circular table in front of him.
“How are we all?”
He felt the grin slide across his face as Solomon stood by his side. He felt the unbridled joy of knowing that this had not been part of their plans. He took an unrivalled pleasure in unnerving each and every one of the men around this table.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“Not at all, Gabriel. We were lamenting your late arrival – nevertheless we are ecstatic to see you.”
Gabriel continued to watch The Curator who, for some reason, seemed to be disinclined to continue.
“Waiting for someone else?”
The Curator looked to the door, and then back to Gabriel.
“I assume you have some idea as to the location of Michael?”
Gabriel began to nod.
“I know the exact location of Michael.”
Gabriel lifted his hand and pointed towards the table. Solomon, having remained in his position to Gabriel’s right, lifted a large holdall up onto the table. He unzipped the bag and tipped it upside as a large, heavy object clunked onto the table and span away.
“Or should I say, locations.”
It was a few seconds before the screams and yells began to ring through the room. Yet they were silenced with the wave of The Curator’s hand.
“What have you done?”
Gabriel’s eyes flickered in the direction of the voice but took little notice of Grantham’s complaints. He returned his gaze to The Curator.
“I believe your honourable brother, asked you a question, Gabriel.”
“Well… It would appear that I asked my good friend Solomon to remove Michael’s head from the rest of his body.”
Gabriel feigned looking across the table where the head lay face up, staring into the vast ceiling with lifeless eyes.
“Yes – I believe that is exactly what I’ve done.”
“This is an outrage!”
Gabriel’s eyes shot to the jowly, wobbling face of Christian who was, at some length, trying to push his way up to his feet.
“Sit down, Christian, before you give yourself a coronary. I’m the only doctor here, and I’m not sure you’d trust my treatment right now – are you?”
His gaze seemed to quell Christian more than his words – either way, he sat back down.
“You sent him to kill me. All of you, sent that man right there to kill me. Alas, what he had planned was a fate worse than death – or so he believed.”
He watched the reactions as, one by one, they appeared to be shamed.
“If it were not for the man by my side, I would be the head on this table and you would all be slapping one another on the back, pontificating about a job well done. My apologies, my brothers, for putting a dampener on your proceedings.”
“Gabriel this isn’t what…”
He cut off the Curator with a look.
“You all would have stood here tonight and drank your wine, welcoming a new Seventh into the fold blissfully unaware that each and everyone of you have been lied to for months.”
The looks of shock were tantalisingly tasty – he was enjoying every single one. But most of all, he enjoyed the look of eye-widening fear that had crossed the face of The Curator.
”Gabriel – please.”
”What’s wrong, Brian?”
Gabriel knew that using The Curator’s real name would infuriate him, but in his current predicament he could hardly complain. He walked towards The Father, sat high upon his thorny seat of lies.
”Gentlemen – I have some harrowing news.”
”Not like this.”
Gabriel ignored The Curator’s pleas.
”For the last six months, you have been duped into believing that the man who heads this table is Our Father of the Inferno. You have been lead to believe that what you do is at his bidding – the truth is much darker. The Father is dead.”
The shocked bursts of volume return for a moment, before Gabriel lifted his hand up to quell the muttering.
”Gentlemen – you have been the victims of a conspiracy. Our loyal Curator here, and the man whose head you see before you had planned for my death. Why? Because I was The Father’s choice to become the Seventh, and because I was being groomed for succession. Tonight was to be the night they revealed The Father’s death alongside my own – tonight they would have asked you to name The Curator as the new Father of the Inferno.”
Gabriel turned to the man in the mask, before reaching up and pulling it away from his face.
Lilith’s shock was audible – she looked up into the kindly, yet tired looking face – unmasked as the Order’s false leader. The man she’d met – so kind, so friendly – he looked lost and frightened. Like all that stood before the mercy of Gabriel Baal. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, so small surrounded by personalities so large. He looked shrunken, and diminutive. He looked lost.
“Good evening, Uriel.”
He could breathe now without the mask, standing face to face with Gabriel who, strangely, gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. At least it was over – this part for the least.
The tired, grey looking face seemed almost relieved to have been revealed, yet moments later, looking at the furious faces of those around the table, he seemed greyer than.
“My brothers – The Curator here found The Father dead and did what protocol would demand – he called The Ninth. What protocol does not dictate, however, is for he and Michael to cover up the death of the leader of our order!”
The sudden uplift in volume in Gabriel’s voice seemed to cut through the air, silencing even those in the darkness who were whispering. After a few moments of silence, members of the council could hold their anger no further
“Cast him out!”
“Kill him!”
“Traitor!”
The tide had turned now – the focus of the council’s ire was now The Curator who looked terrified.
“Brother’s – we can do no such thing. We have no recourse to punish him.”
The Curator watched Gabriel speak, with a mixed look of shock and relief.
“It is the role of The Father to cast down punishment – and at this moment in time, we have no leader.”
He locked eyes with The Curator, who seemed to have a dawn in comprehension.
“I nominate myself as the successor. It was as The Father had planned, when he named me as The Seventh – in his name, I shall lead our Order into brighter days.”
“No… No!”
The Curator’s shout was audible only to Gabriel, as he was overpowered by an outcry of support for The Seventh Circle’s suggestion.
“Call the vote, Curator.”
His jaw clenched, The Curator turned to the group at large.
“In the name of the Order of the Inferno, as The Curator, I call a vote to name our new Father. All those in favour of appointing Gabriel Baal as the Father of Inferno…”
He gave one last, terrified look into Gabriel’s eyes, before his shaking voice continued.
“Drink from your cup, now.”
One by one, each and every member of the council – all seven remaining members – took a drink. A truly unanimous decision.
”The motion is cast – Gabriel Baal is duly named Our Father of the Inferno.”
Gabriel extended his hands, before touching them to his heart – at the very least, where his heart should be.
“Gentlemen – I am honoured at this appointment.”
Walking past Uriel who was still stood in silence, Gabriel climbed the dais and up into his new seat.
“My first order of business is to appoint a new Curator.”
Gabriel looked down now, at the man known only as Brian. He smiled, before slightly turning his head.
“Uriel – congratulations on your new position.”
“You can’t do this! This isn’t right! What we did was for the good of the Order – this is the very thing we were trying to avoid. This cannot happen – I will not let this happen!“
Brian, the former Curator, looked pleadingly around at the council members who showed no interest in his words.
“You must undo this wrong before it is too late.”
Brian stared deep at Baal, his wild eyes almost bursting with fear.
“Denial is a terrible thing Brian – you have to know that this is over?”
“Please, gentlemen – I understand what this look like but you have to believe me – make this right and I swear I will prove to you that I only had the order in my mind.”
Gabriel let out a mocking laugh.
“You can’t bargain your way out of this– you have to be punished.”
“Who the hell are you to talk to me like this? You are nothing, Baal! You’re a shade in the night, hiding your true self. You will come to an end – a horrific end.”
Still smiling, Gabriel merely watched as Brian’s anger slowly but surely drained away. His angry bellowing breaths became sobs. He sunk against the side of the table, his burst of anger slowly making way for tears.
“I did what I thought was right – I did everything I was supposed to do and this is how you all treat me?”
“Try not to be sad, Brian – I have a perfect place for you. You won’t share the same fate as Michael – that I swear.”
As Brian lifted his head back up, to face Gabriel once more, he seemed to dawn into comprehension.
“This… This was your plan all along. You knew what was coming. You knew what we had planned.”
Brian exhaled, shaking his head slightly.
”How much did you learn?”
Gabriel slowly lowered himself to Brian’s level, tilted his head and with a final sneer, pushed a syringe into his neck. He didn’t even fight it – he had accepted his fate.
“Everything, my friend, everything.”
Standing back up, Gabriel turned to Solomon.
“Have him taken to Angelfields. Let everyone leave and then bring my guests – I want them to witness what I have achieved.”
The slow walk from the rotunda to the Chamber was more harrowing than the idea of leaving his dark, isolated cell. Patient Zero’s first look at the outside world in god knows how long had been almost too painful. The sounds, the colours, the light – it had brought tears instantly to his face. He and another patient had been strapped like two Hannibal Lector tributes, to a pair of hand trucks and were slowly wheeled through this marble dome. Neither of them spoke – neither of them so much as murmured.
They were both silent in their contemplation.
Their journey seemed to be nearing it’s end as they reached two large wooden doors. Patient Zero could feel his breathing start to quicken. Nothing good could be exist beyond. Slowly, they began to open as the man known to him simply as “Solomon” pushed his weight against the doors. Once they were open, a vast chamber with a huge table in the centre came into view. Surrounding the table were chairs, and at the head of the table a figure sat in a larger, taller seat.
“Welcome, friends, to my new palace.”
The words felt like ice cold water down Patient Zero’s back. He felt his whole body tense – in the loosest sense of the word. To his side, the second patient hardly seemed to react. Gabriel’s horrifying smile was wider than he’d ever seen it before.
“Gentlemen, if you could place my guests in these two seats – that would be wonderful.”
Slowly but surely, Patient Zero felt the restraints being removed from around him and felt his legs begin to buckle. Quickly, two large arms wrapped around him and held his weight before slowly lowering him to a chair immediately to Gabriel’s left. Solomon took the seat to Gabriel’s right and finally the other patient, under his own volition, took the seat immediately next to Solomon.
“It has been a truly momentous week, my friends. And yet it has just begun.”
He ran the tip of his finger around the edge of the silvery goblet he held in his right hand. He seemed euphoric, staring off into the distance for a few moments before continuing. Finally, Baal turned his head to Patient Zero.
“You have been with me since the very beginning my friend. You have seen the best and worst of me. You are both by greatest achievement and my most catastrophic failure. Now, you’re here – the scene of my ultimate victory and I couldn’t be happier to be sharing it with you.”
Gabriel climbed to his feet and slowly stepped down from the dais. He slowly extended his hand towards Patient Zero and touched the cool metal of the mask he wore. Baal reached around the sides of his face and unclasped the catches on the sides and pulled the mask away.
“There – better?”
Without waiting for an answer, Gabriel turned now to the second man.
“Alan! We have been through so much together in the last few months– you have watched my meteoric rise within the world of Professional Wrestling. It is the bond we share. But today is so important, because my two worlds reach their peak at precisely the same time.”
Gabriel lifts the cup to his lips and takes a hearty swig.
“This is why it is so important that you’re both here.”
Gabriel retook his seat at the head of the table, his eyes focusing on that unseen point in the far distance. Without changing his gaze, Gabriel began to speak again.
“Travis Roberts is going to lose his World Heavyweight Championship this Monday – and he’s going to lose it to me. When he does, he is going to feel that loss like nothing he has ever felt before. He needs to know that I am willing and able to help him through that loss. I need him to realise that although he will never forget his loss, he will learn to deal with it, in time.”
Gabriel took another drink from the cup before continuing.
“I have said all along that this is a necessary loss for The Blessed One – should he retain that Championship he will slowly slip back into the cesspool from which he’d managed to crawl over this past year. Deep down, he knows that losing his Championship is for the best. but that will not dull the pain he will feel when the inevitable happens.”
Slolwy, Baal turns his head towards Alan Myer, sat staring without blinking.
“Alan – you know a thing or two about denial, do you not? You escaped from my facility and thought you were free. You even had the balls – if you excuse the phrasing – to confront me in public. You told everyone who would listen that I would pay for what I had done to you. Your denial was thick and viscus, Alan – hard to wash away. Yet we managed, together, to push past that delusion which ensnared you, until you realised the true nature of your predicament.”
Gabriel smiles as he walks to Alan’s side and slaps a palm upon his shoulder.
“Unfortunately – a man with the ego the size of Travis will, undoubtedly, struggle with denial. Telling himself that he’s still the better man, that his time at the top is not at it’s end. That his better days are still ahead. He’ll keep on trying to fight his way back to the top of the mountain, because that is where he will believe he should be – alas, at the top of that mountain, waiting to drench him with cold hard reality, will be me. The World Heavyweight Champion and the face of UGWC.”
Turning now back to Patient Zero, Gabriel grinned.
“Of course – when it comes to bargaining, my old friend, you were the unrivalled. No man has ever pled for his freedom and liberty more than you. I admire your thurst for freedom, the very lengths that you would be willing to go to just to be free. You swore you would die with my secret, that you would go anywhere and do anything that I asked. You wanted to keep the freedom that you had been so used to – unfortunately, you cannot bargain for something to which you are so clearly unentitled.”
Baal leans against the table.
“The Blessed One is the epitome of entitlement, my friends. His name has been made on that feeling of being entitled to the best of everything. His feeling of entitlement will lead him to begin with a request – simple and to the point. Yet it will end with him on his hands and knees, begging for me to give him back the meaning that I took away from his career – from his life. He will offer anything and everything to take back that which he has lost – to which he feels he is entitled. Not merely a championship, but his very relevance. Without that title, Travis will return to the same kind of obscurity he had felt until Battleground. He will be hollow. Empty.”
Gabriel turned his head now to Solomon.
“Angry.”
Solomon smiles back at Baal – as if having expected this to come.
“Anger. The most difficult, and also the most damaging emotion to spurn – I don’t think you’ve ever quite managed to let go of the anger born from losing your true name, your standing, – the life you knew. The anger still fills you until this day. You fume and burn inside. Your anger fuels your ability to do the job you do, but deep down you know that someday you’ll need to let go. The anger within you poisons your very soul, your very being. When you learn to let that go, you will be a better man for it.”
Solomon’s expression is unchanged – as if fixed upon his face.
“Travis Roberts anger will be great, I’m sure. Humiliated, dominated and left to rot. Once he realises he can’t barter for that which he greives, he’ll seek to take it by force. The old Travis will rear it’s ugly head– the arrogant, desperate Travis Roberts will unleash his fury. It will be terrible to behold, I have no doubt, but his fury will be like a match in a waterfall – doused in seconds, paling in comparison to that which he finds himself faced. Travis Roberts anger will turn within, burning away at his own inadequacy… His own failure. His inability to defend his honour from this younger, more intelligent and infinitely more deserving Champion.”
Baal runs his hand over his forehead – slowly turning again.
“Until he finally sinks deep into the pit of despair. I know you’ve both been there, gentlemen. I’ve watched it, witnessed it. Silence, tears, isolation. The feeling that you’ll never be happy again – the feeling that you’ll never be whole again. That feeling that nothing and no-one could ever pull you from the hole within which you find yourself. I saw you Alan, crying at night, desolate and abjectly miserable. I saw you, my old friend, staring blankly into the abyss, all hope gone, lonely. Dying on the inside.”
The glee on Gabriel’s face was evil to behold. Patient Zero could feel himself sway slightly, but as he does, from the darkness a hand pushes him back into place.
“I fear that those who surround Travis Roberts will be pulled into his downward spiral. They will follow him anywhere, but into this particular rabbit hole could be infinitely more damaging. They will watch as Travis Roberts entire being seems to shrink into nothingness – his baron spirit, coarse and harsh. His future bleak and his inflated ego reduced to a virtual black hole of waste. The Blessed One will be lost to all around him – Travis Roberts, the man behind the mask will be revealed. And it will be horrific.”
Baal retakes his place on his throne, looking down on them all – that look bliss back in his eyes.
“But all is not lost – the power of acceptance is strong. There will come a point, in which Travis Roberts accepts his lot in life. The broken down legend trying to fight in a world filled with younger, better men. Accepting that he’s at the end of what little relevance he’s ever had, just waiting for someone to put that final bullet between his eyes. Time to put the old dog to sleep. The path to acceptance will not be easy, and Travis will learn a few hearty truths along the way. But in the end, he will be at peace – safe in the knowledge that once he was a great man, a great man who fell on a better man’s sword.”
Ball looks down to the man sat around him. His lead was lifted at the chin, in an attempt to appear magnanimous
“Tonight is a night for celebration. A night for reward. A night to give thanks for those who have been there for me throughout the years. I want you all to know just how much I appreciate what you add to my life. I want to offer you a gift.”
He leans forward in his seat, anticipation burning behind his eyes.
“It is time to choose, my friends. Two of you have a chance to leave this place forever, free to live your lives as you see fit. Should two or more of you choose to leave I will not stand in your way. You will be free.”
Alan immediately looked towards Patient Zero with eyes wide. Solomon was the first to stand, wordlessly making his choice, standing next to Gabriel and looking at the remaining two. Almost immediately, Alan climbed to his feet. As he made his way around the table, slowly, wearily, Patient Zero’s heart began to pound. His breathing picked up pace. Alan stepped in front of him, and slowly pulled his arm over his shoulder.
“Come on, let’s go – let’s get out of here..”
The moment had come that Patient Zero had dreamt of for years – alone in that room. Dreaming of freedom and a life outside those four walls. So why was he so afraid – terrified. He looked up at Gabriel with pleading in his eyes - desperate for someone, anyone to stop Alan from lifting him from his seat. With everything he had he managed to muster the strength to make a noise.
“Come on… We’ve got to go!”
“Nnnn…”
“What is it?”
Slowly, Patient Zero collected himself, using all of his concentration.
“Nnn… nn… no.”
Alan stood back, his eyes wide – frozen with fear. The cold, high pitched cackle from upon high had stopped Alan in his tracks.
“Oh Alan – now you see the power of acceptance.”
Baal looked towards the darkness, as two orderlies swoop and gripped Alan by the arms.
“And you were doing so well – I think we need to move you a little closer to me, Alan. Take him to room Zero – he can share with our friend here. From now on – you shall be known as Patient One.”
Alan’s terrified screams were quickly muted by an injection to the neck. As the newly named Patient One was pulled away. Gabriel stepped towards Patient Zero and lifted the mask towards his mouth. As he did, Patient Zero pulled his head back to make eye contact.
“D… D… Daniel. P… Please.”
“I can’t help, my old friend. It’s way beyond all of that.”
Baal replaced the mask upon Patient Zero’s face, and ordered him to be escorted away. Turning to Solomon, who was now leant against the table.
“Well that went well, mate.”
“As to be expected my friend. This Monday will be an altogether more difficult task. Placing my dagger through the heart of Travis Robert’s career will not be popular – but it is required. He will fall by my hand – and I will be the champion that UGWC deserves.”
Solomon steps towards Gabriel and slaps his hand across his employer’s shoulder. With a smile and a shake of his head, he returns his own, ever so graceful response.
“Poor fuckin’ bastards…
They were all coming – everyone. His message had been simple – Attend in person or forfeit your place. It was a simple message, with precedence from the Induction of Gabriel Baal as the ninth. Tradition dictated that all must be present, and that is what would happen tonight.
The curator slowly walked around the large table, placing a cup in each of the spaces reserved for each of the Nine. The final platinum cup was placed to the right side of the large, throne-like seat at the head of the table. He took a deep breath, checking everything was as it should be, before walking towards the heavy door at the rear of the room.
As he pulled it open, he saw the hood being pulled over the masked head, before the figure turned around and walked towards him.
“We're ready. Everything is in place.”
The Father walked slowly towards him, silently - stalking.
“They will all be here – if not, then we will have more than one induction tonight. Soon enough it will be over and we will ease your suffering. I promise.”
The Father nodded as he sat down on a stone bench, just inside the doors. It would be here he would wait until the Chamber was full – The Father always made an entrance. The Curator turned his back to The Father who sat, silent, waiting. He turned to his right and glanced at the monitor. One by one they had started to file inside – the Order of the Inferno.
Tonight the truth would be revealed and tonight, everything would begin again.
Lilith wrapped her fingers through her hair as she started the slow walk into the Chamber. She’d never been inside before, but the message bad been clear – she had to be here, no matter what. She was nervous. Having been so deep inside Gabriel’s inner circle, she was worried they would want answers - that they would want to know the most intimate parts of their arrangement. She took a deep breath and sat in the seat offered by one of the nameless ushers.
She looked around for Uriel – she’d liked him when they’d met. He’d calmed her. She couldn’t spot him within the sea of humanity – and then the lights went out. The outer ring of seats were plummeted into darkness as nine of the seats were illuminated with spot lights. A smaller, less powerful light illuminated the lower half of the raised cathedra at the end of the table, and the area in which The Curator would stand.
One by one, with a ridiculous level of pomp and circumstance, each of the members of the council were introduced.
“The First Cicle – Donovan.”
A small, older man with greying hair and an unimpressive gait – he quickly scuttled to his place and took his seat. Immediately, he pulled from his pocket an inhaler and took a deep breath.
“The Second Circle – Malachi.”
Tall and sleek – with hair greased into pristine position. He oddly looked both dapper and depraved at the same time. His suit lapels were tinged with neon pink, and the edges of his manicured moustache had been lightened. He was a character.
“The Third Circle – Christian”
A fat, obnoxious looking man with stains on the front of his jacket – his piggy face, huffing and puffing as he waddled towards the table – the perfect fit for his place within the order.
“The Forth Circle – Robert.”
The next entrant was debonair – an Italian cut suit and a leather briefcase in hand. He avoided any kind of eye contract as he walked through the chamber and took his seat.
“The Fifth Circle – Wesley”
Cell phone in hand, the youngest member of the Council so far darted into the office. In one hand he had an iPad - constantly connected, making meetings and setting up deals. Only when he entered his own, individual spotlight did he put all other distractions to one side.
“The Six Circle – Grantham”
Horn-rimmed glasses and a tweed jacket. He was every bit the teacher. He exchanged a look with Donovan. There was no love lost there. He had pens in his top pocket, and the look of an academic. He nodded to each of his brethren as he took his seat.
“The Seventh Circle – Gabriel.”
Lilith’s eyes darted up to the doorway, as it slowly opened. The whole room seemed to hold it’s collective breath – they waited, and waited and… Nothing. The pressure in the room seemed to drop, as the Herald moved on.
“The Eighth Circle – Gideon.”
The forty-something, Eighth was the least liked of the group – it was clear by the reaction of all the others who had come before him. Then again – who likes a politician? He was smug, and striding – fiddling with his cufflinks as he walked. Lilith felt an unnatural need to boo.
“The Ninth Circle – Michael.”
The tension of earlier seemed to return, but it was different. A palpable excitement seemed to buzz throughout the entire room – as if waiting for a rock star to enter. The excitement turned to bewilderment, the bewilderment to worry as finally – finally, the herald moved on without entrance.
Uriel sat perfectly still, with sweat trickling down his back. It was so dark – he always hated the dark. Yet even now as he waited, it wasn’t the dark that terrified him. It was the night – tonight everything would change. Tonight everything would end and begin. Tonight. Just tonight.
“The Curator and The Father of Inferno.”
It had begun.
The Curator pushed open the doors in front of him, and began his slow stride into the room. His head was held high as he moved across the Chamber. Looking around the table, he nodded to each of the members of the council in turn. As his gaze reached the empty seat of the Seventh, he felt his heart skip and his pulse quicken. It was done.
He nodded to the Eighth, and then – Nothing. Michael was no-where to be seen. He felt his eyes open wide in shock, just for a moment, but it was enough. The remainder of the council were exchanging looks now – looks which told him that his previous confidence had been betrayed by that momentary slip. Damn it.
The message he’d received from Michael was, as always, short and to the point.
”Obstacles encountered, navigated. Plan B was a success. Proceed as planned.”
Michael would be here – he had to be. This was their night – the night in which they would rise to the top as the cream so often does. The front doors were closed now – the chamber was secure. The Father could make an overruling, however, that must be their next step. The Curator leaned in as The Father took his seat and whispered in his ear.
“Raise your right hand. I will speak for you.”
Like an obedient dog, The Father raised his hand and The Curator spoke.
“Gentlemen – The Father has proposed an amendment to our bylaws that will allow for a member of this council to arrive after the beginning of the meeting. It will be enforced on this occasion and then stricken from our charter. Our Brothers have been delayed and this is an important night. All in favour, raise your hands.”
Looks were exchanged momentarily, before slowly each of the Seven in attendance raised their hands.
“Carried. We shall allow for late arrivals in this instance only.”
The Curator pulls open a folder lay on the table in front of him. H placed the agenda on the stand in front of him before he begins to speak.
“Gentlemen – you have been sent a copy of today’s agenda I trust?”
The various nods and murmurs answer to the affirmative.
“Excellent – then as you’re all well aware, our first order of business, once we’re all present of course, is to induct a new member into our council.”
The fifth circle, Wesley, raises his hand.
“Is it done then? Has our motion been carried?”
The Curator breaks into a wide toothy smile .
“Michael’s motion has been…”
The Curator is interrupted by three, loud, slow bangs. Boom… Boom… Boom. He looks towards the men stood either side of the door and flicks his head to let them know they were to open the doors. Slowly, they begin to pull apart and as they do, a voice cuts through the air.
“Starting without me, gentlemen? How very rude.”
The voice of Gabriel Baal cut through the air like a knife and The Curator’s blood ran cold.
Gabriel strode through those Oaken doors like a conquering hero – one hand in his pocket, the other flattening the hair on the back of his neck. Lilith couldn’t help but find him attractive, whilst simultaneously hating him at the same. She felt herself sit higher in her seat as he strode across the dimly lit walkway towards the table – all the time, waiting for the hammer to fall.
Uriel sat perfectly still – trying hard to avoid breathing if he could. Gabriel was here and Michael was not – which meant he had to play his part. His heart was beating out of his chest – he’d hoped beyond hope that there would have been a way out of his predicament. There wasn't. Time was up. He had a job to do.
Gabriel stood for a second, next to the empty seat of the Seventh and unbuttoned his jacket. He took his seat, but unlike the others around him, he wasn’t upright and attentive. He turned, as to face The Curator and The Father, and placed his feet up on the huge circular table in front of him.
“How are we all?”
He felt the grin slide across his face as Solomon stood by his side. He felt the unbridled joy of knowing that this had not been part of their plans. He took an unrivalled pleasure in unnerving each and every one of the men around this table.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“Not at all, Gabriel. We were lamenting your late arrival – nevertheless we are ecstatic to see you.”
Gabriel continued to watch The Curator who, for some reason, seemed to be disinclined to continue.
“Waiting for someone else?”
The Curator looked to the door, and then back to Gabriel.
“I assume you have some idea as to the location of Michael?”
Gabriel began to nod.
“I know the exact location of Michael.”
Gabriel lifted his hand and pointed towards the table. Solomon, having remained in his position to Gabriel’s right, lifted a large holdall up onto the table. He unzipped the bag and tipped it upside as a large, heavy object clunked onto the table and span away.
“Or should I say, locations.”
It was a few seconds before the screams and yells began to ring through the room. Yet they were silenced with the wave of The Curator’s hand.
“What have you done?”
Gabriel’s eyes flickered in the direction of the voice but took little notice of Grantham’s complaints. He returned his gaze to The Curator.
“I believe your honourable brother, asked you a question, Gabriel.”
“Well… It would appear that I asked my good friend Solomon to remove Michael’s head from the rest of his body.”
Gabriel feigned looking across the table where the head lay face up, staring into the vast ceiling with lifeless eyes.
“Yes – I believe that is exactly what I’ve done.”
“This is an outrage!”
Gabriel’s eyes shot to the jowly, wobbling face of Christian who was, at some length, trying to push his way up to his feet.
“Sit down, Christian, before you give yourself a coronary. I’m the only doctor here, and I’m not sure you’d trust my treatment right now – are you?”
His gaze seemed to quell Christian more than his words – either way, he sat back down.
“You sent him to kill me. All of you, sent that man right there to kill me. Alas, what he had planned was a fate worse than death – or so he believed.”
He watched the reactions as, one by one, they appeared to be shamed.
“If it were not for the man by my side, I would be the head on this table and you would all be slapping one another on the back, pontificating about a job well done. My apologies, my brothers, for putting a dampener on your proceedings.”
“Gabriel this isn’t what…”
He cut off the Curator with a look.
“You all would have stood here tonight and drank your wine, welcoming a new Seventh into the fold blissfully unaware that each and everyone of you have been lied to for months.”
The looks of shock were tantalisingly tasty – he was enjoying every single one. But most of all, he enjoyed the look of eye-widening fear that had crossed the face of The Curator.
”Gabriel – please.”
”What’s wrong, Brian?”
Gabriel knew that using The Curator’s real name would infuriate him, but in his current predicament he could hardly complain. He walked towards The Father, sat high upon his thorny seat of lies.
”Gentlemen – I have some harrowing news.”
”Not like this.”
Gabriel ignored The Curator’s pleas.
”For the last six months, you have been duped into believing that the man who heads this table is Our Father of the Inferno. You have been lead to believe that what you do is at his bidding – the truth is much darker. The Father is dead.”
The shocked bursts of volume return for a moment, before Gabriel lifted his hand up to quell the muttering.
”Gentlemen – you have been the victims of a conspiracy. Our loyal Curator here, and the man whose head you see before you had planned for my death. Why? Because I was The Father’s choice to become the Seventh, and because I was being groomed for succession. Tonight was to be the night they revealed The Father’s death alongside my own – tonight they would have asked you to name The Curator as the new Father of the Inferno.”
Gabriel turned to the man in the mask, before reaching up and pulling it away from his face.
Lilith’s shock was audible – she looked up into the kindly, yet tired looking face – unmasked as the Order’s false leader. The man she’d met – so kind, so friendly – he looked lost and frightened. Like all that stood before the mercy of Gabriel Baal. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, so small surrounded by personalities so large. He looked shrunken, and diminutive. He looked lost.
“Good evening, Uriel.”
He could breathe now without the mask, standing face to face with Gabriel who, strangely, gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. At least it was over – this part for the least.
The tired, grey looking face seemed almost relieved to have been revealed, yet moments later, looking at the furious faces of those around the table, he seemed greyer than.
“My brothers – The Curator here found The Father dead and did what protocol would demand – he called The Ninth. What protocol does not dictate, however, is for he and Michael to cover up the death of the leader of our order!”
The sudden uplift in volume in Gabriel’s voice seemed to cut through the air, silencing even those in the darkness who were whispering. After a few moments of silence, members of the council could hold their anger no further
“Cast him out!”
“Kill him!”
“Traitor!”
The tide had turned now – the focus of the council’s ire was now The Curator who looked terrified.
“Brother’s – we can do no such thing. We have no recourse to punish him.”
The Curator watched Gabriel speak, with a mixed look of shock and relief.
“It is the role of The Father to cast down punishment – and at this moment in time, we have no leader.”
He locked eyes with The Curator, who seemed to have a dawn in comprehension.
“I nominate myself as the successor. It was as The Father had planned, when he named me as The Seventh – in his name, I shall lead our Order into brighter days.”
“No… No!”
The Curator’s shout was audible only to Gabriel, as he was overpowered by an outcry of support for The Seventh Circle’s suggestion.
“Call the vote, Curator.”
His jaw clenched, The Curator turned to the group at large.
“In the name of the Order of the Inferno, as The Curator, I call a vote to name our new Father. All those in favour of appointing Gabriel Baal as the Father of Inferno…”
He gave one last, terrified look into Gabriel’s eyes, before his shaking voice continued.
“Drink from your cup, now.”
One by one, each and every member of the council – all seven remaining members – took a drink. A truly unanimous decision.
”The motion is cast – Gabriel Baal is duly named Our Father of the Inferno.”
Gabriel extended his hands, before touching them to his heart – at the very least, where his heart should be.
“Gentlemen – I am honoured at this appointment.”
Walking past Uriel who was still stood in silence, Gabriel climbed the dais and up into his new seat.
“My first order of business is to appoint a new Curator.”
Gabriel looked down now, at the man known only as Brian. He smiled, before slightly turning his head.
“Uriel – congratulations on your new position.”
“You can’t do this! This isn’t right! What we did was for the good of the Order – this is the very thing we were trying to avoid. This cannot happen – I will not let this happen!“
Brian, the former Curator, looked pleadingly around at the council members who showed no interest in his words.
“You must undo this wrong before it is too late.”
Brian stared deep at Baal, his wild eyes almost bursting with fear.
“Denial is a terrible thing Brian – you have to know that this is over?”
“Please, gentlemen – I understand what this look like but you have to believe me – make this right and I swear I will prove to you that I only had the order in my mind.”
Gabriel let out a mocking laugh.
“You can’t bargain your way out of this– you have to be punished.”
“Who the hell are you to talk to me like this? You are nothing, Baal! You’re a shade in the night, hiding your true self. You will come to an end – a horrific end.”
Still smiling, Gabriel merely watched as Brian’s anger slowly but surely drained away. His angry bellowing breaths became sobs. He sunk against the side of the table, his burst of anger slowly making way for tears.
“I did what I thought was right – I did everything I was supposed to do and this is how you all treat me?”
“Try not to be sad, Brian – I have a perfect place for you. You won’t share the same fate as Michael – that I swear.”
As Brian lifted his head back up, to face Gabriel once more, he seemed to dawn into comprehension.
“This… This was your plan all along. You knew what was coming. You knew what we had planned.”
Brian exhaled, shaking his head slightly.
”How much did you learn?”
Gabriel slowly lowered himself to Brian’s level, tilted his head and with a final sneer, pushed a syringe into his neck. He didn’t even fight it – he had accepted his fate.
“Everything, my friend, everything.”
Standing back up, Gabriel turned to Solomon.
“Have him taken to Angelfields. Let everyone leave and then bring my guests – I want them to witness what I have achieved.”
The slow walk from the rotunda to the Chamber was more harrowing than the idea of leaving his dark, isolated cell. Patient Zero’s first look at the outside world in god knows how long had been almost too painful. The sounds, the colours, the light – it had brought tears instantly to his face. He and another patient had been strapped like two Hannibal Lector tributes, to a pair of hand trucks and were slowly wheeled through this marble dome. Neither of them spoke – neither of them so much as murmured.
They were both silent in their contemplation.
Their journey seemed to be nearing it’s end as they reached two large wooden doors. Patient Zero could feel his breathing start to quicken. Nothing good could be exist beyond. Slowly, they began to open as the man known to him simply as “Solomon” pushed his weight against the doors. Once they were open, a vast chamber with a huge table in the centre came into view. Surrounding the table were chairs, and at the head of the table a figure sat in a larger, taller seat.
“Welcome, friends, to my new palace.”
The words felt like ice cold water down Patient Zero’s back. He felt his whole body tense – in the loosest sense of the word. To his side, the second patient hardly seemed to react. Gabriel’s horrifying smile was wider than he’d ever seen it before.
“Gentlemen, if you could place my guests in these two seats – that would be wonderful.”
Slowly but surely, Patient Zero felt the restraints being removed from around him and felt his legs begin to buckle. Quickly, two large arms wrapped around him and held his weight before slowly lowering him to a chair immediately to Gabriel’s left. Solomon took the seat to Gabriel’s right and finally the other patient, under his own volition, took the seat immediately next to Solomon.
“It has been a truly momentous week, my friends. And yet it has just begun.”
He ran the tip of his finger around the edge of the silvery goblet he held in his right hand. He seemed euphoric, staring off into the distance for a few moments before continuing. Finally, Baal turned his head to Patient Zero.
“You have been with me since the very beginning my friend. You have seen the best and worst of me. You are both by greatest achievement and my most catastrophic failure. Now, you’re here – the scene of my ultimate victory and I couldn’t be happier to be sharing it with you.”
Gabriel climbed to his feet and slowly stepped down from the dais. He slowly extended his hand towards Patient Zero and touched the cool metal of the mask he wore. Baal reached around the sides of his face and unclasped the catches on the sides and pulled the mask away.
“There – better?”
Without waiting for an answer, Gabriel turned now to the second man.
“Alan! We have been through so much together in the last few months– you have watched my meteoric rise within the world of Professional Wrestling. It is the bond we share. But today is so important, because my two worlds reach their peak at precisely the same time.”
Gabriel lifts the cup to his lips and takes a hearty swig.
“This is why it is so important that you’re both here.”
Gabriel retook his seat at the head of the table, his eyes focusing on that unseen point in the far distance. Without changing his gaze, Gabriel began to speak again.
“Travis Roberts is going to lose his World Heavyweight Championship this Monday – and he’s going to lose it to me. When he does, he is going to feel that loss like nothing he has ever felt before. He needs to know that I am willing and able to help him through that loss. I need him to realise that although he will never forget his loss, he will learn to deal with it, in time.”
Gabriel took another drink from the cup before continuing.
“I have said all along that this is a necessary loss for The Blessed One – should he retain that Championship he will slowly slip back into the cesspool from which he’d managed to crawl over this past year. Deep down, he knows that losing his Championship is for the best. but that will not dull the pain he will feel when the inevitable happens.”
Slolwy, Baal turns his head towards Alan Myer, sat staring without blinking.
“Alan – you know a thing or two about denial, do you not? You escaped from my facility and thought you were free. You even had the balls – if you excuse the phrasing – to confront me in public. You told everyone who would listen that I would pay for what I had done to you. Your denial was thick and viscus, Alan – hard to wash away. Yet we managed, together, to push past that delusion which ensnared you, until you realised the true nature of your predicament.”
Gabriel smiles as he walks to Alan’s side and slaps a palm upon his shoulder.
“Unfortunately – a man with the ego the size of Travis will, undoubtedly, struggle with denial. Telling himself that he’s still the better man, that his time at the top is not at it’s end. That his better days are still ahead. He’ll keep on trying to fight his way back to the top of the mountain, because that is where he will believe he should be – alas, at the top of that mountain, waiting to drench him with cold hard reality, will be me. The World Heavyweight Champion and the face of UGWC.”
Turning now back to Patient Zero, Gabriel grinned.
“Of course – when it comes to bargaining, my old friend, you were the unrivalled. No man has ever pled for his freedom and liberty more than you. I admire your thurst for freedom, the very lengths that you would be willing to go to just to be free. You swore you would die with my secret, that you would go anywhere and do anything that I asked. You wanted to keep the freedom that you had been so used to – unfortunately, you cannot bargain for something to which you are so clearly unentitled.”
Baal leans against the table.
“The Blessed One is the epitome of entitlement, my friends. His name has been made on that feeling of being entitled to the best of everything. His feeling of entitlement will lead him to begin with a request – simple and to the point. Yet it will end with him on his hands and knees, begging for me to give him back the meaning that I took away from his career – from his life. He will offer anything and everything to take back that which he has lost – to which he feels he is entitled. Not merely a championship, but his very relevance. Without that title, Travis will return to the same kind of obscurity he had felt until Battleground. He will be hollow. Empty.”
Gabriel turned his head now to Solomon.
“Angry.”
Solomon smiles back at Baal – as if having expected this to come.
“Anger. The most difficult, and also the most damaging emotion to spurn – I don’t think you’ve ever quite managed to let go of the anger born from losing your true name, your standing, – the life you knew. The anger still fills you until this day. You fume and burn inside. Your anger fuels your ability to do the job you do, but deep down you know that someday you’ll need to let go. The anger within you poisons your very soul, your very being. When you learn to let that go, you will be a better man for it.”
Solomon’s expression is unchanged – as if fixed upon his face.
“Travis Roberts anger will be great, I’m sure. Humiliated, dominated and left to rot. Once he realises he can’t barter for that which he greives, he’ll seek to take it by force. The old Travis will rear it’s ugly head– the arrogant, desperate Travis Roberts will unleash his fury. It will be terrible to behold, I have no doubt, but his fury will be like a match in a waterfall – doused in seconds, paling in comparison to that which he finds himself faced. Travis Roberts anger will turn within, burning away at his own inadequacy… His own failure. His inability to defend his honour from this younger, more intelligent and infinitely more deserving Champion.”
Baal runs his hand over his forehead – slowly turning again.
“Until he finally sinks deep into the pit of despair. I know you’ve both been there, gentlemen. I’ve watched it, witnessed it. Silence, tears, isolation. The feeling that you’ll never be happy again – the feeling that you’ll never be whole again. That feeling that nothing and no-one could ever pull you from the hole within which you find yourself. I saw you Alan, crying at night, desolate and abjectly miserable. I saw you, my old friend, staring blankly into the abyss, all hope gone, lonely. Dying on the inside.”
The glee on Gabriel’s face was evil to behold. Patient Zero could feel himself sway slightly, but as he does, from the darkness a hand pushes him back into place.
“I fear that those who surround Travis Roberts will be pulled into his downward spiral. They will follow him anywhere, but into this particular rabbit hole could be infinitely more damaging. They will watch as Travis Roberts entire being seems to shrink into nothingness – his baron spirit, coarse and harsh. His future bleak and his inflated ego reduced to a virtual black hole of waste. The Blessed One will be lost to all around him – Travis Roberts, the man behind the mask will be revealed. And it will be horrific.”
Baal retakes his place on his throne, looking down on them all – that look bliss back in his eyes.
“But all is not lost – the power of acceptance is strong. There will come a point, in which Travis Roberts accepts his lot in life. The broken down legend trying to fight in a world filled with younger, better men. Accepting that he’s at the end of what little relevance he’s ever had, just waiting for someone to put that final bullet between his eyes. Time to put the old dog to sleep. The path to acceptance will not be easy, and Travis will learn a few hearty truths along the way. But in the end, he will be at peace – safe in the knowledge that once he was a great man, a great man who fell on a better man’s sword.”
Ball looks down to the man sat around him. His lead was lifted at the chin, in an attempt to appear magnanimous
“Tonight is a night for celebration. A night for reward. A night to give thanks for those who have been there for me throughout the years. I want you all to know just how much I appreciate what you add to my life. I want to offer you a gift.”
He leans forward in his seat, anticipation burning behind his eyes.
“It is time to choose, my friends. Two of you have a chance to leave this place forever, free to live your lives as you see fit. Should two or more of you choose to leave I will not stand in your way. You will be free.”
Alan immediately looked towards Patient Zero with eyes wide. Solomon was the first to stand, wordlessly making his choice, standing next to Gabriel and looking at the remaining two. Almost immediately, Alan climbed to his feet. As he made his way around the table, slowly, wearily, Patient Zero’s heart began to pound. His breathing picked up pace. Alan stepped in front of him, and slowly pulled his arm over his shoulder.
“Come on, let’s go – let’s get out of here..”
The moment had come that Patient Zero had dreamt of for years – alone in that room. Dreaming of freedom and a life outside those four walls. So why was he so afraid – terrified. He looked up at Gabriel with pleading in his eyes - desperate for someone, anyone to stop Alan from lifting him from his seat. With everything he had he managed to muster the strength to make a noise.
“Come on… We’ve got to go!”
“Nnnn…”
“What is it?”
Slowly, Patient Zero collected himself, using all of his concentration.
“Nnn… nn… no.”
Alan stood back, his eyes wide – frozen with fear. The cold, high pitched cackle from upon high had stopped Alan in his tracks.
“Oh Alan – now you see the power of acceptance.”
Baal looked towards the darkness, as two orderlies swoop and gripped Alan by the arms.
“And you were doing so well – I think we need to move you a little closer to me, Alan. Take him to room Zero – he can share with our friend here. From now on – you shall be known as Patient One.”
Alan’s terrified screams were quickly muted by an injection to the neck. As the newly named Patient One was pulled away. Gabriel stepped towards Patient Zero and lifted the mask towards his mouth. As he did, Patient Zero pulled his head back to make eye contact.
“D… D… Daniel. P… Please.”
“I can’t help, my old friend. It’s way beyond all of that.”
Baal replaced the mask upon Patient Zero’s face, and ordered him to be escorted away. Turning to Solomon, who was now leant against the table.
“Well that went well, mate.”
“As to be expected my friend. This Monday will be an altogether more difficult task. Placing my dagger through the heart of Travis Robert’s career will not be popular – but it is required. He will fall by my hand – and I will be the champion that UGWC deserves.”
Solomon steps towards Gabriel and slaps his hand across his employer’s shoulder. With a smile and a shake of his head, he returns his own, ever so graceful response.
“Poor fuckin’ bastards…
