Post by Gabriel Baal on Oct 28, 2017 19:22:08 GMT -5
Gabriel opened his eyes and started to roll over – the ground was cold and hard, and the lighting was flickering. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry – god knows how long he’d been there. The light was hurting his eyes, artificial and oddly coloured. Not quite white – more blue. The strip light which gave off it’s eery glow was hung from the ceiling, where the connection had broke away from it’s housing.
"Hello?" He said. His voice was cracked and weak. He cleared his throat. "Hello, is anyone there?"
He pushed himself up off the ground, realising for the first time that it was wet. His clothes were sodden and he was freezing cold. His teeth began to chatter, as if they’d been waiting for his brain to realise before they started their involuntary rattle. He pushed himself up into a sitting position against the wall. In the intermittent light, he saw the chain trailing from his right ankle out of the small doorway on the far side of the room.
"What the fuck is going on?" He said to himself as he pushed himself up against the wall. He stood up and stepped away from the concrete, but found himself impeded by a second chain around his left ankle. He looked down and followed it into an open hole in the ground.
"Dr. Gabriel Baal." Came a voice through unseen speakers. "I want to play a game?"
Gabriel’s eyes widened in horror. This had to be fucking nightmare.
Donovan Hastings loved nothing more than spending time with his children. He was a good father, a doting father. And other than a brief time during 2016 when they seemingly would have traded him in for Killian King, Donovan’s children looked up to no-one more than their dear old dad.
That is what Donovan woke up every morning to tell himself.
As he kissed each of them on the forehead before once again setting off for the next UGWC show, Donovan couldn’t help but feel that familiar pang of guilt that he was yet again trading in time with his family for his long-awaited search for Legacy. He closed his eyes and pushed back those feelings, before stepping out into the fresh air.
His head was spinning slightly as he did. He felt himself stumble. He felt himself trip and waited for the inevitable moment where he would collide with the ground. Yet he didn’t. He felt strong arms catch him and prevent him from hitting the ground.
"Look! Daddy fell!" He heard from the doorway, as the new arrival pulled him up to his full height and started to lead him down the path. "Bye! And thank you for the present!"
Donovan opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t his eyes rolled back in his head. And everything was black.
When he opened his eyes again, he felt himself in a sitting position. He shook his head, and looked down to a wooden desk covered in papers. He felt groggy, and shook his head to try and allow his vision to clear.
"Hello Donovan." Came a voice through the air.
"What? Who…?" Donovan replied, sounding groggy.
"I want to play a game." Came the voice which sounded unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. "You’ve spent your entire career looking to create a legacy for yourself at the expense of others. Friends, family, your own daughters. You’ve done everything you possibly could to ensure that when you’re no longer here, people will remember the name of Donovan Hastings for the rest of time. But at what cost?"
Donovan could feel his eyes coming into focus.
"You’ve hurt people. You’ve taken the careers of men you’ve felt were worth less than you. You’ve belittled and berated all that come before you, all in the name of becoming the Lord of Pain. You’ve neglected your family. Your daughters. Look at how they see you Donovan. Look at what you are to them?"
He looked down to see years of pictures drawn from their earliest days. Almost every single picture had them looking sad, as their dad walked away with a suitcase in hand. Else, the pictures showed his children being cared for by anyone but their father.
"No…" He said, his eyes straining. "It’s not true… They can’t. They don’t…"
"Your daughters, raised by your hand. Accepting gifts from strangers, in exchange for the truth of how they feel about their father. Your kiss to their skin, causing your loss of consciousness. Betrayed by the kiss of your children." The voice said, mocking him. "Even now, they laugh at your so-called Legacy. Knowing that it is only a matter of time before you’re discovered to be a fraud. Beneath those pictures, are documents with evidence the truth about Donovan Hastings. The lies, and the secrets, the proof that you are not the man you purport to be. But you have a choice Donovan. You can destroy it all and save your legacy. Behind your right ear is a match."
Hastings reaches up and pulls the match from behind his ear, he moves to strike it but stops. Only now does he notice the smell.
"Strike that match, and hide the truth of your failings. Your Legacy will remain intact. But you are doused in fuel with no hope of avoiding the painful death of burning alive. The choice is yours, Donovan. Will you die with your legacy intact? Or will you live to see yourself scorned and broken? You have five minutes before we release you and the evidence to the world. Good luck."
Hastings looked at the match again, and then down to his feet. They were bound tightly against the wooden chair upon which he sat, and even if he could escape, then what? He had to choose.
He looked down at the pictures drawn by his children and felt the pain in his heart.
"I’m… I’m sorry." He said as he closed his eyes again.
"I asked you a question, Doctor." Came the voice again. Seconds had passed like minutes as Gabriel tried to compose himself.
"What… What kind of game?" Asked Gabriel. His head was spinning now, but his teeth had stopped chattering. His adrenaline had kicked in and he was ready for a fight. Any fight. "What kind of fucking game?"
"The good doctor – physician and healer. Yet there is a darker side to the man who know as Gabriel Baal. His entire life has been predicated on mysteries and riddles. You seem to be blissfully unaware of the effect that your mysterious manor has on those who come into contact with you. To women like Lucy Wylde you are an Enygma, to men like Rogan MacLean you can never be fully trusted. But most of all, to those who love you most your riddles are the most dangerous. You see, they are hurt by the fact that they cannot solve the biggest riddle of all – who is Gabriel Baal."
Gabriel suddenly hears the whirring and grinding of gears as he looks down at the chain holding his left ankle. It was slowly beginning to pull away from him down the hole. Gabriel looked around the room for something, anything. He spotted a small hacksaw across the room.
"Fuck that." He said under his breath.
"Doctor Baal – your first task is simple. Solve the riddle to release the key. You have roughly two minutes. Should you not answer I time, the chain will continue to pull, and will either break your ankle and drag your lower leg into the hole or remove your foot. Even if you fail the first task, you must continue."
Gabriel’s heart began to beat out of his chest. This couldn’t be fucking happening – at best a broken ankle, at worst a whole fucking foot. This had to be a joke.
"What’s the riddle?" He heard himself say, but there was little conviction in his voice.
"Has a blade of jagged cut. Keeps the quickest hand out shut. Goes in darkness. Wears a ring. One is quiet, many sing. Let the game begin."
Blades. Darkness. Rings… What the fuck? Was this something from Lord of the Rings? What the hell was going on… What the fuck is this?
"Someone help me?!" Gabriel called out in terror. But he knew, deep down, that it was useless. No-one was going to help him. He looked around the room again – he hoped to see something that would give him some kind of hint as to what he was supposed to do but all he could see were concrete walls.
"Has a blade of jagged cut… A knife? Keeps the quickest hand out shut? A door? Goes in darkness and wears a ring? A Wraith… One is quiet, many sing? Birds… Argh!" He shouts in frustration. "None of this makes any fucking sense."
He slaps the wall as he feels the slow tug of the chain against his ankle. He takes a deep breath.
"You’re fucked, mate." Said Gabe, standing in the corner picking something out of his teeth. "Like – completely and totally fucked. I mean… Can you even wrestle with one leg?"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up." Said Gabriel.
"Don’t say that, Gabe. Gabriel can be anything he wants to be. Absolutely anything. He’s a shining star, waiting to shoot across the sky."
"Shut up!" Gabriel said, trying to think. This riddle was tearing his mind apart. What the fuck was he supposed to do?
"Honestly, I don’t think there’s any way out of this Gabriel. I think Gabe is right…" Said Daniel again. Gabriel swung his hands at him but he was just out of reach.
"Aggressive for a man whose about to be a one legged man in an arse kicking contest." Said Gabe as Gabriel is slowly pulled further and further backwards.
"Why are you here? I haven’t spoken to either of you for months." Said Gabriel, trying to drag himself away from the chain, but to no avail. He’d shaken off his show and was now trying with everything he had to pull his foot out from the manacle.
"You realise that’s not going to work." Said Daniel. "What you need is a key."
"Go away! Leave me alone." Said Gabriel, starting to panic as he found himself just inches away from the hole in the ground.
"Oi. Be fucking nice. We’re trying to help. Daniel is telling you that you need a key."
"I’m fully aware that I need a fucking k…" He paused as the chain slowly started to pull his ankle flat against the floor.
"A key… A key!" He shouted into the air. "The answer is a key!"
He closed his eyes as he felt the pressure begin to pull down on his ankle and then… Nothing. The whirring had stopped, the pressure had lifted.
"Congratulations, doctor. You managed to figure out my little riddle, with just seconds to spare. But don’t worry, that was just a warm up. Things will get much more interesting from now on."
Gabriel turned over, breathing deeply, as he looked to the small doorway and saw the locks pop open, and from an unseen hole in the ceiling, a single key drops down. Gabriel unlocks the first chain, before trying the second. It didn’t turn – he hadn’t expected it to.
This game had a long way to go.
Jase stumbled out of the bar having narrowly avoided yet another confrontation with half of the clientele inside. He grinned as he staggered down the street, looking for the next place within which he could cause havoc. He spotted the bar out of which Gabriel Baal had ran just a couple of weeks ago, before pulling him into another bar… The one he’d just left actually…
Jase mused over the idea that he’d found himself retracing those particular steps, as he suddenly realised how very thirsty he’d become. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the hip flask that Quin had bought him before she died. He looked at it for a moment, before pulling open the lid. He took a long gulp from inside, before replacing the lid and pushing it back into his pocket.
He continued to walk, but the journey had suddenly become incredibly difficult. He felt his knees weaken and his balance failing. He pressed his hand against a wall as an onlooker approached him.
"Are you alright man? You don’t look so good." He said.
"The fuck… away from me…" Said Jase as he swung his fist at the man. IT seemed to move in slow motion as the man moved out of the way. Jase stumbled forward as another onlooker stretched out his arms and caught the falling Jase.
"Come on, fella. Let’s go." He said.
"Fuck… You… MacLean." Jason said as the man pulled him up and lifted his arm over his shoulder.
And then the world turned black.
Jason opened his eyes again, and found the world was upside down.
"What the fuck?" He said, feeling the bonds against his ankles.
"Hello Jason." Came a voice which made Jason spin around looking for the source. "I want to play a game."
"Who the fuck is that? What the fuck do you want?" Jase asked, the adrenaline pumping through him.
"Your journey has been fraught with horror after horror. It would be enough for anyone with a heart to feel sorry for you. That is, of course, until they hear the fact that you are to blame for every single thing that has ever happened to you. You failed your brothers. So they locked you away. You failed to take your revenge, and another took it away from you. You focused all of your energy in the wrong direction and lost the woman you loved. Now you blame everything on another, and swear vengeance."
"Where the fuck are you MacLean?" Shouted Rogan.
"You blame him for everything, for your failures and your losses. Even though they started long before you ever knew him. No, you blame him because he is the reason you’re the man you hate every time you look in the mirror. You blame him because he chose you and after that, nothing was the same. You blame him because you took your eye off Quin for just long enough to fail her. Now it is time to choose Jason. Do you fight for the man you are? Or you succumb and find yourself reunited with Quin. Do you live to chase down your revenge? Or do you leave vengeance behind and allow yourself to spend eternity with the woman you love? The choice is yours. Good luck."
For the first time, Jase looks down and spots the deep pool of water into which he’s being lowered. His hair touches the surface and breaks it. Jase, having been the victim of water based torture before, opened his mouth and took a huge deep breath before his head is submerged.
For a moment he hung there, absurdly still, his eyes open and fixed on a bolt in the side of the tank. He would stay calm. He wouldn’t fight. He could hold his breath for longer if he didn’t struggle.
He waited, and waited. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours. The pain was starting to building his lungs as he felt the need to breath bear down upon him. He could give in and breath and he would be with Quin. Or he could fight and live to finally revenge himself upon the man who turned him into this.
He closed his eyes for a moment. As he made his final choice.
As he opened them again. One sentence passed through his mind. His decision made.
"I’m… I’m sorry."
Gabriel pushed himself to his feet and staggered a little – the intensity of his task had left him a little light headed. He felt almost drunk as he stumbled towards the doorway. He stopped, his hand pressed against the frame as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He quickly relaised that this was the side effects of the drug that had been used to knock him out – no-one was supposed to be under that much pressure that soon after waking up.
"This wasn’t how it was supposed to be." Came a voice from the darkness of the hallway.
"Hello?" Gabriel said out loud. He blinked into the darkness, but he couldn’t see who was there.
"You weren’t supposed to choose this path." Said the voice again.
Gabriel staggered out into the darkness, and could make out a shape just out of view. The door to the room which he’d just vacated closed behind him, killing any of the unnatural light from within.
"Who is it? Who’s there?" He called out.
When no reply came he stumbled forward and moved his hands into the inky blackness, but touched nothing.
"You were supposed to be better – supposed to be something beautiful." Said the voice again, this time from behind him. Gabriel swung around, and began fondling fresh air again in an attmept to find the source of the voice.
Be began to muse to himself that perhaps this was all a trick – that the voice was meant to disorientate him. That the sounds were being played form various speakers and that the shapes he saw were nothing more than a trick of the darkness.
"Alright." He said quietly, leaning down and picking up the chain. "I’ll play along."
He felt his way along the chain slowly but surely, feeling the ground with his toes before he stepped. He was weary that he was being led to some kind of fall.
"You won’t fall, Gabriel. It’s not that simple." Came the voice again. Night vision, he thought. Smart. Whoever was playing this game was prepared.
"You think I’m part of the game?" Came the voice, so close to his ear that he could feel the breath on his neck. Gabriel stopped still, his hands darting out this way and that, his ears scanning for the sound of footsteps, scraping. Nothing.
"Who is it?" He asked, trying to shake clear the cobwebs that filed his brain, causing fog and confusion.
"Have you really forgotten me so quickly?" The voice asked again.
And then he felt it. Skin, flesh and bone. Cold to the touch. Freezing hands gripped his own and guided them to a cold, wet something and then…
"Samantha." Gabriel said as he snatched his hand away from the hole in her chest. He stumbled and almost fell, but hands that were much stronger than they had ever been propped him up. "Samantha, please…."
[br"What is it that you fear Gabriel? Failure? Pain? Or is it the idea that I died at your hand?" She asked.
"All of it." Said Gabriel sounding child-like. "Samantha I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you. Save you."
"Do not apologise, Gabriel Baal – this is the way of things. How they were supposed to be – I sleep eternally now. But you? You have chosen a path that I did not expect. Why?" She asked.
"No, no, no… It’s not time for that yet." Said Gabriel. "You don’t get to hear my confession today."
"Very well." She said. "In that case… He awaits you."
And as if they had always been there, small lights illuminated the ground at his feet. He looked around, and she was gone… As if she’d never even been there. He looked down at his hands in the gloom, and saw a stain on his fingers. Was it new? Or perhaps it had always been there.
Phrixus loved his journals. They were his voice. His way of remembering every single battle he’d ever fought. There was a reason he was nicknamed Fear. Not because of his size or his fury, but for his ability to read his opponents in a way that most other they would face never could. He could see into their heart, into their soul. He could see their intention often before they’d considered it themselves. Yes. Phrixus loved his journals.
Fear finished his latest entry and closed the book. He was satisfied. He looked down at his fingers and noticed ink on the tips. He wasn’t accustomed to smudging, so quickly he opened his journal and checked. There were no smudges on the page. He closed it back over and looked at the pen he was using and noticed the ink leaking from near the nib.
It was strange – his pens had never had this problem before. He stood up and made his way to the sink in the corner of the room and turned the tap. Yet the water didn’t run. He turned the handle again but felt his knees buckle. He gripped the edge of his feet and tried to stay on his feet. He looked again at the ink on his fingers… It couldn’t be…
He hardly noticed the hands guiding him backwards against a hand truck. He never felt the strap around his chest. He never felt himself being tipped backwards and guided out of his safe sanctum.
No. Because as he’d realised that his ink had ben poisoned, the world had swam before his eyes before everything had gone black.
His brain whirred back into life as light returned to the world. He was lay on his back, his arms outstretched. He tried to rub his eyes, but his hands wouldn’t move. He looked to the left and then to the right – they were pinned down with pincer like grips.
"Hello Phrixus." Came a sound from near his right ear. "I want to play a game."
Fear looked around for the source of the voce, but couldn’t see another living soul.
"You’ve made your name documenting your ability to read everyone who has crossed your path. Your journals are legendary and numerous. Rumours abound that they contain such secrets that almost all of UGWC could fear your hand in their downfall. But that’s not your style, am I right? You like the more personal approach, waiting in the wings ready to pounce, should the moment arise. You have the power to destroy lives, but you do not. Not until you stand to gain from such revelations."
Demios looks from left to right, but only now did he notice the two large circular saws above his hands. Only now did he notice the chords tied to his wrists.
"But now you have to choose, Phricus. What is it you covert most? Your life, or your journals. You see, your choice is between the loss of the very hands that document your analysis. Should you decided you would be unable to part with them, remove one… Or both from it’s restraint. Currently, only your arms are preventing the increase of noxious gas into your air. Should you keep your hands where they are, you will lose your ability to wiite, but you will have survived living, but no longer documenting. The choice is yours, Phricus. Good luck."
Almost immediately, the pincers pulled away from his wrists giving him the freedom to move. He held himself in place as the saws burst into life and began their agonisingly slow decent.
Fear considered his options carefully, but he could see no way out. He thought of all of the journals he’d never written in. His life work abandoned if he died. He closed his eyes and felt the pain. He thought of those he had helped, though few and far between. He thought of them all as he watched the saws start to drop.
"I’m… I’m sorry."
Gabriel followed the lights and the chain much less carefully now, the lights in the ground giving him confidence.
"He awaits you." She’d said. Ichabod. Gabriel smiled to himself, the realisation coming into the fore. This was Ichabod – it had to be. Another one of his tests.
Gabriel wrapped the chain around his arm as he walked, until the lights came to an end. He reached out and touched the metal of a sliding door. As his fingers touched the cool steel, light broke through the darkness. He blinked as it took him time for his eyes to adjust.
He looked up at the door, and saw in something that looked suspiciously like blood, the words “Gabriel, open if you want to play a game.” Gabriel smiled as flexed his neck.
"In for a penny, in for a pound." He said to himself as he reached out. He looked down, there was a small gap through which his chain trailed. He pulled he handle of the door which opened. As he stepped inside, a voice burst through the dark.
"No, no, no! Don’t let it…" The door clicked closed behind them. "Shut. Brilliant."
Gabriel’s eyes widened as he recognised the voice in the room with him. The lights begin to flicker into life, and Gabriel saw, sat in the far corner of the room, the tired looking face of…
"Hello Rogan."
"Gabriel." Replied Rogan MacLean. "I’d like to say it’s good to see you."
"Likewise." Said Gabriel as he turned to look at the new room within which he was now, apparently, trapped. He dropped the chain to the ground and almost instantly, the majority of it disappeared through a wall leaving him just two or three feet of room to move.
"Brilliant." Said Gabriel.
The room was rather plain, looking much like an old-fashioned doctor’s office. Rogan was sat in the chair that was next to the desk, and Gabriel found himself perching on a seat meant for anyone observing the doctor’s work. In the corner, a curtain was pulled around what looked like a bed from what little of it they could see. Gabriel tilted his head in that direction.
Rogan shook his head to confirm he hadn’t been able to look behind it. Gabriel looked around for something he could use to hook the curtain and pull it back.
"How long have you been here?" He asked of his former Engine of Chaos brethren.
"No idea – I’ve been awake for about two hours. Feel like my entire body is aching." Replied Rogan.
"I see you were permitted to bring your possessions." Gabriel said glancing at the Gold Belt lay on the desk next to where Rogan sat. Rogan looked up and smiled.
"Aye. It was the first thing I looked for when I woke up." He said. "Don’t plan on losing it any time soon."
"We have much wider reaching concerns right now, Rogan." Said Gabriel not making any eye contact. “Do you remember anything before you woke up?”
"Beating you at Outlast." Rogan added with another rye smile. "But if you mean immediately before whatever happened to bring me here? No. I remember that I’d arranged a meeting, but he didn’t turn up."
"Ichabod?" Asked Gabriel.
"Yeah… How did you…?" Started Rogan. "You too?"
"Precisely." Said Gabriel. What should have followed would have been a silence reaching out into the distance. It was, however, broken by the the clicking sound of a lighter from behind the curtain. A boot slid out from behind the curtain and pulled it back. The billowing smoke would have given it away, had the next sentence not been designed to do just that.
"Always were a pair of fuckin’ choads." Said Ichabod as he drew the curtain all the way back.
Zane was proud of what he and Donovan had built. It was a place of beauty and sophistication. As he closed up and locked the doors, he felt a burgeoning sense that he and his new found friend could truly dominate the halls of UGWC for a long, long time. They were newly crowned Co-Operative Champions and when the two of them set their mind upon it, they would really be a force to be reckoned with.
Yet there was still a doubt in his mind.
People would still call Donovan the “Brains” of the operation.
"Fuck." He cursed under his breath. The stigma that he was in some way lacking of any kind of mental skill irked him immensely. He wasn’t just some big ogre with a penchant for pain. He had hidden depths. Like an onion. No. Not an onion. Like a… Submarine. Submarines were cool… Maybe their next lair should be on a submarine!
Wait, what was he thinking about? He bumped hard into a passer by and turned around.
"Watch where you’re going." He said, rubbing his arm where they’d collided. Funny, they hadn’t hit that hard… Yet it still hurt. He took worse bumps than that in the ring…o… Starr….
He shook his head which had seemed to fill with cotton wool. What the fuck was happening. He stopped his onward journey and placed a hand against the wall. Within seconds, he was down on one knee. He felt light headed and the world was spinning. As he felt the floor coming up to meet him, two hands lifted under his arms and up into the air.
He felt the back seat of a car against his back as the world went black.
When Zane Scott awoke, he found himself stood in some kind of cage. The floor underneath him was split in two, like some kind of trap door. He looked down beneath the cage and saw what looked like sand.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" He called out. But no one immediately answered. "Where is this place?"
"Hello Zane." Came a disembodied voice.
"I want to play a game." It said.
"Yeah? I got a game for you." Zane said as he extended his middle finger and turned on the spot facing every direction. "Called catch the fucking birdie."
"Zane – you pride yourself on your ability to act. Your skills as a fighter are unquestioned but your skills as a thinking man are often mocked. This, of course, upsets you. No-one likes to be considered stupid. The reality is not that you’re some kind of wandering beast without a simple thought, you’re merely… Easily led. It’s easier to be anything but your own man. Follow the orders of those who are better placed to make decisions and you can never be blamed for your part. You’re a foot soldier. A golum. Created from earth. Hard and steadfast. Reliable, but… Unoriginal."
Zane’s knuckles whiten on the bars of the cage as he holds on.
"You’re not incapable of leading, Zane. Nor are you too dense to see the benefits. You merely prefer the easier life. One where decision making can fall by the wayside and action can pull you to the fore. That is, of course, your modus operandi. And whilst every army requires their loyal, unquestioning followers, you stand back and allow those who make the plans take the blame or the plaudits. Yes, like a Golum, you are from the earth. And now you must return to the earth."
The trapdoor beneath his feet opens and Zane plunges into the sand below. Immediately it begins to suck him in.
"So what will you do, Zane? Act first and think later? Will you try to free yourself before it’s too late and risk falling victim to the pull of the sand? Or do you stop, and take a moment to think. Do you find a way out with your mind instead of your body? That, Mr. Scott. Is your choice… Good luck."
Zane’s heart begins to beat as the sand reaches his waist already. He knew that struggling would make him sink faster, but doing nothing would just delay the inevitable. He thought of Donovan… And the fact that Zane himself had the only key to their lair. He would be left with no way to get back inside. Donovan, who had extended the olive branch. Donovan… Who would be left heart broken at Zane’s disappearance. If he could only speak to him once more, if they could only exchange one last conversation… He could say that which flashed through his mind as he made his choice.
"I’m… I’m sorry."
"Hold on a minute, have you been there the whole fuckin’ time?" Asked Rogan.
"I woke up after you. Your rendition of Oh Danny Boy was wonderful, but yes – I assume I’ve been here as long as you have."
"And you didn’t think to open your mouth. Would have been a lot less dull." Added MacLean.
"What? When you could have been the reason I was in here? I don’t think so." Said Ichabod, taking a drag on his Newport.
"So it’s pure coincidence that both of us were meant to meet you right before we suddenly black out and find ourselves locked up in what looks suspiciously like one of the Parke Facilities." Asked Gabriel.
"Or is it coincidence that I was supposed to meet with you pair of fucking pricks before I suddenly developed an inability to keep my eyes open. Works both ways you know." Added Ichabod.
"Alright look, we need to work together – focus on getting out of here." Said Rogan. "Ich – are you chained up?"
"Yes." He said pointing at the thick chain attached to a collar around his neck. "Clearly."
Gabriel finally takes time to look at them each in turn. Rogan’s wrists, Gabriel’s leg, Ichabod’s neck. They were chained differently. Gabriel had to walk, but they tried take his foot. Why would whoever was doing this want to take Rogan’s hands? And Ichabod’s throat? So he couldn’t speak? What did Ichabod know.
"You know something." Gabriel said quickly. "You know something important. You always know something important – and whoever is doing this knows that you know. They pull that collar and they stop you talking. They tried to stop me from making it here by trying to break my ankle." Said Gabriel.
"And my fuckin’ wrists?" Said Rogan, looking down at his hands. "You’re saying they can break my wrists."
"I don’t know – there’s something we’re all missing, something that we haven’t worked out yet. But you fucking know something!" Gabriel said. Ichabod looked at him and stubbed his Newport out on the palm of his hand.
"You’re right, Gabriel." Said Ichabod, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. "I always know something."
"So what is it?" Asked Rogan.
"Pretty simple when you think about it." Said Ichabod still grinning despite everything. "They want to play a game. Without us? It’s game over."
"So what exactly are you suggesting?" Asked Gabriel with the hint of a smile. "That we take it upon ourselves to just end this? Here and now?"
"You’re fuckin’ touched in the head, pal." Said Rogan. "How would that help anything?"
"Oh come on, gentlemen. Let’s instill a little Chaos into the situation. Whoever has done this to us plans on killing us anyway, but they wouldn’t have set that up just for us to fall on our swords. No – they want a spectacle. They want to prove they outsmarted the entire Engine of Chaos."
Gabriel looks across at Rogan, who’s face suddenly looks resigned.
"Alright." Said Gabriel with a roll of his eyes. "What is it that you have in mind?"
"Well…" Said Ichabod. But before he could begin to speak, the collar around his neck pulls tight against the wall. He reaches up and claws at his throat, trying to get his fingers underneath to create some separation.
Gabriel and Rogan both step forward, but they’re restrained by their manacles. Ichabod’s eyes begin to roll back in his head, as the door through which Gabriel had originally walked opened up. Gabriel turned around, as he heard Rogan’s realization and indignation wash over the room. Ichabod was coughing now, the strangling of his collar eased slightly.
"Always have to try and spoil my fun, don’t you Ichy?" Said Eden Morgan, as she, Jet Somers and Killian King step into the room. The Court had arrived.
The man known as Alan Wallace had spent his entire life showing the women of this world the most spectacular time. He was suave, he was sophisticated, he was easy on the eye. He had a gift of the gab, that meant that Alan Wallce could truly live up to the moniker “The Clit Whisperer.” Yet it wasn’t this nickname by which Alan Wallace had been known for so many years. Wallace was known for that trait that both served and hindered him. He was “Vain” Alan Wallace
These were the thoughts that past through the mind of he man himself as he watched himself in the mirror. His life had changed significantly since Killian had turned his back. And then Eden had been revealed to be part of The Court and his final connections to The Syndicate had all but gone awa. His heart broke when his heterosexual life partner had turned his back.
But today was a new day – it would be better, he thought, as he sprayed Vain by Vain against his neck, he felt the pang of excitement that came from knowing that in less than three hours he would have a brand new hareem ready and waiting to do whatever it was he would ask. Yet when he felt himself stumbling towards the bed, he was concerned. As he fell short of the bed and dropped to all fours, he was followed, collected swiftly moved out of his own apartment.
The last thing that Wallace could remember was that the World turned black.
"Hello Alan." Said a voice cutting through the silence. "I want to play a game."
Wallace opened his eyes and looked around.
"Well…" He said, his eyes not fully open. "This will not do for the Clit-Whisperer. Can I speak to your manager.".
"For years, Alan Wallace has been the top name in any company he stepped into. No wonder his ego has grown to pandemic proportions. Of course, there is little wrong with confidence so long as it’s not… misguided. Yes, Alan Wallace has turned the heads of supermodels and housewives alike. Yes – Alan Wallace is every wife’s dream and every husbands nightmare. Yet, his skills are not reserved for the bedroom. No, you’re as dangerous as you are delightful. But that face of which you’re so proud is dangerous, and I can’t help but believe that the world would be better if it was a little less… Perfect."
Alan looks around properly for the first time. He was sealed inside of a Perspex box. In the middle of his cell hung a mask, designed for the entire head to be closed within. The lock was digital. Once locked inside, someone needed to release it.
"The game is simple Alan. What is it that you treasure more? Your Vanity or your life. The box in which you stand is sealed and prepared to create the perfect vacuum. This vacuum will simulate the experience of being exposed to space. Should you wish to preserve your vanity, then all you need do is wait. The air will be withdrawn from the room until there is nothing left. You will suffocate and die. Yet your body will be preserved as it is for all eternity. The human body will not decompose in space."
Wallace’s cocky façade seems to slide from his face. He didn’t want to die…
"Should you wish to live, Alan, all you need do its press your face into that mask and close the lock. When your time runs out, the face of which you are so proud will sliced by the razorblades housed inside. You will be cut beyond all recognition. Your pride stripped away, but you will be alive. The choice is yours, Alan. Good luck."
As Wallace looked on, the mask slowly popped open. He could see the slit holes where the razor blades would slide into his skin. The mask had been made to fit his face perfectly – there would be no room to move. He thought of all the things he hadn’t done yet. All of the doors that being “Vain” could open for him. He looked again at the mask, and thought of all the women he’d loved and left behind.
He suddenly began to realise that time was running out and he had to make a decision.
His face or his life.
What "was" more important?
His pulse quickened, his eyes began to dart around for an alterative. Whoever this was, had been well prepared. He knewthat either way, the women of this world would be left disappointed with either outcome. But he had to choose. Life or Vanity – Life or Vanity. Life… Or Vanity. He made his choice and lowered his head with just seconds to go.
"I’m… I’m sorry."
"I should’ve fuckin’ known." Said Rogan leaning back in his chair and slapping his knee.
Gabriel didn’t speak. He watched each of them as they stepped into the room. Eden was wearing a long, black pencil skirt with a vivid red top which hugged her figure. Killian and Jet both wore suits – Killian’s of Saville Row, Black with a Red Shirt and Black tie. Jet, however, wore similar – with the tie and Shirt colours reversed.
Eden stepped towards Ichabod and reached out to touch his face.
"Are you alright? Wouldn’t want to give you any excuses for Monday?" She said smiling.
"Can’t wait… Princess." He coughed as he adjusted his position.
"I’m not touching your face." Jet said as he looked down at Rogan, before slapping him on the shoulder.
"Should fuckin’ hope not." Said Rogan, reaching up and slapping away his hand.
"What’s going on?" Asked Gabriel, noticing now that Killian had stayed closest to him. "Why have you brought us here to kill us?"
"Oh, Gabriel. You really haven’t figured it out have you?" Said Eden with a pitying smile.
"Worked what out?" Said Gabriel. "Stop speaking in fucking riddles."
"Well… Eden has a match with Ichabod. So… I can’t expect she’d want him to die before that happened, can you?" Said Killian. "And of course, the same is said for Mr. MacLean over there. How can Jet beat him and take his Championship if he’s dead?"
"But you, Gabriel. You’re a threat." Said Jet. "Should you win at Battleground, I’ve got no doubt you’ll want to dethrone us and we can’t have that happen now, can we?"
"No – we can’t." Said Eden, starting to feign concern. "So as much as it breaks our hearts to do this, we have to remove the theat…"
"Besides…" Said Killian placing a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. "Besides – the last few months, you’ve put us all through all manor of nonsense and we can’t just stand idly by and let that slide. We have to do something about it."
Killian smiled and leaned forward. He didn’t lower his voice, he wanted Rogan and Ichabod to hear.
"You spent weeks needling me, Baal. On twitter, in promos… You even stole Eden away for nearly a month and a half keeping her locked in your apartment. And you wonder why it is that I would want to see this happen?" Killian said squeezing Gabriel’s shoulder hard.
"Game after game of fucking chess." Said Eden, putting her fingers to her temples. "Classical fucking music and long, laborious talks about new beginnings and friendship."
"Trying everything you could think of to come between me and my best friend. My family. Trying to turn her against me and me against her. All the while smiling out of the back of your face."
Gabriel blinked through it all, trying hard not to betray how he was feeling on the inside, not wanting to give that away cheaply. No. He would be strong.
"So, we want to play a game." Said Eden, jumping up onto the bed next to Ichabod and letting her feet sway. "It’s fun. You have a choice – either you die, or they do."
Gabriel blinked again.
"But you’ve just said you don’t want to kill them. That you need them alive." Said Gabriel.
"Well…" Said Jet. "Technically. But I suppose if they don’t show up on Monday, we’ll just be given the title by forfieit so…. If you think about it. It’s a win-win."
"What will it be, Gabriel? Is your new-found streak of honour going to allow your two friends to die while you live? Or will you do what you’ve always done and put Gabriel Baal first?"
"I mean it’s quite easy… We flick a switch and Ichabod is strangled to death… Rogan’s hands are torn from his body and he bleeds out. I mean we can be out of here before you could say…"
"Engine of Chaos?" Said Killian starting to laugh. Jet and Eden follow suit. The laughter continues for a moment or two, before attentions turn back to Gabriel.
"We’ll take your silence as a choice. Jet, could you do the honours?" Said Killian as Jet pulls out a Radio controlled switch and flicks it open.
"Pity…" Said Jet. "I was looking forward to Monday."
"Wait." Said Gabriel, closing his eyes. "This is about me… It’s always been about me."
He took a deep breath.
"Do it. Let them go." Said Gabriel.
"Oh but first they have to witness this, first hand." Said Killian. "On your knees, Gabriel."
Baal looked from Ichabod, to Rogan and back again. He knew what this meant to Ichabod, given what had happened just weeks before. He implored Gabriel with his eyes not to do this, but Gabriel sunk down to his knees.
"The hood?" Said Killian. Jet reached into the top desk draw and pulled out a black hood and tossed it to Killian who pulled it roughly over Gabriel’s face.
"Alright, who wants to do the honours? Jet?" Killian asked.
"I’m good – I’ve got a date with this one on Monday." He said slapping Rogan on the shoulder again. This time, Rogan made no move to stop it.
"How about you, love?" Aske Killian.
"I’m with Jet – I’m more than happy to deal with this one next week." She said, reaching out and rubbing her knuckles against his bald head. He registered no pain.
"Looks like I get the pleasure." Said Killian stepping in front of Gabriel and tilting his head. "This is your last chance, Gabriel Baal. The last chance you have to save yourself. This is your last chance to throw yourself upon the mercy of The Court. Do you have anything else to say?."
"Please allow me… To introduce myself." Came a muffled voice from inside of the hood. Killian stepped back, pulling the hood away from Gabriel’s face to reveal an ornate, metallic owl mask which covered all but his mouth. Ichabod and Rogan stared at him in disbelief.
"Have they arrived?" He asked. Eden smiled at him.
"About fifteen minutes ago, Gabriel." She said. "They’re waiting just outside."
Gabriel smiled as he turned his head to face Ichabod and then Rogan.
"I am reborn from Chaos and Order." Said Gabriel climbing to his feet. He looked from Rogan to Ichabod and back again. "I am reborn on a new plane."
Gabriel looked down to his foot and lightly shook it until the chain fell away, as if it had always been able to do so. He looked around the room to find Daniel, Gabe and Samantha stood by watching. Each of them, seemingly broken by what they’d just witnessed. One by one, they started to fade, until only Samantha’s tear soaked face remained. And then she was gone.
"From the very beginning, I saw the Order in our Chaos. We always talked about how this was like chess to me. I would position the pieces and they would fall as and when they may. To all else Chaos would rain, but to Gabriel Baal – there was an order in everything. "
Rogan’s eyes darted to Ichabod, but the Chaos Champion couldn’t take his eyes away from the man to whom he’d been so close for over a year.
"Samantha’s death bred into me the true meaning of Chaos, Ichabod. I saw what she saw. I saw the patterns and the true magnificence of what Chaos could bring. But at the same time, I could see just how much this world that we live in needed Order and control. THAT is what The Court offers – we will undo all that was broken by Chaos. We will create a kind of world that benefits those who deserve it, not those chosen by chance and fortune. Yes, gentlemen, I see things more clearly than I have in a long, long time. I have reached a whole new level of…"
"Consciousness." Spat Rogan. "Is that what you were about to say?"
"Yes, Rogan. Yes." Said Gabriel "You understand, and that is the first step on the path to seeing what I can see. These three… These three have shown me the true meaning of what it is to be in control. They have shown me what true power is really like and I have seized upon it like a being of all enlightenment."
"The Chaos will consume you, from the inside out." Said Ichabod. "Trust me on that."
"You do not speak to me of Chaos consuming – it was you who put me on this path. It was you who saw in me everything that I was to be. You and your ward."
Ichabod’s jaw clenched at the mention of Samantha. Eden hopped off the table and started to walk towards the door, as did Jet and Killian.
"You mentioned a game?" Said Rogan, trying desperately to free his hands. "What is it?"
"Oh the game is not for you, Rogan. I have some new friends for that." He stepped through the door, and turned back to face them. "For the two of you, it’s Game Over."
He slammed the door and drowned out the shouts and calls from inside the room. As the door slammed shut, the four members of The Court were plunged into silence. A moment later, the lights blinked into life as Gabriel turned to face the new arrivals.
Donovan Hastings.
Jason Ingalls.
Phrixus Deimos.
Zane Scott.
Alan Wallace.
"Excellent. Their rooms are ready for them." Said Gabriel, looking around the deepest bowls of Demonsacre.
"This is some game you’ve set up mate." Said Killian with a smile.
"Yes." Said Gabriel with a rye smile. "And it’s only just begun."
He steps to each one of his new inductees in turn before turning around and stepping away. Finally, he turned back, stood in line with Killian, Jet and Eden at his side and pulled off his owl mask. With a tilt of his head he smirked with the right side of his mouth.
"Gentlemen. It’s time for you to face The Court."
"Hello?" He said. His voice was cracked and weak. He cleared his throat. "Hello, is anyone there?"
He pushed himself up off the ground, realising for the first time that it was wet. His clothes were sodden and he was freezing cold. His teeth began to chatter, as if they’d been waiting for his brain to realise before they started their involuntary rattle. He pushed himself up into a sitting position against the wall. In the intermittent light, he saw the chain trailing from his right ankle out of the small doorway on the far side of the room.
"What the fuck is going on?" He said to himself as he pushed himself up against the wall. He stood up and stepped away from the concrete, but found himself impeded by a second chain around his left ankle. He looked down and followed it into an open hole in the ground.
"Dr. Gabriel Baal." Came a voice through unseen speakers. "I want to play a game?"
Gabriel’s eyes widened in horror. This had to be fucking nightmare.
Donovan Hastings loved nothing more than spending time with his children. He was a good father, a doting father. And other than a brief time during 2016 when they seemingly would have traded him in for Killian King, Donovan’s children looked up to no-one more than their dear old dad.
That is what Donovan woke up every morning to tell himself.
As he kissed each of them on the forehead before once again setting off for the next UGWC show, Donovan couldn’t help but feel that familiar pang of guilt that he was yet again trading in time with his family for his long-awaited search for Legacy. He closed his eyes and pushed back those feelings, before stepping out into the fresh air.
His head was spinning slightly as he did. He felt himself stumble. He felt himself trip and waited for the inevitable moment where he would collide with the ground. Yet he didn’t. He felt strong arms catch him and prevent him from hitting the ground.
"Look! Daddy fell!" He heard from the doorway, as the new arrival pulled him up to his full height and started to lead him down the path. "Bye! And thank you for the present!"
Donovan opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t his eyes rolled back in his head. And everything was black.
When he opened his eyes again, he felt himself in a sitting position. He shook his head, and looked down to a wooden desk covered in papers. He felt groggy, and shook his head to try and allow his vision to clear.
"Hello Donovan." Came a voice through the air.
"What? Who…?" Donovan replied, sounding groggy.
"I want to play a game." Came the voice which sounded unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. "You’ve spent your entire career looking to create a legacy for yourself at the expense of others. Friends, family, your own daughters. You’ve done everything you possibly could to ensure that when you’re no longer here, people will remember the name of Donovan Hastings for the rest of time. But at what cost?"
Donovan could feel his eyes coming into focus.
"You’ve hurt people. You’ve taken the careers of men you’ve felt were worth less than you. You’ve belittled and berated all that come before you, all in the name of becoming the Lord of Pain. You’ve neglected your family. Your daughters. Look at how they see you Donovan. Look at what you are to them?"
He looked down to see years of pictures drawn from their earliest days. Almost every single picture had them looking sad, as their dad walked away with a suitcase in hand. Else, the pictures showed his children being cared for by anyone but their father.
"No…" He said, his eyes straining. "It’s not true… They can’t. They don’t…"
"Your daughters, raised by your hand. Accepting gifts from strangers, in exchange for the truth of how they feel about their father. Your kiss to their skin, causing your loss of consciousness. Betrayed by the kiss of your children." The voice said, mocking him. "Even now, they laugh at your so-called Legacy. Knowing that it is only a matter of time before you’re discovered to be a fraud. Beneath those pictures, are documents with evidence the truth about Donovan Hastings. The lies, and the secrets, the proof that you are not the man you purport to be. But you have a choice Donovan. You can destroy it all and save your legacy. Behind your right ear is a match."
Hastings reaches up and pulls the match from behind his ear, he moves to strike it but stops. Only now does he notice the smell.
"Strike that match, and hide the truth of your failings. Your Legacy will remain intact. But you are doused in fuel with no hope of avoiding the painful death of burning alive. The choice is yours, Donovan. Will you die with your legacy intact? Or will you live to see yourself scorned and broken? You have five minutes before we release you and the evidence to the world. Good luck."
Hastings looked at the match again, and then down to his feet. They were bound tightly against the wooden chair upon which he sat, and even if he could escape, then what? He had to choose.
He looked down at the pictures drawn by his children and felt the pain in his heart.
"I’m… I’m sorry." He said as he closed his eyes again.
"I asked you a question, Doctor." Came the voice again. Seconds had passed like minutes as Gabriel tried to compose himself.
"What… What kind of game?" Asked Gabriel. His head was spinning now, but his teeth had stopped chattering. His adrenaline had kicked in and he was ready for a fight. Any fight. "What kind of fucking game?"
"The good doctor – physician and healer. Yet there is a darker side to the man who know as Gabriel Baal. His entire life has been predicated on mysteries and riddles. You seem to be blissfully unaware of the effect that your mysterious manor has on those who come into contact with you. To women like Lucy Wylde you are an Enygma, to men like Rogan MacLean you can never be fully trusted. But most of all, to those who love you most your riddles are the most dangerous. You see, they are hurt by the fact that they cannot solve the biggest riddle of all – who is Gabriel Baal."
Gabriel suddenly hears the whirring and grinding of gears as he looks down at the chain holding his left ankle. It was slowly beginning to pull away from him down the hole. Gabriel looked around the room for something, anything. He spotted a small hacksaw across the room.
"Fuck that." He said under his breath.
"Doctor Baal – your first task is simple. Solve the riddle to release the key. You have roughly two minutes. Should you not answer I time, the chain will continue to pull, and will either break your ankle and drag your lower leg into the hole or remove your foot. Even if you fail the first task, you must continue."
Gabriel’s heart began to beat out of his chest. This couldn’t be fucking happening – at best a broken ankle, at worst a whole fucking foot. This had to be a joke.
"What’s the riddle?" He heard himself say, but there was little conviction in his voice.
"Has a blade of jagged cut. Keeps the quickest hand out shut. Goes in darkness. Wears a ring. One is quiet, many sing. Let the game begin."
Blades. Darkness. Rings… What the fuck? Was this something from Lord of the Rings? What the hell was going on… What the fuck is this?
"Someone help me?!" Gabriel called out in terror. But he knew, deep down, that it was useless. No-one was going to help him. He looked around the room again – he hoped to see something that would give him some kind of hint as to what he was supposed to do but all he could see were concrete walls.
"Has a blade of jagged cut… A knife? Keeps the quickest hand out shut? A door? Goes in darkness and wears a ring? A Wraith… One is quiet, many sing? Birds… Argh!" He shouts in frustration. "None of this makes any fucking sense."
He slaps the wall as he feels the slow tug of the chain against his ankle. He takes a deep breath.
"You’re fucked, mate." Said Gabe, standing in the corner picking something out of his teeth. "Like – completely and totally fucked. I mean… Can you even wrestle with one leg?"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up." Said Gabriel.
"Don’t say that, Gabe. Gabriel can be anything he wants to be. Absolutely anything. He’s a shining star, waiting to shoot across the sky."
"Shut up!" Gabriel said, trying to think. This riddle was tearing his mind apart. What the fuck was he supposed to do?
"Honestly, I don’t think there’s any way out of this Gabriel. I think Gabe is right…" Said Daniel again. Gabriel swung his hands at him but he was just out of reach.
"Aggressive for a man whose about to be a one legged man in an arse kicking contest." Said Gabe as Gabriel is slowly pulled further and further backwards.
"Why are you here? I haven’t spoken to either of you for months." Said Gabriel, trying to drag himself away from the chain, but to no avail. He’d shaken off his show and was now trying with everything he had to pull his foot out from the manacle.
"You realise that’s not going to work." Said Daniel. "What you need is a key."
"Go away! Leave me alone." Said Gabriel, starting to panic as he found himself just inches away from the hole in the ground.
"Oi. Be fucking nice. We’re trying to help. Daniel is telling you that you need a key."
"I’m fully aware that I need a fucking k…" He paused as the chain slowly started to pull his ankle flat against the floor.
"A key… A key!" He shouted into the air. "The answer is a key!"
He closed his eyes as he felt the pressure begin to pull down on his ankle and then… Nothing. The whirring had stopped, the pressure had lifted.
"Congratulations, doctor. You managed to figure out my little riddle, with just seconds to spare. But don’t worry, that was just a warm up. Things will get much more interesting from now on."
Gabriel turned over, breathing deeply, as he looked to the small doorway and saw the locks pop open, and from an unseen hole in the ceiling, a single key drops down. Gabriel unlocks the first chain, before trying the second. It didn’t turn – he hadn’t expected it to.
This game had a long way to go.
Jase stumbled out of the bar having narrowly avoided yet another confrontation with half of the clientele inside. He grinned as he staggered down the street, looking for the next place within which he could cause havoc. He spotted the bar out of which Gabriel Baal had ran just a couple of weeks ago, before pulling him into another bar… The one he’d just left actually…
Jase mused over the idea that he’d found himself retracing those particular steps, as he suddenly realised how very thirsty he’d become. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the hip flask that Quin had bought him before she died. He looked at it for a moment, before pulling open the lid. He took a long gulp from inside, before replacing the lid and pushing it back into his pocket.
He continued to walk, but the journey had suddenly become incredibly difficult. He felt his knees weaken and his balance failing. He pressed his hand against a wall as an onlooker approached him.
"Are you alright man? You don’t look so good." He said.
"The fuck… away from me…" Said Jase as he swung his fist at the man. IT seemed to move in slow motion as the man moved out of the way. Jase stumbled forward as another onlooker stretched out his arms and caught the falling Jase.
"Come on, fella. Let’s go." He said.
"Fuck… You… MacLean." Jason said as the man pulled him up and lifted his arm over his shoulder.
And then the world turned black.
Jason opened his eyes again, and found the world was upside down.
"What the fuck?" He said, feeling the bonds against his ankles.
"Hello Jason." Came a voice which made Jason spin around looking for the source. "I want to play a game."
"Who the fuck is that? What the fuck do you want?" Jase asked, the adrenaline pumping through him.
"Your journey has been fraught with horror after horror. It would be enough for anyone with a heart to feel sorry for you. That is, of course, until they hear the fact that you are to blame for every single thing that has ever happened to you. You failed your brothers. So they locked you away. You failed to take your revenge, and another took it away from you. You focused all of your energy in the wrong direction and lost the woman you loved. Now you blame everything on another, and swear vengeance."
"Where the fuck are you MacLean?" Shouted Rogan.
"You blame him for everything, for your failures and your losses. Even though they started long before you ever knew him. No, you blame him because he is the reason you’re the man you hate every time you look in the mirror. You blame him because he chose you and after that, nothing was the same. You blame him because you took your eye off Quin for just long enough to fail her. Now it is time to choose Jason. Do you fight for the man you are? Or you succumb and find yourself reunited with Quin. Do you live to chase down your revenge? Or do you leave vengeance behind and allow yourself to spend eternity with the woman you love? The choice is yours. Good luck."
For the first time, Jase looks down and spots the deep pool of water into which he’s being lowered. His hair touches the surface and breaks it. Jase, having been the victim of water based torture before, opened his mouth and took a huge deep breath before his head is submerged.
For a moment he hung there, absurdly still, his eyes open and fixed on a bolt in the side of the tank. He would stay calm. He wouldn’t fight. He could hold his breath for longer if he didn’t struggle.
He waited, and waited. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours. The pain was starting to building his lungs as he felt the need to breath bear down upon him. He could give in and breath and he would be with Quin. Or he could fight and live to finally revenge himself upon the man who turned him into this.
He closed his eyes for a moment. As he made his final choice.
As he opened them again. One sentence passed through his mind. His decision made.
"I’m… I’m sorry."
Gabriel pushed himself to his feet and staggered a little – the intensity of his task had left him a little light headed. He felt almost drunk as he stumbled towards the doorway. He stopped, his hand pressed against the frame as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He quickly relaised that this was the side effects of the drug that had been used to knock him out – no-one was supposed to be under that much pressure that soon after waking up.
"This wasn’t how it was supposed to be." Came a voice from the darkness of the hallway.
"Hello?" Gabriel said out loud. He blinked into the darkness, but he couldn’t see who was there.
"You weren’t supposed to choose this path." Said the voice again.
Gabriel staggered out into the darkness, and could make out a shape just out of view. The door to the room which he’d just vacated closed behind him, killing any of the unnatural light from within.
"Who is it? Who’s there?" He called out.
When no reply came he stumbled forward and moved his hands into the inky blackness, but touched nothing.
"You were supposed to be better – supposed to be something beautiful." Said the voice again, this time from behind him. Gabriel swung around, and began fondling fresh air again in an attmept to find the source of the voice.
Be began to muse to himself that perhaps this was all a trick – that the voice was meant to disorientate him. That the sounds were being played form various speakers and that the shapes he saw were nothing more than a trick of the darkness.
"Alright." He said quietly, leaning down and picking up the chain. "I’ll play along."
He felt his way along the chain slowly but surely, feeling the ground with his toes before he stepped. He was weary that he was being led to some kind of fall.
"You won’t fall, Gabriel. It’s not that simple." Came the voice again. Night vision, he thought. Smart. Whoever was playing this game was prepared.
"You think I’m part of the game?" Came the voice, so close to his ear that he could feel the breath on his neck. Gabriel stopped still, his hands darting out this way and that, his ears scanning for the sound of footsteps, scraping. Nothing.
"Who is it?" He asked, trying to shake clear the cobwebs that filed his brain, causing fog and confusion.
"Have you really forgotten me so quickly?" The voice asked again.
And then he felt it. Skin, flesh and bone. Cold to the touch. Freezing hands gripped his own and guided them to a cold, wet something and then…
"Samantha." Gabriel said as he snatched his hand away from the hole in her chest. He stumbled and almost fell, but hands that were much stronger than they had ever been propped him up. "Samantha, please…."
[br"What is it that you fear Gabriel? Failure? Pain? Or is it the idea that I died at your hand?" She asked.
"All of it." Said Gabriel sounding child-like. "Samantha I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you. Save you."
"Do not apologise, Gabriel Baal – this is the way of things. How they were supposed to be – I sleep eternally now. But you? You have chosen a path that I did not expect. Why?" She asked.
"No, no, no… It’s not time for that yet." Said Gabriel. "You don’t get to hear my confession today."
"Very well." She said. "In that case… He awaits you."
And as if they had always been there, small lights illuminated the ground at his feet. He looked around, and she was gone… As if she’d never even been there. He looked down at his hands in the gloom, and saw a stain on his fingers. Was it new? Or perhaps it had always been there.
Phrixus loved his journals. They were his voice. His way of remembering every single battle he’d ever fought. There was a reason he was nicknamed Fear. Not because of his size or his fury, but for his ability to read his opponents in a way that most other they would face never could. He could see into their heart, into their soul. He could see their intention often before they’d considered it themselves. Yes. Phrixus loved his journals.
Fear finished his latest entry and closed the book. He was satisfied. He looked down at his fingers and noticed ink on the tips. He wasn’t accustomed to smudging, so quickly he opened his journal and checked. There were no smudges on the page. He closed it back over and looked at the pen he was using and noticed the ink leaking from near the nib.
It was strange – his pens had never had this problem before. He stood up and made his way to the sink in the corner of the room and turned the tap. Yet the water didn’t run. He turned the handle again but felt his knees buckle. He gripped the edge of his feet and tried to stay on his feet. He looked again at the ink on his fingers… It couldn’t be…
He hardly noticed the hands guiding him backwards against a hand truck. He never felt the strap around his chest. He never felt himself being tipped backwards and guided out of his safe sanctum.
No. Because as he’d realised that his ink had ben poisoned, the world had swam before his eyes before everything had gone black.
His brain whirred back into life as light returned to the world. He was lay on his back, his arms outstretched. He tried to rub his eyes, but his hands wouldn’t move. He looked to the left and then to the right – they were pinned down with pincer like grips.
"Hello Phrixus." Came a sound from near his right ear. "I want to play a game."
Fear looked around for the source of the voce, but couldn’t see another living soul.
"You’ve made your name documenting your ability to read everyone who has crossed your path. Your journals are legendary and numerous. Rumours abound that they contain such secrets that almost all of UGWC could fear your hand in their downfall. But that’s not your style, am I right? You like the more personal approach, waiting in the wings ready to pounce, should the moment arise. You have the power to destroy lives, but you do not. Not until you stand to gain from such revelations."
Demios looks from left to right, but only now did he notice the two large circular saws above his hands. Only now did he notice the chords tied to his wrists.
"But now you have to choose, Phricus. What is it you covert most? Your life, or your journals. You see, your choice is between the loss of the very hands that document your analysis. Should you decided you would be unable to part with them, remove one… Or both from it’s restraint. Currently, only your arms are preventing the increase of noxious gas into your air. Should you keep your hands where they are, you will lose your ability to wiite, but you will have survived living, but no longer documenting. The choice is yours, Phricus. Good luck."
Almost immediately, the pincers pulled away from his wrists giving him the freedom to move. He held himself in place as the saws burst into life and began their agonisingly slow decent.
Fear considered his options carefully, but he could see no way out. He thought of all of the journals he’d never written in. His life work abandoned if he died. He closed his eyes and felt the pain. He thought of those he had helped, though few and far between. He thought of them all as he watched the saws start to drop.
"I’m… I’m sorry."
Gabriel followed the lights and the chain much less carefully now, the lights in the ground giving him confidence.
"He awaits you." She’d said. Ichabod. Gabriel smiled to himself, the realisation coming into the fore. This was Ichabod – it had to be. Another one of his tests.
Gabriel wrapped the chain around his arm as he walked, until the lights came to an end. He reached out and touched the metal of a sliding door. As his fingers touched the cool steel, light broke through the darkness. He blinked as it took him time for his eyes to adjust.
He looked up at the door, and saw in something that looked suspiciously like blood, the words “Gabriel, open if you want to play a game.” Gabriel smiled as flexed his neck.
"In for a penny, in for a pound." He said to himself as he reached out. He looked down, there was a small gap through which his chain trailed. He pulled he handle of the door which opened. As he stepped inside, a voice burst through the dark.
"No, no, no! Don’t let it…" The door clicked closed behind them. "Shut. Brilliant."
Gabriel’s eyes widened as he recognised the voice in the room with him. The lights begin to flicker into life, and Gabriel saw, sat in the far corner of the room, the tired looking face of…
"Hello Rogan."
"Gabriel." Replied Rogan MacLean. "I’d like to say it’s good to see you."
"Likewise." Said Gabriel as he turned to look at the new room within which he was now, apparently, trapped. He dropped the chain to the ground and almost instantly, the majority of it disappeared through a wall leaving him just two or three feet of room to move.
"Brilliant." Said Gabriel.
The room was rather plain, looking much like an old-fashioned doctor’s office. Rogan was sat in the chair that was next to the desk, and Gabriel found himself perching on a seat meant for anyone observing the doctor’s work. In the corner, a curtain was pulled around what looked like a bed from what little of it they could see. Gabriel tilted his head in that direction.
Rogan shook his head to confirm he hadn’t been able to look behind it. Gabriel looked around for something he could use to hook the curtain and pull it back.
"How long have you been here?" He asked of his former Engine of Chaos brethren.
"No idea – I’ve been awake for about two hours. Feel like my entire body is aching." Replied Rogan.
"I see you were permitted to bring your possessions." Gabriel said glancing at the Gold Belt lay on the desk next to where Rogan sat. Rogan looked up and smiled.
"Aye. It was the first thing I looked for when I woke up." He said. "Don’t plan on losing it any time soon."
"We have much wider reaching concerns right now, Rogan." Said Gabriel not making any eye contact. “Do you remember anything before you woke up?”
"Beating you at Outlast." Rogan added with another rye smile. "But if you mean immediately before whatever happened to bring me here? No. I remember that I’d arranged a meeting, but he didn’t turn up."
"Ichabod?" Asked Gabriel.
"Yeah… How did you…?" Started Rogan. "You too?"
"Precisely." Said Gabriel. What should have followed would have been a silence reaching out into the distance. It was, however, broken by the the clicking sound of a lighter from behind the curtain. A boot slid out from behind the curtain and pulled it back. The billowing smoke would have given it away, had the next sentence not been designed to do just that.
"Always were a pair of fuckin’ choads." Said Ichabod as he drew the curtain all the way back.
Zane was proud of what he and Donovan had built. It was a place of beauty and sophistication. As he closed up and locked the doors, he felt a burgeoning sense that he and his new found friend could truly dominate the halls of UGWC for a long, long time. They were newly crowned Co-Operative Champions and when the two of them set their mind upon it, they would really be a force to be reckoned with.
Yet there was still a doubt in his mind.
People would still call Donovan the “Brains” of the operation.
"Fuck." He cursed under his breath. The stigma that he was in some way lacking of any kind of mental skill irked him immensely. He wasn’t just some big ogre with a penchant for pain. He had hidden depths. Like an onion. No. Not an onion. Like a… Submarine. Submarines were cool… Maybe their next lair should be on a submarine!
Wait, what was he thinking about? He bumped hard into a passer by and turned around.
"Watch where you’re going." He said, rubbing his arm where they’d collided. Funny, they hadn’t hit that hard… Yet it still hurt. He took worse bumps than that in the ring…o… Starr….
He shook his head which had seemed to fill with cotton wool. What the fuck was happening. He stopped his onward journey and placed a hand against the wall. Within seconds, he was down on one knee. He felt light headed and the world was spinning. As he felt the floor coming up to meet him, two hands lifted under his arms and up into the air.
He felt the back seat of a car against his back as the world went black.
When Zane Scott awoke, he found himself stood in some kind of cage. The floor underneath him was split in two, like some kind of trap door. He looked down beneath the cage and saw what looked like sand.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" He called out. But no one immediately answered. "Where is this place?"
"Hello Zane." Came a disembodied voice.
"I want to play a game." It said.
"Yeah? I got a game for you." Zane said as he extended his middle finger and turned on the spot facing every direction. "Called catch the fucking birdie."
"Zane – you pride yourself on your ability to act. Your skills as a fighter are unquestioned but your skills as a thinking man are often mocked. This, of course, upsets you. No-one likes to be considered stupid. The reality is not that you’re some kind of wandering beast without a simple thought, you’re merely… Easily led. It’s easier to be anything but your own man. Follow the orders of those who are better placed to make decisions and you can never be blamed for your part. You’re a foot soldier. A golum. Created from earth. Hard and steadfast. Reliable, but… Unoriginal."
Zane’s knuckles whiten on the bars of the cage as he holds on.
"You’re not incapable of leading, Zane. Nor are you too dense to see the benefits. You merely prefer the easier life. One where decision making can fall by the wayside and action can pull you to the fore. That is, of course, your modus operandi. And whilst every army requires their loyal, unquestioning followers, you stand back and allow those who make the plans take the blame or the plaudits. Yes, like a Golum, you are from the earth. And now you must return to the earth."
The trapdoor beneath his feet opens and Zane plunges into the sand below. Immediately it begins to suck him in.
"So what will you do, Zane? Act first and think later? Will you try to free yourself before it’s too late and risk falling victim to the pull of the sand? Or do you stop, and take a moment to think. Do you find a way out with your mind instead of your body? That, Mr. Scott. Is your choice… Good luck."
Zane’s heart begins to beat as the sand reaches his waist already. He knew that struggling would make him sink faster, but doing nothing would just delay the inevitable. He thought of Donovan… And the fact that Zane himself had the only key to their lair. He would be left with no way to get back inside. Donovan, who had extended the olive branch. Donovan… Who would be left heart broken at Zane’s disappearance. If he could only speak to him once more, if they could only exchange one last conversation… He could say that which flashed through his mind as he made his choice.
"I’m… I’m sorry."
"Hold on a minute, have you been there the whole fuckin’ time?" Asked Rogan.
"I woke up after you. Your rendition of Oh Danny Boy was wonderful, but yes – I assume I’ve been here as long as you have."
"And you didn’t think to open your mouth. Would have been a lot less dull." Added MacLean.
"What? When you could have been the reason I was in here? I don’t think so." Said Ichabod, taking a drag on his Newport.
"So it’s pure coincidence that both of us were meant to meet you right before we suddenly black out and find ourselves locked up in what looks suspiciously like one of the Parke Facilities." Asked Gabriel.
"Or is it coincidence that I was supposed to meet with you pair of fucking pricks before I suddenly developed an inability to keep my eyes open. Works both ways you know." Added Ichabod.
"Alright look, we need to work together – focus on getting out of here." Said Rogan. "Ich – are you chained up?"
"Yes." He said pointing at the thick chain attached to a collar around his neck. "Clearly."
Gabriel finally takes time to look at them each in turn. Rogan’s wrists, Gabriel’s leg, Ichabod’s neck. They were chained differently. Gabriel had to walk, but they tried take his foot. Why would whoever was doing this want to take Rogan’s hands? And Ichabod’s throat? So he couldn’t speak? What did Ichabod know.
"You know something." Gabriel said quickly. "You know something important. You always know something important – and whoever is doing this knows that you know. They pull that collar and they stop you talking. They tried to stop me from making it here by trying to break my ankle." Said Gabriel.
"And my fuckin’ wrists?" Said Rogan, looking down at his hands. "You’re saying they can break my wrists."
"I don’t know – there’s something we’re all missing, something that we haven’t worked out yet. But you fucking know something!" Gabriel said. Ichabod looked at him and stubbed his Newport out on the palm of his hand.
"You’re right, Gabriel." Said Ichabod, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. "I always know something."
"So what is it?" Asked Rogan.
"Pretty simple when you think about it." Said Ichabod still grinning despite everything. "They want to play a game. Without us? It’s game over."
"So what exactly are you suggesting?" Asked Gabriel with the hint of a smile. "That we take it upon ourselves to just end this? Here and now?"
"You’re fuckin’ touched in the head, pal." Said Rogan. "How would that help anything?"
"Oh come on, gentlemen. Let’s instill a little Chaos into the situation. Whoever has done this to us plans on killing us anyway, but they wouldn’t have set that up just for us to fall on our swords. No – they want a spectacle. They want to prove they outsmarted the entire Engine of Chaos."
Gabriel looks across at Rogan, who’s face suddenly looks resigned.
"Alright." Said Gabriel with a roll of his eyes. "What is it that you have in mind?"
"Well…" Said Ichabod. But before he could begin to speak, the collar around his neck pulls tight against the wall. He reaches up and claws at his throat, trying to get his fingers underneath to create some separation.
Gabriel and Rogan both step forward, but they’re restrained by their manacles. Ichabod’s eyes begin to roll back in his head, as the door through which Gabriel had originally walked opened up. Gabriel turned around, as he heard Rogan’s realization and indignation wash over the room. Ichabod was coughing now, the strangling of his collar eased slightly.
"Always have to try and spoil my fun, don’t you Ichy?" Said Eden Morgan, as she, Jet Somers and Killian King step into the room. The Court had arrived.
The man known as Alan Wallace had spent his entire life showing the women of this world the most spectacular time. He was suave, he was sophisticated, he was easy on the eye. He had a gift of the gab, that meant that Alan Wallce could truly live up to the moniker “The Clit Whisperer.” Yet it wasn’t this nickname by which Alan Wallace had been known for so many years. Wallace was known for that trait that both served and hindered him. He was “Vain” Alan Wallace
These were the thoughts that past through the mind of he man himself as he watched himself in the mirror. His life had changed significantly since Killian had turned his back. And then Eden had been revealed to be part of The Court and his final connections to The Syndicate had all but gone awa. His heart broke when his heterosexual life partner had turned his back.
But today was a new day – it would be better, he thought, as he sprayed Vain by Vain against his neck, he felt the pang of excitement that came from knowing that in less than three hours he would have a brand new hareem ready and waiting to do whatever it was he would ask. Yet when he felt himself stumbling towards the bed, he was concerned. As he fell short of the bed and dropped to all fours, he was followed, collected swiftly moved out of his own apartment.
The last thing that Wallace could remember was that the World turned black.
"Hello Alan." Said a voice cutting through the silence. "I want to play a game."
Wallace opened his eyes and looked around.
"Well…" He said, his eyes not fully open. "This will not do for the Clit-Whisperer. Can I speak to your manager.".
"For years, Alan Wallace has been the top name in any company he stepped into. No wonder his ego has grown to pandemic proportions. Of course, there is little wrong with confidence so long as it’s not… misguided. Yes, Alan Wallace has turned the heads of supermodels and housewives alike. Yes – Alan Wallace is every wife’s dream and every husbands nightmare. Yet, his skills are not reserved for the bedroom. No, you’re as dangerous as you are delightful. But that face of which you’re so proud is dangerous, and I can’t help but believe that the world would be better if it was a little less… Perfect."
Alan looks around properly for the first time. He was sealed inside of a Perspex box. In the middle of his cell hung a mask, designed for the entire head to be closed within. The lock was digital. Once locked inside, someone needed to release it.
"The game is simple Alan. What is it that you treasure more? Your Vanity or your life. The box in which you stand is sealed and prepared to create the perfect vacuum. This vacuum will simulate the experience of being exposed to space. Should you wish to preserve your vanity, then all you need do is wait. The air will be withdrawn from the room until there is nothing left. You will suffocate and die. Yet your body will be preserved as it is for all eternity. The human body will not decompose in space."
Wallace’s cocky façade seems to slide from his face. He didn’t want to die…
"Should you wish to live, Alan, all you need do its press your face into that mask and close the lock. When your time runs out, the face of which you are so proud will sliced by the razorblades housed inside. You will be cut beyond all recognition. Your pride stripped away, but you will be alive. The choice is yours, Alan. Good luck."
As Wallace looked on, the mask slowly popped open. He could see the slit holes where the razor blades would slide into his skin. The mask had been made to fit his face perfectly – there would be no room to move. He thought of all the things he hadn’t done yet. All of the doors that being “Vain” could open for him. He looked again at the mask, and thought of all the women he’d loved and left behind.
He suddenly began to realise that time was running out and he had to make a decision.
His face or his life.
What "was" more important?
His pulse quickened, his eyes began to dart around for an alterative. Whoever this was, had been well prepared. He knewthat either way, the women of this world would be left disappointed with either outcome. But he had to choose. Life or Vanity – Life or Vanity. Life… Or Vanity. He made his choice and lowered his head with just seconds to go.
"I’m… I’m sorry."
"I should’ve fuckin’ known." Said Rogan leaning back in his chair and slapping his knee.
Gabriel didn’t speak. He watched each of them as they stepped into the room. Eden was wearing a long, black pencil skirt with a vivid red top which hugged her figure. Killian and Jet both wore suits – Killian’s of Saville Row, Black with a Red Shirt and Black tie. Jet, however, wore similar – with the tie and Shirt colours reversed.
Eden stepped towards Ichabod and reached out to touch his face.
"Are you alright? Wouldn’t want to give you any excuses for Monday?" She said smiling.
"Can’t wait… Princess." He coughed as he adjusted his position.
"I’m not touching your face." Jet said as he looked down at Rogan, before slapping him on the shoulder.
"Should fuckin’ hope not." Said Rogan, reaching up and slapping away his hand.
"What’s going on?" Asked Gabriel, noticing now that Killian had stayed closest to him. "Why have you brought us here to kill us?"
"Oh, Gabriel. You really haven’t figured it out have you?" Said Eden with a pitying smile.
"Worked what out?" Said Gabriel. "Stop speaking in fucking riddles."
"Well… Eden has a match with Ichabod. So… I can’t expect she’d want him to die before that happened, can you?" Said Killian. "And of course, the same is said for Mr. MacLean over there. How can Jet beat him and take his Championship if he’s dead?"
"But you, Gabriel. You’re a threat." Said Jet. "Should you win at Battleground, I’ve got no doubt you’ll want to dethrone us and we can’t have that happen now, can we?"
"No – we can’t." Said Eden, starting to feign concern. "So as much as it breaks our hearts to do this, we have to remove the theat…"
"Besides…" Said Killian placing a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. "Besides – the last few months, you’ve put us all through all manor of nonsense and we can’t just stand idly by and let that slide. We have to do something about it."
Killian smiled and leaned forward. He didn’t lower his voice, he wanted Rogan and Ichabod to hear.
"You spent weeks needling me, Baal. On twitter, in promos… You even stole Eden away for nearly a month and a half keeping her locked in your apartment. And you wonder why it is that I would want to see this happen?" Killian said squeezing Gabriel’s shoulder hard.
"Game after game of fucking chess." Said Eden, putting her fingers to her temples. "Classical fucking music and long, laborious talks about new beginnings and friendship."
"Trying everything you could think of to come between me and my best friend. My family. Trying to turn her against me and me against her. All the while smiling out of the back of your face."
Gabriel blinked through it all, trying hard not to betray how he was feeling on the inside, not wanting to give that away cheaply. No. He would be strong.
"So, we want to play a game." Said Eden, jumping up onto the bed next to Ichabod and letting her feet sway. "It’s fun. You have a choice – either you die, or they do."
Gabriel blinked again.
"But you’ve just said you don’t want to kill them. That you need them alive." Said Gabriel.
"Well…" Said Jet. "Technically. But I suppose if they don’t show up on Monday, we’ll just be given the title by forfieit so…. If you think about it. It’s a win-win."
"What will it be, Gabriel? Is your new-found streak of honour going to allow your two friends to die while you live? Or will you do what you’ve always done and put Gabriel Baal first?"
"I mean it’s quite easy… We flick a switch and Ichabod is strangled to death… Rogan’s hands are torn from his body and he bleeds out. I mean we can be out of here before you could say…"
"Engine of Chaos?" Said Killian starting to laugh. Jet and Eden follow suit. The laughter continues for a moment or two, before attentions turn back to Gabriel.
"We’ll take your silence as a choice. Jet, could you do the honours?" Said Killian as Jet pulls out a Radio controlled switch and flicks it open.
"Pity…" Said Jet. "I was looking forward to Monday."
"Wait." Said Gabriel, closing his eyes. "This is about me… It’s always been about me."
He took a deep breath.
"Do it. Let them go." Said Gabriel.
"Oh but first they have to witness this, first hand." Said Killian. "On your knees, Gabriel."
Baal looked from Ichabod, to Rogan and back again. He knew what this meant to Ichabod, given what had happened just weeks before. He implored Gabriel with his eyes not to do this, but Gabriel sunk down to his knees.
"The hood?" Said Killian. Jet reached into the top desk draw and pulled out a black hood and tossed it to Killian who pulled it roughly over Gabriel’s face.
"Alright, who wants to do the honours? Jet?" Killian asked.
"I’m good – I’ve got a date with this one on Monday." He said slapping Rogan on the shoulder again. This time, Rogan made no move to stop it.
"How about you, love?" Aske Killian.
"I’m with Jet – I’m more than happy to deal with this one next week." She said, reaching out and rubbing her knuckles against his bald head. He registered no pain.
"Looks like I get the pleasure." Said Killian stepping in front of Gabriel and tilting his head. "This is your last chance, Gabriel Baal. The last chance you have to save yourself. This is your last chance to throw yourself upon the mercy of The Court. Do you have anything else to say?."
"Please allow me… To introduce myself." Came a muffled voice from inside of the hood. Killian stepped back, pulling the hood away from Gabriel’s face to reveal an ornate, metallic owl mask which covered all but his mouth. Ichabod and Rogan stared at him in disbelief.
"Have they arrived?" He asked. Eden smiled at him.
"About fifteen minutes ago, Gabriel." She said. "They’re waiting just outside."
Gabriel smiled as he turned his head to face Ichabod and then Rogan.
"I am reborn from Chaos and Order." Said Gabriel climbing to his feet. He looked from Rogan to Ichabod and back again. "I am reborn on a new plane."
Gabriel looked down to his foot and lightly shook it until the chain fell away, as if it had always been able to do so. He looked around the room to find Daniel, Gabe and Samantha stood by watching. Each of them, seemingly broken by what they’d just witnessed. One by one, they started to fade, until only Samantha’s tear soaked face remained. And then she was gone.
"From the very beginning, I saw the Order in our Chaos. We always talked about how this was like chess to me. I would position the pieces and they would fall as and when they may. To all else Chaos would rain, but to Gabriel Baal – there was an order in everything. "
Rogan’s eyes darted to Ichabod, but the Chaos Champion couldn’t take his eyes away from the man to whom he’d been so close for over a year.
"Samantha’s death bred into me the true meaning of Chaos, Ichabod. I saw what she saw. I saw the patterns and the true magnificence of what Chaos could bring. But at the same time, I could see just how much this world that we live in needed Order and control. THAT is what The Court offers – we will undo all that was broken by Chaos. We will create a kind of world that benefits those who deserve it, not those chosen by chance and fortune. Yes, gentlemen, I see things more clearly than I have in a long, long time. I have reached a whole new level of…"
"Consciousness." Spat Rogan. "Is that what you were about to say?"
"Yes, Rogan. Yes." Said Gabriel "You understand, and that is the first step on the path to seeing what I can see. These three… These three have shown me the true meaning of what it is to be in control. They have shown me what true power is really like and I have seized upon it like a being of all enlightenment."
"The Chaos will consume you, from the inside out." Said Ichabod. "Trust me on that."
"You do not speak to me of Chaos consuming – it was you who put me on this path. It was you who saw in me everything that I was to be. You and your ward."
Ichabod’s jaw clenched at the mention of Samantha. Eden hopped off the table and started to walk towards the door, as did Jet and Killian.
"You mentioned a game?" Said Rogan, trying desperately to free his hands. "What is it?"
"Oh the game is not for you, Rogan. I have some new friends for that." He stepped through the door, and turned back to face them. "For the two of you, it’s Game Over."
He slammed the door and drowned out the shouts and calls from inside the room. As the door slammed shut, the four members of The Court were plunged into silence. A moment later, the lights blinked into life as Gabriel turned to face the new arrivals.
Donovan Hastings.
Jason Ingalls.
Phrixus Deimos.
Zane Scott.
Alan Wallace.
"Excellent. Their rooms are ready for them." Said Gabriel, looking around the deepest bowls of Demonsacre.
"This is some game you’ve set up mate." Said Killian with a smile.
"Yes." Said Gabriel with a rye smile. "And it’s only just begun."
He steps to each one of his new inductees in turn before turning around and stepping away. Finally, he turned back, stood in line with Killian, Jet and Eden at his side and pulled off his owl mask. With a tilt of his head he smirked with the right side of his mouth.
"Gentlemen. It’s time for you to face The Court."
2013, '18, '23 
2013 
