And yes, he was scared. Scared of being discovered, scared of what was about to happen, but above all else, scared of failing his God. Because it was a vengeful God; Abraham had assured him of that.
10.28AM, 15 th September 2015, Waterloo Rd, London
Croft lay in bed looking up at the ceiling. Five names. That was what he had it pinned down to, all of them way up in the chain of command. He didn’t even have any proof, just a feeling. Croft had, however, learnt to trust his feelings because thinking from his head usually got him into trouble. There were only so many people who could have arranged the chaos of Hirta. Hirta, there was so much that stank about that, so much that didn’t fit. The fact that nobody could tell him how the pathogen had been manufactured there under everyone’s noses made him suspicious as fuck. Even with the access to government intelligence, he knew he wasn’t being told everything. And when a man in his position was kept out of the loop something was deeply wrong.
Sitting up, he swung his legs out of bed and sat on the edge a moment. Pain again, worse today, probably from the alcohol last night. It lived with him constantly, a companion he could push away but never remove entirely. The doctors had told him that it would worsen with age. “Thanks for that,” he had told them. “Thanks for sticking that little gem into my mind.” He’d seen that before, thoughts actually becoming reality. Seen men a few days from being rotated back home become convinced they were going home in a body bag, only for that belief to almost magically manifest as reality. He was of the belief that the mind had an incredible ability to heal so long as you didn’t feed it full of toxins, both nutritional and psychological. But then he wasn’t a doctor, so what the fuck did he know.
7.25AM, 16 th September 2015, Coffee Shop, King’s Cross, London
The city of sin teemed with the unworthy, fruitless lives of the wicked. Brother Fabrice patted the precious steel box that rested by his side as the black Land Rover he was in pulled over to the side of the busy London street. His companion in the back of the car exited, closing the door behind him. Fabrice closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the task that was to come, feeling the rush of knowing that he was finally doing God’s work. The Lord Our God, merciful and also relentless in his disappointment. And God was indeed disappointed. Billions didn’t even believe in him. Even worse, some worshipped false gods and prophets, false idols that were tearing the world apart with hate and bigotry and greed. It was time for the Lord’s cleansing hand to descend, as it had so many times before, to wipe away the stain of humanity so that the righteous and the worthy could step forth and take claim to the world that was rightfully theirs. And where better to start than in the city at the very heart of all of it? London.
He gave it several moments, and then stepping out of the back of the car, he inhaled deeply. He could smell it. He could smell the evil all around him. Mankind didn’t know it, but they worshipped the Devil as he danced his way through the lives of the hapless. All around him the intoxicated sheep milled in the early morning rush hour breathing in Satan’s intoxication. Yes, God had given his creation free will, but it was the job of the chosen to be God’s warrior when the children abandoned him.
Brother Fabrice smiled at the thought of what was to come, of the judgement that was about to befall humanity. Standing by the car, he made eye contact with those around him. An attractive blonde smiled back at him as she walked past, mistakenly thinking he was somehow desirous of her. So foolish. As handsome as he was, she would have run wildly in terror if she had known what he had planned for this day, for this city, for this world. Fabrice smiled back, but there was no flirtation there, just deep satisfaction. Deep inside, he
10.28AM, 15 th September 2015, Waterloo Rd, London
Croft lay in bed looking up at the ceiling. Five names. That was what he had it pinned down to, all of them way up in the chain of command. He didn’t even have any proof, just a feeling. Croft had, however, learnt to trust his feelings because thinking from his head usually got him into trouble. There were only so many people who could have arranged the chaos of Hirta. Hirta, there was so much that stank about that, so much that didn’t fit. The fact that nobody could tell him how the pathogen had been manufactured there under everyone’s noses made him suspicious as fuck. Even with the access to government intelligence, he knew he wasn’t being told everything. And when a man in his position was kept out of the loop something was deeply wrong.
Sitting up, he swung his legs out of bed and sat on the edge a moment. Pain again, worse today, probably from the alcohol last night. It lived with him constantly, a companion he could push away but never remove entirely. The doctors had told him that it would worsen with age. “Thanks for that,” he had told them. “Thanks for sticking that little gem into my mind.” He’d seen that before, thoughts actually becoming reality. Seen men a few days from being rotated back home become convinced they were going home in a body bag, only for that belief to almost magically manifest as reality. He was of the belief that the mind had an incredible ability to heal so long as you didn’t feed it full of toxins, both nutritional and psychological. But then he wasn’t a doctor, so what the fuck did he know.
7.25AM, 16 th September 2015, Coffee Shop, King’s Cross, London
The city of sin teemed with the unworthy, fruitless lives of the wicked. Brother Fabrice patted the precious steel box that rested by his side as the black Land Rover he was in pulled over to the side of the busy London street. His companion in the back of the car exited, closing the door behind him. Fabrice closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the task that was to come, feeling the rush of knowing that he was finally doing God’s work. The Lord Our God, merciful and also relentless in his disappointment. And God was indeed disappointed. Billions didn’t even believe in him. Even worse, some worshipped false gods and prophets, false idols that were tearing the world apart with hate and bigotry and greed. It was time for the Lord’s cleansing hand to descend, as it had so many times before, to wipe away the stain of humanity so that the righteous and the worthy could step forth and take claim to the world that was rightfully theirs. And where better to start than in the city at the very heart of all of it? London.
He gave it several moments, and then stepping out of the back of the car, he inhaled deeply. He could smell it. He could smell the evil all around him. Mankind didn’t know it, but they worshipped the Devil as he danced his way through the lives of the hapless. All around him the intoxicated sheep milled in the early morning rush hour breathing in Satan’s intoxication. Yes, God had given his creation free will, but it was the job of the chosen to be God’s warrior when the children abandoned him.
Brother Fabrice smiled at the thought of what was to come, of the judgement that was about to befall humanity. Standing by the car, he made eye contact with those around him. An attractive blonde smiled back at him as she walked past, mistakenly thinking he was somehow desirous of her. So foolish. As handsome as he was, she would have run wildly in terror if she had known what he had planned for this day, for this city, for this world. Fabrice smiled back, but there was no flirtation there, just deep satisfaction. Deep inside, he
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