Landis, Jonathan
JOURNAL ENTRY 11

Belial is spinning a pair of handcuffs on his index finger like a lasso.

"You really proved yourself in that delivery room, Johnny Boy," he says warmly, stepping up to me and patting my back, still spinning the handcuffs. "I knew you'd be my guy for the next part of the plan. You were my guy right from the beginning, huh, Johnny Boy?"

As I Stare at the blank walls of his office, Belial's guttural voice reverberates about the room. I find myself nodding at him, but I'm starting to feel like a jar with no contents. A robot with no programming. I thought I'd be feeling some anger or hatred maybe, but instead there isn't really anything there at all.

"You're the only man I trust with tonight's task. It may seem like a hard pill to swallow, but it's absolutely essential to the development of our organization. For the future."

"What do you need, sir?" I recite systematically, wondering if I'm interested and if I'm not, why?

"I'm afraid the world must take a few blows tonight so that it may develop a thicker callus. One of our own has betrayed us, and we're going to make an example of him. This gesture will be the introduction to the next wave of American evolution."

"What are we going to do to him?"

"Well, first we're going to capture him. He's planning to leave the facility in a few moments to join forces with the enemies of America, and when he does we'll catch him in the act."

"What makes me perfect for this job?"

"Strength," he answers immediately. "Fearlessness. The traitor will attempt to stir our sympathies, but as we both know..."

"Sympathy is weakness," I say coldly.

"It is," he concurs, lifting his head, examining me thoughtfully. "Are you ready?"

"I am," I say. "I am."

Abaddon and Buer join me at the entrance of the facility, both armed with rifles and restraints. I carry the handcuffs Belial has given me as well as a black sack to cover the traitor's head. As I approach the two of them, the mostly naked desk secretary stands in her chair and shouts, "Open the trap door!"

"Ignore the schizo," Buer tells me. "Stay alert. The traitor was one of my students. I knew he was going to be a problem from the beginning. If there is any lingering trace of the weakness humans call sympathy lurking in you, discard it now. The traitor will attempt to provoke that weakness, but we will show him none."

"You see, Jonathan," Abaddon adds. "It isn't enough to enlighten the world. Those that refuse to evolve are like a cancer on the wellbeing of enlightened people everywhere. Purging the world of the mentally bankrupt has always been a part of the plan; we educate first and act second."

"Any alliance whose purpose is not the intention to wage war is senseless and useless," Buer points out.

"That's right," Abaddon says. "And all great movements are popular movements. They are the volcanic eruptions of human passions and emotions, stirred into activity by the ruthless Goddess of Distress or by the torch of the spoken word cast into the midst of the people. First we educate, then we act. Do you understand?" "I do." I say to both of them, gripping the handcuffs.

"Let's go."

I hadn't been outside in so long I'd forgotten the smell of the smog and the feeling of the open, somehow stale air. It's gotten cold; I can see my breath escaping like a withering wisp of smoke. I follow along absentmindedly as we round the corner of the building and step into a dark alleyway. Gathered around two large dumpsters we find a group of vagabonds.

"There he is," Buer whispers. "Prepare yourself."

"Which one?" I ask.

"We'll arrest all of them," Abaddon announces, and rushes into the alley.

"Everyone remain where you are!" he cries out and fires his rifle in the air, bright explosion from the barrel lighting the alley for an instant, sending ominous shadows in every direction.

The men, all four of them, put their hands on their heads and stare through the darkness at us. Three of them are wearing soiled or tattered clothes. The fourth is dressed normal and carrying a small backpack.

"You're all coming with us," Buer tells them.

"Don't be afraid, Paul," one of the dirty looking men tells the clean one. The man he's addressing looks mortified, and in the thin glint from the streetlamps I can see that he's wetting himself.

"He's peeing his pants," I say, pointing to the dark circle growing on the fabric.

"No sympathy," Abaddon reminds me.

"Yeah, I know, I was just saying..."

"Come with us and you'll be treated fairly," Abaddon howls. "Don't make us shoot you."

I approach the man wetting his pants and grab his arms, painfully jerking them down behind his back before fastening the cuffs around his wrists. He starts to cry.

"Ouch!" he fusses. "Steven, I'm scared. I'm just real scared is all."

"Oh for crying out loud," I yell back at the two Ziz. "It's the retard? This is Belial's retard assistant?"

"No sympathy!" they call back in unison. "Cover his head!"

"Oh Oscar, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared," Paul Wesley cries as I pull the black sack over his face.

I lead Paul forward by pushing him from behind. Abaddon and Buer approach the three nomadic-looking men, preparing the restraints.

"You're very lucky," Buer tells the men. "You may be given an opportunity to correct yourselves."

"There will be no compromise," one of the men replies calmly. "And we are not afraid."

Abaddon raises the rifle to one of the men's faces; squinting down the barrel he says, "We will not waste our time with deluded fools. If you value your lives, you will voice your willingness to learn now."

"You may not have our lives," another man speaks up. "You may only destroy our bodies."

"And we are unwilling," the third man says in agreement. "There will be no compromise."

Beneath the black sack, Paul is breathing frantically, sobbing and whispering about how scared he is.

"Do not be afraid, Paul!" one of the men calls out. "Love endures all things!"

As the man is finishing his last sentence, a bright blast erupts in the alley and his face splits open like a melon, sending a fountain of dark spray across the cement. The other two men stand calmly, never flinching, and Abaddon vanquishes their heads one after the other, Paul crying louder with each loud crack of gunfire. I hear the last one say "Forgive them" before the final blast and he collapses, smoking remains of his face sizzling in the cold air.

Jude Pendington is waiting for us at the T.O.G. entrance when we return, enormous grin across his face. Abaddon and Buer drag Paul down the first-floor hallway with Jude and me following closely behind. Paul goes on sobbing uncontrollably as they shove him into an empty room at the end of the corridor. Belial steps into the room, myself and the two Ziz following behind him.

"I'm sorry it's come to this Paul, I really am."

"Belial!" Paul shouts from underneath the sack. "Belial! Help me please! They kidnap me! They steal me and I'm real scared, Belial! Help me and Oscar!"

I hand Belial Paul's backpack and he reaches inside, retrieving a small black book from inside, and returns the bag to me.

"The problem is this," Belial declares. "If we fix the entire world, the evil in this book can destroy everything we've done if it is allowed to get a foothold."

He steps toward Paul, kneeling down and slowly tearing pages from the book, discarding them playfully like flower petals.

"If we allow you to make a fool of us, Paul, this book will have what it needs to dismantle our empire through ignorance and treachery."

"Only I wasn't going to do none of that, Belial!" Paul promises. "That book is good is all. If you read it, it says about love and truth and good things, Belial!"

"You know you can't read, you retard," Jude scoffs, laughing. "Now you've done it. Can't stutter your way out of this one, you impotent moron."

"No good, Brother Paul" Belial sighs. "Big trouble."

Something begins to move inside the bag; I peer down into it and find a ferret looking up at me.

"Sir," I say. "There's uh... There's a ferret in this bag."

"That's Oscar!" Paul wails. "That's Oscar and he's my best friend; you better not do nothing to him please mister he's real nice and never hurt nobody please just let us go Belial!"

"I can barely hear you," Belial complains, snatching the sack from Paul's head. "What do we use this for anyway? Dramatic effect?"

"Please, Mister," Paul sobs. "Please, Belial, I'm real scared is all. I can go back to my room or even to the adult learning center where I come from before here, me and Oscar, please let us go!"

"Let me see that rat," Jude says, reaching into the bag and pulling the ferret out. It looks around confusedly for a moment with beady black eyes before Jude lifts it in the air, slams it down on the ground and sets to work stomping it to death. The little thing squeals in pain, struggling to get away but too weak from the impact. Its rib cage rising and falling rapidly before it gets crushed flat.

And during all this, the man we've brought into custody, Paul Wesley, bellows the most tortured cry of pain I have ever heard in my life. Something inside me that was stirred earlier that night begins to wake up.

Paul is sobbing so intensely he begins to hyperventilate, collapsing to the floor.

Jude laughs loudly, satisfied with the night's turn of events. Belial shoves through us as he leaves the room.

"Come on," He grunts. "Let's go; we've got work to do. For Paul, the worst is yet to come."