Chapter 8 The Beckoning

Paimon descended the spiral staircase Into the bowels of Buckingham Palace through the soft glow of candlelight.

The Bloodies trailed behind, stirring up centuries-old dust from shallow grooves along the worn stone steps. Skeletons dangled from rusty shackles, impaled with serrated torture devices, kept as mementos within the palace walls from the Royal bloodlines.

They filed into the rough-seated wooden pews, to the mournful peals of a tolling distant bell, shedding their cloaks to reveal skull masks. Then an aged oak door creaked open, and Magister Gulag ascended the stone steps, announcing his entrance into the chamber by the clicking of his cane. Its handle was a carved skull of a reptilian creature with empty eye sockets. Bands of dark metal spiraled down its length, jutting out like the barbs of a stinging insect.

From beneath his cowled cloak, his darkened blue eyes pierced the flickering candlelight.

“Welcome, everyone. To the annual meeting of the Bloodies. So, who’s done the nastiest job this year?”

“What are you doing here, Gulag?” Paimon shot back.

“Robinson usually runs these meetings. What’s with all the theatrics?”

“Glad you asked? Things have changed!”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“A reorder of the order. Out with the old, in with the new. I’m running the Bloodies now, by order of His Highness.”

“Great, just what we needed,” Paimon said angrily.

“We’re gun-toting killers. You’re just a prop-carrying showman who couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. Why should we follow you?”

“The King wants fresh blood, Paimon. Your methods are draconian at best!”

“Alright, impress me with your modern approach then. Let’s hear your bullshit!”

Gulag began. “Speaking of fresh blood. Asp, I'd like to hear from you.”

Asp rose and stepped forward.

"Tell me about Cape Town. The king has been snapping at my heels recently."

"The operation has been going according to plan so far."

"I want details. Spare me no gruesome details," Gulag demanded.

"The mines have produced a substantial yield."

Asp spoke in a monotone voice, recounting like a ledger clerk. He told of bullet-riddled bodies sprawled on red dirt. Of victims strung up by their wrists, skin flayed in bloody strips that hung limp. Of limbs hacked from torsos scattered among the slaughter like discarded parts. His recount flashed images through his mind unfiltered, pulling him back to those horrific moments in Cape Town.

“We left no witnesses, Magister. The yield will satisfy our benefactors, given the excellent quality and quantity of the stones harvested from those fertile mines.”

After Asp had finished his report, Gulag moved on.

"Have we established illegal mining operations across the Southern regions of South Africa? We must ensure our operations are sustainable. Our influence must extend beyond its current scope."

“The rebel forces have been resilient, Magister. Though we have made some inroads through bribery, establishing wide-scale operations has proven extremely difficult. Our efforts have moved painfully slow."

"The savages will not yield easily," Gulag hissed.

"I will request reinforcements. Collectively, we will quash this rebellion and anyone who opposes us. Have a seat Asp," Gulag said.

Asp sat down, a smile playing across his lips beneath his mask. He thought about their cries of agony as they burned in the tunnels. It served as sweet music accompanying his work.

Gulag addressed the other members minus Paimon. They reported on their various missions and contracts. Gulag drummed his fingers impatiently on the top of his cane, disinterested in the mundane details. Becoming more bored by the Bloodies' predictability and lack of inspiration in their operations.

“That’s enough. I grow tired of these reports. Our benefactors have identified a target. A ripe fruit for the taking. One that will reward us Immersurable if successful!"

“What is it?” Asp asked.

Gulag paused for effect. "Patience, my friend."

Asp fell silent, but Gulag could sense the impatience shared by the others. Their curiosity was exceeded only by their greed, a hunger to know what he had in store for them.

"Boys, are you ready?" Gulag boomed.

“Behold Project Ferox 13, my magnum opus of biochemical warfare!”

Gulag brandished his cane, activating the technology with a wave. The stone walls dissolved as an enormous hologram sprang to life, bathing the chamber in an eerie blue glow. The hologram displayed a 3D model of a virus, rotating and coming into focus. Spiky, spherical shapes with thorny protrusions spiraled outward, like those of some deep-sea parasites.

Then the hologram clarified to a spike radiating from the virus, revealing strands of molecules twisting together. Gulag spoke of the virus's sinister properties.

“Once inside the body, the virus targets regions of the brain responsible for reasoning and impulse control,” Gulag explained.

Mutters arose from those gathered at Gulag’s conjuring act. Paimon spoke up, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

"What does this virus even accomplish, Gulag?”

"This virus will turn the meekest man into a rabid beast. Infected victims become fierce, irrational, and even subhuman."

"Have you lost your mind? Why would we want anything to do with that?" Paimon laughed bitterly.

"How is that going to benefit us?"

"We will have the antivirus. Do you not see the potential? Think of the power and profits we would conglomerate.

"The potential for destruction," Paimon snapped.

"I'm dubious by this hair-brained scheme of yours. It could spiral out of control!"

"With Ferox at my command, we will be the masters of the new world order. Do you not see that, Paimon?” Gulag said incredulously.

"Ok Gulag I will indulge you. How do we use this virus? Our skills lie in the shadows, not in laboratories."

The others murmured in agreement, eyeing Gulag with suspicion.

"Your trifling concerns mean nothing," Gulag snarled.

"While you remain beholden to your comforts, I see the bigger picture."

Gulag manipulated the hologram. It now showed an intricate 3D rendering of the entire globe. Precise depictions of water systems shone through with impressive detail. They gasped in wonder at the rotating illusion. But that soon turned to horror as Gulag began to speak.

"It is a complex virus designed to stay dormant until it comes into contact with water. The virus could affect millions. If not billions globally within months."

They listened in stone silence, not sure what to make of this twisted presentation.

"With a coordinated effort, we can contaminate all the major water systems across the globe, leaving no one untouched," Gulag said.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Paimon pushed further. "Gulag, while we follow orders when the contract is right, infiltrating water treatment plants and pipelines requires specialized knowledge."

"All you need to do is perform the tasks I assign to you. I will manage the actual details. I have the infrastructure in place through our sponsors."

"But what if we're captured during these operations? The punishment will fall on us, not you," Paimon insisted.

"I have a hit on a Japanese diplomat on my waiting list already; this virus scheme is too risky."

Gulag's voice took on a threatening tone.

"I have no patience for doubts or questions. Your choices are simple: obey without hesitation, or defy me and face the consequences."

Gulag's voice softened.

"Look, you joined for the power—wealth, connections, and influence provided through the royal family. My plans will leave vast fortunes for the taking. But only for those who help spread Ferox 13."

Gulag lifted his cane magnanimously.

"I am forging a new order, gentleman. Claim your rightful place at my side, and we will become rulers over what rises from the ashes."

One by one, the group nodded in unison. Wealth and power had brought them here, and Gulag promised both in spades. He smiled; they were exactly where he wanted them.

"Now for the main course," Gulag said.

Next, the holographic world spun on its axis. Gulag, then framed upon independent cities. Every detail of the 3D model fed his depraved fantasies of dominance.

"When released into key points of the global water supply, this deadly pathogen will spread undetectably!"

As he spoke, portions of the hologram glowed brighter, highlighting water treatment plants in major cities across every continent. Filter beds, mixing tanks, and chemical injectors crystallized into existence.

Pipes buried underneath cities glowed with an odd light. Pumping fresh water to thirsty millions. Reservoirs and groundwater floated suspended in the air. The projection was transposed to a treatment plant in Chicago, revealing pipes snaking throughout the facility.

The computational model revealed how Ferox would circulate. Filtration membranes failed to discover vicious microbes. Pumps spread infected water through backwash and overflow from reservoirs feeding into rivers, contaminating waters downstream. The hologram shifted, illustrating the residents of Chicago waking up infected, taking on a horrific life of its own. Bodies piled up in the streets. The infected flooded the roads, driven by an insatiable hunger.

Their eyes held a feral desperation, devoid of empathy or reason.

Makeshift morgues filled not just with the dead but also with those still writhing—victims of humanity's darkest impulses unleashed. Violent riots broke out. Gangs and militias preyed on the ensuing chaos. Citizens were dragged from their homes and brutally murdered. The killer's eyes were bloodshot and wild. Infected people roamed the streets, smashing storefront windows, clashing with each other with anything they could find. Blood ran in the gutters as mobs beat and bludgeoned victims to a pulp.

The police tried intervening but they were soon overwhelmed. Infected officers turned their weapons on uninfected civilians, gunning them down until their magazines ran dry.

When dusk broke, the streets were littered with corpses. The remaining infected howled and snarled like untamed animals, sustaining their crazed rampage.

"Every city will look like this," Gulag declared.

Gulag paced the stage, gesturing wildly.

"I alone can end this plague with the anti-virus. In conjunction, we will restore civilization."

Paimon stood up confrontationally.

"Releasing this crazy virus would unpredictably threaten you, us, and our comfortable lives."

"My genius sees angles you cannot comprehend," Gulag replied arrogantly.

"Of course, you see further than we mere mortals. How could we question your grand designs?"

Gulag flared. "Take care how you speak to me, Paimon!"

Paimon stood his ground.

"I speak for the Bloodies. We're not gonna follow through with your maniacal plans!"

Displeasure rippled across their faces like a stone dropped in a pond. Mutters swelled around the chamber, rising in volume until shouts echoed throughout.

"This is madness," one shouted. He surged up from his pew, hurling his mask to the floor with a clatter.

Another crossed his arms. "He'll get us all killed," he spat loudly enough for Gulag to hear.

Dante grasped the arms of his pew. The words 'subhuman' and 'rabid beast' reverberated in his mind, stirring up visions of the horrors Gulag could potentially unleash. Asp saw the profitable hustle in Gulag's plans. Singular contracts versus a world population of larger bounties would erase his debts, funding his most decadent desires. Asp argued with Paimon.

"The rewards would be astronomical if we played our parts well, though I admit the risks are high."

Paimon threw up his hands in frustration.

"So be it. Carry out Gulag's mad plans. I'm not touching it!"

Slowly, a few began nodding in approval, seeing the bigger picture of Asp's point. Gulag saw the nods out of the corner of his eye, further fueling his zeal.

"You're just a lowly killer, Paimon, not fit to question my genius," Gulag snapped.

"Your doubts have been noted. Now they will be forgotten."

Paimon opened his mouth to object further, but Gulag cut him off.

"Recognize your place. I will reward loyalty, but I do not tolerate disobedience. The disobedient ones will be made examples of!"

Gulag casually stroked the reptilian atop his cane. He pressed a button, making the empty eye sockets emit a green slime light that shone directly at Paimon like an alert beacon.

"You insolent worm," Gulag said coldly.

Within seconds, the heavy oak door opened, followed by a mini-battalion of royal guards bursting into the chamber. They moved, immediately locating the target of Gulag's rage. Paimon scrambled from his pew, lunging for a nearby candelabra, ripping it from its perch as the first attackers filled his vision.

Its spiked base dripped with melted wax from thick red candles.

He slammed the makeshift weapon against the man's head with a loud crack. Candles dropped to the stone floor in a blaze. The enforcer staggered back. Another lunged at him. Paimon swung the candelabra again, the impact jarring through bones like hitting solid concrete. He jammed the spiked base into an exposed arm, eliciting a howl of pain from his foe.

Though Paimon landed several hard blows, the guards surged forward, relentlessly beating him down, causing Paimon to drop his weapon.

They then pinned his body to the floor, wrenching his arms behind his back, covering his mouth with gaffer tape, ultimately silencing his shouts of protest. Now deprived of movement, Paimon lay helpless, witnessing the enforcers binding his wrists and ankles with coarse rope. They carried him to the stage, dropping him in an unceremonious heap, trussed up like a pig destined for slaughter before Gulag's wrath.

The spectacle circulated through the chamber. Compelling obedience as they watched Gulag's looming figure towering over Paimon, his cane raised high.

The hologram's light shadowed across Gulag's face, exaggerating his hooked nose and dark blue eyes into a monstrous visage.

"This is what defiance earns you," Gulag spat.

The cane came down hard and fast, damaging Paimon's back. Bones fractured. Blood spattered the stone floor. Paimon's cries morphed into screams of agony. Gulag's fury rained down blow after blow upon his broken, writhing form. Bloodied with a sneer of satisfaction, Gulag surveyed the congregation. They seethed with rage inside against this injustice on one of their own.

None dared question Gulag further, though. For all had witnessed the cruel fate that befell those who provoked him.

Upon Gulag's instruction, the enforcers dragged Paimon's lifeless body out of the chamber like garbage.

The doors slammed shut, producing a suffocating silence in his wake. Gulag dissolved the hologram, plunging the chamber into candle-lit darkness once more. His words picked up where he had left off in a tone of indifference.

"I will repeat it once again. The rewards will be mammoth. All this I offer in exchange for one thing. Your unflinching loyalty. Carry out my designs, no matter how horrific, and you will sit atop the ruins of this world like gods!"

Gulag pointed at Dante, sitting in one of the front rows.

"Dante! Come forward."

Dante mounted the stone steps, approaching Gulag. Drawn by promises of power and position, like a moth to a flame. Gulag extended his hand. A gold ring with an imperial royal insignia was dripping in claret from its intricate design, dulling its splendor.

"Kneel before me," Gulag requested.

"Kiss the ring that shows your loyalty to our cause."

He handed over a wax-sealed envelope while Dante kneeled, kissing the ring. Satisfied with his level of devotion. Gulag dismissed him from the stage.

The ritual continued until he distributed all but one of the contracts. Finally, Gulag came to Asp, his now most trusted.

"Examine it well. And then destroy it. We cannot afford any loose ends."

Asp accepted the document from Gulag's outstretched hand. He kneeled to kiss the ring. A knowing glance passed between them.

"This is of the utmost importance," Gulag said.

"I realize what's at stake," Asp replied.

"You can count on me."

Gulag's thin smile betrayed his satisfaction.

"You must serve as my proxy. Any failures will reflect directly upon me."

"I will do everything possible to succeed, Majister."

"Everything?" Gulag asked pointedly.

"I live solely to serve the will of you and our benefactors," Asp replied, rising to his feet.

Gulag nodded. "You're going to be a very rich, powerful man, Asp."

With that dark promise lingering between them, Asp left the chamber, leading the Bloodies up the spiral staircase.

Alone once more, Gulag reactivated the hologram of the spinning globe. He manipulated the simulation like a twisted computer game, spreading the virus across major cities like Paris, Beijing, and Jakarta.

His mind swirled with delusions of power—entire nations were brought to their knees, begging for his mercy, which he would never grant them. In his fantasies, the planet was nothing more than a vast anthill ready for him to scorch into annihilation.

Gulag spoke into a concealed earpiece.

"You can dissipate the show now!"

The 3D effects artist in the control room behind the oak door asked.

"What did you think? Pretty cool right?"

"You did a good job!"

"Can I knock off work?" The young effects guy asked.

"Yeah!"

"Cool!"

Gulag stepped down from the stage in a shade of shimmering blue light, his cloak fluttering behind him. The bell tolled one final time, signaling that the ceremony had ended. Though chaos and destruction awaited, there was work yet to be done.