Tuesday night, eleven o'clock. Cold rain fell on the streets of Lexington, Kentucky...meaning that only the most dedicated drinkers would be out practicing their craft. One such professional walked through the door of a seedy dive called The Bloodhound. He was a large man, who bore a lattice of scars both physical and emotional. To look at him, you might have been able to guess that he was a professional athlete...but aside from the wet, hacking cough, you wouldn't be able to tell that he was dying.

The man's name was Edward Lambert, known in the professional wrestling community as BloodAngel. World Champion, Hardcore Legend. Feared by many, respected by more. Scared of none.

Actually, that wasn't quite true. There was one man in the world that Lambert feared--not a debilitating terror, but more a visceral fear that quickly turned itself into anger. The man was a representation of everything that Edward despised. 'Reverend' Ibrahim Seck, the Wolf in Shepherd's Clothing.

It was because of the Reverend that Lambert found himself in this particular establishment. He shook the rain out of his clothes like the building's namesake, stormed up to the bar, and sat in a rickety stool.

The bartender, looking every bit as lumpy and grizzled as you might expect, glared at the new patron. 'Whatcha want?' he mumbled.

'Whiskey and Bud,' Edward responded. The bartender nodded, quickly poured the drinks, and went back about his business. Lambert picked up the glass of beer, but didn't drink it right away. Instead, he stared into the liquid, as if it would hold some kind of answer.

'What the hell am I doin' here?' he muttered.

'You mean in a metaphysical sense?'

Edward whipped his head around to see another man sitting three stools down. Not as big as Edward, but still bigger than most. Brown hair that had gone gray at the temples, and the rest of it was doing its best to catch up. Neatly trimmed Van Dyck, also with fading color. White t-shirt, black jeans, and more than a few battle scars on his arms and face...a face that seemed awfully familiar, but Edward couldn't quite place it. With a half-smirk, the man raised a bottle of Miller Lite to his lips and took a drink.

Lambert felt his lip curl in disgust, and set his beer back down on the counter. 'Who the fuck are you?'

'We talked on the phone.'

'Oh. You're Wyatt's guy.'

'That's me. Call me Harley.'

'I'm Edward--'

'I know who you are. I got a TV.'

Edward scowled. 'Then you know I don't take too fucking well to smartasses.'

Harley chuckled. 'Relax, pal. We're here for business, remember? Meet me at that table back there,' he said, nodding his head toward the back of the room.

'Whatever.'

Harley picked up his bottle and walked away from the bar. Edward lingered only long enough to down his shot of whiskey, and then followed. By the time he reached the cracked wooden table, Harley was already sitting down and lighting a cigarette.

'You want one?' he asked, and tossed a half-empty pack of Lucky Strikes in front of Edward's chair.

'Doctor says I better not,' Edward answered with grim humor as he pulled a smoke from the pack.

'I hear ya,' Harley said as he offered a light. A quick glance at the Zippo showed an engraved letter 'T', but if there was anything else, it was covered by Harley's thumb.

'All right,' Edward said as he puffed, 'enough of the bullshit. Obviously Connors uses you for something special, or he wouldn't have had me do that James Bond crap with the secret codes. So, spill it. Why am I talking to you right now.'

Harley nodded. 'All right, here's the deal. Little over a year ago, Connors decides he's finally made enough money and fucked enough people in the rasslin' business, and it's time to get out. So, he set about selling off all his assets and taking apart his contacts network, because he doesn't want anything to trace back to him. Only something happened, and he never quite got finished.'

'A few months later, I hear about him back into wrestling. Tune in to your show, and sure enough there he is, prancing around like a jackass and pretending to have found religion. Well, already something doesn't seem right, and it ain't 'cause of the obvious. Gotta understand, Wyatt's not a man who changes his mind very often when it comes to his big plans, so for him to torch almost all of his system and then not finish the job...that's gonna send up some red flags.'

BloodAngel asked, 'So, why didn't you do anything then?'

''Cause for all I knew, this was just some new dodge that he'd come up with. Couldn't find out for sure, though. Tried calling other people, but all I got was a bunch of 'this number is no longer in service' messages. So I figure I'd just continue with business as usual until I get word to do otherwise.'

'Like when I called you.'

'Right. I've been paying for that number for a long damn time, and that's the first time it's rang in a couple years...and it's never been anyone other than him calling. That was our 'in case of emergency' line. Y'know...if the shit ever got too deep for him, he'd call that line, and I'd get on my white horse and pull his ass out. So, here I am.'

'Here you are,' Edward repeated. 'Why you?'

'Got my reasons. Mostly business.'

'What kind of business?'

'None of your goddamn.' Harley ground the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray, meeting Edward's glare with one of his own. 'Now then. Suppose you tell me where you fit in here.'

'Fuck if I know. Little bastard started yakkin' at me when I was too doped up to punch his head off, and now I'm here.'

'Connors never does anything without a reason, even if he's the only one who understands it. He came to you on purpose. Why?'

Edward thought about it a moment, even though the answer was clear as day. 'Ibrahim Seck.'

'Who?'

Lambert tapped the ash off the end of his smoke, then took a drag. 'Asshole who thinks he's a god. Manipulator, brainwasher. Total fuckin' psychopath.'

'So what?'

'So, you know how Connors has been basically apeshit, with the Kool-Aid and the army of losers, and all the talk about penises and salvation, and that weird stare where he's looking at shit that ain't there?'

'Did seem a little weird, yeah.'

'That's all Seck. He used to pull that exact same shit, back in the day. He must have gotten his hooks into Connors somehow, and he's using him to build his church again.'

'Again? What happened to him before?'

Edward Lambert--BloodAngel--stared into the eyes of the other man.

'Me.'

To his credit, Harley lasted a lot longer against that icy blue stare than most people.

'All right, Lambert,' he said, quickly getting back to business. 'Here's the deal. I'm going to go pull Wyatt's fat out of the fire again. Sounds like you've got a mad on for this Seck guy, but he's not my priority.

'Yeah? Well, maybe you owe me something. If I knew that the whole thing was just to save his scrawny ass, I'd have told the both of you to go smoke a cock in hell. It wasn't my fucking priority to call you with Connors' secret message bullshit, you know.'

'I know. It's appreciated. If I can find a way to burn him without much risk, all the better. But I'm not going to make any promises that I don't intend to keep, so I want you to know right now that as far as I'm concerned, Seck's not my problem.'

Edward fumed, but he knew there wasn't much use. At best, he could just hope that if Connors did weasel his way out of Seck's grip, that would keep the Reverend from causing any more real trouble. It was a stupid hope, but it was all he had. 'At any rate, this shit should be over soon.'

'Not so sure. Probably going to be a little more complicated than that. I can't just go in, nab Connors, stuff him in the trunk of the car and drive away. I need to see where he's at, and what they're up to. This could take weeks.'

'Jesus,' Lambert barked. 'Why does everything have to be so fucking complicated with you people?'

Harley shrugged. 'I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a pain in the ass sometimes. Most of the time, really.'

'That's the fucking truth. So, what am I supposed to do? Sit by the phone with a thumb up my ass?'

'We have to make sure nobody around him gets suspicious. If you had never got in touch with me, what were you planning on doing?'

'As soon as I was cleared to wrestle, I was going to kick the fuck out of him.'

'Stick with that. Keeps people from suspecting anything's up.'

Edward smiled. 'You want me to give your boss a Christ-awful shit stomping?'

Harley's grin was even bigger. 'Can you tell me he doesn't deserve it?'

'No,' Edward answered as he finished his beer. 'No I can't.'

'Now then. I'm still going to need some information, so I'm not walking in blind. I want you to tell me about this Seck character.'

'How much you wanna know?'

'Everything.'

# # #

The Decency Compound. A place of rest and respite. For another fifteen seconds or so, anyway.

'Rise and shine, my beloved congregation! May His power and love allow you to work swiftly in these very important days!'

Jeremiah cracked an eye open and checked the window to see how light it was. It...wasn't.

'Up up! Up and at 'em! Just because the Lord made today doesn't mean He wants you to spend it in bed!'

With thoughts of strangulation on his mind, Jeremiah rolled out of bed and tried to figure out just who was being so damned chipper at this hour. There, at the front of the barracks, stood 'The False Prophet' Wyatt Connors--wrestler, leader of men, and Messiah-In-Training. He looked even crazier than usual. He was already completely dressed, and had a manic grin plastered on his face. The new 'recruit,' Brother Colt, was a few steps behind. That kid had been following Connors like a shadow for weeks, and tended to unnerve people. At least, Jeremiah was unnerved, although that might have been because he was part of the group that abducted him and brought him here in the first place.

There were a few assorted grumbles as the others woke up, but most of them were happy to be of service. Too damn happy, thought Jeremiah. Of course, they were all under the influence of Reverend Seck's signature beverage. Red Kool-Aid, with some additive that kept them all addle-minded and suggestible. Somehow, Jeremiah had managed to escape its influence so far, but that was a cold comfort on most days.

Within minutes, all the people who slept in this particular building had assembled by their bunks. Wyatt Connors nodded in approval, and addressed the troops.

'Last night, brothers and sisters, I had a revelation. A vision! I spoke with the Lord, and He showed me a fragment of His holy wisdom!'

'Hallelujah!' came the vibrant cheer.

'He told me, Brother Wyatt! You have done a fine job bringing My message to the people! And I thanked him profusely for such high praise, and also for addressing His humble servant in so glorious a fashion. But I also said that I wished I could do more for him, and He showed me how! I HAVE BEEN BLESSED ONCE MORE WITH THE LIGHT!'

'HALLELUJAH!'

'He has shown me how I can fill the hearts of the people with holy light! And best of all--you, our beloved followers, our devoted worshippers--you will be able to help!'

The rapture reached a fever pitch, which made it something of a relief when Connors and Brother Colt started leading the people outside. That relief did not last long, unfortunately. It seemed to end right when Jeremiah saw what Connors was leading the people to.

Three rows of tables, each one of which was at least ten long. Each table was surrounded by folding chairs, and also had two large metal urns resting on top. The kind of thing you'd use to serve coffee. Or Kool-Aid.

Oh, God. This is not happening.

Wyatt made a sweeping gesture with his arm, showing off the display. 'This is how we will deliver the Word to all of those poor sinners out there.' By now, the other barracks were emptying out as well, with those members of the flock being led out by Wyatt's trusted lieutenants.

Doubt and paranoia started a slow race up the big man's spine. I'm supposed to be a trusted lieutenant.

'Starting now, we will be working all day, every day, preparing more of the divine beverage that provides us with our connection to the Lord,' Wyatt continued, serving to remind Jeremiah that there were more important things to be afraid of at the moment. 'Soon, we will have enough to deliver to hundreds--no, thousands of people! They will partake of the Holy Refreshment, and they will know His spirit, touching their hearts! They will cast aside their worldly lots and join us on the path to salvation! They shall be among us as we enter the kingdom of heaven! Rejoice, Brothers and Sisters, for the prodigal children shall return!'

The cheer that went up sounded more like thunder than words. With the False Prophet's blessing, the residents of the Decency Compound stormed to the tables and took their seats. Even the others who were a part of Wyatt's Crusade in SCCW took part--Caravan, Illuminado, Angel Verde and Neophyte were all sitting at different tables, fervently mixing or stirring things. Knowing that any further delay would draw unwanted attention, Jeremiah began to look for an empty chair.

'Psst. Saved you a seat,' came the whisper from a few feet away. Jeremiah turned to see Abigail Proctor, the only other person in the Compound not under the influence of the drink they were all in the process of making. He sat down beside her and immediately began work on a batch of the Crusade's patented Holy Water. Aside from the large urns, there were also bags of sugar, mixing sticks, measuring cups, and canisters full of red powder--most likely actual Kool-Aid containers with the labels removed. There were also funnels and large bottles, which rested on the ground.

Connors walked among the people and shouted more instructions. 'When you are finished mixing, pour it into the bottles that have been provided. Bring filled bottles to this spot where I'm standing now, so that they may be gathered and taken.

'Probably to wherever they put the Jesus in,' she muttered, and Jeremiah had to stifle a laugh.

'You're probably not far off,' he answered. 'The rest of this just looks like regular old Kool-Aid.'

They both reached for the same mixing stick, which gave her opportunity to grab and squeeze his hand. 'Miah,' she whispered, 'I'm scared.'

'Me too. Maybe there's something we'll be able to do later...but for right now, we've got to play along. Okay?'

'Okay. But I don't know how much longer I can stay here.'

'It's all right, baby. Just stay strong.'

'I'm not sure if I can. I may need you to be strong for me.'

He squeezed her hand and nodded solemnly. He only wished he knew who would be strong for him.

All of this was watched with much amusement by someone else. Did they seriously think they could get away with it? Their distance from the others, the secret touching, the secret...other things. They thought it had gone completely unseen. They were wrong.

There was a pair of eyes that had seen everything. They weren't always reliable eyes, what with the occasional difficulty of distinguishing between reality and fantasy...but they knew sin when they saw it.

There would be a reckoning for the two young lovers. First them...and then, the world.