Devil In The Detail

Sometimes we fail to see the dangers hidden in the small print of life and its myriad twists and turns. The devils usually in the detail but we get blinded by the light and cast screaming into the embrace of the endless shadow of chaos undivided.

Devil in the Detail

 

Disillusioned and desolate, I sat in my living room staring at the screen of my 32" digital TV. A plethora of politicians representing the full spectrum of wings Left, Right and in-between argued the pros and cons of their bloated expenses.

 

Their voices droned on in my ears as I shifted forward in my seat, reaching for the ice cold and sweaty can of Tennants that sat in solitary confinement on my coffee table. I hated the f*****g b******s for all their sanctimonious bleating. They justified the abuse of public funds with shallow tales of the hard jobs they did governing the country and providing for their constituents. But all I could think of was the face of the Al Qaeda insurgent I'd strangled to death in Baghdad for Queen and country. The memory of his bulging eyes as life left him in spasms were much the same as those of the decrepit politician explaining his use of tax payers money to clear his moat.

What I'd give to get my hands around his throat.

My head spun as the contents of the can swarmed their way through my bloodstream. Liquid amber washing down my throat, clouding my mind even further and dimming my lights as I drifted off to a fitful sleep ears filling with the screams of the dead and dying.

I was with my squad again in the midst of a firefight. Insurgents had us pinned down behind a demolished armored vehicle and there was no relief insight as the lines of communication with the Firm had been down for sometime. We were a seven man strong crew of private security contractors. Operatives for Thorndike Acquisitions & Restorations. We went in were recognized British troops couldn't to do the dirty wet work  the Geneva convention frowned upon and the bleeding liberals whined about.

We were the elite wolf pack cutting through the dusky jackals f*****g up their own country and endangering the precious flow of oil that the West relied on so heavily. This was my second "tour of duty" in this wretched country but the pay was good and the killing even better. No chance of a court martial or any of that other nonsense put on to satisfy the peaceniks.

I was free to kill as much as I liked as long as the targets were legitimate and authorized by the higher ups back in London. A mortar round bursting close by shook me out of my reverie and as Caruthers and Sternhold laid down cover fire I moved off with the rest of the team to unleash unholy hell on the turbaned b******s and their f*****g god.

We were on a mission to send them to their paradise but ended up somewhere between purgatory and hell.

Sternhold was the first to get it as the shells from Caruthers automatic rifle obliterated his head and before I could recover from the shock of what I'd just seen, Caruthers serrated combat knife was out of it's sheath at his boot and lost within the confines of his stomach by his own hand.

He looked at me with a maniacal grin on his face and eyes full of a burning fanatics fervor and as I sank into the horror of what I was seeing, senses reeling, I heard the screams of the rest of my team merging with the insane laughter of jackals amongst the boom of mortar and shrill whine of bullets strafing by.

I awoke in an allied camp screaming and babbling about demons and all manners of madness before I was sedated and left in a drugged stupor just long enough to be handed back to the Thorndike Handlers.

They packaged me back to London on the quickest flight possible out of Baghdad and I was out of a job before the plane even touched down on British soil.

Shell-shocked, I'd been diagnosed as suffering from extreme Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. No use to the firm now. I was just another victim of a war no one had seemed to believe in right from the outset. Cast out into the world of the average Joe to eke out a shadow of an existence on the f*****g dole.

My sleep was shallow and as I tossed and turned in my bed I swore I could hear my mothers’ voice calling to me. I struggled to block it out to no avail as it increased in insistency. There were other voices whispering alongside hers and I could swear I heard low bass profundo animal chuckle rumbling beneath the surface menacingly.

My Eyes snapped open as I felt a cold gust of arctic cold slap me out of my sleep. The alcohol fueled fuzziness that had filled my mind prior to falling asleep fled with a quickness as I was confronted by the image of a well dressed and smartly suited man of indeterminate years sitting before me quietly.

His eyes contemplated me coolly from within an impassive face of inscrutable beauty and I found myself remembering my Mothers tales of Biblical angels for some strange reason. I still felt a chill go through me as his studious gaze swept over me slowly. My flesh crawled as his eyes creeped me the f**k out.

"Who the hell are you? And what the hell are you doing in my house?" I asked as the impassive man looked on at me with disdain. His staring eyes flared slightly at my raised voice but he didn't flinch from his position on my chair. There was a pause pregnant with dread but that soon gave way to the tinkling of bells as he opened his moth to speak.

My ears filled with the multi-layered ringing but soon I could catch a deeper meaning hidden within the chiming. Musical thrumming radiated its way through my mind and in time I began to hear the nature the apparitions’ message.

He said he was an angel sent by God to guide me back to the light of purpose much like the angels of old my Ma used to bang on about. Apparently, I was to go out on a mission to bring order back to the world with a few select others. We were the chosen of God sent out to bring judgment to the wicked and prepare the coming of a new, cleaner era were man would live in peace with nature and technology alike and the course of war would no longer hold sway.

The musical voice went on for a seeming age and I was left in awe as the light of truth dawned before me slowly and I felt freer than I'd ever felt in my 35 years of life.

I was still basking in the glow of that tinkling light when the shrill screaming of my alarm sent me crashing back to the awoken nightmare of my terrible life.

The TV was still on in front of me and the can of Tennants had fallen from my hand with the emptied contents soaking through my trousers to stain the seat below.

It was just a f*****g dream. I raged within as I stormed off of the sofa and made my way to the bog for a slash. Rancid piss hit the stained porcelain as I leant over the toilet and let loose. The pungent stench of my beer tainted urine filled me with revulsion. I was nothing more than a washed up drunk who'd fallen as far down the latrine of life as it was possible to fall.

It was all f*****g over and I could see no other way out of my nightmare other than suicide.

Stumbling into the bathroom, the glint of sunlight through the window caught my wall mounted mirror and I looked into the reflective surface to see what horrors three years of heavy drinking had left on my face.

My reflection looked back at me and silently mirrored the scream that emanated from within the depths of my soul to come screeching its way up the ragged rawness of my tortured throat.

The molten lava eyes that glared back at me from within the mirror blinked in unison with me as I struggled to comprehend who the porcelain faced stranger that stared back at me from within the mirror was. Impassive and deathlike in the stillness of time, I stood like a statue gaping at the image reflected back at me.

For all intents and purposes it was face and form of the stranger from my dream. That same aloof and haughty look with the slightly raised eyebrow and downward quirk of mouth that indicated deep disdain. The golden sweep of hair pulled back from the pristine face warred with my memories of a face normally creased with worry and bloated with alcohol abuse and I struggled to stifle the beginnings of another scream that threatened to fight its way out of my mouth.

What the f**k was going on? Was I still dreaming and asleep on the couch? The wetness in my trousers argued otherwise as I looked down at the beer stained wetness of my sodden crotch. The feelings of disgust and disdain I felt for myself at that moment seemed to come from outside of myself. They felt vaguely puzzling but somehow familiar.

The voice I now heard whispering in my mind soon brought me out of my foggy ruminations with an onrushing tinkle of bells and shrilling wind chimes.

"Vessel chosen of the All seeing, I am your watcher from within sent to guide you to a greater purpose. You have wasted much of your life in pointless pursuits, but it is now time for you to redeem yourself." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could this be happening to me? They'd said I was mad when I got kicked out of the company and into the psycho ward at St Mungos and I was beginning to think they were right. Disembodied voices rattling around in my head? I would definitely be a candidate for readmission into the madhouse.

"Cease your mental prattling and attend to my words human." The wind chimes roared up in my mind again in a cold rage as the voice stilled my rampaging thought processes. I stopped moving about and tried to calm down. "You are a vessel chosen for redemption through sacrifice. The setting for the coming Armageddon is etched upon the Ley lines of your world and the time of conflict is coming in the fullness of time. "

Armageddon? What in the hell was this guy talking about and what the f**k did I have to do with being some sort of what did he say?

"Vessel"?

 

In the years to come, I soon found out just what he'd meant as I peered through the lenses of my powerful binoculars at my latest and most audacious of targets. The detonator sat nestled in my palm with my thumb gently teasing the trigger before I gently laid the compact unit gently down on the window ledge

Over the intervening years, I'd killed a number of high profile targets across the nation. Utilizing skills I'd long thought forgotten in a crusade to right the wrongs wrought by misguided politicians and their self-serving greed.

There were many others like me out there spread out all over the corporate and war torn killing fields of the world.

We served the same sacred calling to cull the unworthy and reticent stumbling blocks in the way of progress personified in the form of the heads of government and their cohorts who refused to see the light of the Morningstar.

The gust of wind that momentarily blew the golden fringe of my hair into my face was swept away by my gloved hand as I once again gazed at the fat corruption bloated target sat there in the distance.

I suddenly remembered my mothers’ admonishments from my childhood. She'd always warned me that the Devil always found work for idle hands and I'd always smiled indulgently at her and nodded in seeming agreement to get her off my back. But I now wept inwardly as the memory of her warm concerned voice faded away from my consciousness drowned out by the rising crescendo of the tinkling bells and the guttural cackling laugh of jackals as Azazel, Angel of Death and destruction, pushed the switch of the detonator once again clutched in my hand and my target was totally blown off the face of the earth.

The tears poured down my face as I realized that the devil was most definitely in the details.

He sometimes appeared as an angel of light and I was now a shadow cast long in the glare of his infernal presence.

 

Trish Cameron reporting for the BBC News. Firemen and combined rescue services are still searching through the rubble of the Houses of Parliament for survivors in what some are describing as the worst terrorist attack to ever befall Great Britain after World War II.

The Prime Minister and the entire Cabinet are feared dead in this awful tragedy as the nation reels under the weight of the fact that Great Britain is effectively without Government at this time.

Mirroring events occurring across much of the civilized world, this attack is reminiscent of similar attacks that have left many politicians and seats of government cowering in fear as terrorist attacks aimed at destabilizing established governments increase exponentially across the globe.

 

 

Reviews

[HoWiE]

F**k yeah!! This is what I like about your work mate - it's pure unadulterated comic book Frank Miller uber-violence. I could see this cinematically as I was reading it. I could picture the TAR men as cigar chomping, battle scarred war machines, forged in the iron of war and spewing death and destruction. A neat little turn with the appearance of the well-dressed 'man' and a satisfying conclusion with Parliament in rubble. It was a sort of V for Vendetta, Watchmen, Sin City, Devil's Advocate Michael Anyanwu literary apocalypse!! I enjoyed this mate, it was a riot. Good shout and good to see you're back to your best. Great work home boy!

[marvell2100]

I'm not much into the supernatural/horror genre but to me it seems like a cross between Hellblazer and Call of Duty. Good premise but like I said, I'm not someone to judge this genre.

[The Viking]

I gotta agree with Howie, this was very reminiscent of Frank Miller's relentless violence and depravity. I could picture each scene perfectly in my head, from the hired badasses of some decimated middle eastern city to the cold, dim apartment where the main character rotted from alcohol abuse until his vision. A fitting selection by satan, too. Very well done, kept me going till the end. I did find one thing you might want to re-word though,

"as I felt a cold gust of arctic cold slap me out of my sleep." The use of cold is a bit redundant.

Other than that, no problems with this at all. Hell, I'd like to see a longer version with this character. ANd props on the being's voice sounding like ringing bells the main character had to decipher. Makes it more believeable.