The Devil Below Us: Chapter Six

This chapter contains scenes of extreme sexual and drug abuse and mild profanity, which may cause some readers distress. Please be warned. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. It is a work of cautionary fiction.

Knock, Knock | (Whoever is generous to the poor lends to the Lord, and he will repay him for his deed — Proverbs 19:17)

Chapt 5 | Contents | Chapt 7

n the rare occasions the feds patrolled Downland, the hooded shadows that crept in and out of the masionettes would congregate under a tunnel in the city that led out to a park known to its close residents as Coke n' Poke.

At certain times of the night, the place was notorious for these hooded shadows to covene, a safe place to smoke their dope, engage in sexual acts of varying deprativity, and sleep when the stables in Downland, and other streets like it, were full. Local residents knew not to take a nightly walk in the park of a warm evening. There was a high chance they would be robbed by these hooded shadows. They would zip through the pathways with their common mode of transport, stolen bikes and scooters of all shapes and sizes. Some were messengers, some were dealers, but all were thieves. They stole from the locals, they stole from the shops, and they stole from each other.

These dark hooded riders on bike back, saw themselves as protector knights. Baba Mamba was their King Arthur, the city had become their Camelot. They would ride to each spot, the name for the designated places of dealing for that night, to make sure the choice of poison that was peddled in the streets flowed freely through its urban veins. The city's police force made a few arrests for the sake of the yearly published statistics, but these knights knew there was an unspoken covenant between police and pusher; after the clock ticked towards the night, they both ran the streets. And when convenient, both looked the other way.

The main drug bosses, who smuggled a selection of poisons into the city, whom no one knew, except for Baba Mamba, and others with his rank and regiment, had a few feds on their payroll. The bosses would be informed by their friendly local feds where they would be patrolling that evening, and the spot would change before the undercover police arrived. The location of these spots changed constantly, sometimes three or four times in a night.

It was a tenuous flip-flop relationship. If you fuck my back, I'll fuck yours. There was only one main rule, not to bring too much attention to each other's activities, or something would had to be done or seen to be done by a struggling police constabulary with limited resources, to stay any outcry from the majority of the city's law abiding citizens, who thought it was their moral duty to keep the streets safe. Not unless there was a different threat to focus on, to unify cop and criminal alike, with a status designated for national security.

As such, their resources were great, and could be put to good use. Especially if anything threatened the smooth flow of poison running through their Camelot. It was these resources that Baba Mamba had at his finger tips to use against a lone Sicilian who had recently moved to Downland.

Baba Mamba was under Coke n' Poke's tunnel, with his knights of Camelot. Waiting for Caleb.

And he didn't like to be kept waiting.

Suddenly, Caleb zipped into view on his stolen bike, and screeched to a stop by the open mouth of the tunnel.

"Sorry for being late, Baba," he panted, as he gingerly got off the bike.

"What's happened to you?" Baba Mamba asked, watching Caleb's painful double limp. "The old man tear you a new one?"

Caleb ignored the sniggers coming from inside the tunnel. He had tried to lock the earlier events of the evening away in his mind. The ones he didn't want to remember, he could conveniently forget. The drugs helped with that. Like it never happened. It was better that way. But the collateral damage was too great for him to do that just yet.

"No, I fell off my bike, I was in such a rush not to keep you waiting."

"Uh-huh," he said, not believing him, but decided not to press any further, and embarass him in front of the others. "We got a deal, boy."

Caleb looked surprised, but happy. "We have?"

Baba Mamba nodded. "Looks like the old man has got connections. Big ones. My bosses today gave it a green light. I guess I misjudged the old man. He's the side to be on."

Caleb should have felt pride in his old man, then, but for some reason, he felt numb. Maybe because his backside was burning up so much, it took all feeling away from his topside. And he didn't like being kept out of the loop. He didn't know who or what these connections were, but he wasn't going to let anyone here know that.

"Yeah, of course. That's why I was in such a hurry to get here."

"Uh-huh." Baba Mamba clicked his fingers and his knights stood to attention. "Downland is going to become a main spot. Let everyone know. The feds have taken it off their list."

The hooded shadows rode out of the tunnel, one by one, until Baba Mamba and Caleb were left alone.

"Well, it looks like your old man is gonna get his own way kid."

"Yeah, he's lucky that way."

"Who are these connections of his?"

Fucked if I know, he thought. But out aloud he said, "Real high up, Baba. But he told me not to tell anyone."

"Uh-huh. Your leash sure has changed hands, hey, pretty boy."

A strain of defiance suddenly rose up in Caleb. "I ain't nobody's dog," he said.

Baba Mamba gave him a wide-eyed look. "Really?"

They stared at each other for a long minute. Then Caleb licked his lips. Dropped to his knees. Baba Mamba unzipped his flies and slowly walked over to him.

Derek might have sealed his arse, but Caleb decided his mouth was for everyone.

hat brought him to this corner of the world?

Dante stared at the Queen of Sheba, wondering how to answer her question.

"So what brings you to our little corner of the world, love?" The Queen of Sheba was sitting around Dante's kitchen table. It was her fourth visit in as many days, and every day she came to visit, Dante would offer her a different handmade culinary delight.

He considered her question again. What had brought him here? He didn't know. Who knew what the future would bring at any given time? For him, life was filled with corners you could not see around.

"That is a difficult question Queen of Sheba," he said finally, "because I do not know the answer myself."

"Call me Shantel, that's what my friends call me," she said, taking a huge bite of the pastry in front of her.

"Okay, Queen Shantel."

She laughed so loud at that, that Dante could see bits of pastry between her discoloured teeth, "Just Shantel, love. I ain't no queen really."

Dante passed her a paper tissue for her mouth. "You will always be a queen to me, Shantel," he said simply. It was what was in his heart to say, so he said it.

"Oh, Dante. The things you say. You don't even know me." She took the tissue from his hand and, instead of her mouth, dabbed the corner of her eyes. "You are a strange one, love."

"Yes, I am," he smiled. "But I like the way I am."

"Good for you," she said, taking another bite of pastry. "This really is delicious, love."

"It is my Mama's recipe." He said it quietly, and turned away for a moment to look out of the kitchen window. A small finch came to the window sill, and fluttered for a time beford perching itself on one of the planters. Dante sighed. His life was filled with corners. If he knew what was waiting at those corners, would he venture to look around them?

There was a Sicilian saying that you only walked to the corner to see what was on the other side of it. It was this uncertainty in life that gave people their desire for direction.

He turned back to the Queen of Sheba, as she took a sip from her coffee. "Jesus, now that's what I call a coffee."

Dante's face dropped for the slightest second on hearing Shantel's harmless blasphemy. But she caught it. "I didn't mean to offend you, love. I'm sorry."

"No, please do not apologise. If that is your way of speaking, then I must learn to accept it. Maybe that is why I am here. To learn how to accept things as they are." Dante grinned. "And if we Sicilans know anything, it's coffee and pastries. You bless me for sharing mine."

"I should be thanking you, love. Not many out there that would take us in like this, in broad daylight, and make us feel so welcome."

Dante looked confused, "What do you mean?"

But Shantel quickly changed the subject. "What did you mean, love, when you said, you came here to accept things as they are?"

Dante touched the crucifix around his neck. On his weaker days, when he was alone with the regrets of his soul, he would sometimes think that if only he had talked to Lorenzo in a different way, he might have persuaded him to stay and things might have been different. It was a corner he had not walked to, because he thought he had known what was around it.

"You walk to the corner to see what is on the other side of it. I wanted to see what was around this corner for me after my Mama died."

"Oh, love. I'm so sorry."

Dante nodded, unable to voice the rest of his words. He realised that he had not talked to anyone about his Mama, apart from the probate solicitor. When he had first decided to leave Sicily, the upheaval to his secluded life had been a spur of the moment decision. After suffering the loss of caring for his beloved Mama, he knew what was around every corner in his village. The reminders of his loss, of what he had once held, but could not keep, and the people who shunned him for not hiding who he was. He did not lose his sense of direction, but his sense of looking for a direction.

Something in the Queen of Sheba's manner told him to him that he could trust her enough to tell her this. So, he told her.

"Oh, love. The world is the same all over."

"I know, but I am not. I cannot forgive easily." He knew his ways were strange to people; his direct honesty, his refusal to compromise on his values, and his preference for his own company all made him an outcast amongst his own people. "But if the price of friendship means I have to lie to someone to keep them, then, for me, that is too high a price to pay."

The Queen of Sheba took another sip of her coffee. "Everyone lies, my love. We can't change the world."

Dante froze. Lorenzo had told him that, too. But dishonesty was a form of cowardice. He could not love a coward, because he could not accept a person's dishonesty, either to others or to themselves. "Is it not cowardice to hide what is true?"

She stood up, and walking over to Dante, placed a hand on his chest. "We all have to lie, my love, even to ourselves, just to get through the day."

Dante took her hand and held it. "Surely not you, my Queen of Sheba, you, who are so brave?"

"Me? Brave? You got me all wrong, love. I ain't brave. I just get by to survive."

"But that is my point. You are a survivor despite your difficulties. You are a true warrior, my friend."

She looked taken aback by the sincerety of Dante's words, and for a second a flicker of shame passed across her face.

Dante looked into her eyes, with genuine concern in his. "I have upset you?"

"No, it's not that. I just have to- I have to go now, love."

It was his strange ways again, Dante thought. He must have said the wrong thing to upset her. But he nodded, and walked her to the door.

Opening it for her, he said, "Take care, my friend. I have enjoyed our visits."

She took a step out, and then turning around, gave him a quick, strong hug. There were tears in her eyes. Real ones this time. "No one has ever said anything so nice to me in my life. Not even my old Da. And you've only known me a few days. You don't know me. Not really."

Dante thought for a moment, before speaking. "I can only say what is my heart to say. If I am wrong about you, then when that day comes, I will tell you that, too. All I can tell you is the truth as I see it."

She placed a hand on his cheek. "The world is tough on people like you, my love."

"I know it. I have tried to change."

At the open door, he confided in her about the secret wound in his heart. How his uncompromising manner had meant his parents had been shunned by their community. If only he could have changed, or been able to forgive. But there were lines in him he could not cross, not even for the two people he loved most in the world.

"And did you ever tell your parents this?"

"Yes, and they accepted me and did not blame me."

"Then don't change sweetheart. What does an old tart like me know?"

"You know to show kindness to a stranger, my friend. That is brave in itself."

His chance encounter with Shantel had been a corner he could not have seen coming. It was new for him, and he wanted to walk to around this corner to see what lay on the other side of it. The goodness in her had given him the desire for direction. Maybe here, in a new place, it would motivate him to not repeat the mistakes of his past, and be more understanding of other people's ways. And hope, in time, as his Mama had told him, they would come to do the same for him.

"I have not been kind to you," she whispered, suddenly, fearfully. She averted her eyes to the steps outside Dante's front hallway and then looked back at Dante again. She decided against saying what was in her mind out loud, but placing a quick kiss on his cheek, she whispered, "Don't let Caleb into your home. You can't trust him."

Then, without waiting for a response, she left.

Dante closed the door, wondering what Shantel had meant by her remark, and went back into the kitchen.

Who was Caleb?

nce outside, the Queen of Sheba faced a grinning Caleb sitting on the steps. He had been eavesdropping on their conversation the entire time.

This was going to be the easiest hustle, ever. The hustle of a lifetime.

"This ain't right," she said, hugging her sides. "I don't want no part of it anymore."

His eyes flashed black. His smile disappeared. "You gotta do it. Or I'll tell Baba Mamba. You know what'll happen."

She knew. No one would spot her. How would she get her fix, then?

"Why're we doing this Caleb? He's a really nice guy."

"Don't be deceived by him. He's a Satanist? Did you know that?"

"N-no, are you sure?" She couldn't believe it. But if Baba Mamba was on Caleb's side, who was she to argue? "I'll introduce you, but after that I'm done. Okay?"

"You're done when I say you are," Caleb said, standing up. "He's mine. I want him, and you're gonna help me."

erek waited and watched, patiently, from the safe distance of his kitchen window.

He had heard the conversation between Caleb and the prostitute. You could hear everything that went on; the close proximity of the flats meant that sounds reverberated across the entire street. It was why everyone crept around of a night.

He would continue to watch and wait.

And no one would ever know.

What is a person capable of, if they think they won't caught?

Almost anything.

hen the wheels of a large machine are set into motion, no one can predict where it will go, not even those carrying the keys.

Silently, in the night, the large machine of a drug dealer's envoy came to Downland. The evil that had come creeping to Downland Street, and spoke to the residents in the shadows of the night, had now come to stay.

And evil does not sleep.

ante woke to a large number of voices outside his bedroom window.

He yawned, and stretched, momentarily confused.

His eyes focused on the picture of his Mama hanging on his bedroom wall.

"Good morning, my darling," he said out aloud to her portrait. "Shall we see what all the noise is about?"

He got dressed and looked out of the window. A large group of men had filled the street, dressed in hoodies and baseball caps. Some were on bikes, some on scooters. A few were huddled together, smoking and talking. He noticed one, taller than the rest, in a white puffa jacket. He was accompanied by a large group of women, many were dressed like Shantel, Dante noticed.

It aroused his curiosity. He had seen a few such people in the street on occasion, but never in this number.

hen Baba Mamba noticed the activity at Dante's bedroom window, he smiled.

"He's up," he told his knights. "Go round to his kitchen window. Fill up the steps. Start smoking your crack. Make as much noise as you can. Let's smoke this little fucker out and see what he does."

Dante did not know it yet, but the shadows had come out in full force, into the light, and into his life.

ante went into his kitchen to make breakfast.

He yawned again, and stretched, standing on his toes. He did a few movements of an ancient Italian martial art, performed with the gladius of the Roman legionaries. He used a rolling pin instead of a sword.

He smiled at himself, at how ridiculous he must look if anyone were to see him.

He felt good. He tapped on his smartphone to open his playlist, and soon the rousing music of his arias began to fill his flat.

He opened his kitchen window. Although the nights were still cold, the sunshine returned with the day.

Time to make some breakfast. He was still on a diet free of carbs for Lent, so he had to avoid his usual Sicilian breakfast of zuppa. Thick slices of stale, toasted bread, soaked in hot coffee and sprinkled with sugar. His tummy rumbled. He wished this season of abstinence was over.

He loved zuppa, not just its taste, but its aroma; for him it carried the scent of working-class homes, the noisy market mornings, and parents who wasted nothing. The Sicilian breakfast staple was a dive into his village's soul.

But Dante had discovered the simple English fare of bacon and eggs, and it had quickly become one of his favourite meals during Lent. The discovery had been a delight to his senses. Sicilians loved bacon, but it usually accompanied pasta or rice, or was eaten in cured, small slices as an antipasto.

The differences of each culture, Danta was coming to realise, was what made them special. It was an opportunity to learn and love, not to fear.

He began to sing along to the music, as he placed twelve rashers of bacon on to cook.

That famed Sicilian appetite.

aleb sat on the steps outside Dante's flat. Listening to him talk to himself. His music. His singing. Preparing his breakfast. His Cheshire cat grin got wider and wider.

He silently waved to Baba Mamba's kinghts at they began to turn the corner of the intersecting alleyways to surround him, and fill the steps and grass verge with their number.

The more of his hooded friends he saw, the more his confidence, and his courage grew.

Dante was going to be his.

Alice in Wonderland was soon to be led down the rabbit hole.

ante's falsetto voice rose higher as the smell of bacon sizzled its scent; its salty perfume heightened his hunger.

"The English have found a breakfast for kings," he said happily to himself.

He was about to prepare his plate, when the sound of the large group of people that had woken him outside his bedroom window, had now come around the back, laughing and talking loudly. As their numbers steadily grew, they came to stand directly outside his open window. Their noisy chatter was accompanied by the uninvited, strange smell of their smoke coming into his kitchen to dampen the smell of the fried bacon.

Dante heard them filling up the communal steps by his front door, too. The communion of their voices got increasingly louder and higher. He felt no intimidation from this nuisance; it reminded him of his village square back home. He was just curious, and wanted to find why they were suddenly here.

He was about to go the front door, when his feet faltered; jumping into this new uncertainty unnerved him. He was nervous around people, not because he felt intimidated, but because his engagements with strangers never went well. It was his strange ways. He unnerved them, they unnerved him.

"Remember the Queen of Sheba," he said to himself. "Your first real friend here."

After his morning talks with Shantel, however, he had made a pact with himself to give people a chance first, no matter the circumstances, and despite any misgivings he might have. That he would keep his heart open and not closed to the possibility that people, including himself, could change, given time and shown kindness.

He thought of his parents. He did not want to repeat the mistakes of his past. It was a new corner to walk around; but he couldn't fathom, for the life of him, what was waiting for him there.

Maybe it was a sign that this was an opportunity to do things differently.

It was with this mindset, he went outside to see what all the noise was about.

aleb sat on the steps with the knights of Camelot. Hooded shadows now free to roam unhindered by the feds in broad daylight. It was a new experience to many; due to the collars the drugs had tighten around their throats, most of their leashes were tethered to the night hours. They smoked their crack and smack by night, and then slept to recuperate during the day.

They heard Dante talking to himself. Those sitting with Caleb, began to snicker, like little children about to play a prank. They had succeeded in smoking the snake out.

"Y'see? I told you, he is crazy," he whispered, conspiratorily. "He's a Satanist, y'know? He does all this weird praying shit at night, banging away all hours, calling to the Devil." He grinned, rolling his eyes, thoroughly enjoying his fantastical fable. "Oh, my days. He terrifies the poor man above him. He so scared to fall alseep, I have to go up and keep him company."

"Shhh," a girl beside him said, "he's opened his front door."

Caleb snorted. "So what? I ain't frightened of him. He only frightens old men and children. Not me."

But he promptly fell silent when Dante walked outside to greet them.

ante looked around him. He counted about twenty of them.

"Good morning," he said, in a calm voice. "Do any of you live here?"

One of them standing by a lamppost called out, "We're just passin' through, mate."

Dante turned to look at him, with a direct stare. The man looked down at the ground. "It looks more to me like you've come to pitch your tent, as the English say."

No one else spoke. He waited. Then, he spotted the Queen of Sheba making her way nervously through the crowd. The moment he saw her, Dante's face lit up. He ran over to hug and kiss her.

"Shantel! Are you well?"

"Morning, love," she whispered, a little embarassed by such an open display of affection. "You okay?"

"I am now I have seen you."

"How do you know her then?" Another man shouted at him, with a knowing laugh.

Dante looked at him, his smile gone. "She is my friend," he said softly, but in a cold tone that didn't invite a reply.

They both stared at each other silently, until the Queen of Sheba said, "He's not like that. Why don't you shut your mouth?" She took Dante's hand to lead him back into the flat.

"Ain't you gonna introduce us, then, Queen of Sheba?"

Dante looked in the direction of the voice. A young man sat on the steps of his flat that led to the one above. An intense feeling of dislike hit Dante when he looked into Caleb's hollow eyes, and he was ashamed of his feelings. Despite himself, his skin began to crawl. There was something wrong with this boy. He had no life in his eyes.

"My name is Dante. I am Sicilian," he said.

"Oooh, Godfather vibes. Is it true what they say about you lot, then?"

"I wouldn't know," he said, quietly.

"This is Caleb," Shantel cut in. "Don't mind him, he's a bit of a joker."

Caleb blew Dante a kiss, and gave him his best smile. "You want someone to suck your Italian stallion, then?"

"Don't talk like that," Dante's voice snapped. "It is beneath you. Surely, you are better than that."

Caleb's playful demeanour disappeared. At the sound of Dante's raised voice, a few of the drug users began to walk away.

Dante began to take a good look at the mob of people in front of him. To really see them. He saw their shifting glances. Their bedraggled and dirty clothes. Their vacant eyes and caved in cheeks. These people looked homeless and desperate. They were vulnerable.

He gave Shantel a confused glance. "Are these people really your friends?"

"Yes," Shantel said, but she couldn't look him in the eyes.

Dante nodded, and took his hand away from hers. "Stay here."

Dante went back inside.

aleb had not only fallen silent, but fallen into his thoughts. It was a place he rarely went to, unless it was to use as material for his hustles, and coax sympathy out of his latest victim.

You are better than that.

Not even that bitch Mrs York had said something that stupid to him. What a little faggot. His hatred reared its head, but he pushed it down. Not yet, as his old man would say.

Not yet.

They all listened out, now, after Dante had returned to his flat. A few of the more braver amongst them tried to covertly peer through his kitchen window, wondering what he was going to do next.

One of them hissed, "Is he going for a knife?"

Upon hearing that, Caleb put his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Derek had given him a knife, just in case the little faggot took a liking to him and tried to rape him, and he held on to it now. It was like he was holding on to his old man's holy sceptre, and he felt better.

ante came back outside with a wide array of food. His own breakfast of bacon and eggs and a selection of his handmade pastries.

He asked, "Is there any among you who is hungry?"

The crowd looked shocked at first. They had not expected this response. A few gave Caleb disgusted sideward glances.

Many of them nodded at Dante and walked towards the food. He smiled, offering them the plates of food. "Then please, you must eat. All of you. I will cook more. Please wait."

He turned to look at Shantel. "The Queen of Sheba's friends are my friends. It's a blessing on me and my home to share my food with you."

There was a distinct change in mood, and as people began to share the food out, no one noticed Caleb quietly creep up the steps and crawl in through Derek's open door.

an anyone really predict the future? To know what lies await around the corners of their lives?

Dante did not realise that around this corner he would find joy. He kept bringing out his food to those who would accept it, until most of his fridge was empty. He had not eaten yet, but he felt full. To be given the chance to care for something, like he cared for his Mama, was indeed a blessing. He just had not realised how much of a blessing it would be to him.

"Are you not going to eat, love?" The Queen of Sheba looked at him with genuine affection. "You've given us so much, that you won't have anything left."

"It is you, all of you that have given to me by accepting my food. I did not realise how much I was starving and hungry for life, until I met you." He said it simply, and honestly, but the crowd stopped eating, and began to look down at their plates.

Dante sensed he had said something wrong again. "I apologise if I have offended anyone."

The Queen of Sheba touched his arm. "It's not that, love. We've just forgotten this sort of kindness, that's all. We don't know how to thank you for it."

Dante grinned. "But you have thanked me. You've eaten it, and not said my cooking is bad!"

Laughter came at his comment, but it was not of the cruel kind. "Your cooking is fucking delicious, mate." It was the first man who spoke to him when he first greeted them. "Not many round here that would share food like this with us."

Before Dante could ask why he had said that, Baba Mamba, in his white puffa jacket, strode slowly into view. He was followed by his close entourage of boys and girls. There was one man amongst them that caught Dante's eye. He was of close height to himself, similar shape in eyes, but with a thick, black beard.

Baba Mamba stretched out his arms as he approached. "What's this? What's this? I hear Downland has got its very own Jesus Christ and is feeding the five thousand."

Dante stopped smiling. He walked up to Baba Mamba, equally slow and sure in his steps. They met halfway and stopped to stare at each other.

"How much you gonna be wanting for this? You trying to buy my people with your food?"

Dante did not speak. There was no fear in his face, only quiet contemplation, as he took in the measure of him. He was twice Dante's size. "In Sicily we call this Christian charity. Giving is its own reward."

Baba Mamba smiled. "Hey, we have that in this country, too."

Dante nodded. "I am sure you do have. Though I have yet to see it."

Unaware how close he came with his remark, Dante stood his ground, unflinching, as Baba Mamba leant his tall frame down to come nose to nose with him. It was the drug dealer's way to intimidate people, but Dante was innocent to it, and so, unafraid.

"No one gets something for nothing. Not even in Sicily."

This was a youth wise beyond his age, but not wise beyond his thinking, Dante thought. "I am not looking to buy or to sell anything. But if you think I want something, then be assured I have already been paid in full. There is no debt."

Baba Mamba looked uncertain at how to react to Dante after this, so he stood up straight and clicked his fingers. The crowd began to disperse. Only Baba Mamba and the man with the beard remained. He had not spoken in all this time, but had never once taken his eyes off Dante.

As Baba Mamba turned to leave, too, Dante asked him, "May I ask your name?"

"Around these parts they call me Baba."

"Baba, that is like father, is it not?"

Baba Mamba nodded.

"And these are your people?"

Baba Mamba nodded again.

"Well then, as the father of these people," Dante said, before walking away to pick up his plates and go back inside, "is it not your responsibility to make sure they are fed? A good father feeds and clothes his children. There is your something for nothing."

hen the wheels of a large machine are set into motion, no one can predict where it will go, not even those carrying the keys. But the evil that had come creeping to Downland Street, and spoke to the residents in the shadows of the night, had now come to stay. Under the guise of a protection racket, and as regulator and owner of the street.

Sometimes things changed for the better, sometimes for the worse. Sometimes things just changed.

For one of Downland's residents, however, in time he would come to understand that while goodness hopes for change, evil does not change.

A legion of evil does not sleep. It lies awake, waiting in the shadows.

And soon, it would come knocking at his door.

Published 25 April, 2026

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