Page 68 of Hell Breaks Loose

Detritus that no one has the time or manpower to move. Eventually, I’ll need to deal with the mundane. Get the town up and running again. No point in ruling if there are no subjects left to oversee.

At the edge of town, Ridgeline Road, I stop to look down over the city. Where there should be twinkling lights aplenty, I see only darkness.

Here and there, a house is dimly lit. Generators in the less devastated areas.

Back on the road, the first signs of dawn gray the horizon. It’s bright enough to see by the time I reach the small cabin I stashed my most prized possession in.

It’s an old ranger station.

Through a cattle gate, back and over a hill.

Out of sight and on property I acquired many years ago. Admittedly, with the hopes that another Seven hideout or treasure trove was hidden there. No such luck.

But it has proved useful for hiding things over the years.

“Angel? My dear. Where are you?”

I call to him as I step from the car, to keep from startling him.

That’s the drawback to my little army. They’re all fucking nuts.

And easily agitated.

“Here.” His voice is low, shaky. Almost time for another dose of Devo.

From behind the building, he emerges, wearing only a ratty pair of pants and boots. Another side effect.

They seem to produce heat like a furnace.

Nocturnal tendencies and an aversion to daylight whenever possible.

“Come. Let me give you your medicine, darling.”

“Yes, Matron.” He follows close, glancing around a few times before heading inside.

Laying out the supplies I brought, I gesture for him to put them away, making him work for the reward of what he most desires.

Well, next to pleasing me.

A genius concoction. Devonde outdid himself.

It creates a bond with whoever administers it, making the victim extremely manipulable.

Honestly, if the Seven would have had access to it sooner, I imagine that Sanctum would be a martial state, a haven of mind-controlled soldiers.

At least one of those members would have done it.

Especially the old seat of Avarice who was taken out a few decades back, Gander Walternon. Bastard was a murderous, narcissistic maniac. And the nephew of a rogue Nazi who escaped Germany after WWII, from what I was able to dig up on him.

Not that most of them weren’t mentally unstable in some way.

Sociopaths leading a secret organization back centuries, passed down and indoctrinated to their children and grandchildren.

Power, power, and more power.

It’s a sure shot way of keeping order. Keep the mindless masses in line.

Keep them blind.

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