Chapter 11

A sudden influx of money, power and influence is remarkably handy when one wants to, for example, build a gigantic compound from which to administer your new religion. Particularly when you want your new compound in a hurry.

Tim happened to be in exactly that situation. As such, his new compound in Washington D.C. was built in a matter of weeks.

The centerpiece of the New Paradigm campus was Tim’s great, shining, golden tower. At the base was the temple where the most important ceremonies (and executions) were held. At the top was Tim’s living quarters. As a god as well as Supreme Ruler of the United States, Tim was in a position to hire the best architects, and his new buildings conveyed both power and modernity.

Surrounding the central tower in expanding rings were the offices and dormitories for the True Believers who kept the New Paradigm running. The highest status offices and apartments were, of course, taller and closer to the tower. The outer ring was made up of single level buildings filled with the peons who handled the day to day tasks of administering a new religion and political order.

The real action, of course, happened deep in the center rings of the compound. That was where the mid-level True Believers charted out plans of action for expanding Tim’s empire to include the rest of the world.

One of the shocking aspects of the design was the apparent lack of security. The doors had locks (when the True Believers remembered to use them), but anyone could walk with ease directly to the base of the tower. There was a guard stationed outside the main doors, and a pair outside the inner entrance to Tim’s dwelling. It became fairly common for tourists to have their photos taken with the guard outside the tower.

This guard was, in fact, more of an ambassador and public relations handler than a guard. He was there to put a friendly face on the compound for those who visited. As such, he didn’t recognize Hep, Scroat or Pan when they approached. Hep and Scroat had their picture taken with him, as the other tourists did, and made a show of admiring the architecture.

They wandered the paths that curved between each rank of buildings, admiring the landscaping, which was second to none. While they were at it, they made note of the signs above each door. “Information Technology” read one of them, “Theological Investigation” read another, “Planning and Development” read another still.

After spending a couple hours wandering, collecting souvenier maps and trinkets and taking photos, the trio left Tim’s compound.

“Why am I not surprised that the fucker lives in a great, golden cock?” Scroat asked once they were a couple blocks away.

They returned to the hotel where they ordered a pizza and laid out the maps and notes they had made of the compound. They came up with a plan for an effective route and and out of the compound, so they could maximize the amount of damage and annoyance they could cause.

The next morning, the trio woke up early and set out again to do a walkthrough of their planned route. Along they way they picked up bagels with cream cheese, and coffee, for breakfast. The large number of people milling about Washington D.C. in multi-colored track suits did not go unnoticed by Hep, Scroat or Pan.

Around nine in the morning, they reached the entrance to the New Paradigm compound. They walked into the compound as if they had every reason to be there. Most of the track-suited True Believers paid no mind to the large, ugly man with bad legs, the tall, slight man with an odd goat-ish look about him, and the shorter, snaggle-toothed man with a scruffy beard and a foul mouth.

As they walked past the first tier buildings, Scroat happened to glance in one of the office windows. A man in a green tracks suit was watching him and talking on the phone. Scroat gave him a cheery wave. Nothing to see here, he thought at the man inside. The man on the phone returned Scroat’s wave and turned away.

“I’m telling you, they’re here,” he said into the phone. This was going to mean a big promotion for him. He might get to move into one of the third or fourth tier rings, even.

Outside, Hep, Scroat and Pan walked the paths of the compound again, paying attention to distances between buildings and entranceways, since each path was nearly identical in landscaping and architecture. If there weren’t signs above each door, it would be very easy to confuse a dormitory with an office.

They left the compound again once they were satisfied they knew it well enough to create some mayhem. The three of them returned to the hotel to wait for nightfall. They would sneak into the compound under cover of darkness and sneak back out before any of the track suited goons knew what had happened.

They spent the rest of the afternoon watching pay-per-view.

Soon enough the sun set, and they set out for Tim’s compound once more. They reached the compound in a short time, and were surprised by how well lit the entire area was, including searchlights illuminating Tim’s golden tower.

The three of them were comforted by the large number of tourists still walking around the compound, sight seeing. They figured it would be easy enough to blend in, at least until they were inside the buildings.

They reached the first office. The sign above the door read “Theological Investigation.”

“How do we get in?” Pan asked.

“Well, we could try the door knob,” Hep said, and reached for the handle. He pulled and was surprised and pleased when the door opened without resistance. Hep turned back to Pan.

“See? They’re just not too bright,” Hep said. He turned around again and saw that just inside the door Tim and several muscular thugs were waiting for them.

“Oh, I think we’re smarter than you give us credit for,” Tim said. “Grab them,” he said, bored, to his thugs.

“Run!” Hep hissed to Pan and Scroat, and turned to flee. Pan and Scroat bolted, running as fast as their legs could carry them. Hep hurried away, but could not outrun Tim’s goons. He turned to fight, and managed to knock one of the men unconscious before he was overpowered and dragged into the office, struggling wildly.

We were set up! Hep thought. What the hell happened?

“Hep, I’ve been so eager to meet you face to face,” Tim said. “Please, have a seat, won’t you?”

The thugs dragged Hep towards a plain wooden chair. Hep cleared his mind and thought of the barn back in Arizona where he and Scroat had hidden from the True Believers the first time. He tried to will himself there, but couldn’t.

“You don’t really think I’m going to let you get away that easily, do you?” Tim asked.

Hep continued to struggle against the guards as they attempted to restrain him. I could really use some help here. Hep thought. Any help will do, please. Two of the Tim’s men came towards Hep with restraints. The others did their best to hold him still.

They had nearly restrained him when they heard a noise like thunder, getting closer and closer. Suddenly one of the cinder block walls burst open and there stood, improbable as it was, an angry-looking sheep with something spray painted on it’s side. Following close behind was a chicken, which took advantage of the surprised guards and hopped towards them and began clawing and pecking viciously. Strange objects continued to fly through the opening in the wall, and soon enough Tim’s goons fled in panic and terror from the inanimate objects that were somehow attacking them.

Tim had taken the opportunity to leave immediately after the sheep burst through the wall.

Once the thugs had vacated the now-trashed office, the various sacrifices immediately stopped their frenzy, and returned to follow Hep around. Hep stood and staggered out of the office again, heading back for the hotel, now with an entourage of animals and other tokens of someone’s esteem.

A short ways outside of Tim’s compound, Hep met Scroat and Pan, who now also had Thor and Ares with them. They all smiled when they say Hep.

“We thought we were going to have to bring in the cavalry to rescue you,” Pan said, nodding towards Ares.

“Let’s get in there and rip them apart!” Ares yelled, almost jumping up and down with glee.

“No, I think we need to regroup, and reconsider our plan for sabotaging Tim,” Hep said. Ares was visibly disappointed.

“Aw, can’t I just beat one or two of them up?” Ares asked.

“Come on Ares. We both know that once you pop, you just can’t stop,” Hep said. “There will be other opportunities for smiting these fools.”

“Ok,” Ares said, sulking a bit.

“Come on, let’s go find some beer,” Thor said.

Hep told his sacrifices to return to the garage where they belonged. Instantly, they took to the air and were no longer visible in mere seconds.

“I freaking love that trick,” Hep said.

The five of them stalked off in search of the darkest and most remote bar they could find. They found a dive called “Mecca” which appeared to cater to exactly their kind of scum. There wasn’t a track suit to be seen within a five block radius of Mecca, so they figured they could safely enjoy a few drinks there.

Inside the bar, the five gods were shocked to see Dan, Sarah and some guy they hadn’t seen before.

“Somehow I just knew we needed to be here,” Sarah said.

“Everyone needs to make a pilgrimage, if they can,” the unknown guy.

“Who the fuck are you?” Scroat asked.

Dan appeared to remember himself, and said, “Oh! This is Chris. He’s one of the group of pagans I lead.”

“And not very well, I might add,” Chris said. “Pleasure to meet you all.”

Hep made a mental note to ask Dan why the hell he had brought another person in to this situation later on. For the time being, he went and bought the first round of beers. Once he had the drinks, he retreated to the darkest and most quiet corner of the bar, which just happened to be back by the pool table.

The three mortals got some quarters and played pool while the gods attempted to consume their weight in beer. The bartender thought they were kind of an odd bunch, but kept his mouth shut because they were buying a ton of drinks, not causing trouble, and tipping extremely well.

After last call, the group staggered out of the bar, and tried their level best to find their way back to the hotel. It took them nearly two hours, and they went through some very rough neighborhoods, but for some reason they weren’t disturbed. It was probably the waves of pure menace radiating off of a very drunk Ares that kept the run of the mill Washington D.C. gangsters and thugs away. That, or the overpowering stink of drunk, unwashed deities after a long day of fighting, running, and general oddness. The clerk at the front desk of the hotel averted his eyes, and discretely covered his nose as the group passed through his lobby. He didn’t want to offend any these guested. They looked like a dangerous bunch, particularly the muscular blond guy wearing a brown wool vest, and the darker fellow dressed all in black leather.