Well, now he was probably being investigated for murder or assault. Given time, it shouldn’t be too hard to get it passed off as someone breaking in, but that wasn’t something he had the time to deal with right now. Which meant he now had nowhere to sleep or get food. He may as well do some further investigation then. He checked over the pamphlet – they offered services to the homeless, so he could at least get some food from them, and with his wounds and tatty clothing, he could probably pass for freshly homeless.

The place was easy to find, paper signs tied around signposts and pointing the way there, towards a cluster of old Victorian houses knocked together, first into offices, now repurposed yet again into whatever this lot were doing. The rest of the area was shabby offices and small shops, the area having managed to avoid having gentrification thrust upon it. He adopted a slow, slouching stroll, scouting out the area – the building was built around an internal courtyard, but all of the original front doors were still in place, several of them opening and closing as he watched, more of the robed figures coming and going. There must be quite a few of them, to judge by the amount of coming and going he could see. There didn’t seem to be any guards, in the formal sense, although some of the doors were locked, or had a cult member working as a receptionist.

A large plastic banner had been erected in front of what must be the central door, showing the same halo as on the pamphlet, along with the same blandly angelic phrasing of self-improvement – “a path to the inner god”, “find your holy light” and so forth. That the white plastic was grimy from pollution was perhaps a sign that they should spend more time on the outmost things, rather than meditation!

‘You think you can…’ He cut himself off suddenly, remembering that he didn’t have anyone to talk to anymore, his stump of a finger aching in sympathy. So, at least the place didn’t look like a sealed compound – some of the windows were blacked out, but only with cardboard, no signs of bars or anything heavier.

With that done, he drifted towards the entrance, running through a loose story in his mind – behind on the rent, tossed onto the street, just for a few nights, only the small amount of stuff he had on him (a cheap duffel bag full of crap clothing wrapped around the sword). He wasn’t even asked his name, a bored-looking young man simply waving him through, giving him the rules: ‘men’s area only. Anything behind a door’s off-limits. Food’s at 7, 2 and 7. No sex, no drugs, no phones, no fighting or you get tossed.’ Then he was waved away, heading inside.

The place had been gutted, individual rooms knocked away except for stubs of supporting walls, into a series of large halls and chambers. The walls had been painted, with more enthusiasm than skill, blandly-smiling angels bearing gifts, shining gold and yellow discs, in one case a spray-painted frisbee nailed to the wall, with rays shining forth. The place was quiet, the dorms consisting of tightly-packed triple-bunks, the scent of fresh laundry not quite enough to overpower the background scent of sweat. Some doors had been propped open – as he approached one, he got a warning look from a cult member. Glancing through, he could see it was another dorm, but with a few women milling about; obviously the women’s dorm. Not somewhere he needed to go, and it wasn’t worth raising a fight about.

Fortunately, the knocked-together construction of the place made it easy to find a quiet corner, and the place was probably no stranger to someone slumped on their own, staring into space. With his old companion, this would be a lot easier, at least if she could be convinced to play nice, but now he only had himself to rely on. He took a deep breath, settling himself, trying to feel out what he could. Then a loud buzzing sound started, ear-piercingly loud, jerking him from any attempt at any thoughts, making him wince in pain.

The place was suddenly busy and noisy, everyone filing along the hallways. He rose and followed them, out into the central courtyard. Most of it was filled with trestle tables and cheap folding chairs, a tent erected with big vats of food steaming away, next to a small stage. He took a seat near the edge, just in case he needed to beat a hasty retreat, hunching his shoulders and looking as inconspicuous as possible, everyone else taking their own seats – the homeless marked apart from the followers by their clothing. Now he had the chance to examine them a bit more closely, he could see what looked like gradations amongst the members – plain and baggy grey robes and sandaled feet for most, a smaller number in better-fitted and more evenly coloured robes, with the suggestion of something underneath, and one, overseeing the food, in something that was dull and faded white, but with hands and feet hidden behind socks and gloves.

Another loud buzz sounded, then suddenly cut off, as the food overseer stepped onto the stage, mumbling into the microphone before the PA system kicked in.

‘…all to the Order of the Ascended Halo. Those of the Heavens have revealed themselves to our esteemed masters, and gathered us in this place that they may better convey their wisdom.’ He must be good at organisation or planning, because he definitely wasn’t any good at public speaking. But several other figures had emerged from a side entrance – four very burly cultists, their frames practically screaming ‘bodyguard’, and someone between them, visible only as a streak of white between their grey bulkiness. The crowd fidgeted restlessly as soon as they saw this, a few going so far as to point, being shushed by nearby cultists, as the current speaker lectured on some point of faith, about how good deeds would lead to good outcomes.

The group approached the stage, before spreading out to let the person they were protecting walk out. It was like the sun emerging from behind clouds, her body wreathed in gleaming white fringed with gold, something like a nun’s habit but tighter, stretching over the well-built form beneath in a way most nuns would definitely not approve of. Her hands were hidden behind white gloves, a wimple covering her head and a veil over her mouth – the only skin visible was a thin strip around her eyes, if it wasn’t for that, then she could have been a mannequin, rather than a living person.

As she approached, the crowd went silent in anticipation, the guards taking up position in front of the stage in case things got rowdy – from here, Brandon couldn’t see if they were armed, but their sheer size made direct confrontation seem a bad idea.

She accepted the microphone from the speaker, the crowd taking an intake of breath as one.

‘Greetings, humble seekers after truth. I come before you as one who has seen the halo, the great light of truth and justice, and wish you all to attain the same peace and power as I have attained.’ Her voice was smooth and clear, slightest touch of an upper-class accent, but either erased by effort or time. But he could feel power behind it, power and intent – warm and bright, like sunlight coming through a window on a cold day, a soothing warmth. No wonder the crowd were so fixated on her!

‘We have come so far, blessed children! From just a dozen followers, to now hundreds that have seen the true light, and pledged themselves to aid their fellows, to make all equal under the light. And with this growth, comes change! There are those amongst you that have begun the first stumbling steps towards inner mastery, finding their own light, that they merge with the true light of heaven. Those that have accomplished this shall be taken so that they may vow themselves to the light, to better themselves. I am honoured to announce that Sandra has managed to achieve this!’

One of the grey-clad figures stepped forward, looking around uncertainly – Brandon recognised it as Amy, looking uncertain as she was pushed forward by her colleagues. She stepped onto the stage, the woman reaching out towards her, gesturing her closer, but not touching her.

‘She will spend the night in meditation, and then her training shall begin. Everyone, please congratulate her.’ There was polite applause, tinged with the disappointment of the unchosen, and then one of the guards came onto stage. ‘Please escort this one to the inner sanctum.’

Uncertainty flashed onto Amy’s face, before she made herself smile, the guard taking her off into the building, tightly grabbing her arm.

‘Now, we must pray. For the glory of the halo, and the ascension of the light.’

There was a massed shuffling as the most fervent dropped to their knees, everyone at least clasping their hands together, looking to the sky.

‘As above, so below. As the light rises and gives birth to light and wisdom, so to must we rise above our baser natures and the demands of the flesh. As the ancient ones through the air on wings of fire, so to must we rise above our bodies into the realms of divine thought, that our souls may be cleansed by holy fire.’

‘…by holy fire.’ The crowd echoed back.

‘The world is wicked and fallen, and only through the grace of the halo can weak, fallen humanity by redeemed. From wisdom comes grace.’

‘From wisdom comes grace.’

‘From grace comes wisdom.’

‘From grace comes wisdom.’ The callback was louder now, and he could feel a slight touch of power there, a whisper of will backing the words, encouraging and binding behaviour from the followers.

‘From wisdom comes freedom, a final release from suffering.’

‘From wisdom comes freedom, a final release from suffering.’ Now it was almost a roar, echoing off the surrounding buildings. And surrounding worryingly like suicide was awaiting those that found their ‘wisdom’.

The rest of the sermon was more mundane, although cloaked in a continual stream of imagery, of holy light and distant illumination being shed upon the cold, dark, earth, most of the content was entirely mundane and normal self-help stuff. With everyone watching, he couldn’t slip off just yet, but the sermon was mercifully short, the woman seeming tried, although she waved off the assistant that offered to help her. There had been power in her words, not just simple charisma – slight enough that it could be unconscious, but that seemed a foolish assumption at this point.

After handing the microphone back, the crowd’s interest sagged immediately as she returned to her bubble of bodyguards, vanishing back into the building. There was a flailing attempt to engage the crowd again, but they clearly weren’t interested. Instead, food was served, everyone moving into a line. Brandon took advantage of the movement to slip back into the building, hoping that everyone would be busy for a while.

Away from the dormitory, the hallways were smaller, knocked between individual offices and accommodation for the cult members, dorms for groups of them, probably so they could keep an eye on each other. A few of the beds were occupied, but they were lost in sleep, not noticing his footfalls.

He could hear chanting from somewhere ahead, eldritch-sounding almost-latin, a nonsense babble more for effect than any purpose. In the cramped hallways, it was still hard to navigate, the sound coming through internal windows and air-vents, forcing him to backtrack several times, as he felt power start to surge. It was the same as with the woman at the graveyard, a blinding, searing light, stinging and bright without hope of relief.

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on it, gain some idea as to the purpose, but there was nothing, just an endless, blinding mist of light. How were they doing this, and why? Organising a cult was a lot of work! He came across a heavy metal door, crudely set in place, blocking his way. The chanting echoed through it, warped and distorted. Just in case they had been really stupid, he pushed at it, the thing moving slightly before stopping, a bolt or something locking it.

Shit. They were probably doing something to Amy – he needed to get through. It was far too heavy to smash through, at least without heavy tools. But it was a bad fit for the hallway, and he could actually see the metal shaft of the lock keeping it shut, even just about touch it with a nail. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and carefully tapping it, feeling the severed finger about his neck suddenly grow hot. The metal started to vanish, bit by bit, as he pushed against it, his knuckle pushing into the door as well, the parts he touched simply vanishing. It didn’t take long before the metal lock was gone, and he could get the door open.

On the other side was something more like what he expected of a cult temple – the walls here were all white-washed and clean, only broken by another halo, this one of actual gold, a spotlight making it gleam brilliantly. As quietly as he could, he advanced, drawing the sword, ready to use it as a club.

The chanting was louder now, coming from somewhere close by. He found what looked like service stairs, the dull greyness and bundles of wiring impossible to disguise, even for cultists. The stairs led onto a metal gantry, overlooking an empty space, an entire building having been hollowed out to form a single hall.

Several large metal tanks dominated the space, dark and ominous, all attached to various tubes and wires, more machinery pumping and hissing away, for some purpose he couldn’t determine. A large skylight had been cut into the ceiling, supplemented with bright spotlights to ensure the light would shine regardless of the weather.

He could see Amy down there, being helped into… some kind of diving apparatus? She was already wearing a diving suit, soft black material about her body, a heavy-looking helmet getting pushed over her head, bulky wires and electronics trailing untidily out. The cult leader was there, overseeing the affair, although without doing anything herself. A hatch in the floor was open, a deep black pit below, some dark liquid reflecting the light.

A harness was clipped around Amy, and she was pulled up, suspended in the air, unable to resist. The faceplate of her diving helmet was opaque, a light on the side hopefully indicating power, at least.

‘This acolyte has proven herself worthy of a trial. She will be left to drift in darkness, that she may learn to truly appreciate the light.’ Amy was slowly lowered, dropped through the floor into the darkness – Brandon could see that there was another set of wires currently lowered, so someone else must be done there as well. Had the basement or whatever was done there been opened up and turned into a giant tank, to keep new recruits? But were they genuinely there for meditation, or something worse? Dumping someone into sensory deprivation for an indefinite period of time was closer to “punishment” than “meditation”!

There was the slightest splash as Amy’s feet were submerged, the suit modified to bind her legs together, and her arms to her waist. She wriggled slightly, before she was dropped down completely, vanishing into the abyssal darkness.

‘And as the light vanishes from her world, so it shall enrich the halo.’

It might have been a trick of the light, but the woman seemed to suddenly be a little brighter, her clothing just shy of incandescently white, a golden bracelet shining with a sudden lustre. He felt a clawing, sucking sensation, something trying to pluck at his spirit. A tiny spike of hunger, compared to what he was used to, but if that was only the backlash, then the focus must be getting it a lot rougher.

Amy was completely gone from sight now, as a panel was put onto the floor, cutting off any light from above. And then they left, guards forming up around her, escorting her out, a flunky making some final adjustments to the machinery – hopefully an air pump, at least – before leaving.