"The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them: that's the essence of inhumanity.

George Bernard Shaw

2 years earlier

The first trial...

The man in the chair had been brought in hours earlier but left to sit in the fluorescent-lit room alone to unsteady him, to make him fear what was coming next. He was dark-skinned and had a long black beard, and stared around the sterile room at the cold steel walls with barely-suppressed fear. A Quran sat in the middle of the table, untouched.

"You can watch from here, Trials," said The General, silver-haired and with a voice used to command.

Jake nodded and leaned back in his chair, glancing again towards the large screen hung on the wall at the front of the room where video feed of their prisoner was displayed. He was determined not to let his excitement show - the next stage of years of work, much of it his.

The General - an honorary title, one they used affectionately in the Ministry to refer to the old man – was a tall, lean man who stood permanently rigid, as if standing to attention. He had a tanned, wrinkled face that hinted at a lifetime of tough experiences, and spoke in short, clipped tones. He was as close as the Ministry got to a single leader.

Disappearing through a door opposite of Jake, he soon reappeared on the screen, stepping smartly into the interrogation room accompanied by a small, quiet man in a white lab coat. The prisoner looked up.

"What is this? What am I doing here?" the bearded man asked, face now contorted into an expression of defiance and aggression, no hint of the fear he had shown when he had thought he was alone. Now he was back to the attitude that kept him alive in HMP Whitemoor.

"Mr. Farouk, good morning," said The General, walking over and pulling out one of the two bare metal chairs that accompanied the bare grey table in the centre of the room. The man he had called Farouk sat in the other.

"Is it? I don't know what you want, mate, but you can get it elsewhere. Now, you gonna let me out of here or what?" Farouk's accent screamed London.

"Mr. Farouk, it is my understanding that since entering Whitemoor you have taken up the acquaintance of the more, shall we say, extreme elements of that prison. I also believe you have reached a deeper understanding of your faith, is that right?"

Farouk's eyes darted down at the book between them, then up at The General again. Suspicion filled his voice.

"What are you getting at? You better not mean anything about..."

The General raised a hand to interrupt him.

"No, sir, I am not here to attack your faith, nor to make any inferences about your life. In fact, I have quite the respect for the teachings of the Prophet. I am merely asking if you, sir, believe."

There was a pregnant pause, Farouk eyeing The General carefully. Unable to read anything into his face, nor the situation, Farouk eventually let out a deep breath and leaned back, placing a hand on the Quran briefly.

"I made a lot of mistakes in my life," he said, voice a lot calmer and more introspective, "and every time I tried to make things right I made them worse. I... always made the wrong decisions, the wrong judgments. This book..." and he looked down at the Quran again, "...this book has guided me to a better understanding of myself, and the world. I know it will take a long time to atone for my sins, I know I am suffering a punishment I brought on myself with my own actions, but before I found my religion again I was unable to recognise this. I am... a better person with this book."

The two men held eye contact for a while. Jake was unable to read what was happening in that room through the camera, but a palpable tension hung in the air.

Suddenly, The General blinked and cleared his throat.

"Samson, bring the sample, would you?"

The lab-coated man who had until now been standing quietly by the door stepped forward swiftly, drawing from his pocket a small syringe that he jammed into the back of the prisoner's neck in a matter of moments. Farouk's eyes bulged in surprise, and his mouth opened, yet no comprehensible sound came out. Instead, a low keening began, growing in volume unsettlingly until it abruptly cut off several seconds later.

"Mr. Farouk?" asked The General as the man addressed as Samson stepped away and quietly left the room.

Farouk blinked slowly a couple of times and seemed to snap out of a daze, as if caught daydreaming.

"What did you just..? What was that..?" Farouk seemed confused.

"Mr. Farouk? We were talking of when you discovered the Prophet? Tell me, how do you feel about this book?" The General arched his fingers under his chin as he spoke.

"The... book? Oh..."

Farouk stared down at the book as if seeing it for the first time.

"That? I’m… confused… What is that?"

Farouk seemed confused and vulnerable, far more so than the tenant of a maximum-security prison has any right to be.

"Do you... believe, Mr. Farouk?"

The General stared down his nose at the confused man.

"I... I..."

Suddenly Farouk seemed to snap out of it, eyes narrowing rapidly and venomously.

"What the fuck did you just stick in my neck? I will kill you!"

Standing sharply up, Farouk lunged at The General, who moved far faster than his age would belie. Sliding his chair quickly out of reach of the enraged man, The General watched as Farouk struggled against the leg-chains that held him to the nailed-down table.

"Of course I believe, you son of a bitch. What is this? What..."

Farouk's raging continued as The General stood up and dusted off his jacket, acting for all the world as if Farouk had ceased to exist. Over the course of the next minute, Farouk’s efforts weakened until he eventually fell into a faint on the table, eyes almost but not quite shut, eyelids flickering.

"It seems we failed. We will need more subjects of varying backgrounds, I believe. A pity, but not a major setback. Such things take time,” said The General, looking directly up into the camera.

Jake knew the words were addressed to him. The General departed, leaving the unconscious form for others to take care of.

Jake sat with The General a short while later, various others involved in the project gathered around too, but The General had always seemed to have a soft-spot for Jake and most of his comments were addressed to him.

"Do not worry yourself, Jacob. The information you gained for us has placed us light-years ahead of the old MK-ULTRA program, and we will find more subjects to refine the formula on," The General said.

"But, sir," said Jake, "how many fanatics can there possibly be that we can get access too?"

"No, Jake, we are not after fanatics. That is the end game. For now, we just need those who harbour strong beliefs. That man in there was not a fanatic by any means. No, he was a regular, every-day killer who found religion in jail; an old story. But I had it on good authority that his religious awakening was genuine, and I shall have no problem acquiring more. They are all over the prison system, you know. Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, even a few Scientologists. Perfect for our needs."

"But shouldn't we be trying it on the most extreme of them?" asked Jake.

"If only we could," The General shook his head sorrowfully. "The truly dangerous ones even I cannot get access to, so instead we must test on those who merely possess a strength of belief greater than the usual."

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“It may not. Nothing in life is guaranteed. At the moment, the drug is still far too fast acting and unfocused. We must try to refine it.”

"And... if it works? What if we succeed in purposefully removing someone's faith? I can understand using it on extremists, but to use it on..."

"Calm down, Jacob," said The General, waving a hand downwards. "These are killers and rapists we are using, not innocents. A necessary evil."

Jacob nodded thoughtfully. He wasn't used to the feelings that were coursing through him now. What was that? Guilt? Fear? He stood there for a moment as The General departed, then shrugged it off. He had long ago made his choice.

The final trial

She was no more than a teenager. Long black hair framed a peach-shaped face from which bewildered eyes stared wildly around, taking in the bland whiteness of the room she found herself trapped in. She didn't understand - was she still in the hospital? She'd never seen a ward like this before.

The General and Jake watched her through the camera, once more in the viewing room. This was the 12th and final test subject. A failure here would mean the end of the program, very little progress having been made since the first. They were barely a year into tests, yet the funding for this program had become more and more difficult to channel in the current climate, yet another economic downturn stymieing the Ministry and its activities.

"She looks so young," said Jake.

He'd accustomed himself to the previous subjects, all violent criminals and all men. This girl was different.

"And she is. Barely 18. A girl at the start of her life, and yet she has taken both the lives of her parents and those of her neighbour’s children. Mere babes, hardly yet able to walk," replied The General.

"What? Why?" asked Jake.

"Nigel Matterson. Ah, I see you know the name," said The General at the look of recognition on Jake's face.

"He was in the news all the time a few years back. The cult leader. He used to find impressionable girls from broken homes and... Oh." Realisation dawned. "She's one of his victims, right?"

"Indeed. Matterson's modus operandi is to find young females and bind them to him through a mixture of religious babble, false declarations of love, and potent narcotics. A self-professed messenger of God, he was able to convince at least five girls we know of to commit unspeakable acts on his behalf. Lucy, in there, was his proudest achievement."

They stared silently at the small figure on the screen.

"We were lucky. Whilst Lucy's usual psychiatric hospital is closed for modernisation, she is recorded as being transferred to a specialised holding area for the most dangerously deranged. A useful half-truth," explained The General.

"And she believes? Did she find Christ or something?"

"Hardly, Trials. No, Lucy most firmly believes in nothing but Nigel Matterson. Even after all he made her do, or perhaps because of it, she refuses to testify against him or speak in anyway negatively of him. She believes she is his one, pre-destined love. His hold is complete."

"Sounds perfect."

"Exactly, Trials. In fact, should the serum work we will be doing her a favour. The poor girl’s moods swing wildly from violent to suicidal. To free her from that man's hold can only be the work of the just."

The General nodded towards Jake and left, appearing on the screen as he entered the next room.

"Nigel?" asked the girl earnestly, face collapsing in disappointment when she saw it was not.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Lawntie. And I am afraid I am not Nigel Matterson," said The General in clipped tones as he strode in and sat down opposite.

"I know that, thanks. There's no way he'd come to me here," snapped Lucy, folding her arms in anger.

"And yet you entertain the hope that he will?" he asked curiously.

"He will one day, you know. We were meant to be together. He has abilities beyond your imagination. You will all see it, one day."

Lucy's eyes were fixed on The General unblinkingly, as if willing him to burst into flame through pure hate.

"I am afraid not, my dear. Nigel Matterson is being kept in one of the most secure prisons in the country, and has no chance of parole, ever. He will never again be free."

"LIAR!" screamed Lucy, face reddening in fury. "He WILL be freed, and you all WILL see! He will come for me."

She slammed her fists onto the table, making the whole thing shake violently. Flecks of spittle hung at the corners of her mouth.

"You still believe in him, though you rot behind metal bars and will do so for quite some time?" enquired The General.

"I would die a thousand deaths for him, as he would for me. A thousand."

"Excellent. I do so admire loyalty. You have my respect, Ms. Lawntie. Samson..."

The General shifted back in his chair as his attendant sprang forward and jabbed the syringe into Lucy's neck. As with the subjects before, her face froze and eyes bulged as she let out a low, long keening sound.

"Now, Ms. Lawntie," The General continued, as if nothing had happened. "A thousand deaths, was it? Seems rather extreme, but if that's how you feel. Here you are."

The General reached into his pocket and produced a short, sharp-bladed knife, laying it on the table before him.

Lucy leaned forward and looked at the knife. It glinted under the lights. Slowly reaching out, nervous of any tricks, she picked it up and held it in the palm of her hands.

"I could use this on you," she said, voice dreamy.

"And why would you do that, Ms. Lawntie?" asked The General. He hadn't moved, still sitting within easy reach.

"For... Nigel..?" She looked puzzled.

"For him? A man who left you for dead when the police came calling? A man who told you he would… how did he always put it… leave you to the wolves? Would you kill again for him, Ms. Lawntie?"

"Kill..? For him...? No, no, I wouldn't..."

She froze suddenly, the knife tumbling from her immobile fingers as she stared at some unknowable horror.

"I I I I I I I... What I did... I..."

Her words tumbled out one after the other, incoherent. Tears suddenly welled in her eyes and her breathing became rapid, rasping and panicked. The General leaned forward in interest.

"Is it finally sinking in, Ms. Lawntie? Tell me, do you still believe?"

Ragged sobs were his only answer. Lucy's hands dropped to the table where they hung open, her gaze locked on them as if they were some monstrous appendages she had never seen before.

"Ms. Lawntie? Tell me, Ms. Lawntie, do you still believe the lies of Nigel Matterson? Do you, Ms. Lawntie?"

Jake barely saw what happened next. One second Lucy was staring down at the table and her shaking hands as The General leaned over, the next she was on her feet and The General was on the ground with the hilt of the knife protruding from his chest.

Jake shot up and dived out of the door and down the corridor, smashing his way through the door to the room he had been so avidly watching via camera. Lucy was pulling at her chains whilst raging and screaming at The General, who was lying against the wall at the back of the room, a trail of crimson marking where he had dragged and pushed himself away.

Jake froze at The General's voice.

"It's ok, Jacob. It was my own bloody fault, giving her a knife to play with. I'll deal with it."

Lucy spun around at The General's words, noticing Jake for the first time and doing a double-take in surprise. Her rage came quickly back, however, and she resumed her tirade at the both of them.

Her words didn't matter. It was clear to Jake that, once again, she was in the thrall of a man named Nigel Matterson.

The General came to see Jake a few hours later, after being discharged from the infirmary.

"The knife was far too short to do any major damage bar hitting an artery. I've had much worse, Jacob, do relax."

Jake had rushed across the room upon The General's entrance. It was rare for The General to come and visit any operative, even Jake, but both knew Jake was to depart on an unrelated assignment the next morning, an assignment that was taking him to the very borders of Europe and Asia.

"It's over, Trials," said The General, sitting down on the couch with a wince of pain. Bandages were visible beneath his shirt. "We're shutting it down. I just came to thank you for your efforts in acquiring the information that allowed us to come even this far."

"That's not necessary, sir. You know it's my job." Jake remained standing.

"Nevertheless, I and the Ministry appreciate your efforts, and thank you. We want you to know that, even though little was achieved, it is through efforts such as yours that we contain a threat no lesser than a virulent pandemic. You have not failed."

"That means a lot sir, thank you." Jake stood tensely.

"For goodness sake Trials, this isn't the military. I don't need you to refer to me as 'sir' quite so often, you know. You know my name. Anyway, I came to wish you good luck, and I look forward to seeing you when you return. Enjoy the Caucasus, Jacob. Should be quite the experience."

Jake nodded. By the time The General had left, he was already concentrating on his next assignment.

Except… something The General had said didn’t sit right. Something during the interrogation. Try as he might, Jake couldn’t recall it, but the sensation sat there, niggling away in the back of his mind until he buried it in work.