The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 44

Rusty Quill presents

Good evening, gentlemen and gentle ladies of hell.

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It's third down.

Did you see the game last night?

Of course you did, because you used Instacart to do your grocery restock.

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Instacart, we're here.

I think there's a pretty good chance this is the same lamp that Rupert had in his car.

When we grabbed everything from the trunk, it really didn't stick out to me.

It was just in the same box as all the occult stuff.

But now that I look at the thing,

it's definitely got some funky qualities.

Right, like the strange symbols that circle the base of it.

There seems to be little chunks of something in the metal.

Like bone shards.

I'm no expert on lanterns, but that seems a little off, if you ask me.

Maybe a brilliant version of the same shit they did with the metal they used to make the machine with.

But why?

The fuck does a lantern do?

Might be purely ceremonial.

Something they use for their rituals.

Whatever it is, I don't think we should light it until we know more about it.

I say we stash it for now.

Like the cassette from the elevator?

Exactly.

Like the cassette from the elevator.

Yeah, speaking of which, that cassette is the only thing I can think of that separates us from what Ben's going through.

Or...

went through.

He listened to it and we didn't.

And from what you all told us, it seems like everyone was meant to.

Or at least least the three of you were.

Hmm.

I wonder if Alex Harmon listened to it too.

Could be.

Oh, he said we didn't want to listen to it until we had some kind of protection.

Well, we've got all three resonators to tamp down whatever the hell it might do.

I don't think it's gonna get any better than that.

Oh, I've been dreading the day we decide to listen to that hellish thing.

What exactly did you feel when you held it?

It's a sensation I've become all too accustomed to.

Hell, But there was something more to it than just an intimation of evil.

Something...

I don't know.

Like I was falling into darkness.

That's the closest I can come with words.

Are we sure it wouldn't be better to just destroy the thing?

And here I thought you were a scientist.

Do they have microscopes and bons and barners in hell?

If it's something they can use against us, we need to know what it is.

There's nothing in Edgar's book that could shed some light on it?

It's possible, but the handwriting in certain parts is super stylized.

Could even be some kind of code.

I've got several different possible translations going, but nothing so far that seems related.

But it's not like we don't have a clue.

What are you talking about?

The recording.

The distortion on Ben's recorder, after he woke up on the balcony, sounded an awful lot like the distortion on those wax cylinder recordings.

It was like

like he was in hell yeah

a lot like that but he's not in hell he always comes out of it the cycle of the damned remember it peaks at 3 a.m black noon when ben generally wakes up to the fog so the sparrows are doing it to him the tapes we found in the secret room might give us some answers we haven't had a chance to listen to them what with all that's happened

if anyone knows about damnation it's gonna be the damned right?

No offense, but I'd prefer to listen to those after we get some sleep.

The last thing I need is to be better informed on the particulars of hell before dropping off.

I'll get Melissa while I take face watch.

I'll take Leon's place.

You look like you're about ready to keel over.

Thanks, Pat.

I think I've got just enough gas in the tank to get me to the couch.

We can't sleep too long.

We still need to run into town and pick up those speakers.

I sure as hell don't want those those birds any closer to me than they need to be.

None of the tapes are labeled, but they are arranged in their cases in repeating sets of three.

Green, blue, and red.

I guess we should start with the first series and work our way through.

Okay, the first green tape it is.

Chester Booth.

Are you there?

Do you hear me?

Have I done it?

Have I finally reached the top?

Is this just a boat?

Do you really think I'm stupid enough to stop and talk to you?

So you can rip me apart.

I am not who you think I am.

I'm here to help.

Help.

Help me how?

We can take you away from wherever you are.

But first,

you must help us.

Is this some kind of insipid?

That

thing chasing me.

Rooms with no people.

More stairs.

More fucking stairs.

That way you are.

A place with empty rooms and endless stairs.

Don't play with me.

You know what you've done to me.

And I know why.

Indulge me, Mr.

Booth.

Why are you there?

I died.

Didn't I?

And this is...

Consequence.

For all the little orphans.

Do you think I've come to regret what I did to them?

All this solitude, this emptiness?

the abandonment.

You've orphaned me, haven't you?

You've made me an orphan to teach me a lesson.

And have you learned your lesson, Mr.

Booth?

I've discovered lessons, yes.

But never regret.

I've uncovered a new terror.

But it's unlike those of ordinary men.

A dread that never tires.

It doesn't fade or crumble into exhaustion.

Instead, it grows relentlessly.

Twisting and gnawing, drilling ever deeper into my mind.

Or is it my soul?

I am its fertile, bottomless soil, plumbed by its quest.

Every staircase is spiraling without end, corridors stretching and twisting, folding back upon themselves in impossible patterns.

Walls whisper with unseen voices, mocking me, pushing me further.

And always,

always,

just behind me echoes the thing I can't see.

But I can hear it, relentlessly pursuing its breath hot upon my neck, footsteps impossibly swift, yet never closing the gap.

One day, if tastes even exist anymore, the dread will finally swallow me completely.

And on that day, I will not merely be host to this strain of dread.

I will become it.

A presence haunting these endless halls, forever chased and forever chasing.

A part of this endless fucking nightmare.

Isn't that right?

Answer me.

I'm right, am I not?

You may be right, indeed, Mr.

Booth.

But tell me, through all this chasing and running, up spanless stairs and endless rooms, have you ever encountered anything

different?

Yes.

Yes,

I have.

An open window.

I only encountered it once.

I've gone so long without glimpsing the outside.

I'd even begin to wonder how an outside was possible.

After all, all

the sky was made of cracked plaster and rotten wood right

and the stairs

well

they were just dirty light bulbs suspended from bare wires

so the outside had to be a fucking myth

but i was wrong there was a red wood window once Atop a staircase like a great wooden wave about to crash down over me

But

I climbed just to look out at

walls of wood and rots and cracked fucking stone.

I wanted to see the outside,

to believe in it.

And what did you see when you looked out this red window?

I saw the infinite inside.

It was just like me.

An endless place for horrible things to happen.

And just like me,

there was something growing within.

Something lived in that vast labyrinth of strange inner spaces,

mechanism, and artifice, and flesh and bone became towers, and domes, and pistons, and statues, and seas.

And within it all, there stirred something

terrible.

And how did you know there was something terrible there?

Because it spoke to me naturally.

It said,

This is my body,

and my body I give to you.

And then what happened?

The same thing that always happens.

When I slow down for too long,

just like now.

It comes for me.

Godspeed, Mr.

Miff.

We will speak again soon.

I called one of our neighbors to check the lake house.

And?

And she said it looked like it was hit by a tornado.

Try pitching that to your insurance company.

The lake house is the least of my concerns, but its destruction clearly indicates the scale of our predicament.

This creature is powerful enough to crush a three-story building.

More importantly, it's capable of resisting the chime.

But not without taking some knocks.

It said as much, and it definitely didn't like the light.

Hopefully, the hotel and lights of the city combined with the chime will be sufficient to keep the thing at bay.

But none of that will stop the cultists.

If they're willing to give up the pages just to kill us, they're more than capable of sending someone to simply gun us down.

Human beings with guns I can handle.

Speaking of which,

I know some guys we could get for added security, but they won't be cheap.

No, I can't expose anyone else to these things.

There's no way of properly conveying the danger they'd be in, at least not until it's too late.

No.

I've already been forced to involve far too many innocents, as it is.

I've never heard of anyone being so considerate of Mercs before.

Even so.

Oh, it's Bruce.

I'll take this in the other room.

Hello, Bruce.

Really?

What happened?

Lenor, are you sure you don't want me to bring more security on board?

I feel the same way as Dad.

It's not right to bring anyone into this.

Not without them fully understanding what they're getting into.

Would you have signed on if you'd known the risks?

Truly understood them?

I guess you got a point there.

And Martin.

What is it?

We couldn't have escaped without you and William.

Dad and I owe you our lives.

Again.

Listen, I know I said it before, but that was before a towering demon tore down the lake house.

It's just...

Well, they might leave you alone if you both left.

Forget about it.

You're stuck with us.

And for the same reasons as before.

This isn't just a Locktram family problem.

These fuckers are a threat to everyone.

Anyway, what kind of asshole would I be if I just up and left?

Thanks, Martin.

I was sorta hoping you'd say that.

You were, huh?

I hesitate to say this for fear of cursing my luck, but it seems we just might have made some progress with the church.

Bruce agreed to help us?

Even better.

He had breakfast with his cousin, Archbishop Robert Gray.

For reasons I still don't fully understand, Bruce brought up Mephitica.

At first, Robert seemed unusually eager to talk about it.

Then Bruce mentioned me and some of the insights I provided him, and that changed everything.

Robert grew quiet.

Serious.

Bruce thought he'd said too much.

Did he?

Apparently not.

Just a short while ago, Bruce received a private message from the Archbishop.

No explanation.

Just a time, a place, and a name.

Edward.

The meeting's set for a small church way out in the countryside.

I'm to sit in the last confessional booth and wait.

Dad, this could be a trap.

Who knows?

From how Bruce described the bishop's reaction, I don't know.

Maybe he's one of them and decided to set you up.

I gotta say, Doctor, I think she might be right.

Smells like a setup to me.

I understand your concerns, truly, but when dealing with creatures and their servants, who could be anyone, anywhere, how can we advance when we can literally trust no one?

My instincts tell me the church is aware of them, aware of the danger they represent.

It's possible they want to speak secretly with me at first to weigh their options before trusting me.

Regardless, whatever their intent, it's an opportunity we can't afford to ignore.

I get it.

It's just that we're taking a big chance.

It only takes one mistake, and

yes,

I know that quite well.

But if anyone would know anything about them, it would be the church.

I trust this meeting is happening during the day.

Noon, right on the dot.

They at least seem to know when the damned are at their weakest, which is somewhat encouraging.

Noon's not far off, and we gotta drive way into the boonies.

We should probably get a move on.

Good idea.

Bill's still out grabbing supplies.

I'll text him and have him meet us there.

I really hope your instincts know what they're doing, Dad.

That makes both of us.

That's it.

Little run-down church in the middle of that field.

There's no other vehicles around.

I'm not even sure if that boats poorly or not.

We can call that a net neutral for now, I guess.

Well, it's almost noon.

Me first, Doctor.

As you wish.

Wait here while I take a look.

All clear except for the old confessional booth in the back.

It seems it's my turn to go in.

Stay back.

I suspect this is a one-on-one conversation.

Be careful, Dad.

Too late for that.

Just give a holler if you need me.

I suspect I'll have little difficulty with that.

Here I go.

Edward,

yes, Doctor, I am.

I'm also glad you could come on such very short notice.

I would have scaled a mountain if you'd asked.

I need all the help I can get.

I've followed your work for quite some time.

That is, until you dropped out of the public eye.

I'm sure you can guess why.

Indeed, I can.

But can you help me against

them?

My order and several others were created by secret decree of the church.

We were all entrusted with the study of the second codex of Mephitica to understand and enumerate the secret powers of the fallen world.

Second Codex?

I don't understand.

A second codex was recovered shortly after the first.

and taken straight to the church, where it's been ever since.

It's a bit like the New Testament, you might say, in so much that it amends, or at very least, expands on the first codex.

Fascinating.

What does it say?

The story it tells is often referred to as the revolution of the damned.

You see, something changed within Diabolon, or something

changed it from within.

The narrative speaks of a force that overthrew certain areas of Diabolon, tore free the damned of their trials and tortures, whispered to them certain secrets, the secrets of resurgence.

While the details are lacking, it appears this unknown force began a project of releasing the damned as opposed to imprisoning them.

How?

The breach between Diabolon and our world seemed to occur due to a single terrible act.

A sin so great it rotted a hole between hell

and earth.

What was it?

No one knows precisely, but some suggest it was the invention of magic, thaumaturgy, a way of defying the laws of God's kingdom.

And it was through that hole the first damned was smuggled back upon the earth.

The gentleman from hell.

You know your Mephitica, Doctor.

But the second codex supplied us with another title, if not his true name,

the Son of Sins.

Freed of Diabolon, the Son of Sins went forth and raised a terrible city, whose aspect was like the blackest hour of night, made from stone and stick.

And in the tallest tower, carved of solid shadow, his well-wishers gathered near, drawn to the whispered secrets no man ought know.

This last part is suspected to remark on the creation of the central following.

The first cult of the Son of Sins.

What the church came to call the perditionists.

So that's what they're called.

They were the first.

Many other groups have since been identified.

The Nogalists, the Plutonians, the Nicaeans, the Ophites.

The list goes on and on.

Tell me, is there a way to stop them?

The damned?

Before we go any further, we must strike a deal.

You and me.

You have something that would be much better served in our hands than in your own.

The pages we found in the sealed chamber of Nakuatala.

You're welcome to them.

They're no good to me anymore.

Here, these are the directions to where I've hidden them.

Thank you, Doctor.

There is no universal method of destruction that has been discovered, but many of them can be destroyed in the same manner they were killed as living, breathing humans.

But discovering that is a challenge in itself.

As for other methods, I've left a folder for you on my side of the booth.

Take it.

Study its contents.

They might save your life.

What about the Nephilim?

Is there a way to stop them as well?

Edward?

Hello?

The Revolution of the Damned

You really didn't see him leave?

Nothing.

Your friend must be a ninja in addition to a priest.

Whatever he is.

If anything in that folder can help us, I don't care if he's the flying nun.

Do you think this guy will contact you again?

I can only hope so.

At least we know the church is willing to help us.

More like willing to bargain for those pages you were holding on to.

Now that they have them.

Oh, gross.

Look at all those vultures up ahead.

What the hell are they eating?

God.

No.

It's.

It's a bill.

The Gentleman from Hell is a Maltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Anslone and voiced by Stephen Zivik, Sam Stark, Aubrey Akers, David Cummings, Jesse Van Hove, Kelly Bear, and Matt Van Hove.

Sound editing was completed by Stephen Ansloan, and script editing was conducted by Walker Kornfeld.

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