Chapter 4: Atrocity


The sad fact of life is that some people don't feel remorse when they do horrible things- just the opposite. Unrepentant of the damage and pain they inflict, they seek out more victims, treating the sadistic high like a drug that they need stronger and stronger doses of.

It is with these people society must decide whether to attempt to redeem them through therapy or put them down before more innocents are harmed.


"Some agents ask what age it is appropriate to begin perpetual punishment of a child. The simplest answer is when you know how to hurt them in ways that will not heal."

-Introduction to FAQ in Rod and Whip Trainee Manual


Envision this lovely little scenario.

You're manning the front desk at the local police department, and its 5 minutes to the end of your shift. It has been a long, exhausting, thankless day full of people who raged at you over writing them tickets when they went 60 in a 40 mph zone, refuse to talk to you because 'all cops are pigs', you've been denied promotion- again- for reasons no one will bother to explain in English terms, the soda machine ate your last dollar, and all in all, it has been a shitty day, and you just want it to end.

Someone walks in. Your brain says to tell them to come back tomorrow…

Then you look up.

She's a girl in her teens in ragged clothes limping towards you, and to say she looks as if she was hit by a truck would be polite.

No, wait.

You've seen those kind of bruises before when you worked on some domestic abuse cases. Someone- or multiple someones, have been using her as a punching bag.

You pull yourself to your feet and start walking towards her, and she

Just

Breaks.

She starts talking about that one church- the one that preaches "perpetual punishment" or some crazy bullshit that translates to 'beat your kids all the time'. How her father, the pastor lied. How she's been beaten for everything, pleading for protection…

And suddenly as fellow officers come in and stifle curses at her condition, your day doesn't seem so shitty after all.

An hour later at the hospital and the situation is even more fucked up.

Under painkillers as doctors stitch lacerations and anoint bruises, she tells you her parents forbade medical attention, as these injuries were supposed to be 'scars of punishment' or something. There's a untreated sprain in her leg that the doctors need to x-ray.

Multiple bruises and lacerations on her back and legs where she claims she was whipped with a belt. Bruises on her abdomen and chest consistent with punches.

You ask when this all started, and why she never sought help.

And she tells you another horror story.

How on her thirteenth birthday instead of a party her parents began kicking and beating on her. How they belted her ten times for each of her school projects. How they began lying about her having sex and doing drugs. How they lied to her teachers. How they lied to her former friends. How they lied to an entire community to spread their fucked up religion. How they kept her under lock and key to make sure she had minimal opportunity to call for help.

Worst of all? The way she says it implies she's telling the truth. You ask if you can do a lie detector test, and she readily agrees- liars don't handle that query well.

She pleads for protection from her parents, saying that they will kill her if they find her here. And with what they've done already you can't say that's much of an exaggeration.

Suddenly your long shift doesn't seem so bad.


The disinfectant, cleaning, and stitches didn't hurt so much as the realization did- the epiphany that he and his family were no longer safe.

Get the police to watch his house? They're only human. One agent slips through, and someone could die.

Booby trap the entirety of the house? Assuming the miracle no one but his intended targets triggered the traps, they'd still get wise eventually.

Was hiding an option? If they were willing to go so far as to track him down and break into his house, what wouldn't they do?

Suicide? Would they be satisfied with a report of his death and a repentant note, and leave his family alone?

Sitting in the ER as a doc sewed him up and he answered police inquiries, Jason wondered if only death could save him now.

An officer gave him a disbelieving look. "…you killed three of them with traps. Like, home alone stuff?"

Jason winced as the doctor finished suturing his arm. "Sorta. One tried going up our wall to our window, I poured some acid on him. Two more came through my door, the traps and the acid supersoaker got them."

"Well, since it was forced entry and attempted homicide, no charges will be filed." The officer was trying to be assuring.

His father looked up. "What about these people who attacked us?"

"If we had a survivor from the four who attacked you, we could interrogate them. Right now, our best bet is to keep you and your family under surveillance if they decide to try again." The officer paused. "You still have that brochure you picked up?" he asked Roger.

Roger, looking as if he had gone days without sleep, numbly fumbled in his pocket for the brochure, handing it to the officer. "Phone numbers are on the back. Didn't call them… somehow they found us."

Jason tried to hide his disbelief. Could an organization be so hell-bent on kidnapping random children that they'd target any family that picked up one of their brochures?

Unbelievable as it was, now was not the time, Jason realized, to apply sanity or logic to these people's actions. They were willing to break into a kid's home with body armor and weapons to kidnap, were willing to resort to lethal force just to get at their target, and had little or no sense of self-preservation. Normal people would have ran when cops were called.

More conversation between his father and the cop. More discussion of having several officers posted to watch out for any more invaders.

It was barely a week into summer vacation and the world as he knew it was going insane. At the outset his initial plan had been to game the summer away. Then it had been evasion of the boot camp. Now, with frightening clarity, Jason realized that at the very least, he would spend the summer evading these lunatics.


Calvin was not in a benevolent mood by any stretch of imagination.

Granted, a home invasion and assault on one's parents would put most children in a bad mood, but now Calvin's anger toed the fine line between righteous indignation and murderous wrath.

Yes, the door was repaired. Yes, his mom and dad got patched up. Yes, the slaying of the one that attacked them was treated as wholly justifiable self-defense. Yes, the one that assaulted him was being grilled- hopefully by someone who looked to shows like 24 for inspiration in their interrogation techniques.

But even the thought of the already badly battered agent going through more beatings and badgering was not enough to sate Calvin. No, this was invasion on his home, assault on his family. Over what?

He had delivered a very vague condemnation of brutal boot camps, and this justified a home invasion? Attacking his parents? Whatever happened to flaming? Were these people so immature that the slightest voice of dissention required armed response?

"Plotting revenge?" Hobbes asked, tensed on the bed, looking out the window of Calvin's room.

"No." Calvin said, still at his computer, looking over the sites dedicated to Grindstone survivors and related incidents. Searching for "Grindstone Home Invasion" got him scant results- but results nevertheless. Some postings about forced entry into the homes of kids and teens that were withdrawn from the programs were available, but the posters had, on further investigation, ceased all contact with the sites they had visited and forum suspicion was that they were lying low- or had been silenced.

On any given previous day it would be an instantly dismissible claim, the attention-whoring of the internet denizens. But now Calvin was beginning to suspect that Rod and Whip, or Grindstone, was willing and capable of any number of actions.

"It still… doesn't make sense." Calvin sighed. "Why go after one kid? We're not rich. We're not politically connected. And maybe one or two people would read my blog on a good week. They've nothing to gain and lots to lose."

Hobbes stretched, involuntarily extending his claws, showing white, razor sharp teeth. "Human adults can be lunatics. I would think by now that you would know that. They read books about deities and use them as justification for violence. They beat each other up over sports games. And just yesterday two idiots tried to kill you for writing what amounted to 'Maybe hauling kids off to boot camps isn't always the best solution'."

"Your point?" Calvin asked, turning in his chair.

"My point is that maybe it's not gain that they're looking for. Maybe their belief in this… 'Rod and Whip' thing is so strong it's like a religion. Or a cult."

Calvin blinked. A cult dedicated to child abuse. It sounded utterly bizarre yet made perfect sense- what other reason could they have for attacking him? Was it just their "religion" to quell anyone that even remotely seemed to criticize an aspect of their beliefs?

He blinked as his email client indicated new mail. Clicking on it, he saw he had 126 new messages. Opening his inbox, he could see that they were all the same letter sent multiple times. The email address a random mish-mash of symbols, numbers, and letters- a proxy account no doubt- the letter contained a very brief statement.

"Dear Mr. Calvin Halgins,

It has regrettably come to our attention that upon receiving word of your satisfactory performance thus negating the need for attendance at our rehabilitative center, you were assaulted by one of our retrieval agents. The further actions of two more of our ex-employees have no doubt soured your opinion of Rod and Whip's sincerity and well meaning-"

No shit, Sherlock.

"-but we wish to assure you these were the actions of a few deranged individuals and not the ideals of the whole. While Rod and Whip prides itself on intense discipline to root out behavioral problems, we do not condone the unauthorized detainment of individuals who no longer need the program. To say that the actions of the two agents who ruthlessly invaded your home were abominable is an understatement, but we assure you, these were disturbed individuals who did not represent the values of Rod and Whip."

Calvin rolled his eyes.

"To clear up any misgivings about what we truly stand for, we will arrange a meeting between you, your parents, and one of our professional staff to assuage any fears about the programs Rod and Whip offers. We hope you will do the right thing and hear us- the real us- out before you finalize your decision on whether or not to enroll this summer. We will be contacting you shortly with the when and where of the meeting."

Calvin frowned at the tone of that last statement- the presumption that of course he was going to be willing to sit down and talk to a group of maniacs that had attacked him and his family. That he should simply accept the given explanation of the three agents who had assaulted him being nothing more as addled extremists. The lack of a usable email address to reply to also was a red flag- they were not interested in hearing what he had to say.

"Hobbes?" He called to his tiger friend, who walked over to check out the email. His feline face slowly hardened into a frown.

"Trap." Hobbes deduced sagely.

Calvin nodded in agreement. The heroic thing to do would be to agree to the meeting when they called and then deal with what came then. But seven years of scratches, bumps, bruises, burns, and the occasional broken bone had made Calvin a wiser, if battle-scarred, boy, and that wisdom told him heroics were not what was called for here. He selected the email, and clicked print. He'd forward the message to the police and-

His virus detector suddenly began to spew warning about failure to remove something. Frantically, Calvin began ctrl-alt-deleting to abort the process, only to have his monitor fade to a simple black and white message-

"You don't get to call for help on this one. Take what's coming like a man and you get your computer back."

Then his computer powered down. He tried several times to bring it back up, only to have it power down as soon as it started warming up.

He and Hobbes stared at the screen mutely for about 30 seconds before Calvin sighed, and pulled out the Transmogrifier pistol. "Does stopping a cult dedicated to sadism count as an 'emergency'?" Calvin asked his feline friend.

Hobbes shrugged. "I think that's a question for the philosophers who AREN'T having to deal with a bunch of lunatics."

Calvin nodded, and believed that his computer was five minutes younger than it was. He pulled the trigger, and to the untrained eye nothing changed…

But Hobbes could detect a few minute changes. A speck of dust vanished. The keyboard shifted ever so slightly forward.

Calvin pressed the power button, and as if nothing were wrong, his computer booted back up. Going into safe mode, he had his spyware scanner isolate the email, used a screensave shot to take a photo of the email, and then deleted the mess.

It was an interesting trick, and he felt a twang of guilt for having used the Transmogrifier Gun as a quick fix. Still- these were the people who assaulted his family. Screw playing nice. Screw playing by the rules.

He went downstairs with the photos, got the obligatory panic attacks from his parents, and calls were made to the local police.


"My friends… I wished… I prayed… I begged God this day would not come. That I would not have to guide you through this."

"But Satan, through my flesh and blood… my own daughter… has declared total war on us. The whore of Babylon in my own house and I never saw it coming. She's gone to the police, bruises and all, to claim 'child abuse'. It pains me to say this, but we, as a family united in our faith and fight against the rebellion in children's hearts, are no longer safe here, in this church."

"Do not lose hope, my flock! Do. Not. Lose. Hope. Even as we have enemies from our own flesh and blood, we now have allies. Yes, you heard me right- we are not alone in our convictions!"

"God has sent us allies who will not only give us shelter from the armies of Satan, but even now forge a campaign to purge this world of rebellion in youth. I will caution you, their methods may seem to be extreme. But we are no longer in a safe word, my brothers and sisters. We are under attack, and we must fight!"

"To ensure that your children do not aid my… traitorous daughter, the Rod and Whip foundation will be sending vans to pick up your children at your homes. Do not fear- they will drive the rebellion wholly from your children if they are willing to submit to God's holy punishment."

"I have much more to say, but there is very little time. Pack only the essentials, leave behind worldly goods."

"Our allies are generous, but we must work to achieve a place among them, and there will be much to do to prepare for the oncoming battle."

-Speech by Matthew Wellfields during an emergency meeting of the "Church of the Unyielding Rod"


12:30 am, May 28th of 2010.

The teens and children of those who go to the "Church of the Unyielding Rod" are asleep trying to recover from yet another day of being reminded how worthless they are in God's eyes and being hit with belts, paddles, hands, all while having carefully modified bible verses screeched at them to break them down.

Some have parents who, after such punishments, say, with what passes for parental love, "It's for your own good, you'll understand eventually."

Others just get thrown a rag and told to mop up their own blood.

A few hold out hope that they can endure and then finally be free. Many ponder escape via running away, or suicide. Many more have lost their faith in God- those who were in another church prior to the Unyielding Rod wonder how their life could have gone so wrong. The optimistic believe things cannot get worse. The more realistic wonder if their parents have any limit.

The Vans, sent by Rod and Whip, arrive quickly at church member houses. Children and teens are torn from their beds. Some resist- the R.A.W. agents pummel them. Others have nothing left in them to resist with- the R.A.W. agents pummel them worse, determined to get some sort of cry of pain. All the while, their parents watch from the sidelines, getting packed. Some parents tell their children they brought this on themselves. Some offer what passes for comfort in that they will see them soon- "this is for your own good."

As the vans pull away with their unwilling captives, and the agents within kick and punch and taser them regardless of resistance or not, some snap, begging for death that will not be granted soon. Some lash out, long buried rebellion exploding in feeble rushes and kicks.

Explanations beyond "you are wicked and must be punished" are not given as the vans drive away, out of the city, beyond the eyes of the law.

When dawn arrives, the homes of the members of Unyielding Rod are devoid of life.


Curtis was not a master of cunning or psychology, but in his lifetime he had, in his opinion, developed a knack for cutting through bullshit.

There was a way, Curtis realized, as he gave Gunther directions to the DMV his father worked at, to see whether or not his father was truly hurt or if this was a trap- provided one person was willing to cooperate.

His father's current supervisor, a wizened black man of 60, was put off initially by the request to call his employee at home, but conceded- afterall, his employee did call in sick, today, he had a right to ask of his condition.

As he dialed, Curtis spoke. "Mind putting it on speakerphone?"

The man raised an eyebrow but flipped the switch. The dial tone rang once, twice…

"Hello?" came Diane's voice. Serene. Calm. Measured. Not the voice of someone who's husband just put a new hole in their head.

"Yes, Diane? I just wanted to see if Greg was doing better…"

"…Oh, oh yes! He's doing much better…"

Curtis' teeth ground. He could barely hear the conversation now, the red haze of anger building, but the supervisor asking to speak to his father got his attention.

"Hey boss." An exaggerated cough. "Sorry again, this damn cold is killing me."

Curtis spoke before the supervisor did. "Hey dad."

There was dead silence.

"You know, you sound pretty good for someone who just shot himself."

He could hear his father swallow. "Curtis, let me explain." he spoke slowly. "Barry was just worried-"

"I saw the van- wanna explain that?" Curtis let his anger show in his voice, ignoring the bewildered look of the super…

"Curtis, we're going to get you some help-"

"Curtis," another voice, foreign, adult, authoritarian. "Stay where you are and this will go a lot easier."

Curtis felt his stomach drop. His father feigning suicide to get him to come home, followed by strangers demanding he not resist. Suddenly, the stability of an abusive family was preferable to the insanity that was happening now.

It dawned on him, slowly, as he left a bewildered supervisor to deal with the ranting stranger, what was going on- his parents had given up on him, and they were going to hand him over to a complete and total stranger for…

Correction? Brainwashing? Imprisonment? Could his parents be paying someone to kill him? They were willing to lie about him and beat him because they couldn't get over his mistake, what was stopping them from going completely off the deep end?

With what nerve he had left, Curtis thought about his options- going home and deal with what was coming was suicide from his experience. Staying at the barbershop would just prolong the inevitable. Going to Chutney's house put her and her family at risk.

As he considered his dwindling options, the summer heat bearing down on him as he stepped out of the DMV, Curtis regarded the city around him with despair. What was once warm and familiar was now cold and ominous. Around every corner lurked strangers hired by once somewhat loving parents gone crazy.

He bit his tongue to fight back tears at the unfairness of it all, the loneliness he felt in his hometown, and dragged himself back to Gunther's car. He could not, he realized, afford to crumble now.

He had a future planned. A rough draft, perhaps, one that involved getting away from his family and then going from there. It needed work, there was never any question about that.

But it was his rough draft, not his parents', not his brother's, nor whatever that stranger on the phone wanted with him.


RECORDED CONVERSATION BETWEEN CALVIN HALGINS AND R.A.W., 2:00 PM, May 29th, 2010. Recorded by Officers Kales and Jones

Calvin: (Picking up) Hello?

RAW: Is this Calvin? (Speaker is male. Caucausian(?), mid 30's)

Calvin: Speaking.

NOTE: Victim is calm, unusually so.

RAW: (stern) I take it you received our email.

Calvin: Yeah, I did-

RAW: (raising voice) You will say 'Yes sir, I did', or 'no sir, I-'

Calvin: -and nice virus trick you pulled, there. Nearly got me.

RAW: (Pause. Tone is of surprise) What?

Calvin: Spyware scanner picked it up. Nice trick. Pity it didn't work, huh?

RAW: I'm going to tell you right off the bat, Calvin, at our Rod and Whip, we don't tolerate your kind of attitude-

Calvin: Attitude? I was just telling you your hack job failed. Chill. Anyway, you said you wanted to contact me about attending your… what's the term for it? Camp? Prison? Gulag?

RAW: Disciplinary Center.

Calvin: Right, 'disciplinary center'. Anyway, after one person burst in on a parent-teacher conference armed with… let me see here… handcuffs, a taser, a handgun, pepper spray… and two more of your people broke down our door and attacked my parents-

RAW: Calvin-

Calvin: We, my parents and I, have decided-

RAW: Hear me out-

Calvin: -that attending your 'disciplinary center' would not be conducive to my health, mental or physical.

RAW: You did read the part where we stated those were the actions of rogue agents-

Calvin: Yeah, I read it. My eyes couldn't stop rolling for hours afterward- You're lucky I don't sue for possible damage to my retinas. Anyway, me going to your torture funhouse or whatever the hell you wanna call it is a moot point. I got the grades. I got the conduct. I don't have to go. Capice?

RAW: (taking a deep breath)Yes, yes we know you got the grades, however… we at Rod and Whip know that kids like you will put out just enough effort to avoid discipline. Take away the threat, and you're back to Ds and Cs and blowing up the cafeteria-

Calvin: Hey, the court, the school, and the CIA eventually agreed it was a gas leak and had I NOT done what I did the damage would have been ten times worse and would have caused several fatalities.

RAW: That aside, you need this, Calvin. You need extreme discipline if you're going to survive in this world, and frankly, with your rebellious attitude, your track record, and your work ethic, you're-

Calvin: (Yawns loudly)

RAW: -not going to last one, two years tops once you get into the real world, and-

Calvin: Then woe is me, I am a lost cause, for your honey-sweet words and expert wordplay have failed to pierce this stony heart, please, good sir, give your wonderful gift of child abuse and beating up parents to more worthy children, do not concern yourself with this poor, pasta-detonating wretch, it is, alas, too late for me.

RAW: Calvin-

Calvin: You. Are. Not. Getting. This. The first representative, agent, minion… whatever the fuck you want to call him kicked in a door, tried to take me away despite my parents saying no, and then tried to punch me. The second two beat up my mom and dad, kicked in our door, I had to beat one of them with a baseball bat after he tried climbing through my window… you want to talk about track records? Look at yours. One attempt at kidnapping and assault on me. Then, breaking and entering, assault on my family, attempted kidnapping or murder on myself, and NOW, by your own admission, I received an email from you with a virus, and you're still going with the whole "we have the best intentions" schtick?

RAW: First off, those people were out of line, and disobeyed orders. Second, as for the 'virus' in your email, I don't know how that got there, I'm not a tech wiz. Maybe with all the stuff you kids illegally download these days-

Calvin: Listen… it's been… well, it hasn't been nice talking to you, you're condescending and expect me to jump right into this discipline camp thing after two attacks. We are done discussing this.

RAW: Agreed. A RAW representative will be dispatched to pick you up for transport soon.

Calvin: You get near my home-

RAW: This isn't up for debate, kid.

Calvin: -you get pumped full of lead.

RAW: You are aware death threats are a crime-

Calvin: So's kidnapping. I do not consent to your camp. My parents don't consent. You have no say in my life. Fuck. Off.

RAW: (pause) We'll be there shortly. Pack lightly.

(Phone call ends.)