They ask him to put all the items he arrived with into a blue plastic tub.

Phil would know that's a red flag, even if he hadn't been briefed beforehand on exactly what he's dealing with. Not to mention literally over a decade of his life has been devoted to researching this cult. And cults in general. When Phil got his degree in psychology, he wrote his thesis on doomsday cults specifically. They're fascinating to him.

But he has to remind himself that this is not some research outing. This is serious.

"You can get changed in your room," the man in charge of his arrival says. "There will be a schedule in there too. If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask the other members."

"Will do," Phil says, approximating a fragile smile. He avoids the man's gaze, trying to appear apprehensive, or nervous.

Phil never considered himself the best actor, but this is something he can do. He knows how cults operate, so he has a firm grasp on the sort of people they prey on as their victims. Phil made sure his fake identity hit all the marks. He is posing as a single man of middle age with no family and very few friends, who just moved across the country and thus has no support network. He came up with a background for himself - a difficult childhood, dropped out of school, mental health issues he never got help for - and pretended to be stuck in a dead-end job before the cult took him in. The type of person who is plagued by loneliness, desperation, lacking a purpose in life.

All that and one more thing. Anger.

The Blood God's Chosen is a cult that believes so thoroughly that the end of the world is inevitable and that modern society is deeply corrupted, that they have circled through all the stages of grief straight into acceptance. They seek members who have that same spark of fury inside them, who feel slighted by others somehow. Those in whom they can nurture that spark into a destructive flame. And who thus see no issue turning over all their worldly possessions and live in service of the cult. A cult that is convinced the Blood God will revive to bring vengeance and cut out the rotten core of humanity.

And when that happens, the chosen ones who are on the right side of history will inherit what rises from the ashes.

Phil knows how fucking ridiculous it sounds, an eldritch god that will purge humanity? The belief is like something out of a fairy tale or horror movie. But again, as somebody versed in the history of cults and how they form, how they lure people in, he can't blame the members on the lower end of the hierarchy for trusting the gospel. They are also being taken advantage of.

The leaders is who he has to look out for. Odds are only a few of them genuinely believe their own preachings. Most are manipulative bastards that saw an opportunity to exert control over others to make a profit.

The 'room' Phil is assigned to feels more like a dorm, uncomfortably bringing him back to his college days. The walls are an off-white colour matching the sheets on each of the four beds. There is a window, but it's firmly closed. The cult doesn't literally prevent their members from leaving, though Phil feels trapped all the same.

"You're the new guy?" a voice asks from behind him. He turns, looking at the man. He's tall, lanky, with black hair and eyes that are a bright green colour.

"I'm the new guy," Phil says, extending his arm for a handshake. "I'm Phil."

The man takes it, his grip unpleasantly cold. "Ender."

Ender is wearing the same simple clothes that are waiting for Phil on the bed, though he has a strange insignia pinned to his chest. The shape of an eye, resting over his heart.

A symbol granted to the higher-ranking members who have been in the cult for over a year.

"You shouldn't waste too much time. All initiates are expected in the kitchen to help make supper," Ender adds. "We're a close-knit community. We help each other."

"That's a nice change of pace," Phil says with a nod. Ender smiles thinly, the tepid warmth of it not really reaching his eyes. "I'll get changed then."

Ender steps out while he does that. Phil rubs his fingers over the linen pants and shirt that have been provided. The clothes are simple aside from some embroidery done in a blood red thread that stands out against the off-white fabric. All the seams are that color, plus a simple design on the bottom hem of the shirt. The pattern reminds Phil of little blood drops, clinging to the edges.

When he's done, Ender is waiting for him in front of the cabin. There are four more identical buildings, all small and grouped together. Each cabin contains four dorms, each dorm contains four beds. That means there could be up to eighty initiates if they're all occupied. More experienced members and leaders have their own quarters.

Phil's main goal here is to map out the commune and give a rough indicator of how many people there are. The cops already have evidence of criminal activity from this religious group. But to prevent innocent deaths when they breach and try to arrest those responsible, they need to know where the group has weapons and what each building is. And to do that, they need somebody on the inside. They tried to contact former members who left the cult first but couldn't find any that were still alive and willing to be a mole. So Phil is a bit of a last resort to prevent casualties.

"Come along," Ender says, still friendly enough though some gruffness slips into his tone. Phil doesn't like him. He feels like Ender is probably forced to oversee new members against his will while he'd rather be doing anything else. Phil isn't exactly keen on having some guy shadow him either, but he understands why they can't let somebody who moved in today wander around freely. The compound is huge and remote, not to mention entirely self-sufficient.

Ender starts to lead him toward a larger communal building near the middle of the property. It's almost like a summer camp. Phil remembers going to a place somewhat similar as a kid, even if camping with a bunch of other elementary schoolers is very different from being a member of a cult. The Blood God's Chosen are completely cut off from the outside world and rarely proclaim their beliefs to the public aside from on the internet, where they find their victims on specific forums. They have a disdain for government, law enforcement, and other organized religions.

Inside the canteen, Phil is ushered into the kitchen, where several more people are at work. Ender kind of abandons him as soon as they enter, since the man walks out again. Great. Phil looks around. He has no fucking clue how to approach this.

Thankfully somebody takes pity on his 'deer in the headlights' expression.

"Oh, do you need help?" The young woman who asked smiles at him, instantly coming across as more sincere than anybody else Phil has met here so far. She's an initiate like Phil based on her clothing.

"Hopefully? I have no fucking idea what I'm supposed to be doing," Phil says.

She laughs. "First day? Here, how about you help me pour the soup." She shows him over to the counter, where a large iron cast pot of soup stands waiting with chipped porcelain bowls next to it. Phil joins her in using a ladle to fill the bowls.

"I'm Phil, by the way," he tells her.

"Niki," the woman introduces herself. Her hair is dark brown, except for two pieces that frame her round face which are bleached almost white. She can't be much older than twenty.

"How long have you been here, Niki?"

"Only a week," she answers. "It's been uh… It's been interesting."

"Interesting?" Phil echoes.

"Yeah, they do kind of leave you to your own devices, don't they?" Niki says. "The community supports each other, but they want every member to be independent too. It's nice, but scary. Where I came from that's…" She trails off and shakes her head. "Never mind. It's nice."

Phil decides not to pry. The circumstances that brought Niki here couldn't have been good. They rarely are for people who get snared into cults. He pours the soup in silence for a few seconds, enough to make his next words feel more neutral. "You don't find that a lot anymore. People helping each other out, I mean."

Niki nods. "Everybody here has been so kind. You can rely on your roommates too if you need something. I'm staying in cabin two."

"Really? Me too." No segregation based on gender then. Interesting. An unusual feature for cults so Phil takes note of it. "We can help each other out then."

"Yes, of course," Niki nods with a grin.

When all the bowls are filled, they are put on trays and Phil follows Niki in carrying them out of the kitchen into the canteen area itself. This is the first time Phil properly gets an idea of how many people The Blood God's Chosen have managed to gather in their compound. He counts about fifty, which is not as bad as he feared at first, yet still more than some other cults that fizzle out on their own without posing a threat. Without police intervention, if this group of fanatics is allowed to grow, a tragedy feels almost inevitable. He also has to keep in mind not everybody might be in the canteen right now. There are tables empty. Maybe higher ranking members do not eat with the crowd, people could be out traveling, and the cult has members that do not live within the community either. Like Phil did for a while before being invited.

He sits between Niki and a nervous, elderly man whose eyes keep darting around. Small talk comes haltingly, with Phil noticing everybody seems to be looking at others to gauge what to do and say. It makes sense since they're all new initiates. One day, you're living a relatively normal life out in the world and the next you're in a commune where every member is supposed to believe a vengeful god is destined to weed out humanity.

A loud ringing makes the room fall into complete, almost unnatural silence. Phil realizes the sound is coming from a bell near the front of the room. The brass quivers a moment longer before the person who hit it gently puts their hand against the instrument to cut off the single, resonant note.

Then they do it again. And again. And again. The wait between each ring grows shorter, the sound echoing against the walls. Voices hum beneath the ruckus, between the bell's rhythmic cadence. But they're too hushed to make out - mere whispers. Next to him, Phil barely catches the words coming from Niki's lightly moving lips.

"One of us. One of us. One of us."

After a few minutes, the ringing stops.

"A new voice joined us today," the leader who was hitting the bell says. "We are happy to bring Phil into the chorus." The man gestures at Phil, who awkwardly stands up and waves at the too many eyes suddenly aimed at him. Fucking awkward as hell. He sits down as soon as he is able. The leader continues, "Lately, our community has been growing at a higher rate than what we're used to. This is but a symptom of the infection we are all aware of plagues humanity. The end might be close. We ask that all of you focus on performing your duties to the best of your abilities in the coming weeks, and we will get through this… together."

"One of us," Niki says, as does every other person in the room. Well, except Phil. Not his fault nobody briefed him on the creepy chanting he's apparently supposed to partake in.

He helps clear the plates and such back to the kitchen, but a lot of other people are already on dishwashing duty, so Phil decides to step back out and try to socialize a bit more. This time, small talk comes easier and he manages to get some much-needed information on how daily life in the commune goes before he notices Ender striding towards him from across the room.

"It's late," Ender says. He puts his hand on Phil's shoulder without asking, and Phil barely suppresses an unpleasant shudder at the touch. "Since it's your first day, I'm supposed to escort you back to your room."

"Oh," Phil says. "It's not that late, is it?" Outside, the sun is barely setting. Other initiates and members are still loitering, some of them playing games or reading or otherwise occupying themselves in small groups.

But Ender frowns slightly. Ah, right, he hates having to put up with Phil. Better not push his luck.

"Though I guess I'm kind of tired," Phil adds. "Lead the way."

Ender does just that, leaving the brightness and warmth of the communal building behind them in favor of the dusky twilight outside. Phil looks up, noticing the hundreds of stars dotted in the sky. You don't get a sight that pretty in the big city. Phil likes where he lives, but light pollution is the bane of his existence. If nothing else, he got to enjoy a clear view of the night sky for the first time in ages.

"I hope your first evening has been a pleasant one?" Ender asks, making Phil face forward again.

"It's been welcoming," Phil says. "I can feel I've found where I belong."

Ender's lip quirks upward once, but he seems to approve of the answer.

Then Phil notices something that immediately draws his interest. Another group of people is walking across the outside area, heading from one of the buildings Phil hasn't been able to tell what it is yet toward the back of the commune. There are four adults, all of them dressed in fancier clothes that indicate their long time of being part of the cult. But between them, flanked on all sides, is a child.

A young boy, seemingly no older than eight or nine years old.

This catches Phil by surprise for two reasons. The first is that as far as any of their information indicated, The Blood God's Chosen is not the type of cult to take in families or anybody with children. If anything, they detest the very notion. They target people with little to no connections or personal relationships, so most of the members are not tied down. And having relationships of a romantic or sexual nature is against the rules. The cult is about a decade old though, so it's possible this child was born to a member before these rules were established.

The second, even stranger thing that Phil notices is that the boy is wearing a blindfold.

One of the members leading the boy catches Phil staring and puts a hand on the boy's shoulder, leading him along faster. Ender looks over at Phil and clicks his tongue, snapping Phil's attention back.

"Who was that?" he asks, unable to not let his curiosity get the better of him.

"The Conduit," Ender says. "You shouldn't concern yourself with him."

"You're calling that child a conduit?" Phil asks. "Why was he blindfolded?"

"To prevent him from being tainted by observing the outside world. Not that it matters to you."

"Why though?"

Ender stops moving, sudden enough that Phil only barely keeps himself from walking into him. Ender does not turn around, does not face him when he speaks. But his voice is grave, laced with poison.

"You shall not concern yourself with him. Understood?"

Every inch of Phil wants to protest. What the fuck is going on here and why is Ender acting like he's at fault for thinking that having a blindfolded child around is suspicious as all hell. But at the last second, reason wins over impulsiveness. And he can't blow his cover.

"Understood" Phil says, tight jawed.

But the image won't leave him. Long after Phil is tucked into bed, he's thinking about the child. The 'conduit', whatever the fuck that means. He can't remember reading anything in his research about that aspect of The Blood God's Chosen, so he can only assume they kept it a closely guarded secret. Phil doesn't know what exactly it means. Just that it can't be anything good.

And that he won't feel at peace until he can get to the bottom of this.

The following day, Phil concentrates on what he was actually tasked by the police to do.

The schedule that he was told about turns out to be a rough timetable of when food will be prepared and served, as well as when congregations take place. Aside from the cooking, a task solely performed by lower initiates for some reason, no chores are assigned.

The Blood God's Chosen value individuality. Since a disillusionment with governmental control and a lack of freedom in society is one of the pivotal points within the rhetoric of the cult, Phil isn't surprised that a fake modicum of freedom is presented to its members. But at the end of the day, many cults - many organized religions in general - still revolve around control. There are other ways to exert said control outside of literally limiting choice.

As long as the initiates make themselves useful, they might freely spend their time during the so vaguely named 'working hours' on the schedule.

If nothing else, it allows Phil the opportunity to flit from place to place, talking with various people and staking out the layout of the compound. He has a fair idea of what a lot of the buildings are by now, and talked to various people.

He can't shake the feeling that there are eyes on him at all times. All activities are more or less overseen by more experienced members, who under the thin veneer of helping newer members find their way can keep things in check. If anybody should act out of line, they can swiftly be pulled aside. Phil makes sure to not do anything too overtly suspect. The plan has always been for him to only stay for a few days. Gather the info he needed, then either come up with an excuse to get back into town or worse come to worse, sneak out under the cover of night.

But part of him is hoping to see the boy again.

Not only is it hard for Phil to shake that the boy's presence could be important, since again, usually there are no children among The Blood God's Chosen, it's also normal for him to worry about a child being ensnared in something as dangerous as a cult. Phil didn't like the words Ender used to describe it either. 'Conduit' had a strange ring to it.

Because outright asking about it feels risky, Phil instead decides to check out the building the boy was brought out of and the one he was headed toward.

The first seems to be a shed with some random crap inside, and nothing noteworthy about it aside from the windows being covered in dark plastic, taped carefully so not even a sliver of light can pass through. The shed is dusty and cluttered with tools of all kinds. The middle is cleared of any items, with the vague outline of a few chalk drawings that remain visible against the wooden floorboards. There are also patches of something rust-colored hurriedly wiped away.

Blood?

The feeling that rises within Phil is even more uneasy now.

And that only gets worse when he realizes he has no chance of approaching the building the boy was brought to last night. Not while there are people loitering outside at all times, not quite standing guard but certainly keen enough not to let anybody approach unaware to them. Phil supposes it could be as simple as this being the living quarters of the most important members, but something feels off.

The first day he doesn't act. The second day, he can't help himself. Despite knowing he shouldn't and he's endangering the entire mission, Phil waits until the moon is bright outside and the quiet snoring of his roommates is the only thing piercing the silence of the night. Then he quietly gets out of bed, avoiding the already familiar creaking plank on the threshold.

He steps outside, breathing in the chilly air of late October. One foot down the small staircase that leads from the cabin's entrance to the dirt below, he hears the door open behind him.

"Where are you going?' Ender asks.

Phil cringes, shoulders pulling up to his ears. He manages to play it off as being startled - and honestly, he was. Who the fuck sneaks up on people like that? He turns to face Ender, the other man's eyes seemingly glowing in the dimness of the night and his backlit silhouette.

Ender sleeps in the same cabin as the initiates he's meant to oversee. And he's one perceptive bastard.

"Just heading to the bathroom," Phil says.

Ender doesn't reply right away. Phil assumes he is trying to judge the truthfulness of his statement. Since the cabins themselves do not have bathrooms, people are usually pretty good about taking care of that business during the evening so they don't need to get up in the middle of the night.

Eventually, Ender sighs and steps forward. "Fine. Let me walk you."

"I know where it is," Phil says.

"It's dangerous to wander off alone this late," Ender explains simply, already taking the lead again as he outpaces Phil slightly. "We're rather remote and all kinds of wildlife lurk in these woods."

Phil can't help but scoff. "You guys often get attacked by animals while heading for a piss?"

Scowling at the crudeness of his words, Ender shakes his head. "No, but I wouldn't want you to be the first. Like I said, in this community, we look after each other. If you don't get that, maybe you don't fit in here."

Phil decides not to respond.

"How have you been feeling about… this place?"

Phil is not a gambling man, usually. He's more of a calculated-risk guy in small doses. Or he tries to be very aware of his own limitations, at least. So he doesn't exceed them.

He can't stay much longer though. He's supposed to have sent back some kind of message to the police about how he's faring in here soon, or they'll think something terrible happened to him and come in guns blazing. Well, not literally. Hopefully not literally. All the same.

Time is running out for Phil to learn exactly what this 'conduit' thing is about.

He has noticed Niki's reluctance. She's new like him, she seems rather reserved and often chooses activities that do not require her to interact with other members. Phil can see that the cult has not wholly convinced her, maybe she took the invitation on a whim. Maybe she was going through her darkest day when she came here and now she's having second thoughts. Whatever the reason, Phil knows she's the one person he might be able to trust with this.

And that is shown in the way she glances around slowly, seeing that Phil approached her at a time when there are no prying eyes and ears around. Just the two of them in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for later.

"I don't know," Niki says.

Phil made a winning bet. "You can still back out, you know."

"Maybe," Niki says. "Where else can I go?"

"Anywhere you feel better than here."

"I don't think such a place exists," she says with a sad little chuckle.

"I'm just saying there are other options," Phil answers.

Her hand shakes where it's holding the knife. Once more, she turns her head, checking again that the kitchen is empty. Then, low, so quiet Phil almost doesn't hear it she asks, "You don't believe in the Blood God, do you?"

Phil swallows.

"No," he says. "I don't."

He waits, but Niki continues peeling her potatoes with a soft noise. Contemplative, uncertain. Not disdain so Phil will take it.

"Do you?" he asks.

"I'm not sure."

"If you do want to leave, I can help."

If he's wrong and Niki is one hell of an actor, Phil is screwed. Like, not even a little bit.

But Niki nods, a fragile smile on her face. She rubs her sleeve over her eyes and resumes her work as if nothing happened. Phil leans closer.

"I know it's a lot to ask, but I wonder if you could do me a favor."

Phil takes back what he said. Niki is one hell of an actor. He has never seen anybody so convincingly fake a medical emergency before.

But the plan goes off without a hitch, and Ender is forced to leave the cabin in the middle of the night so he can escort Niki to get help. Phil counts to a hundred, just to make sure they're far enough gone, before he slips out of bed, into his shoes, and sneaks out.

The building he approaches is like a dark monolith. He saw it before, but it didn't sink in back then how it's tucked away at the very back edge of the property, close to the metal fence that cradles the compound on three sides. It's also much smaller than it seemed from a distance, barely bigger than the shed. Up close, Phil can see that all the windows of this cabin are covered with heavy blackout curtains. He slides up to the door, expecting it to be locked. He also wonders if there could be people inside. Will him opening the door immediately lead to him being caught?

Phil is no gambling man, but sometimes curiosity leaves him no choice. Let's just hope the cat survives this particular excursion.

He turns the handle and the door opens.

The inside is… empty. Nothing more than a bare room with a small cot pushed into one corner, and a bundle of blankets lying on it in a heap. Phil leaves the door open as he takes a step inside, since there are no lights and all the windows are covered, making it very hard to see. As he does so, a small gasp rings out from the cot.

The boy is looking at him with wide, blue eyes.

"Is it time already?" the boy asks, wavering. Phil quickly rushes over and kneels next to the bed.

"No, no, you're fine. That's not what I'm here for."

His words seem to flip a switch and instantly the boy relaxes. Phil doesn't dare ask what the boy thought it was time for. Nothing good, surely, if his reaction was one of pure fear.

"You shouldn't be here," the boy says. "You'll get us both in trouble."

"I'm one of the new members," Phil says. "My name is Phil. What's yours?"

A dithering breath or two comes before the boy responds. "Techno," he says.

"Techno, can you tell me why my being here will get us in trouble?"

"They should have told you," Techno says, looking annoyed. Phil wants to smile at the small pout that bunches up the boy's cheeks, his childish annoyance almost endearingly out of place in such a serious situation. "Nobody is supposed to talk to me. Except for Chat."

"Who is Chat?" Phil asks.

"Those that receive the Blood God's messages," Techno says with a roll of his eyes, seemingly flabbergasted that Phil doesn't know this.

"What happens if other people talk to you?"

Techno's mouth snaps shuts. He scowls. "You're not really one of the chosen, are you?"

Fuck. Phil got ahead of himself. "I'm somebody that wants to help."

"If you want to help, get out before we both get in trouble," Techno insists again. He pushes himself back against the wall, curling up tighter on the cot. The blankets cover his lap, but Phil notices the clothes he's wearing are elaborate. A white garment that reminds Phil of an ancient Greek toga, but with so much red embroidery it never leaves more than a few inches bare from elaborate patterns. Techno's long hair is braided, with pretty ribbons of white and red woven through the strands. He is wearing an outfit usually reserved for somebody who has been in this cult since the very start.

Or somebody who was born into it.

"Techno," Phil tries.

"Get out before you taint me!" Techno hisses louder.

Then he covers his ears with his hands and closes his eyes, insistent on shutting Phil out completely. The beds of his fingernails are stained pink.

"I'm going, I'm going," Phil says quickly. "Please don't tell anybody I was here."

Techno ignores him, muttering under his breath some kind of chant or plea Phil can't hear. The encounter leaves Phil more unsatisfied and worried than before, but he also can't linger. He already has to cope with the fact that if Techno does tell one of the other members that he visited, Phil might be in more serious trouble than he can even imagine.

Why then, as he walks back to his cabin still guarded by the stillness of night, does Phil feel like he won't be able to leave unless he can take that poor boy with him?