The camera fades in to a room dimly lit by one candle on an old, cluttered, wooden desk. A chair at the desk swivels around and Baalberith is sitting in the chair. He has his eyes closed and he begins speaking as if to himself.

"Yes Father the plague has begun."

He pauses briefly as if listening.

"The contract is scribed and the signing is almost complete, it all begins June tenth."

He pauses again.

"Yes Father it shall be done, in your name."

He slowly opens his eyes and stares through the candlelight. He picks a piece of paper from his desk and stamps it. He slowly begins to speak.

"Johnathyn Davidson you have remained silent far too long. The last time anyone heard from you, you were making your way to a charity event. Did shaking hands and kissing babies at this event wreck your killer instinct, ruin your desire to fight?"

As he is saying this he opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a knife, the handle covered in gold. He places the knife in front of him and slightly leans over the desk speaking in a more menacing tone then before.

"If the event didn't destroy you then it has destroyed those who benefited from it. Beezlebub loves all his children and preaches above all else self-help. This is how one becomes stronger, not by leaning on others, but by pulling oneself up and in the process making oneself stronger."

He picks the knife up and leans back in the chair bringing the knife to his wrist and closing his eyes once more.

"A broken leg does not fully heal by keeping it in a cast and preventing it from moving, a broken hand will never be the same again if it is not used during the healing process. While these things need time they will all eventually heal on there own and become stronger in the process not weak and dependent by charitable means. Charity is just justifying laziness, a lack of ambition, the two most prominent traits the Father and I see in you Johnathyn."

Suddenly he grits his teeth and buries the knife deep into his arm. He then lets the blood slowly drip down his arm and off his fingertips onto the paper he previously stamped.

"The Father has informed me that since you are so charitable that I am to give something in return, something useful."

He pulls his arm away from the paper and pulls the knife out wiping it quickly with a white linen cloth and placing it back in the drawer.

"We have decided that something useful will not be for you Johnathyn but to all others who believe charitability is a noble cause. You Johnathyn, will be the lamb, the lamb brought to the slaughter to show others where charity gets you..... A contract with the Lord of the Flies himself because charity is weakness and self-help is what the dark book preaches."

Baalberith stands at his desk, looks up and laughs with the blood still dripping from his arm.