Demonic Threat Eliminated at Holy Name Cathedral

Midnight Breakfast at Denny's is an exercise in masochism for me. No matter how much self control you've built up, certain smells like frying bacon and percolating coffee; the beautiful sight of melted cheese oozing down the side of Pete's Moons Over My Hammy; even the sound of the old degenerate clinking his spoon around his mug, coaching his decaff to sugar saturation is music to my ears. I asked our gathered cell about Tommy Jeffries' report to point my mind away from the rising hunger.

Though we decided to pursue the case of Melany Rooke, we ended up in a tussle with a major demon demon. He had either possessed the body or fabricated the identity of Detective Crusher of the CPD and was using his position to hound us. I don't know about you, but I find it both alarming and flattering to know our cell has made it on Cell's radar. After luring him to the Holy Name the following day, we literally tore him to pieces.

The pursuit of Ms. Rooke proved fruitless. The cell investigated her home, her office and the home of her father. We came up empty handed. Evidence showed she fled her home, and after the initial visit to her father's home, he became unreachable. We have no leads.

We need to continue to pursue this woman. She may be a danger to herself. She may be a danger to others. More importantly, she may be the newest member of our organization. Without speaking to her, it's difficult to tell if she has recently come into her powers, or whether she's being tormented by demons. Note: One of us should find out her age.

One more unresolved thread: Rats, with mouths full of buzzsaw blades. These don't sound like demons or possessed animals. These are something new; a blending of flesh and technology. If I still had the capacity to feel, the very idea would repulse me.

Our plates are piling up: Rat-flavored techno monsters, the strange case of Melany Rooke, The Spearmen, The Homeless Army. Am I missing any?

Officer Kane, where are you?

Loss of Control; Loss of Life

Peter Solverson loomed over the dying woman, rage blazing off him. She cowered, arms up in a defensive posture. She didn't so much beg for her life as whimper in protest of its departyure; she knew she was about to die. Breathing hard, Solverson clenched his fists and rained blows down on her before the gunshots rang out. They would have ripped into his chest, but he wore high quality Kevlar, so instead they sent him stumbling back, arms pinwheeling.

While, in the end, the cell ensured her death would be the last at the hands of that particular demon, its a tragedy that our lack of preparation and cohesion led to her end. The demon is banished, so it's a success overall, but if bodies continue to pile up, the CPD won't be making our job any easier.

When the cell found the woman, in a cursed room at the Hell House Hotel, she had been masturbating with a hot curling iron--the room smelled like cooked pork and sex. She'd had a partner at the beginning of her performance, but her (or the demon's) demands for over-the-top kink had been too much for him and he'd left her there alone. Well, alone beside the junkie puppeteer riding around in her head, jonsing for sensation.

After a bout of fruitless conversation, Officer Kane cast out the demon. It's eviction left the poor, not quite innocent, girl dying on the floor. The demon promptly jumped into Peter, who fell to his own, baser predilections. Who could blame him? Two demons inside is too much for any man.

A fight ensued. I pushed Pete through a second story window. The fall ripped the demon (confined to stay in that room while on the physical plane) from his body, causing massive trauma to Pete and none to the demon.

The cell subdued the demon using a mixture of hellfire and holy water. It discorporated, but that was only a stop gap. We took advantage of its temporary banishment to figure out a more permanent solution.

Peter spent some time in the hospital convalescing. Father Doyle spent some time working out a summoning circle meant to first contain and then banish the demon permanently. He also fortified Peter's place of business with magic runes meant to ward of evil.

The Police came with questions, but were easily fleeced. Pestilence Be Gone is a legitimate company with ties to the community. It's a member in good standing of the Better Business Bureau. Also, Peter and the Father are both very good at covering their tracks; hiding in plain sight. Officer Kane's ties to the Chicago PD help in this arena as well.

We returned to the Hell House, and the Father drew his circle. He summoned the demon out of the Pit and, while it floated there, stunned, he banished it, banning it from returning to the mortal world in that room. Because it's now banned from leaving the room, and banned from entering the room, we assume it can never again return to the mortal world. Or, perhaps, the banns have canceled each other, and we've let a minor hellion off its leash.

The police arrived, recognized me and wanted to talk. Eli, my familiar, tried to frighten them away, but I calmed him, and made peace; promising to talk to them on my own time.

For now, the police are mollified. It's my official assessment, however, that we've got to be more aware of the police presence in Chicago.

Also, if anyone in Milan is reading this, it would be nice if our physical weapons could be made, temporarily or permanently, to effect incorporeal demons. Is there a better way than simply commanding the demons to manifest?

-Roland Black, Chicago Cell

Who Am I?

Hello. My name is Roman Black. This is not my real name, but my designation assigned by Lucifuge.

As you can see, I was a troubled youth. At the age of 11, demons began appearing outside my window; tapping, scratching and whispering. My parents brought me up in Rich, Suburbia. I lived on the third story of a mini mansion. The first time they tapped, I thought it was a tree branch. Then I remembered, we had no trees, only an acre of fresh cut grass. They told me I could hurt them, if I wanted. I tried. They liked it. I wanted to hurt myself.




I told them that it made me feel bad that I liked hurting them. They told me to eat; that it would make me feel better. It did.




When I got to high school, eating didn't make me feel better anymore. My classmates made fun on me because I was fat. I was sad, because I had no friends. I ate more to feel better. Sometimes, I ate strange things.

23: The Changing Year. 

Typical night:

1. Stop at Taco Bell: Three bean burritos with sour cream and a Grilled Stuffed Burrito.
2. Stop at Jack in The Box: Breakfast Jack and hash browns.
3. Stop at Sonic: Large Sonic Blast with Oreo pieces and M&Ms
4. Eat.
5. Cry.
6. Throw up.
7. Sleeping pills and Jack Daniels

Three senior members of The Lucifuge found me in a pile of fast food wrappers and vomit. I asked them to put me out of my misery. They took me to Milan, and the Lady taught me the only way to hurt the demon was to starve it.




Vitamins. Dietary minerals. Lipids. Glucose. Amino acids. I receive them intravenously, through a process called Total Parenteral Nutrition. I have not eaten a meal or snack in eight years. I hurt every day. My stomach is always telling me it's time to eat. But now, my soul feels clean. These terms are acceptable.

Roman Black is who I am now, because the man I was, was not a man.