He commands his silent army of devil worshippers through the web, and none is more devout than Mr Winter Jeffrey. His feverish evangelism flourishes in the stealth of the net, where old crimes play out in new ways. No messy blood trails. No fleeing from crime scenes. Immune from the reach of traditional policing. A place where identities are lost in online ghettos with dial-up vulnerability. And with an infinite well of victims guided by their silicon values and dotcom morals, all Saint Menaus needs is a chat-room handle.
Winter Jeffrey knows there is work to do. But his limbs are strong. He continues undeterred from his relentless quest to be canonized by breaking every commandment with hellish determination. With every fiendish act, Winter consecrates himself to his unforgiving master and cements his place in the eternal necropolis. He hears only the wails of agony that echo in damnation; sees only the dark miasma of Satan his savior; and exists only to rage and to outrage. And soon, history will record the division BC: Before Christ, and AD: After Devil.
