This concludes the ? Cycle.  Questions and comments will be taken at anthoch@earlham.edu.

-EDG

--

Although the Archangels were known to take in a rock concert from time to time - Janus in 
particular was famous for his patronage of speed-metal bands - it was a rare day that saw a 
Demon Prince (aside from Furfur, who never got enough of them) attending a performance.  The 
Demon Princes are not exactly known for their love of humanity or their respect for the 
creations of the 'talking monkeys', regardless of what form that creation takes.

It was surprising, then, to see Asmodeus at this particular concert - especially as it was a 
benefit performance, all proceeds going toward the California Relief Fund.  (Actually, Furfur 
was there, too at the front, trying in vain to start a mosh pit.)  Although the performers had 
only just gotten together to form a band a few months earlier, they were quite good, 
individually and as a group, despite their apparent lack of original material.  Currently they 
were playing "The Wall," a cover of the Kansas song, dedicated to "all you guys and girls out 
there who just haven't been able to make the right choice yet".

Asmodeus had been tipped off to the concert only a few days before, when one of the Game's 
Soldiers had mentioned to his infernal master that he was going to see the Redemption Squad 
benefit at RFK Stadium.  The demon in question, intrigued by the name, had immediately reported 
this to *his* superior, who took it to Asmodeus himself.  Another of his servitors had noticed 
four Superior-level disturbances in the Boston area within thirty seconds of each other - and 
then silence, as the Symphony wove itself back together almost seamlessly.  Considering that 
the band had originated in Boston, and that their first concert had been within a day of that 
massive disturbance in the Symphony, he felt that it behooved him to check out the situation 
personally.

Now the Prince stood in the crowd, trying to avoid as much contact with the writhing youths 
around him as possible, watching Redemption Squad play their hearts out on stage.  Of 
particular interest was the vocalist although he wore a torn tank-top, his right arm was 
nonetheless covered in something that looked - at least at this distance - like a silver glove, 
running from shoulders to fingertips.  His voice was also familiar a little gravelly and more 
than a little worn, he sounded like a man who's had something unpleasant scrape down the back 
of his throat, although his singing voice was crystal-clear and vibrant.

Come to think of it, the man at the keyboards was also startlingly familiar.  Although his 
attire was different - a rumpled Blues Brothers-style outfit, less the hat and with sleeker 
sunglasses - and almost his entire demeanor had changed, from his posture to the way he grinned 
as he pounded the keys, the shock of bright red hair was almost unmistakable.  Asmodeus's frown 
deepened as another piece of the puzzle fit into place.

Now that he looked at each individual band member as opposed to the performance as a whole, 
there were some characteristics of each of them that struck a note of remembrance with the 
Prince of the Game.  The bassist was huge, towering over the rest of the group, with eyes that 
seemed to bore into every member of the audience at once and a pate that was bald in a way that 
suggested that he had never had hair for an instant of his life; the lead guitarist had hair as 
black as jet and eyes that burned with internal fire; the drummer had an innate talent for 
meter and measure, and was wearing a bodysuit of oddly-quilted fabric; and the rhythm 
guitarist...

"...is the only member of the band still in our camp," said Asmodeus to himself, realization 
dawning about exactly who these people were.  The technician at the sound board would probably 
be intimately familiar as well.  "Prince to Pauper," he said, reaching up and activating the 
subvocal communicator at his ear, "we have a situation.  Alert the Council and ready a team for 
immediate insertion."

"Negative," came the reply in his ear.  "Stand down, Prince."

"What?" hissed Asmodeus, his outrage building.  "How dare you-"

"Look up," said the voice in his ear.

Asmodeus did so.

In the shadows to stage right was a door, and at this moment that door had opened to reveal a 
tall, strong silhouette.  Balanced on the silhouette's shoulder was another silhouette that of 
a battleaxe, larger than any Asmodeus had seen before.  "Stand down," said the voice in his ear 
again, and in the shadows Asmodeus saw a malicious grin form across the silhouette's face.  "Or 
you'll bear responsibility."

The Prince of the Game gritted his teeth.  "All units," he said, "move in."  He'd be damned if 
he let Michael cow him this late in the game.

"Are you unfamiliar with the term 'amazingly bad idea'?" asked another voice, and to stage left 
another door opened, silhouetting a robed figure, pinpoints of light blazing where the cowl 
would have been.  "Stand down."

Asmodeus gaped openly Michael and Dominic working together to protect this concert meant that 
something far larger than he had anticipated was going on.  Still, that was no reason to leave 
the concert unguarded, and Asmodeus wasn't about to pull out without a fight.  "All units," he 
repeated, but this time he was interrupted by the man next to him nudging him in the ribs.

Asmodeus hadn't really paid attention to his fellow concertgoers - he was too intent on making 
sure that they touched him as little as possible - but the man next to him was too odd to 
ignore.  Shorter than average, in a bright white suit, with a head of bleached-blond hair and a 
smile that rivaled the keyboardist's, he was currently chomping on a Cuban cigar and grinning 
up at Asmodeus.  "Relax," he said, before Asmodeus could respond to the jab in the side.  "I'll 
handle it from here.  Go home, relax, have a beer.  You're too damned uptight, Azzie, that's 
your problem.  Here," he said, and produced a thick, leatherbound book from under his jacket 
where it couldn't possibly have fit a moment before.  "Read my new book.  I think you'll like 
it."  Asmodeus looked at it as he took it from the short man's grasp _A Day In The Life_, no 
author listed.

Asmodeus fumed.  This was going too far.  He nearly shouted his entire vocabulary of invective 
at the short man when he realized what he'd been called "Azzie".  There was only one person in 
all of creation who had ever called him that.

"My apologies, sir.  I leave this in your hands.  All units," he said as the short man 
disappeared into the crowd, "stand by for retrieval."

The two silhouettes nodded, and in tandem the doors closed, leaving the stage as it had been.  
In the periphery of Asmodeus's senses, the band began to play "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown", which cut 
through the rage and made the Prince of the Game wince.  He had hoped that, since the Prince of 
Gluttony had left Hell, he'd never have to hear that song again, and the very opening had him 
moving quickly for the doors.  As soon as he heard the audience take up the chorus, his self-
preservation reflexes took hold and he fled for Hell.

Backstage, Michael looked at Dominic curiously.  "I thought you didn't approve of this 
venture."

Dominic looked back at Michael, and nodded.  "I don't.  I think it's frivolous and I have yet 
to see an explanation for how this furthers the War in our favor.  However, the cause is good 
at least David is trying to make amends for the damage he caused in California.  And, of 
course, any idea from the head of the former Prince of the Media must have some merit, however 
slight.  I will wait out the course and see how things turn out," he said in a somewhat 
conciliatory fashion.

"Besides," he continued, as the robes fell away into nothing to reveal a guy in hiking gear, 
"my girlfriend's in the band."

The Archangel of War couldn't stop laughing for five solid minutes.