Daemophobia
James Fellgood is another god-fearing man, and he often comes under media attention for his political viewpoints, such as when he claimed that September 11th had been God's will due to the superheroes worshiped like golden calves in America. Such viewpoints draw intense criticism, particularly when voicing them on live TV next to his good friend Patrick Robinson, host of the 800 Club.
Thankfully, the Scarecrow has already killed a God-fearing man with a thick dose of irony. A repeat performance would be in poor taste. So Fellgood is completely safe from being poisoned by the Scarecrow.
That does not, however, make him safe.
As they finish taping his guest appearance on the 800 Club... not his first by a long shot... he shakes hands with Robinson.
"Nice work," Patrick Robinson offers, grinning. "I'll tell you, your arguments on how the gay-agenda is destroying this country was really convincing."
"Thank you, Patrick," James replies. "It'll probably get you some flack..."
"I'm not worried," Patrick chuckles, laughing it off. "They'll always complain, because they're afraid of the truth. They think Christianity and faith is about love and acceptance. But you and I know that it's not about loving God, but fearing Him." James shakes his head, agreeing with Patrick's assessment. "Say..." Patrick adds, "Do you have a minute? Can I show you something important?"
James nods, agreeing. "Sure. What's up?"
"I have something you should see. I think you'll agree that it might be the single most important thing for the Christian Movement since Christ's resurrection."
James, intrigued, follows Patrick as he leads the larger man deep into the studio.
"What's this about?" James asks. Patrick, however, says nothing as he leads the other one deep below, until they get to the boiler, where he stops and faces his friend, grinning widely.
And James staggers at Patrick hits him alongside the head with a short plank of wood. Before he can recover his senses, Patrick has chained him to the boiler and bolted the doors.
"The Hell, Patrick! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Patrick shakes his head. "All this time, James. All this time you've been calling yourself a Christian, and all this time, you've been fornicating with the Devil." He pulls out a large, sharp knife. "I know you're carrying the AntiChrist in your womb."
James stares in horror. "What are you talking about, Patrick? I've never fornicated with the Devil... and I don't have a womb!"
"I know it's true, Patrick. There's no denying it. And I know that once I cut the AntiChrist from your belly, God will reward me."
He steps forward, the knife glinting in the light from the boiler.
And James starts to scream for help for a moment... before the screams become cries of agony.
By the time help arrives, busting down the door, responding to the cries that have long-since stopped, Patrick Robinson is covered in blood and gore as he digs around in his friend's intestines, searching for the AntiChrist that he feared so much. He begins to attack those who try to stop him, but a single bullet from a security guard takes him down.
Much to the Scarecrow's chagrin, the bullet doesn't kill the man. Ah, well. There's not much he'll be able to say that will threaten the contest.
Thankfully, the Scarecrow has already killed a God-fearing man with a thick dose of irony. A repeat performance would be in poor taste. So Fellgood is completely safe from being poisoned by the Scarecrow.
That does not, however, make him safe.
As they finish taping his guest appearance on the 800 Club... not his first by a long shot... he shakes hands with Robinson.
"Nice work," Patrick Robinson offers, grinning. "I'll tell you, your arguments on how the gay-agenda is destroying this country was really convincing."
"Thank you, Patrick," James replies. "It'll probably get you some flack..."
"I'm not worried," Patrick chuckles, laughing it off. "They'll always complain, because they're afraid of the truth. They think Christianity and faith is about love and acceptance. But you and I know that it's not about loving God, but fearing Him." James shakes his head, agreeing with Patrick's assessment. "Say..." Patrick adds, "Do you have a minute? Can I show you something important?"
James nods, agreeing. "Sure. What's up?"
"I have something you should see. I think you'll agree that it might be the single most important thing for the Christian Movement since Christ's resurrection."
James, intrigued, follows Patrick as he leads the larger man deep into the studio.
"What's this about?" James asks. Patrick, however, says nothing as he leads the other one deep below, until they get to the boiler, where he stops and faces his friend, grinning widely.
And James staggers at Patrick hits him alongside the head with a short plank of wood. Before he can recover his senses, Patrick has chained him to the boiler and bolted the doors.
"The Hell, Patrick! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Patrick shakes his head. "All this time, James. All this time you've been calling yourself a Christian, and all this time, you've been fornicating with the Devil." He pulls out a large, sharp knife. "I know you're carrying the AntiChrist in your womb."
James stares in horror. "What are you talking about, Patrick? I've never fornicated with the Devil... and I don't have a womb!"
"I know it's true, Patrick. There's no denying it. And I know that once I cut the AntiChrist from your belly, God will reward me."
He steps forward, the knife glinting in the light from the boiler.
And James starts to scream for help for a moment... before the screams become cries of agony.
By the time help arrives, busting down the door, responding to the cries that have long-since stopped, Patrick Robinson is covered in blood and gore as he digs around in his friend's intestines, searching for the AntiChrist that he feared so much. He begins to attack those who try to stop him, but a single bullet from a security guard takes him down.
Much to the Scarecrow's chagrin, the bullet doesn't kill the man. Ah, well. There's not much he'll be able to say that will threaten the contest.