The men and women who cowered under their seats began to whimper, a sound that filled Christopher with delicious glee. He relished their suffering. It was as if his desire to inflict pain on these miserable excuses for human garbage had been amplified. “When we join with the Divine,” Slade began. “We each take a new name. You must now do so. Let go of your old life, and commit to a greater purpose.”
What name should he choose? One of the apostles perhaps? Or a great figure from American history? A real man who stood for righteousness? No, none of that would do. He needed something simple, something that suited him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the tattoo on his arm, and the answer came in a blinding flash of inspiration. “Flagg,” he said. “My name is Flagg.”
The woman called
