Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-35711173-20180813062343

The title is a working one. I have considered “Pride,” “Recruit Training” and “The Recruiter.”

The obvious place to classify this is Demon/Devil. - Once the audience had assembled, I brought up PowerPoint on the big screen and started my presentation. "Hello, my name is Piorah. Welcome to Damnation 101. No doubt many of you are wondering what you are doing in a big lecture hall instead of roasting for eternity in lava. Every one of you has committed grievous mortal sins. None of you has to suffer if you make your quota of souls.  If you don't, they will kick you out of this comfy oasis and you will find yourself tortured by eternal lava and the horrible monsters that live in it.  So, pay close attention and your afterlife can be full of devil's food cake, deviled eggs, and demon rum."

"Let me start with telling you my story. I was a member of the original 84 legions of Lucifer but I was just a common foot soldier, the lowest of the low.  I worked hard, and I worked my way up through the ranks. I take pride in my work.  Our job is to make human beings insane, in jail or dead.  Most of the time, I succeed.  I love my work, just as I know you will too. There is nothing more fun than achieving complete destruction."

"My last assignment was First Assistant to the Director in the Moscow district. Our wins included a revolution, two world wars and decades of fear and misery.  This allowed our team to recruit over 300,000,000 human souls."

"Twenty years ago, our Lord and Master Lucifer promoted me to be the Director of Recruit Training. That's you."

I went to the next slide. "Many of you learned in your pre-infernal existence of 'The seven deadly sins.' Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride.  You may be afraid that you must master each of the seven tools to make big recruitment bonuses.  That is false.  All the rest will follow if you just master pride.  Pride causes more misery and destruction than the rest put together."

A hand shot up in the back. I answered their question. "No, these techniques work anywhere on the planet.   People are the same everywhere." "Let me illustrate using a human from my caseload. I chose him because he should be difficult to recruit.  He had money, prestige, power, knowledge, and access to sex.  His name is Matthew Schoenberger.  Lights, please."

Matt was absolutely livid. How dare the chief of staff deride him in front of the whole team. He kept the plastic smile but inside he wanted to kill her. Just because somebody complained about the number of tests he ran when they were screaming in pain. Maybe it was the flu, but it sure presented as a gallbladder attack! You have to be careful. You can't risk a malpractice suit. That showed what an utterly incompetent manager she was. Couldn't she understand his feelings? He knew what he wanted to do, but he had three months clean and sober. He was determined not to do it. But I made sure he tasted the Wild Turkey 101 and relive that warm glow. "I am the one who kept Matt angry. I started out by barely twisting the chief of staff remarks. As he justified himself, I twisted it more and more. I turned an illustration directed to the entire team into a deliberate insult, getting him to romance the drink. You might wonder why I didn't push him to the point of physical violence. That could get him fired, but it ran the risk of making him realize his true problem. Play for the long game." "Instead, I whispered in his ear in a dozen voices.  I spread the thoughts out carefully as he worked the rest of the day.  'She is a lesbian.  She hates men.' 'It's not your fault.'  'She wants to get rid of you just because you are a man.'  'She is jealous of how good you are.'  'You will show them.'  But the one message I kept driving was 'You're tired.   You want to watch TV and go to bed.'"

"The freeway on Matt's commute home was slowed by construction. I whispered in his ear to make them move by honking.  You can see him tailgating the semi, pounding the horn and cursing." "Did he change the behavior of the truck ahead of him?" The screen cut to the cab of a big rig. The driver had long white hair and wore a T-shirt with "Psychedelic relic" on it. "Born to Be Wild" pounded from the truck's stereo. "He can't see Matt and can't hear him. Matt's anger achieved nothing, except bringing him closer to me."

"When he did get in, I kept him miserable by telling him that everyone should have seen who he was and let him in sooner. This is a key point.  Never allow a human to be grateful.  Always maintain the illusion that their petty actions cause everything." When he made it home, he slumped in the dining room chair. "Lousy day," he told his wife. Ian stood behind his mother, holding onto her leg. "Is Daddy sick again?" "No," Matt said. "I'm just tired." She glowered at him. "Honest. Completely clean." He smiled at little Ian. "See, I am fine." After dinner, he grabbed Cheetos and parked himself in front of the TV. I paused the video for a moment. "Class, you need to understand what I did next. I had 47 resentment tapes.  They are memories of his past that make him angry or sad or ashamed.  When I played them, his brain makes him experience that pain again. Once he was in his chair and watching Dexter, I worked him over.  I began with mild ones and increased this discomfort until he pigged out on Flamin' Hot Cheetos.  He wasn't hungry.  He had just eaten dinner.  But I trained him the same way humans train a dog.  Every time I gave him anxiety or stress, he ate to stop it.  This reinforced 'The answer to problems in your head is consumption.' He thought he was using his own actions to control himself." Matt's cell phone vibrated. It was his AA sponsor. "Matt, I missed you at the meeting tonight. How are you?  Dwight." He typed "Horrible day at the hospital. Exhausted.  Going to go to sleep." "See how his pride works against him? He is exploding, but he is too proud to admit it to anyone, even himself.  Instead, he clung to the idea that he can handle everything by his own actions and willpower." "I was getting stronger, and he didn't know it. He thought he was in control when he added two more addictions, food and TV."

"You may be wondering what I did to get Matt to drink. Actually, I was giving a lecture when he picked up.  A student only two weeks out of this class scored." The screen showed a pool party. Someone handed him a bottle of Coors Light. “He told Matt his months of not drinking proved he could drink safely and that he deserved it to celebrate his self-control. Then his controller played the same escalation of resentment tapes I mentioned earlier. Matt consumed that beer to drown the problems in his head as if it were Cheetos. Remember, all addictions are only a symptom of the problem, misery and pride. Our job is to convince him he can keep his ego and stop being miserable." The big screen showed Matt at home popping pills. "Since alcohol didn't get him in trouble soon enough, I had to up my game. Humans say our Lord and Master, Lucifer, is the father of lies. It's a lie. I'm not saying I won't tell the prospect whoppers to reach them but the truth is often far more damaging. I fed Matt diagnostic information about his patients. I inflated his ego until he believed he was Dr. Gregory House. Once I had him miracle diagnosing others, I whispered a few falsehoods so he diagnosed his hangover aches and pains as a terminal illness. Before long, he and another doctor were swapping prescriptions for Ritalin, Oxycodone, Xanax, Benzos and a host of other destructive medications. This made him even more anxious and depressed and suffered from nightmares, so he took additional drugs." I put up a slide that read Self Delusion. "Matt's overinflated ego told him he is in control. We help him to maintain that illusion. We sold him something to cure the problems in his head and the ones created by his pride. Humans will take pills, lie,  threaten,  beg, kill, make deals and butter up with kindness so they can do get other people to do what they want. Eventually, their power over others fails utterly. With Matt, it took thirteen months."

The lights dimmed again. Matt and his wife stood outside the front door of the house. Duffel bags and suitcases cluttered the lawn. "You can't do this," Matt told her.

"I already changed the locks. You aren't coming back in the house." She handed him a cardboard box. "I found your stash in the garage." He took the box. "Please honey, I love you." "You love your pills more than us. It's not just the lies, Matt.  It's not just your threats and the bullying and the shouting at Ian.  Every time you drive off to the bar or to your 'friends' I wait for the call that says you killed someone. I can't take it anymore." "You're all I've got. I'll clean up.  I'll get help." "The box has a restraining order and divorce papers. The car across the street is recording you.  You are legally served.  Take your things and leave now or he will phone the police." I stood, smiling. "This case took two years of patient work but we achieved total victory." Matt woke up in jail. He had been in the local "Sobering Center," the new buzzword for drunk tanks. This was different. Instead of a long line of recliners and a flat screen TV, he was alone in a prison cell. He made his way to the door and grasped the bars. "Hey, what is this? What happened?  When can I get out?" "Calm down, buddy," said an old man's voice. A flustered, fat sheriff's deputy walked over. "You got to relax, Mr. Schoenberger. You're going to be here for a while." "Can't I bail myself out?" "You don't remember last night, do you?" Matt sat on his bunk, trying to think. He had no idea what happened. "Mr. Schoenberger, you have the right to remain silent," the sheriff said. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning.  If you cannot afford one, an attorney will be appointed for you.  Do you understand those rights?" "Yeah, yeah, I saw Law and Order. What is this crap?" "Mr. Schoenberger, you kidnapped your son to deprive his mother of custody. After leaving your former home, you drove your Suburban westbound on Windsor when you ran a red light and killed three people in the crosswalk by WalMart.  The traffic cam got your plates and your picture. That stretch a posted 40  and the photo radar said you were doing 73, felony reckless driving.  You took the 45 and headed North and made it almost to the 223 when the spike strips stopped you.  You fled the scene of an accident.  When they pulled you out, you assaulted two uniformed officers.  They had to taser you.  Your boy was in the car seat in the back, and you blew 0.23.  That's extreme aggravated DUI with a minor in the vehicle."

He shook his head. "No, this can't be real. It's not happening.  I've got to make bail." "You can try but I really wouldn’t do that. You see there’s a reason you’re in the VIP suite here.  Those three people you killed, two were big leaders in MS-13.  The gang put $50,000 on your head." I beamed with pride as I advanced the video five days. It showed Matt hanging himself from his bunk using a rope made from his sheets. "Before we break out into individual training modules, I had to show you how we achieved total victory last night. I love making new recruits. This is my joy, to bring about the destruction and eternal damnation of man." 