Matthew looked at the number hanging loosely from the gate post.
“Six hundred and sixty-six,” he said quietly.
“It’s really just a number,” I said.
Matthew looked at the number hanging loosely from the gate post.
“Six hundred and sixty-six,” he said quietly.
“It’s really just a number,” I said.
The old man sighed again and flopped backwards. As he did, an armchair appeared behind him and he landed comfortably in it. “I am Peter, Guardian of the Gates of Heaven,” the old man intoned. Jackson could almost hear the capital letters falling into place. “Name?” the angel demanded for the third time.
I’ve seen it all in my time. My job takes me all over the country, mostly to unplug the dead bodies of the gamers who were too immersed in their games to realise they were starving to death, but occasionally the call would come just in time for me to save their lives.