XI. Rebirth

The room was circular, with an ominous clear tube at its center. The walls were lined with buttons and dials, dutifully attended to by Barnum.

"So, you're to be a Reaver, then?" boomed Barnum. Everything about him was enormous, his voice included.

"Um, yes." hazarded Findhorn.

"We don't get too many Reavers anymore. Takes a certain kind of person, you know? To be a Reaver, you've gotta want to kill, but there's more to it than that. You have to have a respect for orders, of course--you can't just go bumpin' off everything you see. But there's more respect. You have to understand when you take a life. It can't just be something you enjoy--you have to know what about it gives you such a rush.

"These days, we get lots of souls that either understand what it means to kill or else just love killing. It's hard to find the ones that know both."

"So...there used to be more like me?"

"Hell, yeah. You'd be surprised how many Paladins from the Crusades are down here."

"Crusades? As in--"

"Yep. Holy warriors. From both sides. They believed in fighting for their God, but they didn't believe in thier Gods quite so much. All of that type wound up here, most of 'em as Reavers. Course, a few went for the burning, but by the time you're here, it's a bit late for righteousness.

"All right, get in that tube and I'll tell ya what's goin' on."

The tube split down the middle and one half swung open. Findhorn reluctantly stepped inside.

Barnum turned from the dials and face him. "It's like this. Just before you were born, you had a soul. That soul had a name and a shape. Once you were born, your shape was the shape of your body. Now, your soul knew what your body was going to look like, so it probably looks like your body did at one point--now that's no guarentee, because I can tell you I was 5'8" when I was alive. The name's not so sure, because it depended on who raised you what your name was gonna be.

"But now your body's gone, so you can forget whatever it taught you. This gizmo's gonna restore your soul back to what it used to be. Once that's done, you'll remember your real name. Then I'm done with you, and you go through that door to get you made into a proper demon."

"Will this hurt?" asked Findhorn.

"You're in Hell, boy." With that, Barnum threw a switch and the tube slammed shut.

Findhorn felt what he'd felt at Lyster's desk, but at a thousandfold the strength. To say it was agony would be an understatement. When his vision cleared, he looked down at a pair of hands that were not his own, but were oddly familiar. He felt hair on the back of his neck and followed it down to his waste. It was jet black...itself also familiar.

"Looks a bit familiar, don't it?" said Barnum. "Here, maybe this'll help."

Barnum hit a button and full-length mirror lowered itself from the ceiling. Findhorn saw his reflection and remembered it instantly--this was how he'd looked during his junior year of college, more than thirty years ago. He was tall and lean, with black hair that went down to his waste. He had dark brown eyes and light skin, and wore a long leather coat. He'd always considered this the peak of his physical condition. He felt that now--as if he could take on the world and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

"I can tell by that grin that you like you what you see." said Barnum.

"Hell, yes." said...no, not Findhorn. That had been his name, but not anymore.

"So, what shall I be callin' you?" asked Barnum.

"Dahl." said the former soul of Patrick Findhorn. "My name is Dahl."