DEVIL, DEVIL (Michael Langdon)

i.

The day the apocalypse came was like any other for Judas Wardwell. He was smiling and handing out coffees from his station behind the counter. A macchiato for him, an americano for her, cold brew for those two, a mocha-strawberry-whatever-the-fuck with two shots of espresso for him. Judas knew all of his regulars orders, and they liked that he knew their orders. It made them happy to know that when he saw them coming through the door, he had already grabbed a cup and started making their drink without needing to be asked.

Of course, there were the customers that Judas hated. The ones he wished he could send flying out the window with a flick of his wrist. He tried not to use his powers. In the years since he had left Hawthorne's School, Judas wasn't met with many opportunities to use his powers. His most recent usage was three weeks prior, alone in the backroom and using them to put a box back on top of the stack it had fallen from. So, all in all, his powers really weren't needed in his line of work. With their lack of use these days, they were a hindrance more than a help, leaving him drained after their use.

But he couldn't think about those sorts of things. The more he thought of his powers, the more he thought of Hawthorne, the friends he had made and, more specifically, Michael Langdon's golden hair and startlingly blue eyes.

He was pulled- thankfully- from his thoughts by the sound of an alarm, blaring loudly from the phone in his pocket. His hand flew to it just as more alarms chorused throughout the cafe, everyone looking at their screens. BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO LOS ANGELES. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, eyes darting to see customers gathering their laptops and drinks, herding toward the doors. Nearby, the sixteen-year-old boy on shift looked at Judas with terror in his eyes. "It's okay," he said. "It's probably like that time in Hawaii." But even as he said it, there was a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Against the crowd leaving, a group dressed smartly in black suits entered the cafe, scanning the building before their eyes landed on Judas. "We're closed," he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat and he could only swallow thickly.

"Judas Wardwell?" a man at the front of the group asked.

Judas raised his hand, then, feeling like a child, dropped it just as quickly. "That's me," he said, his words sounding like static in his ears.

"Come with us, please."

Judas shook his head. "I have to close the place," he said lamely.

"I'm afraid we don't have time for that, Mr. Wardwell. If you'd just follow us, we can explain everything."

He looked between the group and the boy situated behind the counter. "Okay," Judas whispered after what felt like an eternity. "I'll go with you."

Outside, the streets were a frenzy of activity, practically buzzing with anxiety as people rushed to get to their cars, not hesitating to throw aside those in their wake. His eyes widened in horror as a young woman was ran down as she crossed the street, the man driving the car continuing on his way as if he hadn't just killed her in cold blood. "What's going on?" Judas demanded, but he received no answer as his black-clad escorts herded him into a car.

Judas only realized he was shaking when he made to buckle himself into his seat. "Breathe," he told himself as he curled his fingers into tight fists. "Breathe." Bad things could happen if he let his powers go unchecked, the nineteen-year-old knew that well, especially when he was this afraid. He wasn't about to wreck his only means of escape.

It seemed as though the drive was taking hours, even though Judas knew it was only minutes. It had to be. They were running out of time.

The destination was a small hangar, where a private plane awaited. Judas was pulled unceremoniously from his seat as another person rushed ahead to open up the plane. "Where are we going?" Judas demanded. "What's happening?"

Airport security had begun to rush the plane, wielding makeshift weapons; hammers and screwdrivers that Judas hoped he wouldn't have to feel the impact of. He nearly screamed as one of his escorts drew a gun, firing a bullet directly into the skull of the nearest man. He couldn't look any longer, however. He was led into the plane, and as quickly as the door was closed, they were moving. "What the hell is happening?!" he finally cried, voice startlingly loud against the quiet of the cabin.

One of the escorts met his gaze, eerily calm in the dire situation. "Based on the genetic makeup we've seen based on your ancestry results, you have been selected to survive."

"My genetics?" Judas could have laughed at that statement, but that fell away quickly as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Survive?"

There was almost pity in his escort's tone. "The nuclear threat is real, Mr. Wardwell. I'm afraid that in approximately five minutes, Los Angeles will be destroyed."

Judas managed a faint nod, too stunned to respond. So, he just drew his knees up to his chest and hoped that his powers wouldn't burst and send them hurtling out of the sky, which was a lot harder than he thought it would be. He couldn't even bring himself to look at the window at the chaotic world below.

When the explosion rocked the plane, he didn't even scream, only pressed his hands to the sides of his head, holding back everything inside of himself because he would have killed everyone in that plane at that moment if he didn't.

Everything that Judas Wardwell had known and loved was destroyed in a matter of seconds.