Almost before he knew what he was doing, he had been passed through the hands of about four intermediate officials, and was suddenly shown into a room, the abrupt blackness of which startled him like a blaze of light. It was not the ordinary darkness, in which forms can be faintly traced; it was like going suddenly stone-blind.

‘Are you the new recruit?’ asked a heavy voice.

And in some strange way, though there was not the shadow of a shape in the gloom, Syme knew two things: first, that it came from a man of massive stature; and second, that the man had his back to him.

‘Are you the new recruit?’ asked the invisible chief, who seemed to have heard all about it. ‘All right. You are engaged.’

Syme, quite swept off his feet, made a feeble fight against this irrevocable phrase.

‘I really have no experience,’ he began.

‘No one has any experience,’ said the other, ‘of the battle of Armageddon.’

‘But I am really unfit–‘

‘You are willing, that is enough,’ said the unknown.

‘Well, really,’ said Syme, ‘I don’t know any profession of which mere willingness is the final test.’

‘I do,’ said the other– ‘martyrs. I am condemning you to death. Good day.’

–G.K. Chesterton, The Man Who Was Thursday