At the door they did remember, there was a package. This was fairly unusual, because no one there expected it, and the very nature of their work at the Preternatural Research Bureau meant packages weren’t surprises. The P.R.O.B.E. team weren’t so naive as to think no one knew their name. Trying to be a secret organization when your name was on the door sign was, after all, destined for failure. Even so, they had managed to slip under the radar fairly well.
So when they got the strange package, it was a matter of much curiosity. Maxie and Tasha peered over it, Maxie on her tiptoes, examining the bland exterior.
“I don’t trust packages without a return address,” Tasha said.
“Is that uncommon?” Maxie asked.
“… Do you get a lot of packages without return addresses?”
Maxie frowned, she didn’t have to be snide about it. “Well what are we going to do, we either open it up or we don’t.”
Giles ran a hand through his hair, and then stroked it through again to put it in a ponytail.
“Is there any way we could check inside it?”
Maxie shook her head. “Not unless one of you is a secret wizard or has an X-Ray machine handy.”
Agamya, who was too tired for all this, threw her hands up. “Look, let’s take a vote. Do we open it up or throw it out?”
“Open it,” Maxie admitted.
“Open it,” Tasha concurred, sadly.
“Open it,” Giles muttered.
“There we go, problem solved. Tasha, you have a knife on you right? Can you do the honors?”
Tasha narrowed her eyes. “And why do you think I'd have a knife on me?”
“You have one, yes or no?”
“Okay, fine I do, but that’s not the point…” She pulled it out, and slit the packing tape, then pulled the flaps of the lid open with a dramatic flourish.
They all surrounded the table, leaning in to peer into the box.
It was empty.
“Well that was a waste of everyone’s time. Good work team,” Agamya said.
“No wait, look.” Maxie pointed to the side of the box. There were characters printed there… not letters. Runes? Sigils?
Before anyone could voice an opinion on Maxie’s discovery, the lights began to flicker. With the first flash of darkness, a smoke rolled around them, black and weaving through the air like a snake in water. Sparks of electricity rippled through the smoke, pulsing with the fluorescent lights above them. Then the runes on the box began to glow, and disappeared. There was a burning on the back of Maxie’s hand, and she looked down to see… it was there. The rune, the sigil, whatever it was: it was there on her skin. A smatter of similar lights showed she wasn’t alone in it: they’d all been branded. The lights stabilized. The smoke vanished. The room seemed normal, aside from the glowing symbols on their hands. Her hand pulsed, burned. She could feel it sucking at her, drinking from her soul. They’d been cursed.
“I knew we shouldn’t open it,” Agamya said.
“Oh hush.” Tasha grimaced. “What the heck do we do now?”
Giles clapped, and all eyes turned to him. “We let something loose in here, so until further notice, we’re on lockdown. No one goes in or out, understand? We’re sealing all exits. Tasha and I will start that, Maxie and Agamya will start trying to figure out what this is all about.”
“I can tell one thing already,” Maxie said, “it’s sucking our souls.”
Agamya scowled. “You’re serious? How do you even know that?”
“I can feel it, can’t all of you?”
Tasha shook her head, and Giles gestured for her attention, “Some folks have a keener tie to that part of themselves.”
Tasha nodded, “What’s it feel like then, Maxie?”
“Like a leech, sucking just a little bit at a time, nothing that won’t grow back if we can figure this out in time…”
“And if we can’t?” Tasha asked.
“Well I genuinely don’t know what would happen, but nothing good.”
Giles rubbed his forehead, alright. Worse to worse. “Alright, any other questions?"
Maxie raised a hand like a nervous student.
“Yes, Maxie?”
“What about, you know,” she moved her shoulders up and down, which seemed to be trying to communicate something, not that the others grasped it, “our guest.”
Giles sighed. “Let him read his book.”
* * *
Well, at least the meeting hadn’t been a total disaster. Sure, they’d unleashed a potentially horrible fate on themselves, but on the plus side Maxie would get the afternoon to herself. Or at least she tried to tell herself that as she made her way down the main hallway of P.R.O.B.E. Headquarters toward her office. Her attempt to cheer herself up wasn’t too successful. The problem lingered at the corner of every thought.
Maxie grimaced, holding her hand up to the light as though it would let her see through the skin. See how deep the sigil had implanted itself. Sucking on her soul? Well, souls were real so chock up one for whoever had that on their bingo card. 
The lights flickered. Was that… door there before? She could have sworn it was just white wall—that horrible shade of white available in cheap cans and spread on everything here like butter on bread.
Bread. Why did they “raise” their bread here too? Just make it flat, no one cares. But she had grumbled enough. If she was stuck here at work, she might as well get her work done as quickly as possible so she could spend the rest of the afternoon playing through Super Mario Brothers 3, and wrap up her notes on it. The sigil itched on her hand. It was cold, the heat of her body draining into it.
Stop thinking about it. Get some coffee.
As she entered the break room, she scooted around Sir Bedevere of the Round Table—who was very focused on a copy of Wuthering Heights—trying to keep as much distance as possible from their, hopefully temporary, guest. She felt her hand tug towards his, an echoing whisper in her head. She had to expect weird things with someone who was, at least in practical terms, a ghost. She wasn’t familiar with Arthurian legends, but Giles had explained it was absolutely the wrong millenium for Bedevere to be hanging out in. She felt the tug on her hand again. No. She pushed past it, and put the kettle on. Bedevere looked at it. She nodded.
“Weird huh?”
“I still don’t understand how it’s powered by lightning.”
Maxie shrugged, and made her cup of instant coffee. Did it taste good? Absolutely not.
“Hey, Bedevere, you dealt with magical enchantments back in your day, right?”
He nodded. “King Arthur was bewitched several times, by himself.”
“Any tips?”
“Not really, I can’t say we handled it well, what with Mordred and all.”
She nodded, lips pursed, and raised her mug in salute. She ignored Tasha as she tried to say hello in the hallway, then ignored Agamya as she tried to pass another job off onto her, and shut the door to her office. The lights were off. She swore she hadn’t turned them off when she left the room? There couldn’t be a new energy policy, she’d have been the one forced to implement it after all.
She flicked the lights on.
At her desk was a corpse.
The cut across the top of the head—revealing the somewhat pulped brain—made it clear that she was dead. But she looked at Maxie with sad eyes.
“You left me behind.”
Maxie froze, but her hands shook, dribbling coffee down her wrists. She couldn’t be here. This was some sort of hallucination. A trick of her mind.
She tilted her head, which did disgusting things to it, the purple hair hanging to the side. “What did you do to your hair? I can’t say I like it. Or that sweater.”
Maxie gritted her teeth. “I’m in my office. I’m in my office. I can smell coffee.” She rubbed two of her fingers together, savoring the sensation.
“You know, if you’d just turned around and helped me, maybe I’d have lived. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to flee.”
It was a lie. Maxie knew it was a lie.
The lights flickered.
And all there was, was an office.
* * *
Outside Maxie’s office, things were taking a turn for the worse. The floor of the main hall was slowly being blanketed by a thick layer of black smoke. The P.R.O.B.E. team went about their day oblivious, even as the sigils tattooed across their skin glowed in the smoke’s presence. As time progressed, the smoke grew thicker. Purposeful tendrils of the smoke snaked out from the main body and hugged tight to the floor. Each tendril picked out a member of the team and headed in their direction, avoiding chair legs, sofas, and even the deactivated remnants of an alien nuclear warhead in an effort not to be seen by their targets. As the smoke billowed close to its victims, the first one to notice it was Agamya. She gasped and turned to warn the others. Too late. The smoke had her.
Agamya panicked. The smoke had enveloped her completely. Where had it come from? How had it got into P.R.O.B.E. HQ? The mystical and technological protections over the building should keep out almost anything. Agamya groaned. Maxie and Giles had been the ones to set them up. She’d have to redo them; yet another job for her growing to-do-list.
Agamya’s panic soon faded as she forgot whatever it was she’d been scared about. I’m in P.R.O.B.E. HQ, what could possibly threaten me here?
Agamya suddenly realised how dark it was. Had Giles forgotten to pay the electric bill again? She headed for the light switch, when the sound of footsteps subverted her attention. Something else accompanied the footsteps—a cane? Agamya was caught unawares as a childhood memory leapt to the forefront of her mind: her grandfather hobbled into her childhood home, carrying with him more wondrous tales of adventure. She shook her head. Where did that come from?
Agamya turned to confront the source of the noise. Her jaw fell open when she was greeted by the sight of that very same grandfather. He still had his wizened beard, curly and soft to the touch. His eyes still held the wisdom of his advanced years. It was him. There was no doubt about it. But how?
“Grandfather, how can this be?” said Agamya, on impulse switching to her native language. “You died when I was a girl.”
Her grandfather ignored her questions. “You’ve forgotten your faith,” he said. “You disappoint me.”
“Grandfather, no!” Agamya protested. “I still pray five times a day, just like you taught me.
“Prayer is not the only proof of faith. This job is challenging your beliefs. Soon the sweet little girl I remember will be gone, replaced by a heartless sceptic.”
The comment stabbed right through her tough exterior. Before his death, Agamya hung on her grandfather’s every word. To know he thought so little of her was like a dagger through her heart. “Please, Grandfather. I can change.”
“I must hear you pray tawbah. On your knees.”
Agamya did as he asked. She prayed for what felt like hours. Even then, she doubted it would be enough.
* * *
Sir Bedevere wasn’t certain exactly how long ago it had been since his time. Giles had told him he was “From a Time of Myths and Legends, AD” which was not actually helpful. He didn’t understand a lot of things, but he understood more things than everyone expected. Not that a lot of that was superbly useful, but yes, he could use the magic glowing slate. You just hit the little pictures on it with your finger and it did things, it wasn’t that hard. Merlin had had one, anyway.
Merlin.
He set his copy of Wuthering Heights down. He was almost done (the printing press was a great invention to note), but the thoughts of the past were overwhelming the finale for him. The lights flickered. In that space between the light and the shadows, there were eyes. The flicker continued, and there he was: his king.
Cleanshaven, his face still boyish, but his eyes deep with regret. A lock of blonde hair down either temple, the rest tied with a braid into a bun. Blood streaked his face and had stained the blue cloth between his armor. King Arthur, lord of the Britons. A hole in his side from Mordred’s blade.
“Sir Bedevere.”
He dropped from his chair to one knee, listening to Arthur’s labored breathing. Those same dark breaths he’d given under the tree at Camalan…
“Where is my sword, Bedevere?”
“I threw it in the lake, Your Highness.”
Wet footsteps, from bloodsoaked stockings, came near to him, and a cold hand lifted his chin up. “Did you not know, Sir Bedevere, that if you had not thrown Excalibur in the lake, I would have never died even to this foreign year?”
His eyes went wide. A line of blood flowed into Arthur’s eyes, the red and blue mixing. Bedevere averted his gaze.
“I…” he strained for his response, but the light flickered, and he was alone again.
* * *
Wisps of smoke licked at Tasha’s ankles. She looked down and suddenly everything became hard to see, like she was eight shots down and counting. She blinked, willing her eyes to refocus.
A woman stood in front of her. Tasha didn’t recognise her at first. Then her fringe and bright smile tugged at her memories, digging up a face long since buried in the depths of childhood trauma. Tasha felt like a schoolgirl again. “Mama? Is it really you?”
“I’m here, sweetie.” Her smile was just as Tasha remembered. Memories of sweet summer nights in the family holiday home danced through her head. For a moment Tasha thought she could smell the scents rolling in from the meadow. Tasha closed her eyes. The feeling was bliss.
When Tasha opened her eyes, everything changed.
A much darker memory of her mother greeted her. Blotches of decayed skin peppered her face. These were her mother’s final days, when the illness had done its work. Tasha had been seven when her mother died. Looking back Tasha saw it as the day her childhood ended. Babysitters and nannies were no replacement for someone who really cared. Her father had never been there for her, not truly. All he cared about was his career. Her mother had all the time for her in the world. Her father barely managed a phone call at the weekends.
“I miss you, Mama.”
Her mother seemed not to hear. A cruel smile crept across her lips. “I held so much hope for you, Tasha. I thought you’d be a nurse, a doctor even. Just look at you: every inch your father’s daughter.” She spat the words like venom. “He was a soldier, you know, in the Falklands. He thought it wouldn’t change him, said he’d got out in time. We both know that wasn’t the case.”
“I’m not a soldier, Mama,” Tasha protested. “I work for the government. I make the world a better place!”
Her mother harrumphed. “Your father told me the same thing: that politics would make him a better man. Who’d ever believe a comment like that? Your stupid old mother, that’s who! I should have got out when I had the chance, never had you at all.”
Tasha sobbed. “No, Mama. This isn’t you!”
The spectre of Tasha’s mother cackled. The sound gnawed at Tasha’s ears. Tasha threw her hands up, but it was too much. She fell to the floor and cried until she could cry no more.
* * *
Giles looked to his left. Tasha stood by the water cooler. It looked like she was talking to it. A faint haze surrounded her body. She was enveloped by smoke.
“Tasha, who are you talking to? There’s no one—”
The smoke took him too.
Giles squinted as a man stepped out of the darkness. He was dressed in khaki trousers and combat boots. His face was stern; he’d seen battle before. When Giles locked eyes on him, he crumpled. Giles' hands flew to his face, shielding his eyes. Was he dreaming? Giles only ever saw the face when he was asleep; it tormented him in the darkest of his nightmares.
“Archie…”
He looked exactly as Giles remembered him; right down to the scar on his cheek he’d received after Dr Haggard sent him to Helsinki in search of a vampire nest. Upon his return Giles and Archie had celebrated for a straight week. They’d even taken on a pack of Shed Scales six pints down. Giles looked back on those times as the greatest of his life. If only things hadn’t ended the way they did.  
“You left me, Giles.” Archie’s voice had a mesmeric quality to it. Giles felt as though he’d walked in on one of his own nightmares. This time he didn’t have the solace of knowing he would wake up.
“Archie, I…” Giles was at a loss for words. He stared at the impossible figure and all the trauma came back. The events in Manchester spun around like a carousel in his mind. The merry-go-round refused to stop; the cellar, the ritual, the bodies…
“Save your excuses, Giles. You didn’t even try to save me. You just turned your back and ran. You’re no field agent, not fit to lead a team of others. You’ll always be the technician, hiding in Dr Haggard’s shadow.”
“No!” Giles’ voice echoed around the walls, as though the room was empty. “It wasn’t like that, Archie. I messed up. I failed.”
“That you did. And who’s to say it won’t happen to the others? They rely on you, hang on your every word. When they’re at their worst and they need you, will you leave them too?”
“No, I’d never. I’d—”
“You’d what, Giles? I know you have the best intentions, but so do most people. The best intentions always go right out the window when things get real. Just like your promises.”
Giles shook his head. “It won’t be like that. It won’t.”
Giles repeated the words until his despair swallowed him whole.

* * *
Maxie sat at her desk and set about cataloguing the mountain of alien tech in front of her. She kept glancing at the clock in the corner of her computer screen, working out how much time she’d get on Super Mario Brothers 3. Looking back to the mountain of tech, she decided she’d call it a day after she got to the Voltron hand blaster. She had been here all night, after all.
Maxie lifted her head. There was talking outside. That wasn’t unusual in itself; there were three other people on the team, not counting Sir Bedevere. No one ever counted him. What was unusual was the pitch of the voices. Those weren’t the stable tones of casual conversation. Someone was in distress.
Pushing back her chair, Maxie headed for the door. Outside were Agamya, Tasha, Giles and Sir Bedevere, all a considerable distance from each other. Each of them were on their knees in floods of tears. She froze at the sight. 
What the hell?
She crept closer, eyeing them carefully. They all appeared to be talking to some invisible presence in the room, babbling, clutching at their faces. Things had gone from bad to terribly, horribly wrong, and she was clueless as to why.
Okay, Maxie, chin up. Deep breaths. Focus on where you are. On your breaths. Figuring this out is up to you… for some reason. 
She approached Giles, but he flailed an arm out. “I failed him!” he cried out. She stepped backwards. A no go. She would have liked Giles to be her go to. She could have taken the responsibility off herself then. She looked at the group, trying to get a read on them.
She wouldn’t say Sir Bedevere looked great, but she zeroed in on him as he seemed to be holding together better than the others. Still, his eyes looked empty, his shoulders were slumped. He had a truly knightly posture and watching him fold in on himself like this was worse to see than she expected. She knelt down in front of him.
“Sir Bedevere. Can you hear me? You know I’m next to you?”
He nodded.
“What the hell is happening?”
“I’ve failed him. Failed my King.”
“Sure, but that was a long time ago. Hey, don’t look away from me.” She snapped a few times and got his attention back. “You’re a Knight of the Round Table. Or, were, I guess.”
“One never leaves the service of their King.”
She heard Giles wail, and clenched her fist, putting her fingernails into her palm; it wasn’t the greatest way to ground herself. “I can’t do this alone, Bedevere. So why are you and I the only ones holding together. We can’t lie down and die.”
“Arthur did. Under a tree.”
Could she put a hand on the ghost? Sometimes he was physically there with a body she could touch, sometimes he wasn’t, and she hadn’t bothered to read up on the difference. Gently, carefully, she put a hand on his shoulder. It met the cloth of his shirt. “Then why are you okay, and they aren’t?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had centuries to dwell on my regret.”
She frowned and thought back to her own visions in those flickering lights. The sigil on her hand still glowed. Visions of the dead…
It hit her. That these were people they’d lost wasn’t the issue it was… what did Giles call it? Blue tuna? Red herring?
It was her deep and undying regret. That nagging feeling that if she’d only turned around, if she’d only stopped being selfish in saving her own life… she held that regret close. Held it tight. But she’d learned to manage it (thanks therapy), learned to hold back that tide in her heart threatening to drown her.
“Sir Bedevere, that’s it. It’s their regrets. It’s… ours.” She bit her lip, “Would your King want you to leave me to fight this battle alone?”
He looked up at her, eyes wide, spider-webbed and red. “The shame would kill me again.”
“Then rise, Sir Bedevere, and help me get our team back. Even Tasha.”
She pulled him to his feet… Well, he did most of the work cause she wasn’t very strong (she intentionally didn’t think about how a ghost could have weight), and led him by the hand to the team. They were curled up fetally, shaking. Faces covered by clenched hands. “We need to remind them where they are. You can take Tasha.”
“I don’t know anything about Tasha.”
She sighed. “I’ll take Tasha. You work on Agamya.”
Kneeling down in front of Tasha, Maxie placed her hand on Tasha’s. “Hey.”
One eye poked out from the fingers.
“Remember me?”
Tasha nodded.
“There’s something really bothering you right now isn’t there?”
She cried, and nodded.
“Someone you lost, someone you wish things had ended differently with?”
The eye showed recognition, but she didn’t nod.
Maxie kept going, “Can you feel my hand? I’m here, right now, maybe that’s not the ideal situation for either of us, but I need you to remember you’re in this room, with me, right now. My stupid cold hand on yours. Because we can’t let those people down, the people we lost? We have to keep moving, get moving, or we’ll let them down again. And we’ll let ourselves down too. So can you feel my hand?”
Tasha moved, and wiped her face. “Yeah.”
Maxie let out a big sigh of relief.
“Then let’s get Giles up. And we can figure out what the hell is going on here.”
They did. And as the group sat together, bleary eyed and bedraggled, eyeing their glowing hands, they set to work again. As P.R.O.B.E. must.
* * *
Giles paced the room. “We need to work out how this happened.” 
Tasha rolled her eyes. “Points for the bleeding obvious.”
Giles scowled at her. “The sigils themselves aren’t strong enough carriers of energy to explain what just happened. There must be something else nearby.”
The team scanned the room for anything out of the ordinary. In P.R.O.B.E. HQ, that was quite a challenge. Something caught Maxie’s attention. She skirted over to Agamya and took her hand. 
“What are you doing?” Agamya exclaimed, pulling back her hand. 
Maxie held firm. “The sigils on your skin shine brighter than everyone else’s. Why is that?” Catching sight of her own sigil tattoos, Maxie leapt back. “Now mine are too!”
“You must be close to the source,” said Giles. As he walked over to them, the sigils on his skin shone brighter too. “Whatever’s causing this, it’s somewhere in your vicinity.”
They checked the immediate area. Agamya rifled through drawers of old trinkets for anything untoward. Her search came up empty.
Maxie paced around, staring at the sigils on her hand. She stopped before an old wood door. Her eyes widened. “I noticed this door earlier,” she said. “How have I never seen it before?” She paused to get a closer look. Etched into the wood were strange symbols. Black smoke crept through the small gap at its base. “I’ve experienced too much weirdness since working here to believe in coincidences.”
“Oh dear,” said Giles.
Tasha rounded on him. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
“It’s an Algea. Related to Oizys, the Greek goddess of anxiety, grief, depression—that whole guff. Archie and I imprisoned it behind the door not long after we relocated here from Parliament Square. We used its own technology against it to cloak the door so no one would notice it. The sigils must have negated it: this has all been a ritual allowing its influence to seep out.”
“Any idea how to open it?” asked Agamya. 
“Easy,” said Tasha. “Kick it in like you would any door.” 
Tasha stepped forward and slammed her boot into the door. It didn’t budge. Tasha fell away clutching at her foot.
“All brawn and no brains,” said Agamya. “Typical Tasha.”
“I’d like to see you do better,” Tasha said through gritted teeth.
“Girls, stop bickering. If I had a pound for every time I said that in a day I’d be Boris Johnson. Please don’t make me Boris Johnson.” Giles stepped towards the door and examined the runes etched into the wood. “The language of the Algea is ancient Greek—don’t ask, it’s a long story.” He drummed his fingers against his jeans. “Oh, if only I’d not been lazy and done the work myself.”
Agamya smirked. “Bites you in the ass eventually, doesn’t it?” 
Bedevere strolled past, flicking through his copy of Wuthering Heights. “Merlin would know! That ginger-haired magician and his box of tricks would have this beast crawling back to the depths whence it came!”
“Not helping, Bedevere,” said Tasha.
Rolling his eyes, the knight wandered to the other end of the room, and sat down to finish his book.
Giles screwed his eyes shut as a flicker of recognition sparked in his brain. “Wait, wait. I remember the incantation.” He grinned. “We’re all set to break the seal. All we need now is a sharpened olive tree branch dipped in lamb’s blood. The cocktail of chemicals the combination contains is fatal to an Algea.”
Maxie and Agamya exchanged looks. “We should have those in storage.” 
“Hurry.” Giles placed a hand on the door. “I’m going in.”
* * *
“Ἀνοίγω.”
With an ear-splitting creak, the age-old door slid open. The darkness within was swamped by the artificial light from outside. From the threshold Giles could see the creature back away. After so long in the darkness, who could blame it?
“Hi there,” he called to the creature. “Remember me?”
The Algea hissed. It remembered him all right. 
Giles stepped into the room. Tasha covered him from the doorway, pointing her sidearm inside, for all the good it would do. 
“Nice work you did out there. Our minds aren’t played with often enough, we really appreciate it.”
The creature hissed once more. Adjusting to the light, it crept out of its hiding place. The Algea had the appearance of a raven-haired woman, veiled in a dress of smoke. Floating across the floor towards Giles, it stopped two metres away, and regarded him carefully. “You resist my powers.”
“Our regrets may hurt, but they don’t hold us in one place. Life has to move on, even though the pain stays with us.”
The Algea licked its lips. “Your pain is deep. The regret you feel for your fallen friend tasted ever so sweet.”
Giles heard a muted argument between Agamya and Tasha behind him. They were back with the olive tree branch. Giles took a step towards the creature. “That was the mistake you made today. Our histories and pain are ours to bear alone. The last time we defeated you I was merciful. Locking you in here was the kind thing to do. And how do you repay that kindness? By slipping back into our heads, feeding on the memories that affect us most. This time I won’t be so merciful. Remember you brought this on yourself.” He sidestepped. “Tasha now!”
Tasha came charging into the room like a highland warrior. She let loose her battle cry, holding the olive tree branch like a spear. The tip of it dripped with thick red blood. 
Upon seeing Tasha, the Algea howled in fear. It sought a place to hide, but there was none. The room was her prison, it wasn’t built to be spacious. With nowhere to go the Algea was helpless to prevent Tasha from thrusting the branch through its heart. It had eaten so many regrets, fears, terrors, despairs… and at that moment its eyes mellowed as though it had thought, “Ah, so this is what it feels like.” But it was fleeting, for the moment the tip of the branch made contact, the creature’s form began to disintegrate. Seconds later a pool of ash was all that remained. 
Giles dusted off his hands. “Now that’s settled, let’s close this door forever. Some places in this world should stay forgotten.”
Looking warily over her shoulder, Tasha made for the exit. Giles was close behind. Once they were outside, he pulled on the handle, making sure the door was firmly closed. Then he placed his hand on the wood and said, “κλείς.”
With the sound of a key turning in a lock, the door shuddered. Seconds later the door vanished, spirited away to be forgotten once more. This time Giles intended it to be permanent.
* * *
Once the crisis had passed, the P.R.O.B.E. team gathered in the main hall. For the longest time they remained silent, stewing on the memories the Algea had churned up. The creature had known them so intimately, better than most of them had known themselves. It had challenged their core ideals, and each member of the team used the silence to reflect on how they would move on from here. 
Tasha was the first to break the silence, much to the relief of the others. “So we’ve no idea who sent the sigils?” she asked, scratching at a glyph on her forearm.

“Nope,” said Giles. “Looks like P.R.O.B.E. has acquired itself a new enemy. Let ‘em join the queue, I say!”

“When do you think they’ll go away?” Agamya held up her hands. The supernatural symbols still covered her skin, albeit fainter than before.
“They’ll clear up in a few hours,” said Maxie. “I hope.”
“We’ll have to stay indoors until they do,” said Giles. “We can’t risk passing it onto the public.”
Tasha huffed. “Well if we’re here for the long haul, I’m grabbing a drink. Anybody want one?”
Giles held up his hand. “I’ll have one.”
Maxie drummed her fingers against her neck. “I’ll have a bottle of the brown stuff that makes my throat tingle.”
“Whiskey it is,” Tasha called back.
“Smoothie for me,” said Agamya.
“I’m not mashing up fruit for you. You can make that yourself.”
“Play nice, Tasha!” Giles called after her. “We’re going to be here all night, remember!”
“At least,” added Maxie glumly.
Five minutes later Tasha returned with the drinks.
Maxie cleared a desk, and the P.R.O.B.E. team sat around it. Over the next few hours they shared tales of the people they’d seen in the room. Tasha told them about her mother, the games they used to play when she was young. Maxie recounted a vague story which Giles had to interject several locations and proper nouns in as she went, but everyone just let that slide. Bedevere told a tale of the Round Table, and defeating a knight clad in red who guarded a mill which churned wheat that let you see in the darkness. Agamya recounted her grandfather’s stories and was shocked at how clearly she remembered them.
Giles was the only one who refused to share. He remained quiet, sipping his drink as he listened to their tales. When his turn came he simply smiled. He decided not to tell them about Archie. They’d only worry. They were his team and, for the remainder of their isolation, he had to be the one to keep their spirits up.

“So,” Tasha shifted, “we all saw something from our past, didn’t we? A person we had regrets tied to?”
Agamya nodded. “It feels dirty that thing used that against us.”
“We’ve all seen things we wish we hadn’t, we’ve all lived, and if you live through enough, you have something you regret. That you wish was different,” Giles said.
“But you’re still here, we’re still here, even when we’ve lost things that are important to us, that we can’t get back,” Maxie cut in with surprising earnestness. She raised her glass to the group. “We still have each other. Close together, at a distance, even with our differences, we do what we need to do to survive. And we live in that time. Even when it sucks.”
Tasha grinned. “Cheers to that!” The glasses clinked.
“Well, how are we going to spend the rest of the time we have here, team?” Giles asked.
“This?” Agamya gestured to the circle of friends, as Tasha began singing a pop song Maxie’s confused expression revealed she had never heard of.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Sounds like a perfect day.”

​

Part 1: The Pontiff and the Priest
Father Jonna was waiting for the Holy Mother to finish praying, and scolded himself for wishing she'd hurry up already. He didn't recognize her authority, he wouldn't recognize it. She was, after all, a government appointed stooge meant entirely to reduce the power of the Holy See. But he had to give her this: she was taking her job more seriously than the last guy.
After what seemed like forever, she rose to her feet, bowed her head and crossed herself, then turned around with a sweet smile.
"Father Jonna, I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. You have come so far just to see me," she was young, much younger looking in person than he would have guessed from being twenty-five. She could have passed as a teenager.
"You have nothing to apologize for, Lifen. Prayer is as essential as food, after all."
"But without food, one couldn't pray. Because you'd be dead." She giggled at his startled face, and the modicum of respect he'd managed to shore up drifted away, "Oh, forgive me, I'm teasing you. I am truly grateful you waited for me."
She held her hand out, ah, of course: kiss the ring. He did so, even as he felt he was debasing himself with the action.
"Of course, it is forgotten."
"Thank you, and could you do me the favor of calling me Flavia? I'm still getting used to being addressed by it."
Flavia. Ugh. The previous Holy Father had taken a new name as well, but he'd used it more out of obligation than anything else. Jonna and he had had many good nights together discussing theology, soccer, and wine. He supposed the wine had helped lead to his death, not that Holy Father Amorkuza had been a spring chicken.
"Of course, Holy Mother Flavia, the first. This is our first time meeting, so as the representative of the true church," he put a little extra emphasis on 'true', "I hope we can establish a beneficial relationship."
She smiled, "I hope for the same. And there are...definitely matters the two of us need to discuss," her eyes darted to the side as her voice trailed off. Curious. Unabashedly, she hooked him under the arm like he was her grandfather, "let's go for a walk in the garden. The Basilica is beautiful, but I prefer the works of God's hands."
She practically dragged him out of the building, as the security guards tried to toddle after them. But she had Jonna out the door, and had locked it, before they'd managed to catch up.
Out of view, she pulled her habit off, and scratched her scalp furiously, "You know, I never really wore hats before this, this is still an adjustment," she pulled the habit back on, and gave him a warm smile to his disapproving gaze.
The garden was, in fact, beautiful. It was a greenhouse attached to the side of the church, with lamps blazing down to keep the wide array of plants growing strong. Through it wound a carefully paved path that led to a dining area, sitting spaces, and an "outdoor" theater space. It was a very pleasant place, and he knew the Tenryu party of Mars reserved it often for their own events. Flavia started down the path, and he matched her pace.
"I suppose we should get straight to the point," she pulled a device out of her pocket, and clicked it on. A soft buzzing permeated the area. He'd probably have a headache by the time they were done, but it was worth it for the chance of having a conversation unencumbered by listening devices. "You don't like me at all do you?"
"No."
"I thought so. Well, that's a pity, but hopefully we can improve our relations for the good of the Church."
He tensed his shoulders, "May I be blunt?"
She waggled the sound disruptor back and forth.
"You're a child who has been given extraordinary power because your father is a Tenryu party official. The Marsian government will easily manipulate you so they can enjoy greater oversight of the Church on Mars."
"Then let me be blunt in return," she started with a smile, but it faded into a face of stone. She blocked him on the path, and despite being at least twenty centimeters shorter than him, seemed to grow a whole meter in height as her brows furrowed, and the angle of her face lowered. "I am the Holy Mother Flavia the first, chosen by God to lead the church on Gongen. I am the Bishop of Takumi, the Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff and Primate of Gongen, and Servant of the Servants of God and you will treat me the respect I have earned."
He could hear his own heartbeat. Feel the blood that had rushed to his face. Against his good judgment, he felt his head nod once.
She smiled, closing her eyes and tilting her head to the side in a tactically cute pose, "Then now that we have that established, Father, let me bring us to our second order of business."
He felt relief to be back to something normal, "Ah yes, the matter of the Vatican's recognition of you--"
"No Father, the second order of business is that Holy Father Amakusa was murdered, and I am fairly certain I'm the next target."


There was a long silence. It felt like time had stopped, the buzzing from the disrupter was suffocating.
"Say that again?"


* * *


One year ago.


"You shouldn't drink so much," Jonna said.
"I'll drink as much as I want, I'm the Holy Father after all," Amakusa replied, "and I'm too old to be too particular."
The banquet was winding down anyway, the begrudging speeches about the unity between the Marsian and Earth branches of the church finally over. "Thou shalt not bear false witness," was going to be a popular sin at everyone's next confession.
"Jonna, we've been talking about my successor. Obviously we'd like to pick someone the church and the Tenryu party can both be pleased with."
"You're not in the ground yet, Holy Father."
He grumbled, the way only an old man can, "But I will be, so stop fussing about it. You realize tensions here are terrible at the moment?"
He nodded, that was abundantly clear. "Anything we can do to bring our two worlds back in harmony would be a blessing."
"Exactly. You see the man, oh what's the boy's name? The assistant to Ambassador Martin?"
"Kippli Darnel."
"Yes, him, you see the man he's talking to?"
"Cardinal Nakamura Shiki?" he was a tall man, surprisingly muscular, with that spangle of grey in the hair that seemed to be the perfect balance of youth and wisdom.
"He's been a Tenryu party member since childhood, but he's devout. A good man too. Put him forward to your superiors, start floating the name. My real fear is," he gestured with his glass, "Cardinal Mishima over there. A priest appointed by the party, and risen in rank because they held it over our heads as the price of free worship. If he's chosen, expect outright revolt."
There were too many people who would benefit from such a choice to count. Certain parties in the CGC would love to push a flare up of anti-Tenryu sentiment. Protests, a riot, just what the strategists ordered. "I'll watch out for him."
"Holy Father? There is a young woman who'd like to speak with you if you have a moment?"
Amakusa looked over at Jonna, the wrinkled loose skin of his face gently giggling with the motion, "You don't mind do you?"
With a head shake, the young lady approached, knelt, and kissed the pontiff's ring.
"And who do I have the honor of meeting today?" the Holy Father asked.
"Houng Lifen, your holiness."
He laughed, "For tonight, just Amakuza will do. I believe I've heard your name before?"
She put her hands together on her lap, she was in a very nice but simple and modest dress, "My father is the transport minister in the Atarashii Hajimari, but I am a theology graduate student at the University of Takumi."
Of course her father was. Just another child of a high ranking official getting their perks in for the evening. That there was a Catholic on the Atarashii Hajimari was news to him though, that was incredible progress. No wonder she was getting a perk.
"And how can I help you today?"
He wasn't exactly sure what to expect from her, but the response surprised him nonetheless, "I read your treaty on the Arian heresy and Arius' appearance at the council of Nicaea, and while it was very good--"
He laughed, "Jonna, "while it was very good", there's a critique coming. I can see it."
She blushed, "Ah, well...yes, you see Arius' opinion that Jesus and God were separate entities..."
The actual discussion was lost to memory. But he hadn't forgotten her, and that brash question. Still, he'd never guessed she'd be the Pontiff of Mars in a year.


* * *


They had sat down under an apricot tree, and she'd unlocked the door so her security guards could bring them some chilled chrysanthemum tea. They chatted about nothing in particular for a little, till he brought them back to task:
"So...what proof do you have that he was murdered?"
She took a sip of tea, and stared out at the garden as the automatic misters kicked on. "I got access to his mail and files after my election. He suspected someone was going to kill him, enough so that he wrote his successor a letter explaining as much," she opened her palm to reveal a tiny data chip, and then carefully rested her hand on the bench. He rested his hand there too once she picked hers up, and dropped the chip into his pocket.
"I see you don't trust your security detail particularly well."
"I don't. I don't know who is after me, so it's difficult to trust a group of men and women who couldn't keep my predecessor alive. If they were involved, then it's a chance I wouldn't like to take."
He stewed on that for a moment.
"You need to bring on a personal bodyguard for the moment. At least a temporary one. Can't your father call in any favors?"
She sighed, "Probably. I'd hate to ask him though. I don't want anyone getting the assumption I just got this position through my family connections."
"Didn't you?"
She held a stern look on him till he turned away. "Regardless, I'm looking forward to my first Easter service as Holy Mother."
"Do you...know how to hold a mass? You were just a theology student, you never took holy orders."
"I've been practicing, and I've watched a lot of videos online."
Very reassuring.


* * *


Far away, there was a dark street lit only by the flickering of holograms, neon, and scrolling screens. On that street, in a soaring apartment in a cheap high rise, there was a clatter on the balcony. This was not too unusual to the occupant, not was it scary. Nearly always it meant work. And if it didn't mean work, it meant a nice brawl to cap off his evening because he'd done his job well and pissed someone off. There was a knock on the window, and he pulled some pants on, grabbed a pistol, and took one last firm drag from his ecig.
The jetpack courier, a middle aged Korean woman in black armor, held up an envelope. He slid the door open and grabbed it, handing her a credit chip for a tip.
He was a professional, you always tip the courier.
She blasted off as he ripped the envelope open. He memorized his target, and all the details, and then burned it. Message received. This one would be fun, it wasn't often he got the same job twice in a row.
Goodbye, Holy Mother. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.


Part 2: The Escort and the Executioner
"Do you know why you have been called here today, Hotaru?"
"You're firing me?"
Sato Shintaro sighed, "No, I am not firing you. I have an important mission for you."
She'd shown up for the meeting in casual dress, it was her day off after all, but Shintaro still found it odd seeing her looking like she was about to just go off to the shops, hands popped in the pockets of her jackets. You could still tell she was tremendously ripped, actually it was probably easier without the armor on. "My father got a request from a member of the Atarshi Hajimari for protection for his daughter, under the table protection. It will pay handsomely, and pay an important service to the Gongen people."
She shrugged, sure, "Who would I be protecting, anyone I've heard of?"
Shintaro gave her a sheepish grin, "Guess."
"Nope."
"It's the Holy Mother, Flavia the First."
The Holy Mother would not have approved of the next words out of her mouth.


* * *


She met the Holy Mother, Bishop of Takumi etc, at the train station, where she was standing with a priest whose whole demeanor just screamed "Earther."
She held a hand up, and the Holy Mother's hand came up in return, "You're our fearless protector?"
"I'm certainly your protector, isn't it dangerous to be out at a train station like this, don't you have private transport."
"I have been chosen to help the people, so I'm no good if I'm not out among them."
She was dressed in all white, from the habit down to the shoes, only the simple cross around her neck and the golden signet ring on her hand breaking the color scheme. Her getting "elected," if you could call any sort of thing that happened on Gongen involving an election an election and not a very dressed up party order, had been a big scandal. Nobody had been happy about it, and everyone seemed to assume everyone else had been happy. A big old mess. She could remember eating some tamago gohan for breakfast as two men yelled about whether or not picking a woman was some sort of jab at the Vatican or the CGC or something something.
The train pulled in, and they got on. There hadn't been anyone at the station, but the car was packed with travellers. At first, there were a lot of looks, "Is that who I think it is?" each said. And then the first person got brave enough to go up to her. The Holy Mother blessed them, and then Hotaru was running crowd control.
"Pose like this!" a kid said, holding their phone out to get the two of them together in the image.
"Like this? What's this called?" She mimicked the pose, putting both of her forearms in a parallel diagonal framing her face.
"Crezzing! You've got it. Say cheese..."
She took more selfies than Hotaru could count. Each one of those phones could be an infernal device meant to kill her, but what was she supposed to do here? Tell the leader of a religion to stop being nice to kids?
Flavia gave a bunch of hugs, and then bid adieu as they reached their destination, the kids yelling out, "Thank you Space Pope!" as they exited and began their walk back towards the Basilica of Takumi.
"Space Pope. Are you getting delusions of grandeur?" Jonna crooned.
She shook her head, "Of course not, they're children, thinking of me as the 'Space Pope' is an easy way for them to comprehend my role here. I'm not the Pope, just a half step down as the Holy Mother of Gongen. They'll understand as they get older."
"I'm not sure everyone does. I'm sure the Tenryu party would love to annoint you...Space Pope."
She just smiled back at him sadly till he continued.
"But as for all of that with the train...It's admirable what you're trying to do, Flavia, but everyone tries to do that when they start. You'll burn out of it quickly. If you're available all of the time, you will have nothing left to give in the times that truly matter. A moment of peace while travelling can be a blessing."
She held her head high, "Then I will enjoy it while I still can, until I burn out from it, Father Jonna."
He looked back at Hotaru, who could only shrug. She wasn't even Christian.
"Tell me about yourself, Hotaru. If we are to be together for a while, I'd like to be friends."
Well, that was unexpected, though maybe it shouldn't have been, "I'm in the service of the Sato family. I've protected both Sato brothers at one time or another, but currently serve at the bequest of Sato Shintaro, who has lent you my services."
Father Jonna raised an eyebrow at Flavia, "Well well, a bodyguard straight from the President's Son. Isn't that interesting."
She sighed, "He is obsessed with reminding me of my family's connections. This is why I hesitated to use them."
"I promise to do my best to live up to the expectations of your displeasure."
She laughed, "I appreciate that, but I trust in your skill..." she trailed off, frowning. At the front of the Basilica was a small crowd holding signs and chanting. One was dressed like the Holy Mother, only wearing grotesque and mocking makeup. She danced around in front of the group with her tongue out.
Hotaru begged all the way for her to not, as the Holy Mother walked up to the protestors.
She bowed, "Good evening. May the Lord God keep and bless you--"
"We don't need your lies, you Tenryu party puppet!"
"--may he take away your sins--"
"What'd you have to do for the President to get the job huh?"
"--and lead you to everlasting life--
"Or did you just cry to daddy?" Laughter.
"--Amen."
She stood and prayed quietly for a few more moments, crossed herself, and began to walk back towards the basilica again. Hotaru kept close behind her, because some of the protestors followed. She moved her hand close to her Katana, then pretended to just scratch an itch, and a few turned around. But the one in the make up didn't stop. She kept coming, hurling invectives at her. Flavia stepped inside the church, and as the door shut Hotaru hoped that would be it.
It wasn't. The fake slammed it open, continuing to yell. The church security moved to remove her, but Flavia stopped them.
She stood there, taking the hurled insults, until the woman tired, and Flavia bowed to her.
"Thank you for your passion for the faith. I hope in the future you will be more pleased with my service to the flock. May the lord bless you."
The women stared, the makeup looking ludacris with her shocked expression. She was unable to find words, so she turned around and pushed back through the doors.
"Well, I suppose that went about as well as we could have hoped," Flavia said.
Jonna was about to reply, when they heard the shot.
Hotaru knew it instantly: high powered plasma bolt, likely a heavily modified ColtBurton Tangier-2. She grabbed the Holy Mother's arm as she tried to bolt for the sound, "It's not safe, that was a sniper round. You're staying here."
Her eyes softened, okay good, she understood. Then the cry of pain came from outside.
"Let go of me now. If you want to keep me safe, then do that while we get her inside. That's an order, if that helps," she slipped out of her suddenly loose grip. Yes, ma'am.
Drawing her pistol, Hotaru ran in front of the injured woman, scanning the area as Flavia pulled her inside. Okay, going okay.
Then the second shot.
Never think it's going okay, you idiot.
It tore through Flavia's upper arm, but she finished pulling the injured woman inside with one final heave, and ripped her habit off to hold over the wound as she put pressure on it, ignoring her own bleeding. A third shot rang out, and the door proved to be stronger than it looked.
"Hotaru, what do we do now?"
"We need to move you out of here."
"I'm not leaving her!"
She cursed, and pointed at one of the useless security detail, "You, take over first aid for the Holy Mother, the rest of you fan out and start looking for where the assassin will try to enter."
Hotaru helped Flavia up, the security guard seemed more skilled at first aid anyway, but she was clearly in shock, looking at her red hands. Father Jonna looked stunned too. Hotaru quickly began to wrap the wound on Flavia's arm as much as she could.
"Is there a back entrance?"
"There's a lot of them, it's a huge complex."
That wasn't good. The whole mission had gone bottoms up too quickly.
"Choose one, we'll go out that way."
Jonna seemed to snap into gear, "...The garden. There's an exit we can take from there right into the parking garage."
Finally, some good news, "Perfect. Let's move, don't waste any more time."


* * *


He hadn't expected the decoy. Though in hindsight, maybe she wasn't a decoy. One of those protestors? Either way, it should have been a one-shot-one-kill job. He'd loused it up. So now he could either call it off and regroup, or try to catch them while they fled.
It'd been a while since he'd really gone hunting like that. Not since he'd been kicked out of the Yakuza. The thought excited him. Yes, this would do nicely.


* * *


The man looked lost, stumbling around by the broken window, jaw trembling, eyes wide. This whole thing was more than Li had signed up for as part of the security here at the Basilica, usually things were easy. Boring even. Good pay, low danger. Now he was trying to lead out shocked parishioner after shocked parishioner to where the city police were gathering them to question them and later hook them up with counselling.
"Sir, we're evacuating the building, could you please follow me."
He stumbled towards him, eyes watering, "So much blood, in a church! How could they?"
"It's terrible, I know, please just come with me."
"Please, just tell me, did the Holy Mother..."
"She's safe, she escaped through the garden, now come here."
He let the man get close, he'd put an arm around him and guide him out.
Or rather, he would have. If the man's face hadn't turned stone cold, his strong hands around Li's neck and head.
There was a snap.
And the assassin continued on his way.


* * *


Hotaru kept glancing back as Jonna led them, his arm supporting Flavira to keep her going forward. Her arm clearly was in agony, and she admired that she had kept moving at all, "Just keep going Flavia, we're almost there," he said.
Hotaru was glad to hear that, but also wasn't surprised when she saw the faint outline of a figure moving behind the trees. She followed the shape with her pistol, it was moving too silently and intentionally to be a friend. It was stalking prey.
So she let out a spray of fire.
It burned through the trunks of trees, and the branches of bushes, and there was a soft, "ungh," not a moan or cry of agony, but the soft reaction of someone too familiar with the sensation. She steadied herself, "Get cover, now!"
It was almost too late, but also just in time. Flavia and Jonna dove behind a big planter, but a blast caught her in the calf, and she cried out again.
Hotaru tried to get in the way of the blasts, and probably saved Jonna's life as one hit her shoulder plate.
Come on, you coward come out. Her pistol was out, ready, and then half of it dropped off.
She looked to her right, and there he was, his torso, arms, and face layered in tattoos. She was thankful.
She had never been as good with a gun as she had in a melee. The gun was her first obstacle: it was taking up her hand, after all, so she threw it as hard as she could at the man's face. The other hand went back for her own blade, and drew it out, all of her body moving in one fluid motion. The man seamlessly ducked to the right, dodging the gun.
Good. She pulled her sword down at a diagonal, forcing him to choose between going hard into the direction he'd leaned into and losing his balance, or moving his blade up to parry her from below, turning his torso to the right in the process.
He chose to parry, and her foot came up lighting quick, catching him in the spine as he stopped her blade.
He wasn't out yet though, he threw himself sideways, slamming into her. She stumbled back, staying standing but losing her advantageous position. He came back in with a flurry of swipes, and she parried them, looking for an opening. He was fast--he'd wear her down quick if he kept this up. Then she heard it. A faint hiss above her head.
She had her move. She backed up into a flower garden, trampling backwards through it to the other side, and he followed, matching her steps. She stopped. He raised an eyebrow.
The automatic misters turned on.
It was half a second. All he did was glance up, but it was too long. She raked her katana across his chest, and it was over. She panted, looking down at him, as he looked up at her. He tried to say something through the blood in his mouth, but it was incomprehensible.
And then, she arrived.
She wasn't so much crawling as dragging herself with one arm, the Holy Mother pulling herself into the flowerbed, and kneeling next to the dying assassin. She stroked his head, and asked if he would like her to pray for him. He gave a small nod. And she did, till he faded away.
Then she looked up at Hotaru, tears in her eyes, a sad smile across her face, and promptly passed out from blood loss.


























Part 3: Easter and the Estimation
"Now go in peace to love and serve the lord!"
The Holy Mother waved at the camera like she was on a normal video call, and Jonna breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, doing an Easter Mass over video from her hospital room was unusual, but under the circumstances it seemed to be exactly what she and the people of Gon--Mars, needed.
He made his way over after the camera crew and her nurses got out of the way, and gave her a smile, which she returned.
"Well, not the way I wanted my first Easter sermon to go, but I think I did alright, considering I could only move one arm."
He looked at the liquid-filled casts around her arm and leg, "What's the prognosis?"
"Hmn? Oh, I'll be fine, it'll just take some time. You can't stop the Holy Mother that easily," she winked.
Hotaru sighed from her bedside, "You are too optimistic about this. You're worse than Shintaro."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
She shook her head, and Jonna used the opportunity to cut in.
"Any update on who sent the assassin?"
Hotaru looked up at him.


* * *


Shintaro and Hotaru looked down at the report. They stared at what it said for a long time till Shin lowered the tablet.
Their eyes met.
Hotaru nodded.
He handed her the memory card the report was on.
And she stomped it to pieces on the tiled floor.


* * *


"It's still a mystery, I'm afraid."
He sighed, of course it was.
The Holy Mother just shrugged, "I'm sure whoever it was is in need of love. I just wish..."
There was a knock on the door, it was a member of the much-increased security detail, "Holy mother, there's someone here to visit you?"
Jonna dismissed it with a wave of his hand, "Everyone wants to visit her. She needs rest."
"...She says the Holy Mother saved her life during the incident."
Flavia closed her eyes, "With the Lord, all things are possible, even wishes."


* * *


Two Months Earlier
Filling Amorkuza’s shoes was proving to be much more difficult than anyone had anticipated. Everyone had assumed the Tenryu Party would come into the event ready to ramrod through Cardinal Mishima, but as it turned out a lot of party members just didn’t like the man. The voting was rigged here, of course, the Tenryu Party had far more representation than the Church did, but they still had anticipated voting in a unified bloc.
That was when she came in.
The double doors swung open, and there she was, security scampering after her as the throng of children she’d brought with her blocked their path. Her light blue dress flowed behind her, as she clutched both hands over her heart.
“Brothers and sisters, you have found yourself stuck.”
“Get her out of here!” some party official yelled, and then she looked at him firmly, and he pursed his lips.
She kept walking forward, till she reached the front of the room, “You have no good answer on who will lead the Church on Gongen, and you’re frustrated. Well I tell you, God gave you that frustration, and he has given me a vision: a vision of a new future for the Gongen Church. She turned to face the room, “So I would ask you to pray. Ask God, and yourselves, who do you want to lead you into the future? Someone who has divided you, or the one God chose for you: Houng Lifen”
There was the sound of fingers tapping on tablet screens, and eyes squinting.
“Ah, sorry yes, I’m on the sixth page of the ballot. Near the bottom.”


* * *


One Month After Easter, The Vatican, Earth.
The panel of cardinals looked at Father Jonna seriously, "Well, Father, we have waited anxiously for your opinion on the new government-appointed mockery. What is your estimation of her?
He looked down at his hands, and the corner of his lip turned up.
"Honestly? I like her."







A publication of Arcbealte Press.
Art by Callum Brown
Story by James Wylder
Copyright 2020, Arcbeatle Press and Decipher, Inc.
WARS is the property of Decipher, Inc.
Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart, Indiana