Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
A lone figure sat in the empty hallway of the Order's headquarters, waiting for its Commander's arrival. Outside the windows, the early morning sky was dark, the dreary winter morning chilly and quiet.
Tick.
Tock.
The sound of the grandfather clock sitting across from his seat on one side of the hall filled the expanse of polished, brightly lit corridor. Constructed of the whitest marble and richly colored woods, decorated with priceless works of art and precious metals. Completely devoid of other life.
Tick.
Tock.
Dressed in the garment of the priest, a figure in black, he sat very still as he waited.
Tick.
Tock.
The sound of steps falling on hardwood flooring echoed down the hallway.
Tick.
Tock.
A young-looking man, with silvery hair tied back in a long ponytail and sporting thin spectacles, dressed in a simple priest's vest, walked up to the door. He gave the sitting figure a look before unlocking the door and walking into his office.
Without a word, the sitting figure stood up and followed him in.
"Paladin of the Church, Vatican Special Forces Chapter Thirteen, Father Ranma Saotome," Archbishop Maxwell read formally, before looking up from the sheet of paper in his hands. "You've done quite well, boy."
The boy returned the gaze evenly, without responding.
"Well," the Commander removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair, regarding the new recruit who was sitting stiffly on the other side of his desk with a casual air. "You've certainly made a good impression on the Holy See. To have such an exalted title at your age. Anderson must be... quite proud." He tilted his head a bit at the boy's lack of response. "You can relax a bit, you know."
"I'm ready to receive my orders, Archbishop."
Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "All business? You are quite a character, boy." The boy shrugged, and readjusted his white priest's collar. "Very well then. Here. A gift from us, to you." He stood up, and extended a small envelope, sealed with the wax sword and cross motif of the Annihilation Agency Iscariot.
The boy took the pro-offered envelope. It was heavier than it should have been, and whatever was in it had a strange shape. He quickly broke the seal as Maxwell, still standing, watched.
The light from the chandelier above shined down on Maxwell, draping his face in shadow and highlighting the simple cord and cross hanging around his neck. "A gift, and a burden, and a curse. If you accept it now, you will never be able to remove it."
The boy slipped the cord --the noose-- around his own neck without hesitation. The silver cross, his own, settled on his chest as if it had always been there. "As if it's even in question anymore," he scoffed.
Maxwell sneered, sitting down again. "You don't seem to be taking it quite seriously, Father Saotome. But I'm sure you won't think of it so lightly for too long."
The boy shrugged again, looking bored. "Will I receive an order today? Or not? I don't want to take up the Archbishop's time."
The sneer didn't disappear. "Ah, but will it be so simple? I do have a use for you today. But I've given you something, and I was hoping for something in return...."
An exasperated look. "And what would the Archbishop require of me?"
"An answer."
A moment passed. Maxwell didn't seem inclined to elaborate.
"The question?" Ranma asked patiently.
The Commander idly turned his attention to the scene outside his window. Outside, the sky was brightening.
"When we asked you, during the trials, why you wanted to become one of us, you answered that it was because your place among us is the will of the Lord. That it was a mission and a purpose given to you by God."
Maxwell turned back to the boy.
"Well, that isn't enough."
The quiet of the room suddenly seemed stifling.
"I need more than just your belief that this... purpose was given to you by God. Belief, faith, for men such things are fallible, and we will not place all of our hopes on it. The time will come when you won't have that belief."
Ranma started from his seat with indignation. "Do you doubt me, Archbishop!? My faith!? My resolve!?"
Maxwell's sneer grew. "You have a strong will, boy. And your faith is unquestionable. But tell me something, what do you have beyond them? When it is you standing at the base of the cross, when you don't even have your faith to sustain you, what will keep you alive? Fighting? When you have nothing, not even the hope of your soul's salvation in death, not even the certainty that "God is in His Heaven" -- and trust me, boy, that day will surely come... what will give you the courage to walk, unflinching and straight, into the darkness?"
Silence.
"Don't give an answer now, but I want one by the end of this mission."
Tick.
Tock.
A lone figure walked down the hallway, away from the Commander's office.
Tick.
Tock.
Ranma walked toward the old and dilapidated building. Exchanging nods with the cross and collar-ed man standing at the door, he made his way through the dark interior of the house and walked down to the basement.
The basement, rat infested and leaky piped as it was, would have been spooky and unsettling to any usual resident, but Ranma walked with calm assurance, and followed the damp hallways until he reached the end, and two metal doors.
Lounging --that was the correct word, apparently, even though there were no chairs-- nearby were two women. Dressed, as the two usually were, in a nun's and a priest's outfit.
Yumie Takagi sneered at him, tapping her sheathed katana softly against the ground, but he was somewhat used to the sight, and just ignored her. Whatever she found so amusing about him today could wait until a better time. Heinkel Wolffe watched him out of the corner of her eye, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, a handgun peeking out from the left shoulder holster beneath her coat.
Two of Iscariot's most powerful members. Either could, and have before, slay a legion of foes her own, and were even deadlier together.
He rolled his eyes.
Yumie scoffed, and pointed to one of the doors.
Inside the dark, windowless room was a young man. Early twenties or so, and quite a bit older than Ranma's fifteen years. He was dressed well, in good clothes, but they were dirty, and he clearly hadn't been allowed to bathe in some time.
The man was gibbering something as Ranma came in, and at the sight of him, backed away toward the wall shouting protests and denials.
Ranma didn't act threateningly toward him, and after a while he calmed down.
"Now sir," he said, "I just need to go over a few things with you. Just to get some information, you see. You don't have anything to be afraid about at the moment."
The man, still frightened, nodded shakily.
"I am of the understanding that you and your friend have come into the possession of a particular... let's simply call it a 'sacred object' for now -- a sacred item from the Vatican. I'd like to know the details of how you received this item, and how it was transported all the way out here to Republique de Cote d'Ivoire."
The man stuttered his words a little, but in the end, the gist of it was that he didn't know.
"Okay, sir, if you really don't know, then I'll go on. You see, this item was sealed within the Vatican's vaults for not only safekeeping, but also the protection of the general public. Have you come into contact with it, err- that is, actually touched it since receiving it?"
The man nodded again.
"I see. Unfortunately, this leaves us with a small dilemma. The item should not be touched by laymen, and any who do so will ultimately suffer various ill effects from that contact. I'm afraid that you must be cleansed."
Yumie yawned as an ear splitting scream of pain filled the hallway. As the yawn ended, the scream was suddenly cut off.
A few minutes later, Ranma opened the door again. A sweet smell wafted from within the room. Looking slightly troubled, he shrugged at Yumie's puzzled glance, closed the door, quickly strode over to the other one, unlocked it as he had the first, and walked in.
Inside the other, equally dark and windowless room was another man, a bit older than the previous one.
The instant Ranma stepped into the room, the man began screaming.
"Sir, please calm down. I'm just here to ask some questions."
"YOU'LL NEVER GET ANY ANSWERS OUT OF ME, YOU DAMN CATHOLICS! EVEN IF YOU TORTURE AND KILL ME! NEVER!"
"Sir, I just need to ask some questions about the particular item you procured from Vatican City a few days ago. Please tell me how you came into possession of-"
"YOU CAN BURN IN HELL PRIEST! YOU AND THE REST OF YOU! EVERY SINGLE ONE!"
"Sir, please lower your voice. You're loud enough to disturb the dead."
"-IN HELL! ALL OF YOU CAN BURN!"
"Sir-"
"I WON'T TELL YOU A DAMN THING! THAT TOME IS MINE! I BOUGHT IT AND I OWN IT!"
Abrupt silence filled the hallway as the shouting suddenly stopped.
Heinkel was idly chewing on her unlit cigarette as Ranma, again with a slightly troubled look on his face, exited the room a few minutes later. Yumie stopped her idle tapping.
The three faced each other and waited. Ranma took out a small notebook from his coat pocket and began writing in it. Heinkel glanced at her watch. Presently, marching footsteps echoed down the hall, and the three, sharing a look, walked toward the stairs back up together, passing a small group of fellow Iscariots. Ranma handed one of them the note he was writing as he passed.
Walking out of the building, they moved past the barricades in front of the house and avoided the cameras of the press, gathered nearby in the rain soaked street. No one seemed to notice their presence, which was fine with them, after all.
Heinkel and Yumie both noticed that something was missing.
Yumiko glanced concernedly at the young boy sitting next to her on the plane. "Ranma-kun? Are you alright?"
Ranma grunted, and continued to look out the window at the endless field of cloud outside.
"Are you sure? You're not as energetic as you usually are."
"I'm fine, Yumiko. A little moody, that's all."
Yumiko continued to watch him the rest of the flight, but didn't say anything more about it. Around the interior of the small plane, other Iscariots passed the time with small talk, but Ranma continued to silently stare out the window, only taking a break every once in a while to stare at his hands instead for a few seconds before turning to the window again.
They all stayed that way, until the flight ended.
"Vere's your cross?"
"I left it with someone who needed it more than me."
Heinkel almost raised an eyebrow as she, Ranma, Yumiko, and a few other agents exited the plane. "Ah, really?"
Yumiko ran off to do some Yumiko things. The other agents went their own ways as well.
"I'm returning to the orphanage."
"You're to deliever ze report in person to Maxwell, kid." Heinkel lit up a cigarette. "Und zat means coming viz us."
Ranma shook his head. "The Archbishop will understand this time. All he wanted for this mission from me was... an answer to a question. So if you don't mind," he handed Heinkel a folded piece of paper, "give that to him. I think he'll be satisfied."
Heinkel took the message, unfolded it, casually glanced inside, and then shrugged. "Okay, kid. I'll see you later zen."
"Thanks, Heinkel."
And Ranma left.
Yumiko came back. "What about Ranma?"
"He's fine." Heinkel shrugged and stowed the slip of paper in some inside pocket of her coat. "No problems."
"Father Ranma! Father Ranma! Tell John to stop picking on me!"
Ranma groaned. In his lap, little Sara giggled. "John! If you don't leave Steven alone this instant you'll be getting half servings for a week!"
Around him, the courtyard of Ferdinand Luke's orphanage was bustling with morning activity.
Sara scrambled off of him, and ran off to poke fun at Steven for a while. Ranma smiled at them as the younger children played on the grass.
"Boy, mail fer ye."
With no fanfare, Father Anderson, his hands full of various envelopes, dropped one at Ranma's feet, and then went on his way to make the rest of his deliveries.
Ranma picked the envelope off the ground. The seal of XIII greeted his eye.
"Father, what's that?" a child asked.
"Nothing interesting for you to see, Timothy, get out of here," Ranma replied with a smile.
He idly broke the seal as Timothy walked off, and from the envelope removed a folded note.
Something small and metallic fell out and hit the ground with a clanking noise.
He gathered up the object, and weighed it in his hand.
The note read, simply:
Pretty words. Don't lose this one so quickly.
With a laugh, he slipped Maxwell's gift --and burden, and curse-- on his neck. It was a bit heavier, and less comfortable, but that was fine.
(Posted Sat, 01 Jan 2005 06:42)
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