Job looked down at his best friend. He squatted in front of him and took his face in
both hands. He rubbed the fur, Ezra’s tongue coming out and panting happily. His tail
wagged, but it looked like it weighed a ton for him. He was not accustomed to wagging his
tail and this was new to him.

" I can’t take you, boy," Job whispered. Ezra looked down and then
raised two puppy dog eyes at him. Job smiled, rubbing his thumb behind Ezra’s ears.
" No, you can’t talk me out of it," he laughed. His face grew somber.
" I have to go see the Pope. And we both know why I can’t take you."

Ezra growled low behind his throat.

" I know. You would never do that to me. But I can’t take you." He stood
and straightened the lapels of his cloak. With a last look at Ezra, who lowered himself to
the ground and rested his head over his paws, Job left, leaving all the lights on still.

The Vault was the record and file center. Everything illegal, top secret, public, and
private was stored there. The whole building was covered with floor to ceiling file
cabinets. Keepers were everywhere. They were the librarians of the collection of
information most prized through the whole world.

To get access to The Vault, you had to be a commemorated, Prestige Cleric with
permission from Father himself. Christian walked through toward the guards at the door.
They made no motion until he was within reach of them.

" Who are you and what is your business here?" one said.

Christian felt the hilt of his nodachi and one saw it. He raised the staff he had and
raised it under Christian’s neck, applying pressure to his Adam’s apple.

" Take your hand away from the sword," he warned.

Christian narrowed his eyes at him, but did so. " I‘m Cleric Combs. I’m
here to see the Old Papers."

Behind their shades, Christian knew the men were looking at each other and criticizing
him. But he relaxed and waited.

" And what is your business with the Old Papers?"

" What’s yours in knowing mine?" Christian shot back.

The staff pressed harder on his neck and Christian gagged. The man glared at him,
waiting. " I have Father’s clearance, I’m sure," he gasped. He
clenched his teeth. " And," he added, " I’m one of his Under
Prestige."

The men weren’t as impressed as he had hoped them to be. The man who had his staff
to his neck said, " I don’t think that would save you if we decided to kill
you."

Christian knew he was right. Other than the Prestige and Commanding Clerics, guards of
government property were ones to kill and ask questions later.

" Let me get clearance in the front desk."

He felt the staff begin to press more, but a guard stepped up. " I’ll take
him."

Christian watched the guard pause, but then the staff lowered and the guard backed up.
He stepped back to where he had been and fell into the same position he had been in
before. It was as if he had not done a thing to Christian.

Christian followed the guard in through the steel doors. The room they walked into was
encased and shined with steel. The floors, the walls, the doors, and the desks were all
steel. There were mats on the floor to prevent falls on the shiny floors. As he walked,
his image was thrown all around him and he felt as if he were in a fun-house.

" Did you say your name was Christian Combs?" the man said as he walked him
to the desk.

Christian rubbed his neck and massaged it. " Yes."

" I’ve heard of you. Job Savone is your partner, no?"

" Yes." Christian often times felt pride when people knew him because of
Job’s fame. But he was very surprised that he still felt so now. They reached the
desk where a man wearing goggles was busy sorting papers into about ten folders. He
apparently knew what he was doing because he did it with speed.

" Quinton?"

The man only raised his head, not his eyes. " Yes?"

" I have Christian Combs who needs clearance to the Old Papers."

This made Quinton look up. He raised his eyebrows at Christian. " Old
Papers?"

Christian nodded. I want to read a few things in there.

  

    

      

        

          

            

              

                

                  

                    

                      

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

" Well, to get access to those papers, you need to wait a few days."

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                        

                      

                    

                  

                

              

            

          

        

      

    

  

" How long?" Christian asked, annoyed.

" Until I get what I need to let you in."

" But Father gave me permission."

" Even so, you have to wait. Even with the CP Clerics, we go through this, too.
It’s a formality really, but necessary."

Christian sighed heavily. " Alright."

Quinton reached under his pile of papers and pulled a torn sheet of paper. " Write
your name, rank, unit, and flat number. Then below that, write what you want to see. Only
what you put in here is what you’ll be allowed to see."

Christian wrote it all in a hurry and then handed the paper to the man. " Are you
sure you won’t lose it?" he asked, eyeing the mess on the table.

" Sure. Either way, you’re logged on in the video and audio."

Christian was going to say something when the man’s words caught in his ears.

" Logged?"

The man gave him a funny look and glanced at the guard. " Yes," he answered.

" Logged."

" Can I see a copy of your logs?"

" What for?"

Christian sighed. The tone of the man made him know getting to those logs was not going
to be easy. " I can’t exactly tell you why I need them, but I can tell you
Father wouldn’t object."

Quinton stared at him suspiciously. Then he took off his goggles slowly and said,

" Tell you what: you get me a written permission from Father himself, and
I’ll let you see the logs the same day you bring it in, no waiting."

" And the Old Papers?"

" Oh, for those you have to wait, still, no exceptions. But not for the logs.
What’s their importance?" He waved them off and said, " You bring me that
permission and I’ll get the stuff to you."

Christian bounced his fist on the table and said, " Okay. I’ll come back when
I get you the paper."

Quinton nodded.

Christian acknowledged his thanks to the guard and walked out. The sliding steel doors
opened for him and he found himself by the guard who had almost ruptured his Adam’s
apple. The man turned to look at him and he could feel the coldness even though the man
was wearing shades.

He held his head a little higher and walked off to his car.

The guard who had escorted him in The Vault came out slowly after him. His eyebrows
lowered fiercely behind his glasses as he watched Christian drive off.

" Give me the talkie," he ordered, holding out his hand to the other guard.

Job walked to the far end of the empty lot, looking around. He had not driven his car.
The way the sentry at the Complex had kept glancing at the door and the fact that someone
had tried to sneak into his flat, all that had made him wary. For that, and other reasons,
he had left Ezra and had decided to walk, blending into the shadows of the night.

Now, he stepped into the vast and spacious lot that separated the Old and the New Part
of town. The City stretched out behind it, the spires and steeples lunging to the sky.
Even though the churches and the chapels were old, they still demanded a large amount of
awe and respect. One couldn’t help but feel majestic under all its glory.

Job was gazing into the far off horizon when a figure hurled itself onto him from
behind. He fell flat into the ground and the only thing that prevented him from scraping
his whole face on the concrete was the arm of his assailant around his neck. Job grunted
when he hit the floor and felt a knee in his lower back. Years of intensive kendo training
kicked in but he forced his instincts back and yelled, " I’m here to see the
Pope!"

The man gripped his arm around Job’s neck harder and Job gagged. He was sitting on
Job’s back, twisting Job to face up to the sky. Both of Job’s arms were pinned
by the man’s legs. The man positioned his other arm on a tender spot below the back
of Job’s neck, his thumb pressing down. " Who are you?" he asked in a gruff
voice.

Job’s eyes widened. " I’m Job. I came here to talk to Mateo about
something really important. Get off of me!"

The man’s grip loosened. " Cleric Savone?"

" Yes."

The man got up and dusted off his pants. He helped Job up. " Sorry about that. I
had to make sure it was you. Just because you’re a regular doesn’t mean no one
else comes here. Your little cleric buddies have been sniffing around here too much
lately."

Job heard the distaste in his voice. Clemens was one of the few Guardians who
didn’t trust Job and had even offered the Pope to kill him. They had been skeptical
when the Pope had told them the plan in which Job was the main pawn, and even now, under
direct orders by the Pope to treat Job like one of them, they always found a way of
showing him they disliked him.

Like thrashing him to the floor.

Job looked around. " Aren’t Guardians supposed to be in teams when they feel
intrusion? I never heard of any Guardian going solo for that."

Clemens glared at the payback. Job calmly patted dirt away from his face and said,
" So, where’s the Pope?"

" Wouldn’t you like to know?" Clemens sniffed.

" Yes. Where is he?"

Clemens motioned to the chapel. " Underground."

Job was alarmed. " What? Why? Did someone come?"

" Didn’t I just tell you there’s been a few clerics snooping around
here? They brought dogs and everything. We got him down below and had a ‘coy come out
here and herd them off. But we took great precautions."

" Did you recognize any of the clerics?" Job asked, following Clemens toward
the chapel he had motioned to.

" No. We should’ve had you here to tell us the names of your buddies."

Job ignored the tone of malice. " Was all they did sniff? Did they go into any of
the churches or anything?"

" Nope. You know how superstitious they are. They think that if they even step on
holy ground, their lives are Hell for all eternity. Hypocrites," he muttered. He
stepped under the veranda of a building and into the room. It was empty and dusty, showing
no signs of inhabitation. At the back of the small room was a narrow door that was hidden
well into the wall. But he felt around and found an edge. He opened the flap of door and
Job looked over his shoulder to see a flight of stairs disappear into the darkness below.

" Does that lead to the Underground?" he asked, not knowing why he was
whispering.

Clemens glanced at him and said normally, " Yes. You better not be here to
memorize all our paths and lairs to tell your cleric buddies about." He gave him a
hard look. " I told the Pope it wasn’t a good idea showing you around our place.
But he insisted. I don’t know why. You’ll either get caught or you’ll blab
us out."

With that, his cloak whooshed behind him and he began to descend. Job hesitated,
Clemens’ words echoing bitterly in his ears. Then determined, he followed him down.

I didn’t come to make friends. I came to save human nature.

When they entered the room, it was as if they had come into the bright side from Hell.
There were candles burning everywhere from chandeliers and holders. There were no windows
and the walls looked like hard clay. But the place was furnished humbly, with sofas and
ottomans placed in intimate corners. Nuns were walking around, but wearing dresses and
boots. Robes were not encouraged because they didn’t do so well when it came to
running to escape. Only the Pope still wore one.

Job glanced around at the people they passed. He kept Clemens in view, but kept looking
around. There was a beige aura around everything. They passed people sitting around and
reading the Bible, or discussing God and Jesus. There were multiple films being watched on
the Catholic Church and Jesus. Everything that had to do with the Bible and the Church was
going on and in the scrutiny of the people who were there.

Clemens came to a stop at a doorway and faced Job. " The Pope is in there.
He’ll talk to you, but his health is very low because of all the stress. You better
watch what you say to him."

Before Job told him what he had to say was important and might affect the Pope, Clemens
turned and opened the door.

They stepped into a room that was covered all in white and gold colors. There was a
divan in one corner and a bed in another. The Pope was seated on a fluffy bed with down
pillows everywhere, reading the Old Testament. His bespectacled eyes looked up when the
door opened and he smiled at them. " Hello, you two. Job, how good to see you again.
It has been a long time since we last spoke, has it not?" He put down his mark on the
page and set the book on his lap. He repositioned his pillows and sat up straighter.

" Yes," Job said, walking in slowly.

" And you, Clemens? How are you?"

" Fine, Father. You?"

The Pope laughed it off. " I faint once from the heat and I’m branded for
life."

Clemens faked a smile. " Well, if you need anything, please, tell us." He
hissed under his breath to Job, " Stress him and I kill you." He walked out,
closing the door softly.

The Pope didn’t see anything and motioned Job to a chair next to him. " Sit,
please. Tell me. Why haven’t you come by? Has someone been following you?"

Job lowered himself onto the plush armchair. He shook his head. " No. I just...
was busy." He didn’t have to tell him about practically being butchered, right?

" I know. You’re still a cleric and you have your job to fulfill." He
looked at him closely. " And has the fact that you’re Catholic changed the way
you perform in work?"

Job lowered his gaze and fiddled with his hands. " Well, yes. I mean, I
haven’t been able to kill anyone anymore. When I think back to all the things I did
before I met you, I shudder at my barbaric nature. And now I can’t do the same things
I used to do six, ten months ago."

Father nodded. " I understand. But you have to see that you can’t shirk from
your duties. That will bring them onto your tail, if they start seeing you change. If you
used to catch five pilates a day and now haven’t caught one in half a year,
they’ll suspect."

Job frowned. " I know," Father said quickly. " It’s hard for you
now. But you have to be strong and do it."

" But those people I have to kill are now my friends. I’d rather kill myself
first than to kill innocent people."

Father nodded. " Yes, true. But they’re volunteers. All the men and women and
children you see out there on the Parish Grounds volunteered to sacrifice their lives for
The Movement. They do it because they know it will be worth it in the end." He
smiled.