Shhhhhhhh.

A crimson line bled into the paper. The morgue was completely encircled by the red mark.

Beorg lifted his marker from his map.

"Quarantine that area." He grunted. "Lock 'er down. Nothin' comes in. No-body comes out."

"Yessir."

The Sheriff tapped his chin and pointed out two spots with his stubby index finger: roofs on adjacent apartment buildings.

"Ya oughta set up some MG nests an' snipers right here. A'gin, if any media assholes try an' come in, shoo 'em away. With a gun, if ya have to."

"Yessir."

Beorg placed his marker on his bureau with a click. "Alright, now. Why're you so glum, Partner?"

Winston swallowed.

"S...sorry, sir. None of us want to fight the Jebus... your propaganda has really gotten to the men's heads. They perceive him as some sort of deity. And, sir, I've heard rumors of what he's done..."

Beorg sighed. He clasped his hand on Winston's shoulder.

"Partner. That propaganda I used? It was ta make sure the civilians don't riot. It's hard times, Winnie. So we gotta become even harder. Ya know why I picked you, of all the guys? It's 'cause you're loyal. I knew ya'd listen ta my orders. That ain't the only reason I picked ya, though."

Winston looked down. "... Sir."

Beorg removed his hat, revealing a disheveled mess of brown hair. His voice was betrayed nothing but utter sincerity.

"Winston, I'm going to drop the act now. This is me being dead serious."

Winston stiffened. He had never heard Beorg without his accent.

"Sir."

"I might've made some mistakes. One of those mistakes was trusting Jebus. I hoped he would help me ensure order in this city. You know, in the end? That's what this is all about. Maintaining that precious light of order in the middle of all this black, bloody chaos. I will manipulate a thousand men, censor every newspaper, and order the execution of criminal and innocent men alike. I'd even betray the AAHW, only for order."

Winston said nothing. Beorg continued his onslaught.

"I'm a bad man. I've done bad things. Jebus is, deep down, a murderer. But you're not beyond saving. That's why I need you. I need you to help me, as a bastion of goodness to cancel out my evil. If we work together, like Yin and Yang, we can get much more done each one of us alone. We can stabilize this wounded city, and then I will never have to manipulate or murder ever again. People will live in true happiness."

Winston met Beorg's stare. Deep within Winston's eyes was the burning fire of a man truly inspired.

"What do you need me to do, sir? To maintain the order?"

"Do?" Beorg responded as if he had never changed in voice or spirit. "Why, partner, I want ya ta make sure ev'ryone who ain't list'nin' to my orders is at least list'nin to yer orders. We gotta stop Jebus. Do whatever ya need ta do. Kill, if ya must."

"Yes sir, I understand now. I'll do whatever it takes!"

Beorg leaned in close. "Keep this lil' talk on the down-low, will ya, partner?"

"Of course, sir."

"Perfect. I'm trustin' ya. Git a move on, now."

Winston saluted and briskly marched out the door.

Beorg waited until Winston left the building before lapsing into uncontrollable hysterics. He wiped away tears of mirth with the back of his hand and reached for his cigar tin.

"Too easy!" He cackled amidst bouts of laughter. "Ha ha haa! Too goddamn easy!"

The Grunts huddled behind their concrete barriers. Around them, policemen and 1337 Agents directed containment efforts. A SWAT operative, clad in armor, manned a bipod-mounted Heavy Machine gun. Helicopters would make a pass every fifteen minutes, rotors filling the tense atmosphere with deep, rhythmic thrums.

AAHW Unit Five had deployed a squad of 20 Grunts to the frontlines. They nervously watched the doorway as they gripped their guns with sweaty hands. The Grunts had been assigned to the first line of defense, to open fire on anything that comes out of those doors.

Which meant they would likely be the first to die.

They had been waiting for hours. Nothing had happened.

"Hey, Jonas. You got a cig?" Reginald whispered to his partner. "I'm parched."

Jonas handed over a half-empty pack, still keeping his eyes on the door.

"'Preciate it." Reginald removed a cigarette and stuck it between his teeth.

Jonas wordlessly pointed. Reginald turned on his heel and clumsily snapped into attention, the cigarette falling out of his mouth.

"At ease, squad leader. Update me on the situation."

Winston's voice was almost genial.

Reginald stood and smiled. "Hey, Winston! Fancy seeing you here. Did you tell The Sheriff about how quickly we'd die if..."

Winston sighed and crossed his arms, stifling the words in Reginald's throat.

"We can chat later, Squad leader. The Sheriff ordered you to make a stand here. I'm sorry, but we have no choice. We must make a stand. You gonna give me a situation report?"

"But..." Reginald tried to sound persuasive. "Come on, Winston. You even agreed with us, this is suicide."

"A chance in hundred, maybe." Winston agreed. "But think, men. Think, Reginald. If you don't stand here, The Jebus is going to burst out with those... monsters of his. What chance would your families have? One in a thousand? One in a million?"

Winston stared straight into Reginald's eyes.

"Your Linda and your little Helen..." His words stabbed. "I wonder how long they'd last."

Reginald's jaw clenched. "What happened to you, Winston?" He whispered. "What the hell did the Sheriff do to you?"

Winston made a tight-lipped smile.

"The Sheriff? He gave me conviction; he's someone to believe in. And that's what you all need. Someone to follow. And that someone is not Jebus H. Christ. Now... Give me your Goddamn sitrep!"

The cloaked figure, who seemed to materialize from thin air, approached the police line, where Agent Lee stood watch.

"Halt!" Lee ordered.

The figure walked with an elegant stride, seemingly gliding across the cracked asphalt. He wore no shirt under his tattered, hooded cloak. His visage was masked by black cloth, utterly obscuring his facial features, but the not thick enough to obscure the stranger's vision. He simply saw the world tinged darker than you or I would.

He... was it a he? Maybe he was hiding something. Maybe, under that black gauze, was a horribly mutilated visage. Perhaps it was hiding pustules and charred skin. It could be a lucid, and utterly sane young adult under that cloth. He could just as easily be some deranged ancient who somehow escaped the asylum.

"I said, halt!" Lee declared, trying to mask his apprehension under a mask of authority. "This is a quarantine area, citizen. You are not allowed in these premises. Leave these premises, now!"

The stranger stopped. Lee felt the stranger's eyes pierce right through the black veil, straight into his heart.

"I bless you," a voice croaked from under that black veil. "In His name, for I am His hand and I am His voice. In this time of misunderstanding, He needs not your hate, but your unconditional love. By my sacred honor, I speak only His most holy truth."

The stranger took a step forwards. Lee, momentarily stupefied by the stranger's words, came back to his senses and raised his gun.

"Stop! Did you not hear me?! This is a-"

"Be damned those who oppose His edict." The pure, unadulterated conviction in the stranger's quavering voice sent ice water shooting through Lee's spine. The agent shivered.

"Leave these premises, or I will open fire!" Lee sputtered in response.

The veiled man ignored the warning, stepped forwards and gently pushed Lee's gun aside. The Agent swore that the man was smiling a kindly smile, under that ominously black veil.

"Smite only the unworthy, my brother." The man coaxed. "I come bearing aid."

Lee couldn't shoot, even if he wanted to. Even though he had been ordered to.

Something deep inside told him that hurting this man would be a crime.

The stranger wordlessly hopped over the police barrier and continued on his way, his shoulders slightly stooped, his head angled downward in meditative introversion.

Lee's shaky hand reached for his headset and tapped the transmit button.

"Perimeter Six to Bravo command, we have an unidentified visitor claiming that he can assist. I'd... recommend that you see go see him yourself. He's heading towards the main compound right now. Perimeter Six, out."

"So we're supposed to take Jebus down, now. We will be unable to figure out where Wilson is unless he tells us, in person."

"Yeah. I was close lta figgerin' that out last time... before you capped him. He's pretty badass, but he's got weaknesses."

"He's especially weak against 0.50 caliber sniper rounds."

"Har har. Maybe this time, I'll kick his ass hand-to-hand and you won't have to use one of your precious bullets. Don't those things cost one grand apiece?"

"I bought them, already. Why not use them?"

"Conservation of resources, brother dear."

"Wow. 4-syllable words. That's a first from you."

"It's like I have a P-H-motherfuckin'-D."

"Sure..."

"..."

Winston was not impressed.

"Who exactly are you?" He interrogated.

The cloaked and veiled man raised his arms to the side. "I am Orthos, the chosen of the Savior. I am His voice. I am His prophet. Come hither, sit, and share in His truth. For I can promise no less than final enlightenment and salvation!"

Winston shook his head free of Orthos' words. "Sorry to tell you this, but your 'Savior' is a media projection. Propaganda. And right now, he's a threat to society. You said you can help, so show me what you can do. Otherwise, leave. This is a restricted zone."

"Once, this world ran rife with sin. It reeked, filled with seething corruption. Aye, a pathetic cesspit! Meaner than a beggar's hovel! Murder! Thievery! Prostitution! Rife, my brothers and sisters!"

The agents passing by paused.

The words had mysterious power. They seeped and searched, delved into their minds and souls. They felt and probed; they discovered their hoarded iniquities of deed and thought.

Hardened veterans and fresh recruits alike lowered their weapons and stared at the strange, strange man; listened to his strange, strange speech.

"In a glorious pyre of holy light, did the Savior come to us. Thus did He declare His divine edict! Quoth He: henceforth, I shall smite all sin. Ye who murder... Ye who steal... Ye who sell yourselves! I shall purge thee, my wicked sons! But I do this, not in spite, but in love!"

Orthos spoke with such sorrow, yet with such celestial hope, that the men all trembled with every sentence, phrase, syllable.

Winston, too, was caught in the spell... briefly. He shook off his trance. With horror, he realized all of his soldiers were staring blankly, in rapt attention.

He waved at his men, pointing at the defensive positions. A futile notion.

"Get back to your posts!" Winston desperately ordered. "Go on!"

Orthos continued his sermon, his passionate cries resonant, echoing.

"Yea, truly, these are the words of the one chosen by Justice Himself! It is my neverending quest to make His word heard, to cleanse the ignorance from this planet-"

"You're crazy! Get out of here!"

Winston yanked his Desert Eagle from his holster and jabbed it into Orthos' chest. Behind his shades, panic suffused his pupils.

The spell shattered to a thousand shards.

"Don't shoot him!" a voice yelled.

"Who said that?!" Winston roared, spinning around.

"I did!"

One of the Grunts stood, throwing aside his weapon.

Winston scowled and considered shooting the man on the spot... when he heard a clatter from behind him.

The men were dropping their guns. Agents and Policemen alike were abandoning their positions and standing with the Grunt.

"Traitors!" Winston spat. "Deserters! Stand down!"

Orthos laid a caring hand on Winston's tense shoulder.

"This'd be the help I herald, good commissar: words which trounce all weaponry. For are words not weapons?"

"Rrgh... Fine!" Winston spat, masking his fear under a facade of anger. "Go ahead and talk to your 'Savior.' I hope you get killed."

Orthos turned to the AAHW soldiers standing at rapt attention around him.

"My disciples... my beloved sons and daughters, there be other causes for which to toil. Liveth true to thyself. Shun not the nonbelievers. Embrace them, aye. Bring light to their dark worlds."

The Grunt stepped towards Orthos.

"Uh... do you mind if I follow? I realize that I might endanger you because the AAHW will come to punish me for desertion, but... I dunno. I can help protect you from anyone who doesn't believe your word."

"Yes, I think I'll join you as well." An Agent declared. "This city is hostile and hateful. We should help spread the truth to the ignorant."

"Restore peace to the city!" A policeman added. "We just have to believe in The Savior!"

Orthos opened his arms, embracing the air.

"Words cannot express my gratitude. Come hither, my dearest brothers, and share in His truth! For I can promise no less than final enlightenment and salvation!"

The men cheered.

Winston muttered something under his breath and, ruefully shaking his head, slunk away from the commotion.

XI

A twitch.

"Hist, brothers. Our Savior wakens."

"But, Father Orthos, are you sure-"

A flicker of the eyelids. An index finger, slowly curling.

"Fear nothing, brother. Justice shall always prevail."

"...you are right, Father Orthos."

He was awake. He was lucid and conscious. But his eyes would not open. He did not want them to open. To open them would be to acknowledge this pestilent cesspit of a world.

How easy would it be. Just to lie there, eyes closed, forever. Until time steals away the soul in His gentle caress...

There was no reason to awaken. No person and no cause worth fighting for.

"Brothers, let us pray. Accept me, milord. I beseech you. I am your most devout disciple. I will serve your every whim 'till death doth us part. My sole purpose on this planet is to follow in your divine path. Bless me that I may obey your holy edict."

A hundred subdued voices murmured, their hopeful chants chorusing against the cold darkness.

"Accept me, milord. I beseech you. I will serve your every whim 'till death doth us part."

'These people... they are not simple cultists. Their belief... it is not superficial.'

"I will serve your every whim 'till death doth us part. My sole purpose on this planet is to follow in your divine path."

Unwelcome rays tickled his skin. A hand closed into a fist.

"Bless me that I may obey your holy edict."

"I bless you."

Orthos' back straightened, his veiled eyes wide went with wonder. The others surrounding him: men, women, a rare handful of children, dressed in assorted garb, stopped speaking. There was an intolerable silence.

Christoff opened his eyes. He stood with majestic grace, his face a serene mask, illuminated by the rays of light which shone through the windows. His voice was clear and strong.

"I bless you all. I do not deserve your servitude. I do not deserve your loyalty. But I bless you all."

Yet... he saw something he had thought long gone in the eyes of the people he beheld. These desperate men and suffering women had hope in their eyes.

"In return," Christoff continued, emboldened, "I shall be your guardian. Together, we shall create a better world. Yes, I was close to losing faith in this world. Men are wicked and despicable. But just as I give you all hope, you give me a cause to believe in. We shall bring justice to these lawless lands."

Orthos was shivering, his veil fluttering in the light breeze. His voice quavered with euphoria.

"Milord... thine words bring us incalculable joy, milord!"

Christoff couldn't see the man's eyes, but he somehow knew that Orthos was speaking the truth. It was chilling. Jebus turned to the veiled preacher, his brow furrowed.

"I recognize that voice. Show your face, good preacher."

Orthos shook his head. "Nay, milord. My life is thine to spend, but this veil, this mere piece of crape, is all I request of thee."

Christoff's curiosity was intense. He considered lifting the veil himself, but he checked his hand. The man likely had a good reason to wear it.

A hundred pairs of eyes stared expectantly, waiting for more hopeful words.

Christoff cleared his throat. "There is one man I must confront. Orthos, you shall come with me. The rest of you, disperse among the city and bring potentials here. Here starts a new society. A new era of peace and justice."

"So..." Beorg sighed, examining the dirt under his fingernails. "This preacher bloke... this 'Orthos,' just... what? Talked ta him?"

Winston nodded. "Yessir. When Jeb-the target broke out of the morgue, the preacher stood in his way and spoke some words, which I was, unfortunately, unable to hear."

"Riiight." Beorg replied sardonically. "Mebbe it's time fer ya ta go on a lil' vacation, Winston. Take a few days off."

"I'm not lying to you." Winston said in response. "I would never do that."

"So," Beorg snapped, "why didn'tcha SHOOT HIM on the SPOT? Huh?! Re-stricted zone! Ya know what that means, partner?"

Winston calmly nodded. "Yessir, I know-"

"It means that you c'n shoot the fuck outta anyone who steps in! Ya wouldn't get arrested, I'm sure o' that. I got the lawyers in my pocket, don'tchu worry yer lil' head. Heh, but yer just too good, aren't ya? Ya can't bring yerself ta shoot someone, even if he's not followin' the rules."

Beorg turned in his swivel chair and gnashed his teeth.

"Not FOLLOWIN' the GODDAMN RULES," Beorg screamed, spinning back around to face Winston, "makes DISORDER!"

Winston wiped the spittle from his face.

"Apologies, sir. It will not happen again. I swear it."

"Yeah." Beorg seethed, steadying his breath. "It'd better not happen. I. Need. Jebus. Here. Bring 'im ta me, NOW-"

The door swooshed open.

"I could not help but overhear your conversation," Christoff declared, stepping into the room. "Apologies for eavesdropping... Sheriff Beorg."

Orthos followed, his stride stately and slow. But, the moment he saw Beorg, he stiffened.

Beorg's anger evaporated. He wore a grin as he extended his arms welcomingly. "JC, my good ol' partner! It's great ta see-"

The Savior's Desert Eagle was in his hand, glinting in the fluorescent light. It was pointed straight atwixt the Sheriff's beady eyes.

"Silence."

Winston also drew his gun and stepped into Christoff's line of fire.

"You will not hurt the Sheriff." Winston explained. "He maintains the order. Hate him as much as you want, but without him, the logistics of this city are going down the drain. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need ya ta-"

Christoff narrowed his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, he telekinetically wrested an object from the Sheriff's grasp.

Alva's glasses.

He pulled them into his left hand and pocketed them.

"These are not for you to keep," Christoff commanded.

"C'mon, JC," Beorg coaxed, suddenly docile. "Whaddya want? We can talk this out."

"I bring to you an ultimatum," Christoff asserted, his voice reverberating in the small chamber. "I am no longer under your control. Therefore, you shall fulfil these following demands-"

"Or else...?" Beorg interjected, the beginnings of a sneer curling on his lips.

"You shall fulfil these demands, at the expense of your life." Christoff finished.

"Motherfuckin'..." Beorg murmured. "It's blackmail, now, eh?"

"Blackmail, yes. But my blackmail is justified. I shall delay your punishment for your many crimes, should you vindicate yourself. You may vindicate yourself by fulfilling these demands."

Christoff nodded towards Orthos.

"We cometh, on behalf of The Heralds of our Ultimate Savior." Orthos began. "Our terms are as follows: You shall allow our sanctioned Judges to oversee all trials, to ensure the Justice is preserved."

Beorg's scowl deepened. "I'm 'fraid that's not possible, partner. What happens if I say no, again?"

Christoff flicked the safety off on his pistol. Click!

Winston glanced towards Beorg; The Sheriff subtly shook his head. Winston exhaled, holstered his gun, and took two steps back..

"...I see." Beorg growled. "Just wanna make sure. Spit it out...priest person."

"Sire." Orthos respectfully bowed his head towards Beorg. "I wish to convene with my liege. I shall return presently."

Once outside, the veiled priest turned his obscured face towards Christoff. The Savior did not need to see the man's eyes to know that he was highly disturbed.

"Milord..." He whispered, anxious, almost desperate. "Yonder...this man yonder… his porcine visage offends the very quintessence of my meditations. My soul warns me of his manyfold heinous sins."

"I...know." Christoff softly replied.

Orthos sharply inhaled, as if he were wounded.

"Why?"

It was a plea. Christoff closed his eyes in thought.

"I hate to admit it, but this man, despicable as he his, is necessary." Christoff explained. "He understands logistics. He has connections needed to run this city I detest him as a person. But ultimately, his motive is to maintain order, and order must go hand-in-hand with justice."

Orthos bowed low. "You speak wisdom, Milord."

"We shall collaborate with him, for now." Christoff compromised. "When Justice reigns, order follows. Perhaps there shall come a day the Sheriff will no longer be needed. I shall see to it personally that the man is punished for his sins."

"I shall stand alongside thee, when the day cometh."

"I thought so." Christoff nodded. "Let us finish our ultimatum and leave. This place holds bad memories. I like it not."

"Is this Travis?"

"Beorg. You fucker. We told you to never contact us again."

"I'm extendin' an olive branch. I know who yer contract is, partner. Jebus' outside mah door, right this instant, talkin' ta some priest person."

"How can I be sure you aren't just laying down some half-assed ambush? To try and capture me, or somethin'? Hmm?"

"Cause I find it in mah best interest ta kill 'im off. I'll give y'all a nice, hefty bonus if ya nab the priest, too."

"Bullshit. It's a trap."

"Ya don't take the tip, then it's yer loss. Sheriff, out."

Beorg clicked his satellite phone off and stashed it in one of his desk's innumerable hidden drawers.

"Hooked 'im," He murmured, with a wicked grin. "Just gotta reel 'em all in..."

Beorg nodded to his sidekick, and Winston swept the curtains aside. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating all.

"You must provide sanctuary. We demand freedom from all edicts you issue." Orthos continued.

"So, partner, ya want a Church and Sep'ration of said Church an' my State." Beorg drawled, observing the dirt under his fingernails.

"Put simply, yes." Christoff interjected. "That is all. This exchange, for your...delayed judgement."

Beorg leaned back and chuckled, reaching for yet another cigar. "I've always wanted ta sorta... ya know, make up fer all I've done wrong. Which is why I'm gonna let yew in on somethin'..."

The Sheriff pushed his face forwards, until it was resting on his hands.

"Jebby, look slowly ta yer left. On that buildin'? See that glint, third floor? That's a rifle scope."

"Orthos." Christoff muttered, keeping his eyes focused on the Sheriff. "Tell me if Sheriff Beorg speaks the truth."

The obscuring black cloth shifted leftwards, almost imperceptibly.

The priest straightened. "Aye, milord. The honorable Sheriff hath said no lies."

"Why help us?" Christoff growled. "You...we are foes. Aid me as you will, but I shall never grant your favors."

"I'm not helpin' ya." Beorg flippantly remarked. "Yer helpin' me get rid of some disgustin', low-life, good-fer-nothin' mercs. Now, partners, mebbe y'all should git outta here b'fore our buddy Travian caps ya. I'll see that yer terms are dealt with. See ya real soon an' all that"

"Beorg," Winston ventured to ask, "Why are you giving them these concessions? Why not kill them while their numbers are small?"

The Sheriff patted his bodyguard on the shoulder, like a father to a naive child.

"Gain their trust, and mebbe I c'n use 'em. Otherwise, they're all gathered up in one lil' rathole. It'll be easier ta kill 'em all. Could backfire, but that's a risk I'm willin' ta take."

Christoff stared into Orthos' "eyes." His hands were clasped on the priest's shoulders.

"Orthos. Do you trust me?"

"Yea. I would travel the-"

Christoff sighed in relief. "You will walk across this street alongside me. I cannot guarantee your safety, but this is the only way."

"They are walking... hand in hand."

"They do not see me."

"It will be the perfect shot."

"Two kills."

"One bullet..."

"I will tell you to duck," Christoff whispered, his lips barely moving. "You must comply."

"Yes, milord." Orthos replied. The priest put on a good facade, but Christoff could see the slight sloop of his shoulders, the slight hesitation on each step, his almost-imperceptible trembling.

"Jebby, look slowly ta yer left. On that buildin'? See that glint, third floor? That's a rifle scope."

'Approximately ten meters off the ground. The range is two hundred meters. The wind speed is about... two miles per hour, northwards. No time for accuracy. Find the angle, add half a degree.'

Jebus stopped moving. One heartbeat passed.

"Duck."

Travian tracked the two figures as they slowly walked across the open. He could bide his time. He needed to make sure this shot was perfect.

He grinned to himself. That would show Travis. Precision always triumphs. Why waste a hundred bullets to kill a man when you could get the same results with patience and steady hands?

He shifted, ever so slightly, tracking them in his crosshair. The men stopped. Maybe they reached their car, or something.

A perfect target.

Travian steadied his breathing, curled his finger around the trigger, let death fly.

Three things happened simultaneously.

One: A hand-picked Fifty Caliber BMG round arced through the sky at eight hundred meters per second.

Two: A priest under the pseudonym "Orthos" dove to the ground, extending his arms to cushion the impact.

Three: A tall, broad-shouldered man turned towards an apartment building and spread his arms wide. There was no sound as an onyx rectangle materialized, hovering a half-centimeter atop his chest. The black shape yawned open at an incredible rate, far outstripping the speed of sound.

The bullet streaked into the rectangle, disappearing.

A splitting woosh erupted from the rectangle; leaves and dust spiraled towards the black shape on Christoff's chest, which now started to resemble a cross. Like an insatiable vacuum, it suctioned everything nearby, including one shaky sigh coming from the priest face-down on the concrete, hands on his head.

The halo atop the Savior's head hummed with impossible power. He clasped his hands together.

The sound stopped.

Christoff and Orthos were utterly unharmed.

"Gods above..." Orthos breathed, his veil staring upwards at his guardian.

"My God..." Travian whispered, his head bobbing up from his scope. His voice was quiet and uncharacteristically shaky.

One bullet, one kill. The bullet was aimed correctly. He had done the calculations. He had accounted for wind, distance, the Earth's rotation. The bullet was supposed to go into Christoff's heart. There was no bulletproof glass; Travian would've seen it shatter. Bulletproof glass wouldn't matter anyways. His custom rounds would pierce straight through it. One bullet, one kill. Yet, no one died.

No one died.

The only constant in Travian's entire life shattered before his very eyes. The sole truth of his existence melted away, leaving only a cold, cold void in his chest. One bullet, one kill. No one died.

"That...he...impossible..."

No one died.

Christoff stood tall, eyes blazing with vengeful determination. His voice was powerful direct as he unsheathed his binary sword. The strange metal hummed as Christoff levelled it at the building... and the terrified sniper concealed within.

"There is no escape!"

The words thundered across the streets, seemingly amplified a thousandfold. Travian stiffened. He aimed for Christoff again, aligning the crosshairs with the Savior's head. A bead of sweat rolled across his cheeks.

"Stand down, and you may yet live!"

"...you may yet live!"

"...live!"

The words echoed in Travian's mind. Try as he could to clear the voices, they would not leave.

A thousand images flashed in Travian's mind. His tormented childhood. His only solace: the hunting rifle his grandfather had given him. The wolves and elk he had slain, red blood speckling the pure snow. One bullet, one kill. The pack of wolves ripped at his father's blue corpse. A young boy screamed in rage. Five casings sank into the powdery snow. Five beasts slumped over, dead.

The memories he had painstakingly suppressed broke loose and cried havoc. Every time he held his breath and prepared to pull the trigger, another word would burst into his mind, loud and clear, a million warnings from a million voices. Another horrific face would appear. Sometimes, it was one of his past victims. Sometimes, it was that demonic Savior, his red eyes glowing, crushing and warping possibility. Strangling hope.

"...live! Live! Live! Live!"

It is often said that when even hope is crushed, nothing else will survive. The human will shall shatter to an indefinite number of pieces, scattered to the eerie, siren songs of insanity, panic, irrationality and chaos. Entropy reigns. Order bleeds, takes a final gasp, and quietly expires.

Hope is the final bastion.

One Bullet, One Kill.

"Stop the voices," Travian muttered, his voice trancelike, his gaze distant and unfocused. He shivered. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he saw blackness; no, he saw a black cross, and within was Travis, his head blown open by a 0.50 Caliber BMG round, and Travian immediately knew that it was all in his head and it was not real, that he had to maintain a grasp on reality and finish the task he was given-

One Bullet, One Kill.

LiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLi-

"St... Stop them!" Travian's normally smooth voice broke into a grating screech. "STOP THE GODDAMN VOICES! ONE BULLET! ONE KILL! ONE. KILL!"

Breathing heavily, Travian snatched the rifle from the windowsill, pointed it at the source of his infinite torment, and fired.

A/N: I've held this off for far too fucking long. I am sorry, but that probably means nothing.

I owe all of you an apology. No excuses. I had a vacation, but mainly, I was distracted by superficial pursuits like hiking or watching YouTube Videos.

I am deeply sorry to anyone who followed this story, not only because you had to endure all the shit that I write and upload, but also for your endless patience. I sing your praises, O reader!

Reviewer's Creds

TheScouter1542: Thank you so much, comrade! It was people like you who believed in my writing that compelled me to finally finish this chapter. I hope you stay for the long run!

Shakespeare-The-Imposter: I appreciate your efforts to support this revolution, comrade. Keep up the good work, and I'm itching to see some new chapters from those fics of yours!

Just a normal reader: No, you're not just a normal reader. You're a reader who took the time to give me feedback. That's, like, a thousand times better than just a normal reader! (No offense to those who don't leave feedback, I still (platonically) love you guys!) Thank you for your support, and Hell yeah, I'm gonna keep going until the finish, however long that's gonna take me.

With that said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Though that's a pretty distant hope. See you guys... hopefully, in less than 6 months, or however long it was since I last uploaded!

-AMaxima