God, Guns and Glory


abby_icon.gif brian_icon.gif elias_icon.gif wu-long_icon.gif

Scene Title God, Guns and Glory
Synopsis Elias and Wu-Long attempt to have civilized conversation with Phoenix members about Flint Deckard. And then, it all goes horrifically wrong.
Date December 7, 2008

Cathedral of St. John the Divine

The largest Gothic cathedral in the world, the Cathedral of St. John the Divine remains partially unfinished to this day, despite its construction having begun in 1892 — true to form for buildings of its type. Nonetheless, it is a grand and imposing sight; possessing the characteristic grand arches, pointed spires, and beautiful stained glass windows, including a large and striking Rose window. Where the walls aren't covered with old and meticulously preserved tapestries, they are often ornamented.

Guided tours are offered six days out of the week. Services are open to all. Since the bomb, the main nave is open at all but the latest hours, though the smaller subject-specific chapels close in the evening. The cathedral is also a site for major workshops, speakers, and musical events — most especially the free New Year's Eve concert, which has been held without fail each year since the bomb.

St. John's has long been a center for public outreach and civic service events, but since the bomb, those have become an even greater part of its daily affairs. Services include a men's shelter, a twice-weekly soup kitchen, walk-in counseling, and other programs besides. These are open to everyone — non-Evolved, unregistered Evolved, registered Evolved… the philosophy is that they're all children of God, and that's what matters.

The cross is cradled in his open hands. A small little silver cross, suspened from a silver chain around his neck. "I'm so sorry, Father. I've lost sight. I've lost my Faith, I've lost my way.

A deep breath is taken.

He is on his knees, the pews have been mostly abandoned, though there are a few stragglers. One Brian is on his knees, reconciling with his Holy Father. A picture of contradictions. A cross in his hands, a Desert Eagle in the back of his pants. "I need you, Father. I need you to guide me. I need you to give me the strength. The strength to forgive.. and love."

Abby's a handful of pews in front of Brian's clone. Gone to late service after some scant hours of sleep and clean clothes, had lunch and returned to st.Lukes. Not her faith, this place, but it suffices, and there's some measure of safety being within the place. That and it's not monday so that means no one eye'd whelp. Unlike the clones, her prayers aren't audible, and she holds a little book of psalms in her hands as prayers tumble through her mind. Blue jacket on the pew beside her, she's taking extra time to make up for everything that's happened and to get a little more one on one time with jesus and the lord.

Churches aren't really Elias' thing; he's never had any real need for them, so it feels strange to him when he slips in the entrance, trying not to draw much attention. At the very least, the time of day makes this easier, and the crowd is much sparser than it had been in the morning. Easier to avoid an altercation, as well as to find who he and his current partner in crime are looking for.
He's dressed for the part, unsurprisingly, wearing one of the suits he oten does. For a change, however, he's opted for the black slacks and jacket, and is even wearing a matching tie. No sunglasses, of course, because that would be silly. But even after he steps inside, he still takes his time making plans, surveying the crowd and picking out likely candidates. There aren't many to choose from, fortunately. He glances over his shoulder, whispering back at his accomplice, "You see them?" He has to be sure.

"I would guess at the two men who look identical from behind." Wu-Long is dressed in a similar fashion, though his suit is the deep solid gray that he tends to favor for false Company work, a tie neatly knotted at his throat, his hair pulled back to the base of his head with a rubber-band. Despite the binding, a few inky tendrils have slipped from captivity and curl loose against his tan.

Without reaching to shift them, he narrows his eyes on the pews around the two young men up ahead. "The women, perhaps." There are two who look approximately the correct age. A brunette with a full head of hair, a blonde with hers shorn jaw-length. The others are obviously the wrong age, shape, size, given away by corduroy, beer bellies, and peppered hair. Neither Elias nor Wu-Long warrant a look from those who pass them by.

"I need you God. I need you more than anything, sustatin me, please. Be my life. Give me the strength."

The other Brian raises from his seat, going to approach Abby slowly. "Abby." He says softly. His presence looking humble, and quite cautious. "Abby, I wanted to say I'm sorry." He murmurs softly, to her, trying to move closer if she should allow him. "Abby?"

Abby's too engrossed in her prayers to notice the looming figures who have entered. people come and go. That and there's something about the sanctity of a church that makes one think that they're safe there yes? But then, her prayers are ended, coming to a close. Abby's doing her STWW's and rising from the pew. Blue dress, pale cardigan, winter boots. A few bills shuffled from out her wallet and folded into palm as the brunette slips from the pew, genuflecting quickly to make for the bank of candles on the one side of the Nave. Save that Brian interrupts and there's a somewhat annoyed look. "Later Brian. please. Too much has happened. I need this time alone. To think things through okay" She turns on her heel, free hand clutching the cross at her neck. "Just leave me be"

When the interaction between Abby and one of the Brians takes place, it's exactly what the well-dressed thugs making their way inside the cathedral were hoping for. "Jackpot," Elias whispers, "I'll deal with them, you watch his 'brother'. If we end up outside, stay on us." But that's all Elias says before smoothly changing his direction to meet up with Abby and B1. People convene with their friends all the time, don't they? And in any case, Elias looks official. Surely, anyone paying attention would simply think he was delivering some important message to them. "Excuse me, ma'am. Sir," he says lowly when he's close enough to be heard in a whisper, "But I need a moment of your time. It's very important."

Before Elias breaks his line-of-sight, Wu-Long gives a single militarily curt nod of his head. And with a glance cast over one shoulder and then the other, he turns on one polished shoe-heel and strides briskly out of the pews, the knife-creases of his suit sharp enough to make the leaves of the shelved Bibles sigh as he walks by. He rounds the girth of a majestically-proportioned pillar and summarily vanishes from sight.

Unless you know what to look for. A shadow the size of a man but cast by nothing, creeping below ankle-level of seated revellers, quieter than a prowling cat, as indifferent to the closeness of the spaces it moves through as it is to the fall of sunlight or the presumption of God's authority in either of those things. He listens.

"Abby, come on. I'm sorry. We're friends, I love you, can't you just forgive me for a joke? I'm sorry I made you mad." He nearly whines. Though his attention is snagged by the man approaching in his peripherals whipping around, Brian gives the man a skeptical look. Instinctively he moves closer to Abby, stepping in front of her. "I don't know you, sir. I don't think we are who you think we are. My wife and I need to be getting home. So.. I'm sorry. We can't help you."

Abby's hand breaks from the cross, a hand put up towards Brian, warding him off. 'Seriously, Brian. Now is not the time to do this. Really" But then Elias interrupts them and annoyed look is transferred to him. That is until Brian opens his mouth and spews out the lie. Shock and disbelief. The hand that up to ward him away now coming straight for his cheek. "Don't you dare Brian. Say those words again" Her lips pressed in a thin line again, nostrils flaring. "Yes, you can talk to him, he'll likely be very happy to volunteer for the food kitchen on mondays. no, he's not my husband. Just someone who's overstepping his bounds" Shaking her head, cheeks heated with anger. "Protect someone else Brian. It's a church" She carries on then, away from the pair towards the side of the Nave, her origional destination.

"I wouldn't get too far, ma'am, I might be asking your opinion in just a moment," Elias says in a low voice, so as not to disturb others. He withdraws from her outer jacket pocket a small, folded piece of bonded paper, but it doesn't stay folded for very long. "As for what I want to ask you-" In a second, the paper is unfolded, revealing a creased but still glossy photograph on the other side; a certain someone that Brian knows, the same photo he saw not long ago, stares at him with inanimate disinterest. A man named Deckard. "I'll give you two guess, but you'll only need one," Elias says again, "And remember. This is the house of God." It not really a threat; just a reminder that he perhaps shouldn't cause a scene. In the back of his mind, Elias knows he's not alone, but being backed-up by a shadow is still an unnerving proposition. He has no way of knowing where his partner even is, let alone if he's covering him like he should be. He just has to believe.

Well poop. With Abby effectively fucking his story up the asshole, Brian simply turns and stares at Elias. Might as well not dig himself in a deeper hole. Though he is so telling on her later. Looking down at the picture, he shakes his head. "Never seen him in my life." Lying still sucks. But lying for the cause is much easier. He feels God has no problem with that. He takes a step away from Elias. "Alright, I'm sorry we can't help you, but I have to get my crazy sister home. So, see you later." Brian says turning his back to Elias. He gives Abby a very steady, very vicious look. A look she never would have seen before. A warning. The words 'shut up and walk away' are mouthed to her.

That shiver runs down abby's spine. Not because it's a familiar thing. It's not. She wasn't with them when they found out about Munin. Clearly, God's House isn't safe. Crazy sister, but the time Brian speaks, is already making a break for it, her money still clutched in hand and bolting down a pew, towards the candles, praying that Brian can trip the guy up, give her a headstart. Cause, it's a clone. Clones in her mind are expendable. There's an exit, down the toward the cross of the cathedral. She's been here, she knows that the behind of the church, where people can't see and are sheltered from the varigies of behind the scenes, there's lots of hallways and ways out. Run she was told, and for the second time this day, that's what she was doing.

This is not exactly the sort of thing that Elias was expecting. But that settles it in his mind all the same; B1 denies everything, and the girl takes off. There is, however, one good thing that will come from this. Anyone who's paying attention will have their eyes on her, and off him. Not that it concerns him much; he came with a partner for a reason. Wu-Long can handle the girl. Elias opts to focus on the Brian in front of him and, throwing a quick glance around to make sure the other Brian hasn't decided to get up and move (almost certainly the case now), he simply takes three large strides forward, grabs Brian by the shoulder and spins him around. "Where is he?" he half-whispers, half-snarls.
It's usually at this time that panicked people start swinging there fists; Eli is ready for this, and even though he hopes it won't happen, is more than prepare to defend himself with violence.

The girl flees. Clever girl, honestly. She has no way of knowing what's following her along the floor until it's on her, abrupt, a slender black tendril like ink splashing her ankle an instant before she finds herself transformed.

Decorporealized, her physical flesh wracked apart, deconstructed into shapeless black energy, with only the strangest awareness that there's something here with her, holding her leg, yanking her feet out from underneath her and sending her body down toward the floor in eerily weightless obedience to gravity. It's disorienting, stomach-turning, without face, hands, bones, skin to anchor one to this plane of reality.

The next instant, she's corporeal again. And just as quickly, finds herself trapped underneath a pew, its massive wooden weight bearing down on her ribs and neck, even as a strangely warm and callused hand gripping her mouth. There's a man sitting in the seat above her upturned face, his tie tucked into his jacket and his collar immaculately even.

She has seen him before. She's given the acknowledgment of empty black eyes, and quiet, beatifically redundant instruction, as one would remind a child: "Shh."

Damnit Abby. Brian's insides couldn't be more pained. If he lives past this, he is going to yell at her and make her watch movies with secret agents in them for at least a full twenty four hours. Watching her, Brian1 continues after her, but then there is a hand on his shoulder and he is flung around. Too late to deny it all now. Abby ruined that. He's got to think.. Got to think quick.

"How are you expecting this to go down?" Brian asks harshly, continuing to back up away from the man. "Listen man. I don't want any trouble. But I can handle myself alright. You don't want me to get angry, you won't like me when I get angry.." He becomes a bunch of naked guys. No one likes that. "So just back off—"

Abby! For as much as he is angry at her, how unreasonable she's been.. And as angry she has been at him. His heart pangs as Abby disappears into smoke. And then she's back. "Rape!" He shouts with a pointed finger at Wu-Long. For all those left in the sanctuary to hear. "That asian guy is trying to rape that girl! Someone call the cops!" He's already rushing forward.

The healer doens't make a sound, too much in shock at being upright and then in a matter of moments, she's trapped under a pew and… oh god, the demon. The night out in Harlem, she remembers. The guy who materialized out of just darkness. She goes bone still underhim, her breath playing out over the back of his hands clamped over her mouth. Then Brian's screaming rape and abby screams beneath the hand for all she worth to bring attention to Wu-long and where she is.

The situation spiraled out of hand far, far faster than Elias was hoping it would. Sorry Wu-Long, but hopefully, the fact that he has military training will give him the ability to defend himself from his assailant. If, in fact, it comes to that. There may yet be a chance to diffuse this. Specifically, Elias now knows for certain that nobody is watching him, and simply hopes that maybe, just maybe, his partner will figure some way to get outside without needing to shoot, stab or kick his way out.
Seizing the opportunity, he shoots out a hand, grabbing a hold of Brian's (the one he can easily reach) arm and moving, in the blink of an eye, to the top of the cathedral where, fortunately, there is a flat area for both of them to stand on. Abracadabra!

Always one to shock and awe with unexpected moments of eloquence, Wu-Long blinks his right eye. It isn't exactly the same as a wink; he needed a gesture to focus, and would have preferred not to take both eyes off the scenario.

Abruptly, the quality of air around the pews changes, abruptly voided of distant street noise and the distant echoes of the cathedral's ceiling: they're enclosed in a sound bubble, suddenly, and the only civilian who heard past the first cry— 'Rape!' — is the short-haired blonde who jolts up onto her feet, staring around in surprise. Further back, a few cast their eyes toward the hysterical Brian, but fail to see what he could possibly talking about. He is, however, running in a Cathedral and pointing excitedly at something.

Readily interpreted by the civilians in the distance as 'fucking weird.' Sluggishly, a scowling patron begins to meander off in search of security personnel. The blonde, in the meantime, begins to make faster tracks out.

Which gives Wu-Long time. Not a lot, maybe enough to get some licks in. His grip tightens on Abby's face with bruising force; he hauls her head off the floor stretching the tether of her tender little throat, and then slams her skull down into the stone floor with dazing force. Releases her face, then, and straightens with a hand up ostensibly to smooth his jacket. Alternatively, to wipe saliva off his palm.

"You should tell us where we can find Flint Deckard," he informs the approaching Brian in his most factual tone of voice.

Brian started to make his move before Elias even grabbed him. And by the time they are on the roof, he is halfway through it. A .40, the lucky one, the one he shot himself with after he stole it from Deckard is drawn and flying at Elias' temple. Once his attack is made, his eyes go a little wide at their brand new surroundings. What the—

Brian is sprinting at the Asian assailant, and as soon as Wu-Long finishes his move on Abby, his face contorts into pure rage. And soon that pretty little Desert Eagle is in his hand and pointed at Wu-Long; The Demon. Caution and tact thrown to the wind, the man is purely driven by his passion and rage. "Abby!" He yells out desperately. Though his cry is most likely deafened by the sound of two gun shots, if not Wu-Long's ability.

Abby just somewhat loll's there, trying to blink away the sudden streaks of something that rocket around in her vision. Brian's cry vaugly heard and survival instinct dictates that you ignore whatever's happening and get the fuck out. But she's pinned beneath the pew and even as her head loll's to the left, Wu-long's ankle. Thank god for visiting the dentist like a good little girl. WIth very little thought to consequences, abby lurches toward it, best she can to close her teeth around the back of Wu-longs ankle, get right where the sock adn tendon are and bite for all she's worth.

That momentary distraction provided by their sudden relocation is exactly the opportunity that Elias needed. He doesn't even need to intercept or even deflect Brian's weapon. With another moment of concentration, he winks out of existence and reappears behind his attacker, whirling about to take the situation back under control. One hand has its thumb wedged under the armpit of Brian's weapon hand, digging for the nerve cluster there. The other whips free Elias's butterfly knife, which he brings toward Brian's neck. He doesn't need to kill him, either; just make him listen. Wu-Long can take care of himself, hopefully.
"You are the *worst* secret agent," Elias growls into Brian's ear, "Ever."

Ironically, it's the searing twinge at Wu-Long's ankle that rescues him from dire harm. He twists, decorporealizes by instinct, and the bullets come singing through the region where his shoulder would have been. The impact rattles the matrix that is his body reconstituted leaving him weakened, the massed darkness where his head is contorting with what should have been an infuriated rictus.

The cathedral exhales its demon onto Brian then. It doesn't feel like a thing except, perhaps, rage and fear. A shadow comes to him, so quick he might have mistaken it for a loose eyelash swatting across his retina if he was stupid enough to blink at a time like this. Shadow becomes man and man drops into a crouch and turns to blur, a ceramic knife whipping out in what registers as a coruscation of reflected light that intersects with the femoral arteries in Brian's thighs.

By the time Wu-Long recoils, it should have started: the clone's blood supply should start to drop right out from under him, pumped out by the mad bleat of his heart in his chest, gravity, and the throb of his own freshly-abbreviated cardiovascular system.

The gun is dropped with a cry. Elias is a better fighter than him, and his ability helps out with that, too. So Brian is at a distinct advantage, freezing once the knife is at his neck. A strange sound is produced from his throat. His hand swings up to grab Elias' arm. Trying to pull the knife away from his throat. His breathing is shaky, his heart practically pounding out of his chest.

"Fuck. Get a fucking altoid man. Your breath is going to make me yack all over your nice suit."

Inside the cathedral, Brian does blink. It's a very stressful situation ok! And there is a very scary shadow, shadowing its way towards him. Brian is already backpedalling, aiming his gun at.. nothing. And then the shadow is an Asian, and that Asian is moving at alarming speeds. Brian launches backwards as Wu-Long launches forward. Red splatters across the ground as a thin line is drawn on Brian's abdomen. Just before his back crashes against the floor. And then, BANGBANGBANG

"BRIAN!" Abby's wriggling trying to get free, feet scrabbling to find purchase, squeeze out from under the very heavy furniture. 'BRIAN! HELP!" The latter screamed to anyone someone. "STAY AWAY FROM HIM YOU DEMON!" Abby screams in very shrieky tones. "BRIAN! COME HERE!" It's quickly followed by prayer, something quick, spilling off her lips in her southern drawl, her hand on the other side of the pew extended as much as she can in Brian's direction in the vain hopes that she could lengthen her arm to reach him, already pushing as much of her ability down that arm for if/when he touches her. Hopefully it's brian who touches her and not the other one present.

Brian may be fighting for control of the knife, but Elias isn't going to make it easy for him, digging his thumb deeper and applying more pressure, all the while trying to hold onto the knife. There's only one way left that this might end somewhat peacefully, but if those were gunshots he faintly heard, even that is too late. "Eileen Ruskin," he half shouts, "Five feet, dark-haired, British!" He can only get out a few words at a time; any more than that, and he might lose this wrestling match, in which he is certain he's in control only because he has Brian held in such a way that he can apply just enough pressure to keep him somewhat restrained. "Last seen, looking for Deckard!" Maybe now, Brian will be willing to listen. he was eager enough to protect his friend; maybe he'll be more partial to a missing person story than a simple question.

Ordinary operational parameters indicate that, when shot at, one does not lunge toward the shooter in an effort to escape injury. Wu-Long knows better — or, at least, knows he can afford to do differently.

His shape unravels and he leaps onto Brian, hanging off the younger man like a weird black cloak, tendrils looping around his pale little ears and his gun hand, seeking shelter in the confidence that Brian wouldn't be dense enough to shoot himself. The last thing Brian can hear is Abigail's screaming, before Wu-Long short-circuits the wavelengths of both sound and light around the young man's downy head.

After which, Wu-Long finally proceeds to do the tactically conservative thing and, stepping back into flesh, he moves to twist Brian's gun away from his hand. There are people coming. He can't hear them through the sound barrier, but he can see them in the distance, arms flailing, phonecalls being made. Subtlety, Elias had said.

Or near enough. I know we're meant to be making chaos but. But they really should've just left that to Phoenix. Christ.

Eileen/ This is enough to give him pause within his struggle against the other man. A deep breath is taken. "Never heard of her." He lies, still trying to move that arm away from his neck. But Brian does have a trick up his sleeve. A trick that Elias most likely won't see coming. He gives a sudden jerk against Elias, trying as hard as he can to fight against the man and fight through the pain that Elias is causing in his arm.

In the midst of this struggle, another copy ducks out of the clothed Brian. This one decidedly unclothed. Ducking out of the young man, he stands fully, sending a powerful fist flying at the side of Elias' face. Hi!

Ah! I've been shadowed! Brian lets out a cry that is not heard. Abby's hand won't be touched by him. Not yet. And then suddenly, there is no longer a shadow, but there is a searing pain up his arm. Why is everyone better at fighting than him? Enough to make a guy cry. And soon, the young man is on his knees, the gun falling out of his hand. Another soundless cry made. He's going to start taking karate lessons if he survives this..

Abby's making a racket, her feet clattering against another pew, flat's hitting home, within wu-longs soundbubbles, making an effort to slide sideways in brians direction, sliding sideways with the wood pressing to throat and chest. Her hand still fishing wildly for the familiar leg vainly while yelling out the prayer.

Was Elias expecting this? Yes, and no. Civilized conversation is obviously useless on this guy, qwho is not only the worst secret agent ever, but also the densest.
But then he pulls this clone thing, and it's fucking brilliant. Elias doesn't teleport on reflex because he's too surprised. He only has enough time to stand there looking at the Amazing Nuditor with a dumb look on his face and move just enough so that the fist doesn't make full contact with his face or temple. Brian is free, and Elias is falling down to the roof, stunned but not unconscious. He doesn't have the knife anymore, but neither does anyone else. Lucky him, maybe.

Given a new gun, Wu-Long promptly puts it on safety and tosses it over his shoulder, coincidentally in the direction of the altar cross, which may be a subconscious spit in the direction of the idiotic faith that is apparently failing to impress upon its most loyal peons the basic tenets.

More as a side note than anything else, he delivers an irritable little kick toward the hand of the healer flapping around below, and flips the knife back out into his hand.

Reversing it in his palm in one deft movement, he pivots on a foot, and sinks the blade into the young man's torso, grinding and wrenching the slender weapon in against the adjacent spars of his ribs until bone overpowers brittle blade and it snaps off somewhere in Brian's lung with a nigh melodic ting. With that, he shoves the man away.

Aha! The upper hand! Or upper hands. Brian takes advantage of this sudden relief and calls in backup. Several. A gasp is let out as Elias' grip around his neck folds. And then there are two more naked Brian's on the roof. The four glaring down and moving swiftly at the downed Elias. You're about to get a naked beatdown, muh'fucka. And beat down he is likely to receive, at least for a little. Feet, fists, and more fists. Don't let him get back up anytime soon, is probably a good policy.. But his fists pause.. Something terrible just happened.

A snorting like sound is made as the blood dribbles out of his mouth into his goatee. Crumpling backward, Brian's eyes roll sideways, his back thumping against the ground. Everything goes hazy..


He's not really sure what's happening. There is a vague awareness of his copies. A vague awareness of Abby's screaming, a vague awareness of the ground below, him slowly becoming further away.

Give me strength

Another huff, blood flies from his lips, as his grey eyes land on Wu-Long foggily. Somehow, somehow he's on his feet, though he doesn't remember standing up. One second he saw the floor, now he looks into the eyes of the aptly named Demon. His fist raises slowly..

I need you father

And a punch is thrown. Wild, weak, and most likely off target. But it is an attempt. He's not even really sure where Wu-Long is. Just that he's out there. All that he can hear is the blood.. So much blood.

Kicked hand. There's a whimper, and then renewed effort at Trying to grab the foot. Not a sneaker… COnciously the healing is turned off and abby's whipped her hand around for that tender achilles so she can sink her fingers and fingernails into them, be an annoying little pest, distract him from brian, while switching to screaming for help instead of prayers.

A beat down, Elias could have gotten out of, although not unscathed. But when they pause, even if just for a second, it's enough time for Elias to get his act together. Let someone else deal with the multiple Brians; Elias bails, teleporting back down into the cathedral proper, briefly knocking the wind out of himself from a slightly miscalculated reappearance, before he picks himself up off the ground. "God, dammit!" he shouts when he sees the mess that Wu-Long managed to make. "You'd better have some *good* news, partner."

Another breed of monster might have interpreted that punch as an insult. Wu-Long takes it on the shoulder where two .4 rounds had lanced through moments before, adding another drop of trauma to the accumulated shocks to his system. He stares with something remarkably like surprise, his features momentarily gone so still that the faint hairline scars below his eye.

Wu-Long is reasonably difficult to impress. This thing, he can respect. Reaching underneath his jacket, he pulls out a gun.

His other hand closes around Brian's throat and he steps near, jamming the nozzle into the gouting wound where the ceramic blade continues to float. Puts his mouth close and speaks, the depth of his voice rusted over with accent and sincerity. "You tell your friends. Flint Deckard is a dead man," he states, matter-of-factly, watching as the security officer closes in. "And anyone who touched Eileen."

Another shove, and he steps away, approaching Elias at a brisk pace. He reholsters the gun despite that it's all— damp. "Phoenix has Flint Deckard," he tells Elias, reaching back to tug his ponytail. "We can take one if you want, but you have to decide now." He straightens his arm, fires once: hits the guard mid-step, while the fat man's own shot goes wide into the ceiling.

And that leaves a bunch of naked Brian's in a very awkward position. Out on the roof for the whole world to see and very alone. Quickly the Brian's are absorbed until only the clothed one is left. He goes to get the gun that was dropped. Sticking it in the back of his pants, he looks about, desperation in his eyes. He's dying below.. If only he could get there and touch him. All that blood would be gone. So slowly, the young man goes to try and climb down..

A choking sound, a splutter of blood. Brian's eyes go wide as Wu-Long's hand grips around his throat. The only sounds he can make are those of sickening throat noises. A cough, which brings a lot of blood as he is shoved. Once again he crumples to the ground.

One arm extends in front of the other.. He could crawl to Abby. He could get himself healed. But he crawls the opposite way. Abby can't be harmed. If he dies again to protect her. It would be well worth it. Brian crawls for his Desert Eagle, reaching desperately for the gun. As he crawls a trail of thick blood is left behind him. He'll bleed out soon. But not before he can take one last..


The other one is back, Abby still scrabbling to get ahold of Wu-long's leg is cut short by the asian man's words and the brunette goes still at the talk between the two bad guys. And then there's brian, dragging himself away, an anguished "no…." tumbling from her lips. He should be crawling to her, not away!

Elias has the ability to see brian aiming, even if Wu-Long does not. In a flash, he teleports the distance to his partner and, hurriedly throwing his arms around him, tries to teleport both of them out of the path of the incoming slug. It's the only time in recent memory a tele-jump was accompanied by a cry of pain. Both the men end up on one of the pews, Elias with a painful wound in his right arm. He's lucky it was a glancing hit; his arm is still attached. Awkwardly, he keeps that arm around Wu-Long, teleporting again just so he has line of sight to fix Abby with a stern, but assertive glare. "I just wanted to ask you a question," he says, and then both the men are gone again, back to the ether they came from. As nearby security personnel and police close in, stillness settles back into the house of God.
If only for a few moments more.

The gun is dropped, and Brian's arm flops to his side. His eyelids are growing so heavy. How did they get so heavy? His eyes search for Abby… Is she safe? Did he protect her? He thinks he did. That will have to be good enough. He's feeling very sleepy now. His hand comes slowly to his gut, pressing against the copious amount of blood. He would like to get to Abby, hold her. Tell her its okay, but he's having difficulty moving right now. Maybe he'll be the only person in history to die twice, and still be alive. He idly wonders if dying the second time is different than the first…

Grab him, stretch, they're gone, the asian and the teleporter. With them, all the sound that had been muted rushing back to fill the void. Her fingers brush brians. Abby strains, neck and chest pressed painfully into the wood, all to get a better to get a grasp of fingers, begging for the Brian clone to not die, prayers screamed, and the healing starting it's transfer as she gets a good grip, even as the cops start to file in.

The word 'abby' comes out as a heap of blood instead of a word. His eyes roll over to Abby. His fingers display the only sign of life left in the man. A very weak squeeze is given to Abby's fingers. Blood oozes down his cheek. Another cough comes out of the dying man's mouth. Though there is a word, something that sounds like 'sorry'. And then his eyes close, his head slumping to the side. Her healing warmth slowly encapsulating him.

December 7th: Dinner with SCOUT
December 7th: Shattered Lies
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