PRIES
Paranormal Research Investigation & Eradication Specialists
Mission 1: A Dark Angel
St. Anthony’s Church of the Holy Flame: Friday, Dec. 14, 2117 - 7:15 P.M.
The church was alive with the song of praise. The congregation stood with traditional hymn books parted in their hands, singing aloud to the guiding hum of a pipe organ. There were no electronic, handheld libraries or fancy sound systems where the pastor could have easily downloaded the tune to play for him. St. Anthony’s Church was traditional because it believed that humanity has forsaken the old ways. Electronics were discouraged, but still children could be seen, sitting while their parents faithfully stood, button-mashing on their mini game systems.
Michael stood to blend in with other servants of the Holy Flame. His amber eyes were upon the lyrics, but he wasn’t reading them. He wasn’t singing either. He was nervously thinking about the mission. The ALPHA virus within him was causing every hair to stand on his body as it sensed the other virus in the room. It had caught the organization’s attention and it had called for several operatives—not just him—to be present in the church. They were all dressed in shirts and ties, and some of the wiser, female operatives chose not to wear a skirt and panty-hoes but slacks in the case they needed to make a swift exit.
Michael was sporting a solid-black dress-shirt, grey tie, and grey khaki pants. He had shaved for the occasion, touching up on his sideburns, and having had raked a comb through his black hair a few times. He had to look his best for Christ—hopefully that hadn’t been a death wish. There was no doubt that the User suspected their presence. Just as they felt him, he felt them.
What am I doing here? Michael thought uncomfortably.
This hadn’t been the mission he was hoping for. There were so many innocent civilians, and unlike the other rookies on this mission, Michael didn’t think his virus was easy to conceal. He had expressed his concerns with Special Ops Supervisor Bill Hadley, but all Bill had to say was, “You’ll get used to it.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Michael frowned softly just thinking about it, and just as the wave of his musings slowed, the moment of worship had concluded.
Please, take your seats.
Michael closed the hymn book and deposited it back into the holder before he settled down within the pew. He had been sitting on the right side of the room, and once everyone had sat, the pastor became visible. He stood in white and red robes with his hands grasping the edges of a podium. His blond hair bore a soft glow and his blue eyes twinkled beneath the ceiling lamps. His whole being radiated with joy as he swept the room with his eyes, a long and excited smile stretched across his lips.
If it wasn’t for his ALPHA virus, Michael would have never seen the pastor as a threat. The man looked his part, and while he appeared friendly, he didn’t feel that way. Michael lowered his eyes before the pastor’s attention motioned to his side of the room. His hands nervously fondled each other as he tried to keep his cool. The good thing about there being too many people in the room was that the pastor couldn’t discern who exactly his enemy was, but he knew where his enemy sat.
“May the Lord be with you!” the pastor spoke.
“And also with you!” the congregation returned.
“Let us pray!”
The church fell into silence, people bowing their heads as the pastor began to pray. Michael couldn’t stop thinking about the current objective. The briefing had said nothing about attending the entire service.
As the prayer concluded, the pastor clapped his hands together and greeted, “Good Evening!”
Good Evening!
“Well, I am glad to see that our guests from last week have returned and that we also have some new faces in here tonight. The-”
“Pastor Goodfellow!” a woman cried.
The pastor gazed down the aisle at a mother, holding the wrists of her video game-addicted children.
“Forgive me, pastor, but my children are new to this church, and I have heard of your healing hands. Please, save them from the technology that teaches them to rebel against their own mother and neglect their studies. I fear my babies may be expelled if this continues!” the mother exclaimed.
Michael arched a brow in disbelief. Was this lady serious? He thought that he was sitting in a church but now it seemed more like a theater. All she had to do was take away their games and give the brats a good old-fashioned spanking.
Pastor Goodfellow laughed softly and spread his arms, beckoning cheerfully with his hands. “I hadn’t expected to start the healing session so soon, but the Lord is never too early to work nor too late! Come, bring your children here.”
The mother towed her pouting sons down the aisle to the altar as the pastor stepped from behind the podium to stand before the two boys. He bent over to rest his hands upon his knees as he looked from the oldest to the youngest.
“And what are your names?” the pastor questioned.
The oldest son glanced briefly up at the pastor. His bottom lip was poked out and brows pinched in anger to have been torn away from his game for this. Without saying a word, he returned his eyes to the floor, and the pastor glanced to the youngest who crossed his arms before his chest and dismissively turned his head. The mother took a knee behind her sons, keeping her hands firmly upon their shoulders as she shook them in a light scold.
“The oldest is David, and the youngest Zack,” the mother told the pastor.
Pastor Goodfellow smiled, hardly affected by the boys’ rebellious natures. “Well, David; Zack; my name is Pastor Todd Goodfellow, and I’m here to steer your souls back onto the path of righteousness. If you’ll be so kind to hold still, and Mom, please join me in healing these boys.”
The boys’ mother raised her hands from their shoulders to rest her palms against the back of their heads. The pastor then laid his hands upon the boys’ crowns, raking his fingers back through their brown hair so that they were closest to their scalps. The pastor then began to pray and what looked like purple roots began branching down the sides of the boys’ skulls. The branches stretched past their temples to their cheekbones and the boy’s eyes became wide and distant.
Suddenly, Michael could feel his virus sending him warnings again, and it wasn’t just the pastor that it was warning him about, but now the little boys. Michael observed the healing in shock. What the hell was he doing to those kids?
“Are you seeing this?” Michael quietly spoke into the communicator hidden within his tie.
So that’s how the son of a bitch is doin’ it! the supervisor spoke into the ears of all the operatives within the church. You can bet that the whole congregation is infected with that virus he’s passing around. He seems to be using his hosts to bring him new hosts, but the virus he’s spreadin’ ain’t the same kind he’s infected with. I’m sure Dr. Whatshisface could explain the science behind it to ya, but plain and simple, we kill him, then we free all his slaves. Yes, you heard me boys and girls, we’re not apprehendin’ this one. The Director has given the order to dust his ass.
Michael watched as the strange branches began to retract from beneath the boys’ flesh. The pastor lifted his hands and the wide-eyed children suddenly began smiling. Their mouths were stretched wide with shining rows of teeth as they chorused, “We feel great!”
They then turned to their mother and apologized, “We’re sorry Mama.”
They threw their arms about their mother as she embraced them warmly with tears rolling down her eyes. The congregation became noisy with applause and praise. Michael reluctantly joined in, feeling disturbed by how quick the children’s personalities had changed and how the entire church was their enemy.
The pastor held his hands out and then lowered them as he motioned for silence. He surveyed the Holy Flame communion and his sapphire orbs glinted with intrigue.
“It appears we have some new faces to not only welcome into our church, but into the house of God. I thank the Lord for every lamb that has found his or her way here. I’m sure that all of you have personal reasons for coming, but if you will, I would like to heal each of your souls with a prayer. Please, I ask that you not be shy and come forward,” said Pastor Goodfellow.
Michael carefully glanced out the corners of his eyes at the aisle. None of the other agents had moved. Gazing back at the pastor cautiously, the kind-hearted expression didn’t once leave the holy man’s face. His cheeks bunched and glowed with amusement as his lips curved into a long smile.
“No one?” the pastor queried.
Abruptly, the congregation turned to face the agents. Michael near jumped out of his seat when men, women, and children suddenly set their eyes on him and the other agents. His back fell against the backrest as his wide eyes darted from one face to the next.
Holy shit! he thought.
“There you all are. I can see you much better now. Please, don’t be afraid. I want to help you. You willingly came to my church. I cannot permit you to leave until I have returned my gratitude. Now come, please, one of you or I’ll be forced to choose,” Pastor Goodfellow gently demanded.
Michael again peered at the other agents to see them calmly remaining in their seats despite the pastor’s threats and the hundreds of eyes that lingered on them. Were they just supposed to sit there? What did that accomplish? The User would pick one of them soon, and it wouldn’t be pretty. If the pastor was as high a threat as the supervisor described, then they were all in danger and there was no other way around it. Michael closed his eyes as he came to terms with himself. If there was any agent in the church the pastor could call on to bestow his corruption, Michael would have rather it be him.
I can handle this bullshit, Michael mentally told himself. He stood, and immediately, the heads of several agents snapped in his direction. Their eyes were large in shock and anger, but none of them said a word. Instead, they hoped their expressions would signal him to sit his ass down, but Michael stepped out of the row and into the aisle.
What the HELL are you doin’? Bill Hadley screamed into his ears. Michael stroked his hand along his tie and thumbed the communicator off. The supervisor exploded into the ears of the surrounding agents. WHO TOLD HIM TO MOVE? WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOIN’?
Pastor Goodfellow’s smile sank as he silently studied the man that approached him. The closer he stepped, the tenser he felt. There was something wrong. This man made him feel endangered. The pastor took a timid step back and Michael stopped, noticing the show of apprehension. Well, this was awkward. His amber eyes flicked briefly to the frowning faces of the other operatives. He noticed one man mouthing for him to go back to his fucking seat. Returning a stubborn scowl, Michael glanced back to the pastor and nervously scratched with his finger an area of his jaw that was still riddled with razor burn.
“My name is Michael Van Buren. I guess I uh…could use some of your healing…” A scary situation just became embarrassing. He felt so stupid. Why didn’t he just stick to his seat and waited to see what would happen? “I…well…I have anger issues I can’t really control. I sometimes wind up hurting people. Sometimes I feel bad about it, sometimes I don’t because they deserve it.” He cast his eyes to the floor as his cheeks flushed a little. God, he was just digging an outhouse.
Pastor Goodfellow’s brows slowly rose in surprise at Michael’s confession. Tension was still thick between them, but the stranger didn’t appear to be bluffing. He was a man in trouble and who was in need of his services.
“Oh…Oh!” the pastor exclaimed. “Uh, yes! I understand your plight, and God shall liberate you from the wrathful spirit that dwells within you. No longer will you harm those around you as well as your own spirit, which witnesses the sin you commit and weeps!”
Michael’s face became even redder. The pastor had to put so much zeal behind the situation. Any minute now he was expecting to be doused with holy water and slapped in the forehead with a Bible. Why didn’t he just stay in his seat?
“Kneel please,” the pastor ordered.
Michael slowly sank to his knees and tensely stared at the floor. Images of the tentacles he saw slithering beneath the boys’ flesh were flashing before his eyes. He was about to get the same treatment. Pastor Goodfellow stepped closer to Michael and raised his hand to inspect his palm before he stared down at Michael’s scalp.
I must find out what this man really is, Pastor Goodfellow thought.
He rested his hand upon Michael’s head and slid his fingers back through his dark layers of hair until he had a comfortable grip on his scalp. Michael’s breathing stopped and he immediately became still.
Here it comes, he thought in dread.
Like the two boys, purple limbs branched out beneath his flesh. He felt them piercing his brain and his teeth came tightly together in protest.
“Now, let us pr-”
The pastor’s pupils dilated as his mind became suddenly assaulted with pain. Discomfort wracked his body, and a horribly burning sensation afflicted the hand he had upon Michael’s head. Something was attacking him inside out. It was destroying his very cells, warring through his body like a plague. Grasping his rapidly-beating and aching heart, Pastor Goodfellow’s eyes nearly bulged from his sockets in result of the terror that filled him.
“Devil!” he screamed. “Devils; you’re all devils!”
Michael eased his head back; his eyes had rolled back into his head as he felt the ALPHA virus’s war with the virus that tried to invade his body. His hands were shaking. His fingers had curled to help him bear the assault as he pushed the virus back. The ALPHA virus stormed the bridge that was erected between him and the User and began attacking the pastor’s cells.
The pastor shrieked as he tried to retract his hand from Michael’s head. He stepped back, trying to rip his tentacles free, but they were caught. Writhing in pain, the violent attack forced the pastor to morph. Beneath his white and red robes, his shoulder blades shot upwards like white spikes, ripping through the cotton material. The bones then arched outwards as flesh and golden feathers tightly wrapped them. His arms and legs snapped and popped as they began to lengthen, lifting the pastor to a slender eight-feet and five inches.
Pastor Goodfellow stopped convulsing the more his T-virus awakened. He lifted Michael effortlessly, his free hand grasping his throat as long, needle-like fingers curled about it. His whole being had transformed into a creature that may have fit the imaginations of what a holy being would look like. His legs curled like the arms of a mantis as he hovered in the air on his wiry wings. His blue eyes had become cold and affronted. His brows pinched together as he stared at the conundrum in his clutches. Michael’s whole body had gone rigid. Every muscle was flexed as he resisted the awakened virus that had forced his own to retreat.
“You resist my healing,” Pastor Goodfellow noted. “There are more of you aren’t there? They’re here among God’s children. Well, let me show them what happens to devils that dare come into this church!”
The pastor retracted his tentacles and Michael’s body went limp in his grip. A wave of exhaustion had passed over him and perspiration built upon his brow. He opened his eyes to see that the pastor’s hair had grown. It rippled toward him like thread spun from the gold and when each follicle lightly settled on his skin, spots began to form. From the spots lifted thin, trails of smoke and Michael soon found himself suddenly on fire. The operative screamed as fire engulfed his flesh and clothes, melting and crisping it. He violently kicked and flailed in the faux-angel’s grip as Pastor Goodfellow watched Michael burn into a black husk with a content smile. He dropped his smoking and charred victom upon the floor and regarded the congregation.
“There are more like him among you. Kill them,” the pastor ordered.
Men, women, and children suddenly began lunging at the operatives, wrestling them to the ground where they would beat and stomp them to death. The church had turned against them. Operatives tried to make a dash for Pastor Goodfellow, but his hair follicles had been so thin that they hadn’t seen them surrounding his form like a firewall. Male and female agents met the wall of hair that had them collapsing to the floor in flames and rolling to put themselves out. Within minutes, the church had descended into Hell. Operatives were forced to fight off mothers and their children, fathers, and grandparents. They were people that the agency had dubbed innocent, but under the pastor’s control they seemed no longer human.
Meanwhile, Bill’s hand was resting against his face. His grey eyes stared sternly from between his digits at the Hell he was watching on the control room big screen. He was losing agents all because of The Director’s order not to harm the people. How did they know that they were still people? From what he could see, they were monsters out for blood.
Lowering his hand, he brought his index finger to his ear where he pressed a small button on the tooth-like communicator.
Scratch that last order. Dust’em all! Dust’em all before I’m scoopin’ up yer ashes! the supervisor roared.
Paranormal Research Investigation & Eradication Specialists
Mission 1: A Dark Angel
St. Anthony’s Church of the Holy Flame: Friday, Dec. 14, 2117 - 7:15 P.M.
The church was alive with the song of praise. The congregation stood with traditional hymn books parted in their hands, singing aloud to the guiding hum of a pipe organ. There were no electronic, handheld libraries or fancy sound systems where the pastor could have easily downloaded the tune to play for him. St. Anthony’s Church was traditional because it believed that humanity has forsaken the old ways. Electronics were discouraged, but still children could be seen, sitting while their parents faithfully stood, button-mashing on their mini game systems.
Michael stood to blend in with other servants of the Holy Flame. His amber eyes were upon the lyrics, but he wasn’t reading them. He wasn’t singing either. He was nervously thinking about the mission. The ALPHA virus within him was causing every hair to stand on his body as it sensed the other virus in the room. It had caught the organization’s attention and it had called for several operatives—not just him—to be present in the church. They were all dressed in shirts and ties, and some of the wiser, female operatives chose not to wear a skirt and panty-hoes but slacks in the case they needed to make a swift exit.
Michael was sporting a solid-black dress-shirt, grey tie, and grey khaki pants. He had shaved for the occasion, touching up on his sideburns, and having had raked a comb through his black hair a few times. He had to look his best for Christ—hopefully that hadn’t been a death wish. There was no doubt that the User suspected their presence. Just as they felt him, he felt them.
What am I doing here? Michael thought uncomfortably.
This hadn’t been the mission he was hoping for. There were so many innocent civilians, and unlike the other rookies on this mission, Michael didn’t think his virus was easy to conceal. He had expressed his concerns with Special Ops Supervisor Bill Hadley, but all Bill had to say was, “You’ll get used to it.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Michael frowned softly just thinking about it, and just as the wave of his musings slowed, the moment of worship had concluded.
Please, take your seats.
Michael closed the hymn book and deposited it back into the holder before he settled down within the pew. He had been sitting on the right side of the room, and once everyone had sat, the pastor became visible. He stood in white and red robes with his hands grasping the edges of a podium. His blond hair bore a soft glow and his blue eyes twinkled beneath the ceiling lamps. His whole being radiated with joy as he swept the room with his eyes, a long and excited smile stretched across his lips.
If it wasn’t for his ALPHA virus, Michael would have never seen the pastor as a threat. The man looked his part, and while he appeared friendly, he didn’t feel that way. Michael lowered his eyes before the pastor’s attention motioned to his side of the room. His hands nervously fondled each other as he tried to keep his cool. The good thing about there being too many people in the room was that the pastor couldn’t discern who exactly his enemy was, but he knew where his enemy sat.
“May the Lord be with you!” the pastor spoke.
“And also with you!” the congregation returned.
“Let us pray!”
The church fell into silence, people bowing their heads as the pastor began to pray. Michael couldn’t stop thinking about the current objective. The briefing had said nothing about attending the entire service.
As the prayer concluded, the pastor clapped his hands together and greeted, “Good Evening!”
Good Evening!
“Well, I am glad to see that our guests from last week have returned and that we also have some new faces in here tonight. The-”
“Pastor Goodfellow!” a woman cried.
The pastor gazed down the aisle at a mother, holding the wrists of her video game-addicted children.
“Forgive me, pastor, but my children are new to this church, and I have heard of your healing hands. Please, save them from the technology that teaches them to rebel against their own mother and neglect their studies. I fear my babies may be expelled if this continues!” the mother exclaimed.
Michael arched a brow in disbelief. Was this lady serious? He thought that he was sitting in a church but now it seemed more like a theater. All she had to do was take away their games and give the brats a good old-fashioned spanking.
Pastor Goodfellow laughed softly and spread his arms, beckoning cheerfully with his hands. “I hadn’t expected to start the healing session so soon, but the Lord is never too early to work nor too late! Come, bring your children here.”
The mother towed her pouting sons down the aisle to the altar as the pastor stepped from behind the podium to stand before the two boys. He bent over to rest his hands upon his knees as he looked from the oldest to the youngest.
“And what are your names?” the pastor questioned.
The oldest son glanced briefly up at the pastor. His bottom lip was poked out and brows pinched in anger to have been torn away from his game for this. Without saying a word, he returned his eyes to the floor, and the pastor glanced to the youngest who crossed his arms before his chest and dismissively turned his head. The mother took a knee behind her sons, keeping her hands firmly upon their shoulders as she shook them in a light scold.
“The oldest is David, and the youngest Zack,” the mother told the pastor.
Pastor Goodfellow smiled, hardly affected by the boys’ rebellious natures. “Well, David; Zack; my name is Pastor Todd Goodfellow, and I’m here to steer your souls back onto the path of righteousness. If you’ll be so kind to hold still, and Mom, please join me in healing these boys.”
The boys’ mother raised her hands from their shoulders to rest her palms against the back of their heads. The pastor then laid his hands upon the boys’ crowns, raking his fingers back through their brown hair so that they were closest to their scalps. The pastor then began to pray and what looked like purple roots began branching down the sides of the boys’ skulls. The branches stretched past their temples to their cheekbones and the boy’s eyes became wide and distant.
Suddenly, Michael could feel his virus sending him warnings again, and it wasn’t just the pastor that it was warning him about, but now the little boys. Michael observed the healing in shock. What the hell was he doing to those kids?
“Are you seeing this?” Michael quietly spoke into the communicator hidden within his tie.
So that’s how the son of a bitch is doin’ it! the supervisor spoke into the ears of all the operatives within the church. You can bet that the whole congregation is infected with that virus he’s passing around. He seems to be using his hosts to bring him new hosts, but the virus he’s spreadin’ ain’t the same kind he’s infected with. I’m sure Dr. Whatshisface could explain the science behind it to ya, but plain and simple, we kill him, then we free all his slaves. Yes, you heard me boys and girls, we’re not apprehendin’ this one. The Director has given the order to dust his ass.
Michael watched as the strange branches began to retract from beneath the boys’ flesh. The pastor lifted his hands and the wide-eyed children suddenly began smiling. Their mouths were stretched wide with shining rows of teeth as they chorused, “We feel great!”
They then turned to their mother and apologized, “We’re sorry Mama.”
They threw their arms about their mother as she embraced them warmly with tears rolling down her eyes. The congregation became noisy with applause and praise. Michael reluctantly joined in, feeling disturbed by how quick the children’s personalities had changed and how the entire church was their enemy.
The pastor held his hands out and then lowered them as he motioned for silence. He surveyed the Holy Flame communion and his sapphire orbs glinted with intrigue.
“It appears we have some new faces to not only welcome into our church, but into the house of God. I thank the Lord for every lamb that has found his or her way here. I’m sure that all of you have personal reasons for coming, but if you will, I would like to heal each of your souls with a prayer. Please, I ask that you not be shy and come forward,” said Pastor Goodfellow.
Michael carefully glanced out the corners of his eyes at the aisle. None of the other agents had moved. Gazing back at the pastor cautiously, the kind-hearted expression didn’t once leave the holy man’s face. His cheeks bunched and glowed with amusement as his lips curved into a long smile.
“No one?” the pastor queried.
Abruptly, the congregation turned to face the agents. Michael near jumped out of his seat when men, women, and children suddenly set their eyes on him and the other agents. His back fell against the backrest as his wide eyes darted from one face to the next.
Holy shit! he thought.
“There you all are. I can see you much better now. Please, don’t be afraid. I want to help you. You willingly came to my church. I cannot permit you to leave until I have returned my gratitude. Now come, please, one of you or I’ll be forced to choose,” Pastor Goodfellow gently demanded.
Michael again peered at the other agents to see them calmly remaining in their seats despite the pastor’s threats and the hundreds of eyes that lingered on them. Were they just supposed to sit there? What did that accomplish? The User would pick one of them soon, and it wouldn’t be pretty. If the pastor was as high a threat as the supervisor described, then they were all in danger and there was no other way around it. Michael closed his eyes as he came to terms with himself. If there was any agent in the church the pastor could call on to bestow his corruption, Michael would have rather it be him.
I can handle this bullshit, Michael mentally told himself. He stood, and immediately, the heads of several agents snapped in his direction. Their eyes were large in shock and anger, but none of them said a word. Instead, they hoped their expressions would signal him to sit his ass down, but Michael stepped out of the row and into the aisle.
What the HELL are you doin’? Bill Hadley screamed into his ears. Michael stroked his hand along his tie and thumbed the communicator off. The supervisor exploded into the ears of the surrounding agents. WHO TOLD HIM TO MOVE? WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOIN’?
Pastor Goodfellow’s smile sank as he silently studied the man that approached him. The closer he stepped, the tenser he felt. There was something wrong. This man made him feel endangered. The pastor took a timid step back and Michael stopped, noticing the show of apprehension. Well, this was awkward. His amber eyes flicked briefly to the frowning faces of the other operatives. He noticed one man mouthing for him to go back to his fucking seat. Returning a stubborn scowl, Michael glanced back to the pastor and nervously scratched with his finger an area of his jaw that was still riddled with razor burn.
“My name is Michael Van Buren. I guess I uh…could use some of your healing…” A scary situation just became embarrassing. He felt so stupid. Why didn’t he just stick to his seat and waited to see what would happen? “I…well…I have anger issues I can’t really control. I sometimes wind up hurting people. Sometimes I feel bad about it, sometimes I don’t because they deserve it.” He cast his eyes to the floor as his cheeks flushed a little. God, he was just digging an outhouse.
Pastor Goodfellow’s brows slowly rose in surprise at Michael’s confession. Tension was still thick between them, but the stranger didn’t appear to be bluffing. He was a man in trouble and who was in need of his services.
“Oh…Oh!” the pastor exclaimed. “Uh, yes! I understand your plight, and God shall liberate you from the wrathful spirit that dwells within you. No longer will you harm those around you as well as your own spirit, which witnesses the sin you commit and weeps!”
Michael’s face became even redder. The pastor had to put so much zeal behind the situation. Any minute now he was expecting to be doused with holy water and slapped in the forehead with a Bible. Why didn’t he just stay in his seat?
“Kneel please,” the pastor ordered.
Michael slowly sank to his knees and tensely stared at the floor. Images of the tentacles he saw slithering beneath the boys’ flesh were flashing before his eyes. He was about to get the same treatment. Pastor Goodfellow stepped closer to Michael and raised his hand to inspect his palm before he stared down at Michael’s scalp.
I must find out what this man really is, Pastor Goodfellow thought.
He rested his hand upon Michael’s head and slid his fingers back through his dark layers of hair until he had a comfortable grip on his scalp. Michael’s breathing stopped and he immediately became still.
Here it comes, he thought in dread.
Like the two boys, purple limbs branched out beneath his flesh. He felt them piercing his brain and his teeth came tightly together in protest.
“Now, let us pr-”
The pastor’s pupils dilated as his mind became suddenly assaulted with pain. Discomfort wracked his body, and a horribly burning sensation afflicted the hand he had upon Michael’s head. Something was attacking him inside out. It was destroying his very cells, warring through his body like a plague. Grasping his rapidly-beating and aching heart, Pastor Goodfellow’s eyes nearly bulged from his sockets in result of the terror that filled him.
“Devil!” he screamed. “Devils; you’re all devils!”
Michael eased his head back; his eyes had rolled back into his head as he felt the ALPHA virus’s war with the virus that tried to invade his body. His hands were shaking. His fingers had curled to help him bear the assault as he pushed the virus back. The ALPHA virus stormed the bridge that was erected between him and the User and began attacking the pastor’s cells.
The pastor shrieked as he tried to retract his hand from Michael’s head. He stepped back, trying to rip his tentacles free, but they were caught. Writhing in pain, the violent attack forced the pastor to morph. Beneath his white and red robes, his shoulder blades shot upwards like white spikes, ripping through the cotton material. The bones then arched outwards as flesh and golden feathers tightly wrapped them. His arms and legs snapped and popped as they began to lengthen, lifting the pastor to a slender eight-feet and five inches.
Pastor Goodfellow stopped convulsing the more his T-virus awakened. He lifted Michael effortlessly, his free hand grasping his throat as long, needle-like fingers curled about it. His whole being had transformed into a creature that may have fit the imaginations of what a holy being would look like. His legs curled like the arms of a mantis as he hovered in the air on his wiry wings. His blue eyes had become cold and affronted. His brows pinched together as he stared at the conundrum in his clutches. Michael’s whole body had gone rigid. Every muscle was flexed as he resisted the awakened virus that had forced his own to retreat.
“You resist my healing,” Pastor Goodfellow noted. “There are more of you aren’t there? They’re here among God’s children. Well, let me show them what happens to devils that dare come into this church!”
The pastor retracted his tentacles and Michael’s body went limp in his grip. A wave of exhaustion had passed over him and perspiration built upon his brow. He opened his eyes to see that the pastor’s hair had grown. It rippled toward him like thread spun from the gold and when each follicle lightly settled on his skin, spots began to form. From the spots lifted thin, trails of smoke and Michael soon found himself suddenly on fire. The operative screamed as fire engulfed his flesh and clothes, melting and crisping it. He violently kicked and flailed in the faux-angel’s grip as Pastor Goodfellow watched Michael burn into a black husk with a content smile. He dropped his smoking and charred victom upon the floor and regarded the congregation.
“There are more like him among you. Kill them,” the pastor ordered.
Men, women, and children suddenly began lunging at the operatives, wrestling them to the ground where they would beat and stomp them to death. The church had turned against them. Operatives tried to make a dash for Pastor Goodfellow, but his hair follicles had been so thin that they hadn’t seen them surrounding his form like a firewall. Male and female agents met the wall of hair that had them collapsing to the floor in flames and rolling to put themselves out. Within minutes, the church had descended into Hell. Operatives were forced to fight off mothers and their children, fathers, and grandparents. They were people that the agency had dubbed innocent, but under the pastor’s control they seemed no longer human.
Meanwhile, Bill’s hand was resting against his face. His grey eyes stared sternly from between his digits at the Hell he was watching on the control room big screen. He was losing agents all because of The Director’s order not to harm the people. How did they know that they were still people? From what he could see, they were monsters out for blood.
Lowering his hand, he brought his index finger to his ear where he pressed a small button on the tooth-like communicator.
Scratch that last order. Dust’em all! Dust’em all before I’m scoopin’ up yer ashes! the supervisor roared.
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