Red was unable to move. It was mostly due to the fact that each of his legs were tied tightly to the legs of the chair he was in and his hands were tied behind his back, but it also owed something to the gun being pointed at him. Not his own gun, of course, that was still invisible in it's holster, but a regular, run of the mill, deadly, non-holy gun. His sword, on the other hand, had been taken from him. He hoped he'd be able to find it (if he could get out of this) but he worried that he might not be able to - he hadn't looked too closely and he wasn't sure what it looked like. Admittedly, however, that worry weighed less on his mind at the time than the gun pointed at him did.

He had never had a gun pointed at him before, as far as he could remember, and he assumed it would not be the type of thing you forgot. James Bond, he realized, was even cooler than he had thought, staying so nonchalant in the face of danger. Of course Bond had the luxury of living twice, whereas Red was pretty certain that this one was the only life he'd get. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he told himself that he couldn't die here. He knew he had to die a martyr, and there was little chance of that while being held at gunpoint by a child molesting priest who may (but more likely may not) be Jesus. The rest of his mind was busy not wanting to be shot.

Father David Patrick, who Red had pretty much confirmed as a pervert but was still only an alleged Christ, was the person doing the gun pointing. Somehow, when he'd touched Red's hand, in addition to curing what ailed him and (supposedly) absolving his sins, he had realized that Red was a Saint. Then there was the bit with the running and the frogs, but eventually, it ended up here, with Red unable to move due to the ropes and the fear of death.

"Who are you?" said Father Patrick, "What are you doing here? Are you just here to… see… the children or do you have a purpose here? Who sent you? How did you know about my frogs?"

Red was also gagged. He mumbled something to that effect and Father Patrick gestured to the one he'd called Simon. Simon undid the gag.

"Are you going to answer my question or are you going to be difficult?" Patrick said.

"In reverse order," Red said, "Both, you dumped them on me, I'd rather not say, the latter, getting captured apparently, and just this guy, you know?"

Patrick smacked Red in the face with the gun. Red spit, but accidentally miscalculated the force of it, and the bloody saliva landed on his jacket, the blood only slightly darker than the jackets natural color. "Don't play games with me, your Holiness. I don't care if you are a Saint, I'm not going to let you jeopardize my plans. It's not too late for you to join me, you know. With your help, I'm sure nothing can stand in our way. I know in some ways you and I are… kindred spirits." He leaned in close to Red, whispering in his ear, the gun barrel pressed into his chest. "At my side you could have… any… child… you wish."

"Ok, you know what," Red said, "This has gone far enough, I'm not a pedophile!"

Patrick smirked.

"I'm not," Red repeated.

"Of course not," he said.

"No, really. I was just, you know… saying that."

"Of course. I believe you. After all, you're a holy man, and we both know holy men would never do such things. Simon? Let's go. He might be more willing to talk after he sits and thinks about his situation for a while." With that Father Patrick and Simon both left Red alone in the room to assess the situation. Red knew he was on the first floor somewhere, but had become a bit disoriented due to the slight beatings he'd taken on the way here. They had brought the chair in for just this occasion. Otherwise the room was empty.

The first thing Red did was struggle against his ropes. It didn't really do much. He wished he had remembered to tense his muscles when they were tying him (he remembered reading that somewhere) but at the time he was just trying to make sure their punches didn't break his glasses. He couldn't get out of the ropes. His next thought was to get his gun, but with his hands behind him, he had no way to reach into his jacket to retrieve the unseen and unfelt weapon. He considered trying to toss himself over, to perhaps break the chair, but as it was made of metal, it seemed unlikely that Red could break it so easily.

After a moment, an idea struck him. He rocked back and forth for a moment, and throwing his momentum into it, he managed to rock forward onto his feet. He was still tied to the chair, but now he was standing, hunched over, with the chair tied to his feet and arms. He tentatively tried walking. It didn't work very well. He could only move each foot about and inch at a time. It took him about three or four minutes to waddle in this way over to the door. Then he looked down at the doorknob.

He slowly turned around. He tried to back up and take the knob in his hands, but the back legs of the chair hit the door and prevented him from getting close enough. Another minute or so of turning back around, and he tried to grab the knob between his elbow and his side. During his third attempt at turning the knob this way he lost his balance. He fell forward, his face and upper body smooshed flat up against the door. It was in this half standing, half leaning position that he realized he would just have to wait and see what Patrick had planned for him.

Twenty minutes passed. During that time Red did a lot of thinking. It started out very constructive- trying to figure out the route out of the building from there, considering what Patrick was going to do with such a large quantity of frogs, that type of thing. By the time ten minutes had gone by, he had worked his way around to wondering if DI&R were going to make him go to Christmas mass. At the end of the twenty minutes, he was trying to deduce what ingredients were in McDonald's Shamrock Shake when the door opened and his face quickly made contact with the floor.

"Jesus, what the hell-?" Simon yelled out, shocked. He grabbed Red and the chair and rolled them onto their back. Red was too busy wincing in pain to notice how much less distinct Simon now looked. "What happened here? Oh, broke your glasses, huh?"

Red opened his eyes completely for the first time since the fall. He could barely see a foot in front of his face. Everything was just shapes.

"Perhaps Father Patrick can heal these for you, too," Simon said, picking up what seemed to Red to be the two pieces of his fractured glasses. They had split, for what he could see, on the nosepiece. Right down the middle. Simon slipped the two pieces into Red's breast pocket. "You can ask him when you see him. Let's go." He grabbed the chair back and dragged Red away by it.

"You know…" said Red, groggily, "I could always walk." Blobs of color drifted past him refusing to solidify into recognizable items as he was dragged along. "No reply? That's too bad, I was just beginning to like the sound of your voice. Hey, there's something we both seem to agree upon, right? We're not so different, you and me. We could be pals, I think. Sure, there's that whole pedophile issue between us, what with you working for one, and me thinking they're disgusting. And the you beating me up bit, too. But what say we put all that behind us, ok? You let me go, I'll never come back, ever."

"I'm afraid we can't take that risk, your Holiness," said Father Patrick. Red's chair was spun around and he found himself facing a crimson blob that appeared to be sitting on an enormous possibly wood carved chair. "You're either going to join us, or you're going to die. Thank you Simon, that will be all."

Once the door had closed Father Patrick added, "You can come back out now." A few more shapes, three or four, came out from behind Patrick's throne. Red was incredibly displeased to find that they were flesh colored. They moved in close to Patrick and covered up much of his crimson color. "Mmmm, thank you little ones. Now, your Holiness, why are you here?"

Red was squinting with all his might but could not make out exactly what was happening at the other side of the room. "I came to hear if what I heard about you was true."

"That I am the lord?"

"Mostly that you're a sick fuck, but that too, I guess."

"Oh come, now, name calling? It does not befit a man of your title. Especially not one who shares my proclivities, isn't that right? Kimmy, why don't you make our guest more comfortable?"

One of the flesh colored blobs moved away from Patrick and drifted towards Red. With each step it took closer, Red was more and more certain that it was a young woman, and more and more certain that she was fairly naked.

"Care to dance?" she said, closing in on him and seeping into focus.

"Oh, God," he said, turning away from her.

"Come on," she said, straddling one of his knees, "Relax. Father Patrick saved us, he can save you, too, just like he is going to do for everyone."

Red glanced over towards her face. Her eyes were wide and innocent looking, but Red could tell it was mostly a put on. Her arms reached around his neck. "Please, just get off of me."

"Why?" she asked, "Do you not like me?"

"Why are you doing this with him?"

"If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead. We all would. We owe him everything… our parents said so." She loosened his tie and unbuttoned a few of his shirt buttons.

"Your parents agreed to this?"

"I gave her the life she has right now," Patrick called out to him, "They know I could take it from her just as easily. It's mine to do with as I please."

"What's you're name, cutie?" Kimmy asked as she began kissing at Red's neck.

"Stop, it, just stop it!" said Red, "Get the hell off of me! I don't like little girls!"

"Oh come on, your Holiness," Patrick called from across the room, "Just enjoy it. How about this: I swear on all that's holy that she is eighteen."

"Actually," Kimmy said, "It's my birthday. What did you get me?" She reached down and slipped her fingers below Red's belt, causing Red to accidentally tip them over sideways, sending them toppling to the floor. Red got knocked on the side of the head fairly hard and he could feel a stinging sensation where the chair was pushing down on his arm. Kimmy, on the other hand, landed face first and was unable to free her hand from his belt in time to catch herself. As close as he was to her, Red guessed that she had broken her nose, which explained both the blood and the screaming she was doing.

The crimson blob launched itself off of the brown one and headed straight for them. "I offer you power. I offer you a place at my side. I share my children with you!" The crimson blob, now clearly Patrick in some sort of ceremonial robes, helped Kimmy to her feet. "And what do you do? You spit my offer back in my face, and you break this beautiful young woman's nose!" He kicked Red hard in the face.

"Stand still, Kimberly," Patrick said, as Red looked up, blinking the blood from his eye, he put his hand on her face. He could not see any of the details, but the red color that had spilled all over the girl's front disappeared in a moment, as did her sobs. "There, there, dear, it's alright. Are you ok?"

"Yes, Father," she said, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, my child. I shall always take care of you," he said, "Just as you take care of me. Go get ready for the mass." Kimmy and the other flesh colored blobs hurried out of the room.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, you dirtbag…" said Red, "You… you are going to pay for this, and these kids are going to be free."

"Don't make me laugh," Patrick said, kicking Red in the gut, "They have as much chance of being free as you do!" He stepped on Red's face, grinding it down against the floor. "I don't think you understand what is going on here. I am going to become God! No one can be free from God's power! The choice will be simple, bow before me, or feel my wrath! Now, here's the plan, tell me what you think."

Patrick walked father away, and picked something up. When he returned closer, Red recognized it as a roll of duct tape. "First of all, you are going to shut up," he said, crouching down to place a strip of the adhesive over Red's mouth. He leaned in close to him and continued. "Then I am going to kick you in the head until you are unconscious. After that we'll fix you up nice and pretty. Then I'm going to kill you. Any objections? No? Well, then, let's begin." He rose up, drew back his foot, and proceeded with the kicking. Red only remembered the first three.

***********************************

Red awoke to the sound of a hymn. He came into consciousness cautiously, in anticipation of a throbbing headache that surprised him by not existing. He could still barely see- his glasses were still off, but he no longer ached as much as he had. Sure, his arms ached from being tied to this cross, supporting most of his weight and all, but all the punches, the kicks… he no longer felt their effects. He glanced down at his shoulder and saw that the bloodstain was gone. In fact, he couldn't feel any blood at all. Not in his mouth, not dried on his face. Maybe Patrick really was doing these miracles.

He was, as previously stated, tied to a cross. His arms were holding up most of his weight, although his legs were also tied to the main pole at the ankles. The ropes were tied very tightly, so slipping loose was out again. He considered falling over again, his feet were only about a foot off the ground, but he found the supports at the bottom of the cross were too well made. He could not move it at all, and the duct tape was still over his mouth.

He could not see behind him, but in front of him was a mass of the color red. From the way it seemed to sway he guessed it was a curtain. From the sound of it, the hymn was being sung directly on the other side of that curtain. It shortly drew to a close.

"My good people!" shouted Father Patrick. "My good people, my heart swells seeing all your faces out there tonight! I told you that this would be the single most important mass of our good church's history and lo! You did come! And I do promise you- this will be the single most important thing you ever see in your whole life. Why? Because, my friends, because the Lord and I are going to call upon you, yes, you to summon up every ounce of your faith and join in a Holy crusade!"

Red heard a murmur of talking from the crowd.

"Now, as you know, I have been doing the Lord's work on this Earth for some time. I have shepherded His flock through the good and the bad, and when great suffering befell His children, His children who knew no sin, He reached down inside me and showed me that I could heal them! All I need do is lay my hands upon those beautiful children, and they have been saved, both physically and spiritually. Since that time, I know each and every one of you present here have devoted yourselves and your children to the joy of the church, and I want you to know that both He and I appreciate your support. But now we need to ask for more.

"Ever since these miracles began, there have been rumors. I know you have heard them, they spread through the town like wildfire. Someone would see what I had done, see the impossible made possible, and they would whisper… 'Could it be…?' 'Do you think he could be…?' 'Is it even conceivable…?' Yes. Yes, it is conceivable, and more than that, it's true."

The murmur of talking began building again.

"I am Jesus Christ reborn!"

The murmur exploded into and outright cacophony.

"Quiet, please! Quiet!"

After a minute or two of pleading with the crowd for silence, they relented. Half of them seemed to be cheering for him, and half wanted to kill him. They settled down for a moment to at least hear what he had to say.

"I understand that you don't all believe me. I accept that. Just as Jesus himself faced non-believers, I do as well. If you truly do not believe I am the Son of God, you may go, and never return. However, a word of warning! God does not look favorably upon those who turn on His son. Therefor consider your decision carefully. If you truly decide that you must, then go- but know that I take no responsibility for what may befall you. I tried to save you. Now, you may go. Those that stay will be blessed and told of God's plan for the Earth's salvation."

The crowd remained vocally silent for the most part, but the sound of movement filled the room. Red had no way of knowing how much of the congregation was leaving, but he could definitely tell that some of them were.

Red had an itch on his back. He was trying to rub his back against the cross in such a way that it would scratch the itch, but he was having little success. Every time he thought he was satisfied, it would creep back into the realm of annoyance and he'd have to do it all over again. He was just about to get just the right spot when a scream pierced the ears of every head in the room. It came from the direction Red had figured to be the exit. He might have been imagining it, but he though he heard every head in the place turn to face the rear as groups of people returned inside.

"Frogs!" a woman shrieked, bursting into the room.

"Hundreds! Thousands!" added another.

"They're falling from the sky!" yelled a man.

"You see!" shouted Patrick, triumphantly. "You see what God has in store for those that turn on his son!"

"He is the Son of God!" concluded someone. Red thought the voice sounded an awful lot like Simon's. The crowd was buzzing yet again. They sounded like an equal mix of fear, awe, and elation.

"What are we supposed to do now?" a man called out over the din.

"What are we supposed to do now?" echoed Patrick. "I am glad you asked, my good man. What we are supposed to do, what we are obligated to do, what we have been charged by God to do is to make the world back into the paradise it once was! John tells us in the Bible that when Jesus returns to the Earth, it will be the end of the world. He was correct, but not in the way he thought. The world as we know it will be gone, yes, but in it's place will be a new Eden! I shall lead us to the new paradise and you shall be the Holy army that keeps all sinners from standing in God's way!"

"An army?" someone asked, "We're just families, just normal people."

"Now, you are just normal people," he said "But God will provide for his chosen, as he has always done. You have all joined the ranks of the Righteous! Nothing can truly get between us and our goal."

"Where have I heard that before," Red though to himself. Red felt quite confident that this guy was not Jesus. If he hadn't seen the mass quantity of frogs being delivered into the guy's basement earlier, sure, he might have been fooled by his con act, but now… He knew what he needed to, all he had to do was get loose, and get out of there. He was sure Argento would have some good advice on how to proceed from there. Of course to do that he'd have to deal with the ropes, duct tape, and cross, and he still had no solution for those little obstacles.

"We have amongst our flock," Patrick was saying, "Those who have experience in all manner of warfare. God has been grooming our church, silently preparing us for this moment, for this day to arise!"

"Do you have the support of the Pope?"

Patrick was silent for a moment.

"The Pope," he eventually continued, "is deaf to the true voice of God. He does not yet recognize my divinity. We will show him the error of his ways."

"How can we go up against the entire Catholic Church?"

"I did not say it will be easy, I merely said I will be done. Once again, you are free to leave at any time, but you know what fate awaits you."

The entire room fell silent. Not a person so much as moved.

"Very well. I thank you all," Father Patrick said. "In truth, I suspect our strongest resistance will come from within the tainted reaches of our own faith. In fact, they have already begun to strike against us. Just today, the heretics, the disbelievers sent a man to infiltrate our ranks."

The murmuring again.

"Fear not, my children, for God, who knows and sees all, loves his son. He told me to suspect this man, and I am pleased to tell you that he is a threat no more."

All of a sudden the red blur that was spread before Red shifted off to one side and a bright set of lights blinded him temporarily. A huge number of gasps occurred all at once. When Red's eyes adjusted, he though he recognized the same main chamber he had entered when he first arrived at the church. The many moving multi-colored blobs before him he assumed were the members of the congregation. Very near to him was the familiar crimson of Father Patrick, with a group of smaller blobs Red could only guess to be alter boys from Patrick's collection. Red really really wanted to make a crack, but the duct tape held him in check.

"This is he! This is the infidel that has come to see our Lords plans go sour."

The crowd's murmur was most assuredly a negative one. Mostly anger, if Red was reading it right.

"Don't worry, my friends! I have spoken with my Father, and he has made it perfectly clear to me what must be done. God Himself has instructed me, nay, ordered me to take this infidel's life."
The murmur of the crowd continued. Red was very uncomfortable with the percentage that seemed to be calling for his blood. It was the majority. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe more deeply through his nose. He was just noticing how hard it was getting to do that with his hands up like they were. He shook it off and told himself he was not going to die. He was having a hard time believing it.

He looked over at Patrick, who was standing at the altar. He picked up something long and light glinted off it into Red's eyes.

"God has instructed me," David said, "to take this blade and rend the heretic in twain. It is likely the death of this man will start a war between us and the infidels, a war we are going to win even if it brings years of death, suffering, and all manner of misery upon us. But it is a war we must fight!

"When I spoke to my Father, I asked Him, 'Father, could we not just let the man live? Could we not release him and let the infidels believe what they will, just go on as we have for years, content with the knowledge that we are the true faith? Why must we make this man into a martyr?'"

Red's eyes widened.

"'My Son,' He told me, 'Though you are divine, it is not your place to question your God. My will is all. You must kill this man, let his blood stir the blood of the infidels into war. You shall prevail and you shall lead My people into paradise.'"

Red had begun to struggle as hard as he possibly could against the ropes. It did not matter to him if he had already tried it, and proved it futile. It did not matter if the ropes were starting to cut into his skin due to the force of his struggling. All that mattered was that Father David Patrick was standing in front of him holding a sword with every intention of making him into a martyr.

"With this, I seal all of our destinies," Patrick said. "May God have mercy upon your soul."