Chapter 1

Flames climbed up, eating walls of a high-rise building. The screams, sounds of shattering glass. The squad of black cloaks and helmets were standing in front of chaos. Red crosses on their helmets were shining brightly with intensive colour of blood. There were no any gawkers, every person has disappeared trying to escape from righteous anger of the church. 

People in the black cloaks putted their palms in prayer. The chorus of voices that were changed because of the helmets and now sounded deadly and intimidated started to speak.

“Dear Lord, bless the souls of apostates. Welcome them into your kingdom and guide them to the right path. Amen.”

Black cloud of people with crosses on the foreheads kneeled down. Suddenly their lieutenant – the man who was in front - heard the voice in the helmet.

“Walters, you copy?”

“Yes, sir”

“Thermal imaging detected movement on the fifth floor. Someone stayed alive. Object is moving in your direction. Liquidate”

“Copy.”

Lieutenant Walters rose from his knees. The others did the same. He relayed the words of the superiors to the others. At this moment people in black cloaks sawa flash of fire at the fifth floor level of the building. It was followed by an explosion. The figure of a man flew down following the shards of broken glass and landed on the asphalt five metres away from the soldiers. The Inquisitors quickly drew their weapons, black swords glowing with blue flames. The lieutenant raised his hand in a fist, ordering them to stay behind and be ready. Walters approached the man slowly. His legs were broken, his face half burnt, but his chest was heaving, indicating that he was still alive. The man on the ground opened his eyes and wheezed, punctuated by a convulsive cough.

"Bastards... You will never realise true salvation... You will all rot under the oppression of the Church..."

The man coughed again with blood. Through the dark slots in his helmet Walters saw a bloody smile of the heretic. It got stuffy and the smell of burnt flesh started leaking through the oxygen purifiers built into the helmet. “Liquidate”. He heard emotionless voice in his head. It was his duty.

He stepped even closer, leaning over the heretic's sneering face. 

"May the holy fire purify your heart. Amen." The black blade drove into the flesh of the lying man with a resounding sound. He let out a final sob. His eyes remained open. staring directly at the red cross in the forehead of Walters' helmet. A dead stare he'd seen a thousand times before, full of fear and hatred.

The main building of Inquisition was in the middle of the city. It was a high-rise palace with a long spire crowned with a cross. On the front of the building were holographic posters with the smiling face of the PopePelagius, encouraging people to join the new faith. The church's slogan circled the building: "Only by embracing the future will we come closer to God. Only by becoming Superhumans will we become his children." The building seemed to be a bastion of contrived morality and all-graceful purification, while the surrounding skyscrapers displayed female nude figures offering extra-terrestrial pleasure.

It was early morning when the squad under Walters' command returned from another elimination. The privates had to be released to rest as soon as possible, and the lieutenant himself had to report back on thecompleted task. Leaving his equipment in the warehouse, he went to the upper floors to see his superiors. In the mirror in the elevator he finally looked at his face without the helmet. The black prosthetic lower jaw glistened with a metallic sheen. The traces of fatigue were reflected in the sunken circles under his eyes.

The doors slowly opened on the fiftieth floor. A spacious room, furnished according to the latest fashion in interior design - minimalism, sterile cleanliness, white walls with simple ornaments, an oval table in the centre – came into the view. In the room there were two people – captain Rivera and the Pope. Captain Rivera was a typical short-cropped and well-built military man with a perpetual expression of some cruelty on his face. Walters liked that. Rivera was easy to understand, simple in nature, blindly trusting in the idea and duty. But Pope Pelagius, who at the moment was the leading figure in the church and to whom Walters and Rivera were directly subordinate, sat in the chair at the head of the table with a frozen expression of kindness. His face, neurochemically enhanced, seemed to be designed to inspire calm and trust. But to Walters, it frightened him. His perpetually half-closed eyes were unreadable, and Pelagius's very nature pressed upon him with boundless power.

“Captain Rivera” – Walters gave short nod to the military. Then he kneeled down: “Your Holiness”

“Oh, captain, I see your praised boy came to report.” – said Pelagius, addressing Rivera, but staring right at Walters. The lieutenant could have sworn that even with his head down he could see the scrutinising gaze on him. “He's definitely following our faith, not even afraid of implantation. Commendable. Only by becoming Superhumans will we become his children.Stand up, kid.”

Walters raised from his knees and saw a light sly smile on the Pope’s face.

“So, I can't detain you any longer, captain. I've explained everything to you. I'll see you later.” – Pelagius gave a hand with a massive ring to the Rivera. Captain kissed it respectfully and nodded. The Pope left the room leisurely, glancing at Walters with a fleeting glance from under his squinted eyelids.

Rivera sat down on the edge of the table and looked at the Lieutenant. He stepped closer and began his report with emotionless face: “The building on the 6thRow Street has been destroyed, all heretics and their accomplices liquidated.”

Rivera clapped on the hard fabric of his trousers and smiled. 

“Brilliant as always, Walters. Any issues with civilians?”

“Negative, sir”

“Good.” – Captain looked at the rising sun at the window. 

“I can see you're pretty exhausted, but there's another case tomorrow that I need to send you on. His Holiness has been looking at you because of my personal recommendation and he would like to see you in action.”

Walters allowed himself a quiet sigh. Rivera pretended not to notice it.

“We have information that a large-scale attack is planned during tomorrow's speech of the church spokesman. We estimate they will have explosives and a large number of psychic weapons. Of course, everyone who comes to the speech will be checked and the area will be cordoned off, but psychic weapons are not so easy to detect. We need inquisitors trained to confront it.”

Lieutenant gave a short nod. Now it was captain’s turn to sigh. 

“Okay. Guy, I’ll sent you all details, schemes and instructions. I see that it’s not the time to bring you up to speed. Notify your boys to be ready for tomorrow. The speech starts at five”

Walters smiled briefly. He was too tired from the past week of almost daily missions and there was little energy left to represent fervour to his work. 

“Thank you, Captain.”

Rivera gave a simple and kind smile. At this moment no one could imagine that this man killed people.

***

Next day. The instructions had been studied, all the details of the task had been discussed more than once with Captain Rivera, and now Walters, with a squad of selected inquisitors, recognised as the best, stood on the edge of the magnificent platform on which one of the big shots in the church was to ascend in half an hour. His black cloak covered his sword and blaster, the heavy red cross on his chest was pressing a little. The chain it hung from seemed to dig into Guy'simplanted black neck. He was holding the helmet in his hands. It was easier to scan the assembled congregation with his trained, keen eyes. A premonition of something unsettling had not left him since morning. Next to him stood Ralph Ellis, also without a helmet on his head. Guy was glad that Ralph had been sent here too, not that he had any warm feelings for him, but there was definitely something on the level of trust and friendship. Walters couldn't say that he had any particularly warm feelings for anyone, but at least he and Ralph had spent their youth together and continued to serve the church together. Sometimes Guy wondered how Ellis had managed to stay out of the sword of fire. Too often he made inappropriate jokes, calling the Pope and those involved in the church a bunch of inept jerks.

“Hey, Walters” – Ralph nudged the Lieutenant to attract his attention: “After all this shit, I suggest we have a stiff drink at the bar.”

Walters grinned. The black prosthetic lower jaw moved, glinting in the sun. Ellis grimaced.

“So what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Why did you even put that ugly prosthetic on yourself? Why didn't you get hand implants like I did? Practical and beautiful. And now you're a pain in the ass to look at, iron man.”

“It is so much more convenient to bear the righteous wrath and cleansing of the Lord.”

“What a stubborn jerk” – Ralph sighed.

Walters heard steps and looked back. Rivera was approaching them with a beaming smile. 

"Good news, guys. The gang was intercepted on the approach to the block. Those crazies didn't even try to hide the explosives from us."

Ralph chuckled: "What a bunch of dumbasses. Walters, in honour of this joy, drinks are on me."

Rivera was about to say something else, but then applause from the crowd erupted. A tall man in a white church vestment with a red cross around his neck came on stage. The captain nodded to the inquisitors, signalling that they would continue the conversation later, and went to his position somewhere backstage. A vague premonition did not leave Guy. The chain from the cross continued to press against his neck, and the fleeting relief from the good news faded to the periphery of his mind, giving way to anxiety and focus. The crowd fell silent in suspense. The man in the white robe folded his hands in prayer, ready to speak.

"Brothers and sisters..."

And then there was an explosion. Then another and another. 

The crowd murmured, shouted, and a medley of panic and crush began. Guy automatically slapped on a helmet, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Ralph was swearing hardly and doing the same. 

The sword burst into blue flame in Walters' hand. His eyes flickered, scanning the surroundings. One explosion was in the centre of the crowd, two more on the edges closer to the stage.

“Walters, you copy?” – The voice of the captain Rivera screamed into lieutenant’s ear.

“Yes, sir”

“We need to defend the speaker and liquidate the threat!”

“Copy”

From there, Walters acted on automatic. A sign to Ralph to protect the man in white, a radio message to the rest of the ranks, quick orders. His feet were already carrying him to the middle of the platform, where the speaker lay stunned by the explosions. Suddenly he felt something scrabbling, trying to get into his skull. A psychic attack. That was the last thing he needed. Gaius knew that if it weren't for his training and specially implanted defences, he'd be lying on the ground, clutching his head and going mad with a tearing headache. He saw, though, that that was exactly what was happening to the speaker right now. 

“Shit, Walters!”

That was the Ralph’s voice. Guy momentarily looked at him and saw the man staying at the back of the stage. A detached, izoid rage reflected in the stranger's grin. In his hands was a powerful grenade, based on astrolite. Walters went numb, thoughts whirling frantically in his implant-riddled head. He saw Ralph lunge at the heretic with the grenade, but he had already stuck his finger in the pin, ripping it out. "He won't make it," a terrible realization flashed through the lieutenant's mind, but it was too late. And all Walters could do was jump behind some crate of sound-amplifying equipment and hear Ralph screaming. 

Another explosion.