God, this #@$%king sucked.

Not only was he only getting 10-5 from his side gig, but his main gigs wanted him to actually do some @#$^king work. Buncha @#$holes. It turned out, some important foreign religious figure was in town, and her babysitters got all shot up, and now she was MIA.

To top it all off, she was a mutant, and that meant she was SUPER's business.

Every agent, every soldier had orders. They were to fan out and FIND HER.

So what did he do? Fan out near the @#$^iest part of town... you know, the kind of part of town where not even the dafted mother@#$^ers would go. The dark alleys where people who were up to any good tended not to go. He knew those places. He was strangely comfortable in them. nuns didn't @#$^king belong there.

He sat in his lambo, sending out another status report. Not #@^$ so far. Not @#^$ planned. Give it another five hours, they'd find a body, he'd get to go home. It would be a sad day for his kind or something. He would get drunk, get a sympathy #$%^ out of it at some bar, and go no his merry way.

Speak of the bar. He might as well make a stop while he was waiting, right? It would be a regular investigation.

He got out of his car, turned on the security system, and then started walking toward the dive down the street.

She'd spent the better part of the last thirty minutes trying to make hide nor hair of the directional signs scattered around the city. The small English to Greek booklet she had didn't help a whole lot, and like the last time, she had attempted to get directions all attempts had ended poorly. People either didn't have the patience for her limited English or flat out gave her the could shoulder.

She had an address for where the Father had been... just in case something exactly like this had happened. But... her priest was dead, and the Abbess as well. She wasn't entirely sure if the supposed safe haven was actually safe anymore.

Thankfully it wasn't dark yet... so she still had some time to figure things out. At the very least she might be able to find someone with a phone who would be willing to let her make a call. She had a few phone numbers tucked away in case of emergencies, but had been hoping not to have to use them. She didn't like having to bother the upper levels of the church... and they surely had more pressing issues on their hands.

Glancing up and down the street, she picked a random direction and turned that way. With her hands tucked into the front of her habit, obscured by her dark apron, she fiddled with her rosary and muttered prayers under her breath.

She couldn't wait to be home... to see a familiar face and to sit in the garden again. She needed the quiet. The towering city was starting to press in on her.

CRACK

Her vision flashed white for a moment and the breath was punched out of her lungs. Confused, she felt herself tripping forward... but wasn't sure why. She almost didn't feel the scrape of the sidewalk on her hands and cheek as she collapsed, as a different pain sprang suddenly and aggressively to life across her back and chest. Confused, her brows drew together and she squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of sickness rose over her.

Was she the one gasping? That sick, wet sound?

A moment later she was able to draw in a breath again. There was blood on her lips when she exhaled, and the pain in her chest was excruciating... yet slowly ebbing away. She managed to lift herself to her knees and pressed a shaking hand to the front of her habit below her collar bone. It was warm and wet.

What had happened? Had... had she just been shot?

Her mind was awhirl as she fought with the pain. The wound was healing, and quickly at that. She noticed red splattered across the pavement before her, and then a shadow that was steadily growing closer.

She couldn't yet get words out to question whoever it was, but when she looked up through blurry, tear stricken vision all she could focus on what the large figure of a man looming over her. She didn't even notice the others behind him, casually stepping out from a dark, unassuming car.

She was too busy focusing on the barrel of a gun, which she assumed had just shot her moments ago, as it was pointed at her face.

"Let's see you come back from this, sister."

In this universe, the erasure of matter was completely impossible. To the religious woman with the gun pointed at her head, this fact of reality would seem to be a falsity. You see, the man who held the gun to her head? His own would simply... Disappear.

Let's not jump to the conclusion, though. Let's look at the whole process first!

The hypothesis? He was going to head to the bar, ignore all of this emergency situation business Bull$#%&, and go about his day, getting drunk on the clock.

The reality? Nope. All of the ##$kin nopes. On his way to the dive, he heard a gun shot. A quick glance showed the very woman he was looking for falling face first to the ground, shot through the chest. Ahh, well, she was dead. Nothing he could do. Time to head home.

Nope again, mother#$%&er. She was starting to get up. After being shot in the chest. $#$^. It was like divine inter#$%^ingvention. Someone, who was very clearly a hit man, strode out confidently to go and finish her off. You see, at this point, most people ran away, and a rather bold hitman could often finish the job before the police arrived.

Mr. Hitman was very unlucky in this case, though. Just now, he happened to shoot someone D9 was supposed to protect, and now he was trying to finish the job.

Poor #$%^er.

Out from the holster at his side, a revolver that was... honestly... improbably big leveled it's sights on the hit man's forehead. It's owner wasn't the type to run away and wait for the cops.

BLAM!

His custom pistol was a 22mm round... Or rather, larger than a .50 cal. When the round struck his target's head, the head was simply... no more. All evidence presented, the greek would think it's matter gone.

The body fell to the ground.

"Well, sh$*... No coming back from that, huh?" He strolled up casually... he would feel it if another shooter tried to attack now. "Alright, mother what ever the #$%&... What's the line? Come with me... if you want to live."

She had just barely begun to understand exactly what was going on, even though she only partially understood some of what the stranger had said. Really, all she needed to know what that he was pointing a weapon at her, and she wasn't quite sure if her head was able to heal the same as her body. She'd never had the need to ponder over that before.

It was all moot in the end, however, since a moment later there was another crack of a gun firing and she flinched and squeezed her eyes shut. It took the sound of the man's body hitting the sidewalk and the footsteps of another approaching for her to realize that she wasn't dead... or in copious amounts of pain.

The man was very dead, though. Very, very dead.

Her hands lifted as she panicked, letting out a little mewl of distress. She'd seen dead people before- that wasn't new- but she had never seen one so freshly murdered before her eyes, and she wasn't sure if there was anything she could do. Should she lay her hands on him and attempt to bring him back? Could she bring him back from that?

"Well, sh$*... No coming back from that, huh? Alright, mother whatever the #$%&... What's the line? Come with me... if you want to live."

Someone else answered her silent question. In a daze, she turned and stared up at him. Had he just cursed at her? Was he another person intent on harming her? She eyed the weapon for a moment while internally processing what he had said.

Could that even be considered a gun?

Had he said something about living?

"You... help me?" Her accent was thick, and her sentence structure broken. There was more to worry about than grammar at the moment, though. The others from the car a ways back were hurrying in, and it was becoming obvious that they weren't normal humans.

She watched. She stared. @&%$s Sake, she was really good at staring at s#%^. Some kinda effort. Was that her saintly power? He wasn't religious, but some of those f@^$ers were supposed to be able to talk to birds or something, right?

He'd just saved this daft floosey's life. Least she could do was look at him like he was sexy or something. ungrateful little c$%t, wasn't she? In response to his clever line, she replied in broken english- "You... Help me?"

"Yes... Yes I @#$#in Save you... You too dumb @$^% to see that?" He stared at her. Oh well. There was a car full of @#$^ers who wanted to have a word with him for killing their friend.

In a series of events that the greek would hardly be able to discern, they all died horrible deaths. He didn't even use his gun. They were mutants. They would fight with mutant powers, and so would he.

He loved it.

He lived for mutant fights with mutant powers. What was greater than using what got gave you to tear another gifted human apart limb from limb? After the struggle, he sat on the hood of a car, taking a deep, contented breath, and finishing off a cigarette.

Delta 9 walked over to the woman.

"We... ##$^&in go.. Got that? A#^holes are gonna send more people. We gotta go... got it? Get in my lambo. Maybe bl$% me. And we get you home safe. Yeah?" He reached out to help her up.

"Can't speak #$%kin american like a normal person, can you?"

He blurted out more words, a few of which she was beginning to recognize after repeated use. They were colorful. If she hadn't been in a daze still, she may have flushed from them.

Instead, she watched mutely as he moved past to face the other oncoming people, and... then turned her back pointedly on the whole scene. She wasn't going to watch because she didn't want it tainting her thoughts and memory. This was so far from normal that the poor girl wasn't exactly sure how to cope with it.

Was this normal for Americans? Holy god, by his grace above.. the sounds.

She began to feel ill, but soon it was over. She didn't bother to look at the whole matter, instead focusing on the new hole in her habit. Someone had shot her. Someone had tried to kill her.... but why? Was it the same culprit who had murdered the Father and Abbess?

"We... ##$^&in go.. Got that? A#^holes are gonna send more people. We gotta go... got it? Get in my lambo. Maybe bl$% me. And we get you home safe. Yeah? Can't speak #$%kin American like a normal person, can you?"

Carefully, she reached for the offered hand. She was able to decipher most of what he had said, save for a few parts. She wasn't sure what a 'Lambo' was, or what America had to do with speaking. She understood the message that they needed to leave, however.

Once she was back on her feet she fought the urge to look behind again and licked at her bottom lip until it was free of blood. "Yes, we go... please."

She allowed him to lead her where ever, so long as it was away from everything behind. He'd mentioned home and she was more than willing to be on her way home at this point.

"Apology... have leaned heavy on the translator. Lost him days ago..."

She was led toward a vehicle, which... was in a shape and color she wasn't used to seeing. It had four wheels and windows though so that at least was normal for her. Was this one of those fancy cars people wasted a lot of money on to try and bolster their importance with the rest of the community?

She spared a glance at the man, quietly taking in the rest of him.

... yeah, that seemed to fit the bill.

His finger twitched as he looked back at the people he'd just fought... It had been a battle, but in the end, they'd ended up being a bit of a disappointment. He didn't appear to have a scratch on him.

"You know, I was pretty #$^kin thrown of when you got back up. Shot right in the chest... Crazy #@$&. You look fine. Heh... That's more my style." He spoke as he unlocked the car via finger print lock, and climbed on in.

"You ever been in a car this expensive? I coulda bought a #$%^in house." He said it proudly as he started the engine. It sounded like raw power. As he buckled in, his phone buzzed. He checked it, and stared for a second before replying.

"Change of plans... Looks like home or you ain't safe. I gotta take you somewhere inconspicuous to lay low..." He smiled after a second. "I got an idea... Can you take of that stupid looking hood off? You stand out. Bad. I mean, unless you wanna get all shot up again. Maybe you're into that #%$*."

He smiled a bit as he shifted from park. "Buckle up."

VROOOOM! They were out of there and down the street in the blink of an eye. The low profile car hugged the ground as it darted through traffic like it wasn't there.

Her brows creased slightly as he talked, as she processed his words in her head. A hand drifted to where the wound had been, where blood had already started to dry on her robes.

"...Mm. No more surprise than I." The thus far unnamed man seemed like he was more used to such things, and she could see the traces of scars that decorated him. Was the pattern of his clothes military? "Heal quickly." Normally, it was just other people she healed.

"You ever been in a car this expensive? I coulda bought a #$%^in house."

... How expensive was it? She shook her head, giving the vehicle one more glance as he got in. She attempted too, really she did, but right at first she couldn't spot where the handle was. When she did find it and gave it a gentle tug, the whole door lifted up on its own.

Magdalene stared at it for a moment in fascination, before she gathered her robes and ducked inside. It closed on its own with very little interaction as well. What kind of witch car was this?

What kind of buckel was this?!

She watched him buckle himself in and attempted to mimic him. The car started and scared a jump out of her.

"Change of plans... Looks like home for you ain't safe. I gotta take you somewhere inconspicuous to lay low... I got an idea... Can you take off that stupid looking hood off? You stand out. Bad. I mean, unless you wanna get all shot up again. Maybe you're into that #%$*."

One hand went to her veil, while the other had a grip on the seatbelt she still had yet to figure out. She most certainly did not want to experience that again! Carefully, she removed the outer veil, and then the headpiece underneath. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid behind her back, She folded the veil around her shoulders and tucked it away under her apron.

He gave her only a slight warning before hitting the gas pedal, and she had only partially figured out her buckle. To her credit, she managed not to let out an ear-piercing shriek and simply latched onto the parts of the buckle she had wrapped around her.

When they arrived at the next location she hurried out of that demon car as fast as she could, glad to had her feet back on solid ground.

Who decided it was a good idea to make vehicles go that fast?!

D9 chuckled as he climbed from the vehicle, leaning over the hood to look at her. She'd clearly never felt so much power in her life. That was alright. She hadn't seen nuthin yet.

"You're gonna hafta get back in the car, sweet heart. I'm here to get you some new digs. Can't have you goin around bein all recognizable as #$%^." He motioned to the small strip mall they were parked at. It was a collection of clothing shops. Fancy looking. He would close the door, and lock her in.

After that, out came the SUPER procurement card. Hey, it was a company expense, right? He couldn't wait to see the look on his boss's face when they saw what this bill was gonna look like. Hey, it was to help a VIP, right?

He walked into the store, bought all of the things he thought would look hot, and then walked on out, opening the car up again, and dumping the pile of clothing in her lap.

"We gotta get a hotel real quick, in case they want us to lay low longer... Looks like who ever did this is keeping them pretty busy. It'll give you a place to change."

Minutes later they pulled up to a small outside door hotel. He ran in to get a key, and then passed it to her through the window. "Run in and get changed. I'll keep an eye out." He lit up a cigarette as he waited for her, killing a craving that was starting to make him feel grumpy.

She was smoothing out the skirts of her robes when he filled her in that she actually had to get back inside that death trap. She gave it a sidelong glance filled with nervousness, before reluctantly nodding. If he felt it was best, then she would go along with it. Whoever this person was it seemed like he was trying to help her.

... Although she wasn't exactly sure how, yet.

She watched him go inside the store while she nervously sat within his car, fiddling with the cross around her neck. She hadn't had time to properly grieve for the Father and the Abbess yet... she was determined to wait until she had some alone time.

When he came back out, her eyes widened at the bags he shoved in at her. Her questioning look was ignored, and while he started the demon car up again she poked through the clothing. He had... questionable taste.

It was then explained that he had procured some form of living arrangement for her... or them? She wasn't sure. She would apparently be changing there, though

"Run in and get changed. I'll keep an eye out."

Taking the card from him, she scrambled from the car and headed for the matching number marker on one of the doors.

--

A bit later she came back out and headed back for him. Her first impression of his choice of clothing had been correct. Very questionable. She assumed because of the time restraint he had just grabbed whatever was closest and tossed them on the counter.

Out of all the sleeveless halter tops and mini skirts, she had found something at least comfortable to wear. The outfit did show more collar and arm than she was used too, but it would have to do. Considering that someone out there was attempting to murder her and all.

A cream dress-top with longer sleeves and slits in the side, that she had paired with a pair of black leggings and her normal shoes. All in all, it was similar if a little more mature, to what she'd used to wear before entering the monastery.

She had her rosary slipped on around her neck, but she was fiddling with her braid as she reapproached. She was ready for whatever the next stage of whatever this was.

Which, reminded her... "So.. Who are you?" She'd had a little time to calm down, and thus had more of a grip on her English than before. Her accent was still heavy, but it was much easier to understand her.

Delta 9 shrugged away his disappointment as the nun walked back to the car in the least skimpy combination of clothes she could wrangle. Damnit, he knew he shouldn't have grabbed the pants.

Shoulda been 100% fishnets. I mean, not that she was working with a super model body or nuthin. Wasn't bad looking, though. He'd hit.

She asked him who he was. He blinked a few times, and then chuckled. "Ho, @#$^, you mean you got into my car without knowing who or what I was? You're crazy." He stretched out a bit, lifting his butt to dig for his wallet.

Seconds later, he was displaying a badge. "Agent Cole, I'm a Soldier for SUPER ops... In short, government sent me to save you. A dead foreign mutant public figure on ConUS soil wouldn't look good on the headlines."

He started the car again.

"Buckle up."

They rocketed across the street, pulling right into a parking spot. "I know, long drive... Thi heres smoky's No one would look for you here."

He waggled his eyebrows, and climbed out of the vehicle. "We're getting a seat at the bar. They never clean the tables."

She leaned in slightly to peer at the badge, ignoring the insult. It wasn't like she had a lot of choices in the matter. Either stay where she was and probably get shot at again or take a chance on someone who appeared to seem to want to help her.

She also made no comment on the fact that she didn't know what this super was... he'd mentioned government, so she went with that. "...Father Alphaeus and Abbess Patrice," She started, after more securely buckling herself in. "Knew details of trip. Was not important that I know much more than basic things."

He ripped out of the parking lot again, and she found herself clinging to the seat and door handle like her life depended on it. What seemed like five seconds later the ride was over, and her organs returned to their proper places within her body.

"I know, long drive... This here's smoky's No one would look for you here. We're getting a seat at the bar. They never clean the tables."

The eyebrow waggle caught her attention, and she may have stared at him while barely suppressing the urge to return the gesture. Of course, she wasn't exactly aware of undertones of the gesture.

Squinting at the place as she unbuckled, she nodded slightly. "Fair point." She conceded. Logically, it was a relatively safe place to hide. Out on the sidewalk, she glanced around. It was a slightly different part of town that she had been in before. She spotted a few of the close by street signs and noted them, before turning to view the 'Bar' with a more skeptical eye.

It looked.... haggard. The signs outside were either out or missing pieces. One of the windows was boarded up from inside, and mystery stains decorated the walls. There was a man hunched over to one side of the sidewalk, propped up against a wall. She took a few steps toward him until she could see that he was breathing, before turning and heading toward the door to the establishment. She didn't wait for Mr. Cole to lead her, as her curiosity had peaked.

The inside wasn't much better. As soon as she opened the door a stale smell hit her in the face like a bad wind. Peanut shells littered the floor in all directions, and there was off-key rock music echoing out from the back. A lone man at the bar turned to look at her as she entered, one eyebrow arching toward the sky.

She was busy cracking shells on the floor with her shoes and attempting to peer into the darker corners of the establishment.

She'd never been in a place like this before. Dark, mysterious, and utterly fascinating. What could the people who frequented areas such as this look like? Were their mannerisms very different? Would they have stories?

Very nearly skipping over to a stool, she crawled up onto one and tested its swivel power, before folding her hands on the counter and waiting.

... What were they supposed to do now?

She swiveled to the right slightly, and locked eyes with a man at the end of the bar. He looked grizzled and old, with tattoos of some kind covering one entire half of his face.

The intensity of her stare may have tripled as she temporarily forgot her own position.

So... She didn't know a damn thing, in short. Worked for him. He often let other people do the thinking for him when he had the choice. It wasn't that he didn't like thinking; he just liked having the luxury of dedicating his thoughts to stuff he actually found interesting.

They went inside. She took the lead. Excitedly.

My god, it was like he took her to a @#$^ version of Disney land or something. She was looking around like any moment some jacked up Mickey mouse would round the corner and ask her for cr#@% money. He followed her to the bar. When he sat down, the man staring at her pointedly made the call to look away. The bartender stared at him for a moment, and then sighed.

"Oh, don't got any fancy clubs to be at tonight? You ain't here to start a fight are you?"

"@#^% off, Smoky." He grumbled. "Get me a beer, already." The man looked at the lady next to him. Will's eyes followed, and he waved him in. A few whispers later, the man turned and prepped her the frilliest, most fruity looking drink in the world.

He opened his beer on his own, placing the bottle's top against the bartop, and punching down to remove the cap. It left a small indent in the bar. The bar was covered with these kind of indents.

"Thats a pink panty dropper. I'm sure you'll like it." And maybe it'll calm you down enough to make the time fly by peacefully.

The bar wasn't empty, but it was by no means full. Everyone had a lot of character to them, that was for sure. Two large men were having a heated discussion over a pool table in the corner Sal and Rope. A man with an eyepatch was drinking alone. Tommy one eye. A table full of bikers were playing poker. They did three times a week.

He knew this place. He frequented it after coming back from Iraq the first time. It was a great place to get a good fight in, though everyone here knew him too well at this point to want to start one.

He took a swig of his drink. It was gonna be a long night, wasn't it?

The guy staring at her while she stared at him looked away, and she sighed in disappointment. She'd been trying to study his tattoo with little luck. It was dark, and she could barely make out the designs.

Mr. Cole started talking to the man behind the counter, who she was going to assume was 'smokey'. She watched as the agent opened his bottle in a... unique manner, and the zeroed her focus in on the bar itself. There were a lot of marks like that, and now that she was paying attention, a lot of bottle caps on the floor under the chairs.

Smokey slid a drink at her, recapturing her attention. There was a fancy looking cup that rightly didn't look like it beloved in an establishment such as this, and it was filled with something fruity looking and pink.

"That's a pink panty dropper. I'm sure you'll like it."

"...Pink... Panty dropper?" She repeated the name right back at him, puzzling over the terminology. What did a drink have to do with underwear?

Eyeing it quietly before she reached out to take it, she gave it a sniff first. It smelled like strawberry and cream, and not quite like anything she'd tried before. Not really as sugar as a soda, and not as plain as simple juice. Latching onto the straw, she took a few gulps before setting it back on the beaten up counter. "Thank you. You frequent here often?"

After a moment she swiveled back around, taking her cup with her so she could sit and watch the blooming argument happening off in the back. No one else seemed to be reacting, so she assumed it was normal for them.

Halfway through that first drink and she started to feel... different. Similar to when she'd sampled gifted brandy with the Abbess, or the first time she'd tried communal wine.

She gave her cup a skeptical glance, and yet... wasn't really inclined to stop until it was finished. It would be rude to leave any left behind, right?

--

Half way through her... what, second? Third?... drink and she couldn't have cared less about any alcohol within the pink fruity goodness. Smokey, that darling man, had been refilling her cup every time she set it down. He was a blessed fellow.

The argument across the way had blown up into a full-fledged fist fight. Still, no one else seemed inclined to get up and stop it.

... it was curious.

"Why does no one stop them?" She asked her more broody, silent companion. He hadn't really said a whole lot to her other than requesting that she spot pointedly staring at everyone. She had obeyed that request... for all of twenty minutes before her thoughts became fuzzy and it was much easier to ignore her responsibilities as a Mother.

The sounds of the scuffle died off suddenly, followed by what sounded like a paddle on thick cloth, and then a thud.

Magdalene swiveled slightly in time to see one of the men who had been in the argument limping over to the bar. He took a seat next to her, and she could see that his bottom lip was bleeding and one of his eyes was puffy and swollen. It was clear that he had lost the fight.

The nun went rigid in her seat for a moment before sparing Cole with a shifty sideways glance. Should she ask, or.... just do it? She mulled it over for a second, before ultimately deciding to just go ahead and do it. A prime example of what her main purpose in life was, was sitting right next to her. She couldn't not do it!

The Greek reached out without warning and planted her small hand flat against the man's face with a soft smaking sound. He was startled enough by it, and probbaly dealing with a concussion, that he didn't try to shove her off right away.

She smiled dopily as she headled him, watching as the lip cut vanished and his eye shrank back down to a normal size.

She asked if he frequented the place. He shrugged. "Used to, before I got the job I got now. After Iraq I didn't have a lot to do. Brass didn't know what to do with me."

He drank his beer and watched the door carefully. He didn't really pay attention to the pace that the greek was drinking at; he hadn't paid Smoky a dime since the first one, so he just assumed that the rather frugal man wasn't pouring.

A fight broke out between Sal and Rope in the back. She asked about it.

"Meh, they're just blowing off steam. Sal @#$^ed Rope's girl like... twenty years ago. Then Rope lit Sal's car on fire. It's how they deal with it, is all." He waved it off, and opened beer five.

How long had they been there, now? Still no word back from HQ?

He turned to look over to the mother, and froze as he watched her place a hand on a badly beaten Sal. He healed. Sal blinked in surprised, and touched his face. He looked at her, looked at his drink, grinned, and stormed over to Rope, starting the fight again.

"You can't go around doin that, Mag... Remember we gotta lay low." Sal won this time, and Rope stumbled over, staring at her blankly.

Greaaaaat.