Return to the Ravaged Orphanage
Punk City and the boy and girl in their scrap-heap ride crossed the city. The priest driving that junker—with eleven months left on the payments—parked it in front of the Perfumrose Orphanage.
A harsh screech. "We've... arrived..." No need to open the doors. Amon and Sonia hopped right out. There was no luggage in the trunk either—they'd scattered it all along the highway. The two who'd left the orphanage loaded down with gear returned looking like beggars.
"Sigh..." The moment Amon crossed the orphanage threshold, a heavy sigh escaped him.
"How do we even explain this...?" Hey, we got marked by Hickzen Group, chased by ninjas, and turned into street rats? Of course, they'd believe it. But that would just put the nuns in danger. There were times in this world when ignorance was bliss. Amon knew that all too well, so he decided not to tell them. Sonia agreed with his approach.
That said, her heart was heavy all the same.
"They're gonna worry, you know?"
"Can't be helped."
Amon's heart weighed just as heavy as Sonia's. The car was a total wreck; hiding it was impossible. The nuns would fret over them sincerely. But the two had to keep them from getting too close to the truth. They could rebel like moody teens—"None of your business!"—or brush it off like adults: "We're grown now; we'll handle it." Neither sat well with them.
As they brainstormed excuses to tell the nuns, they headed inside. But the moment they pushed open the entrance door, a grim atmosphere greeted them. Windows shattered, hallways in disarray, bloodstains and bullet holes scarring the walls everywhere.
"?!"
Without a word, they bolted inside, calling for the nuns and the younger kids. Tommy, Kaylee, Luna—every name that came to mind. No answers came. Just as they were about to collapse, the priest approached.
"You can relax. The moment the attack hit, the paladins moved in—they knew it was coming. Your siblings and the nuns are under their protection."
At his words, the two let out sighs of relief and sank to the floor. Amon even dropped into prayer right there.
"Thank you, Lord. Truly, thank you..."
Once the heart-stopping scare passed and reason returned, Amon turned to the question he'd been holding back.
"Thank you sincerely. But separate from that, I have to ask: Why is the Vatican going to such lengths for us?"
Sending them to Blue Moon Resort? That made sense. From the Vatican's view, a two-day trip to build goodwill was a steal. But deploying paladins not just for Amon and Sonia, but extending protection to the orphanage? That didn't add up financially. No matter how precious two divine power users were, this level of favor was excessive.
By the unbreakable cyberpunk law of equivalent exchange, Amon had no choice but to suspect their motives.
"What does the Vatican want from us?"
What had they weighed on the scales to value the two so highly? Unless Amon could accept that, he couldn't trust this priest—or the paladins guarding them.
Amon's steadfast gaze met the priest's squinting eyes. A silent battle of wills ensued between them.
Finally, the priest let out a deep, weary sigh and conceded.
"Jeez, Amon, you've got zero cuteness for your age."
"So, what's the Vatican's goal?"
Ignoring the priest's grumbling about his lack of charm, Amon pressed on. The priest muttered once more about it before getting to the point.
"How much do you know about Hickzen Group?"
Amon nearly blurted out Project Artificial Saint, but clamped his mouth shut. Instead, he fired back with a question.
"I know their ultimate goal. And the Vatican?"
"Same on our end."
It seemed the Holy See already knew what Amon had pieced together. Sonia was the only one there who couldn't follow.
"What? What are you two talking about?"
Amon watched her flustered flailing with fondness, then laid out the truth for her.
The words from Amon's mouth were shocking. Compressing divine power users into one body to create a divine power implanter—a saint from history? It was unbelievable even after hearing it. If it hadn't come from Amon, and the priest beside him hadn't nodded along, Sonia wouldn't have bought it.
When Amon finished explaining, even the priest looked stunned.
"How did you know that?"
Amon gave a wry smile.
"By the grace of God."
It was Vatican slang from the prophecy division priests, used to gloss over divine power-fueled precognitions. Born because a single word could alter the futures they saw, it was known only to a select few who received prophecies directly: the Pope, cardinals, top exorcists, high inquisitors.
One meaning: Amon was among them.
"Heh. Scary guy, that Goddess."
The squinting priest accepted it instantly, no further questions. Amon sighed in relief.
Divine power really is the best.
Unexplainable phenomena by magic or science? Just blame divine—or mystic—power. Its cheat-like versatility kept Amon suspicion-free.
Anyway, Hickzen's conspiracy was out. Sonia, now knowing the truth, rubbed her arms at the chills.
"That field trip too...?"
"Yeah, what you're thinking."
Sonia shuddered again, recalling that kind, warm voice—and the malice lurking beneath. It wasn't amusing at all. The near-miss of having her divine power sucked dry haunted her.
Amon pulled her into a hug, stroking her soothingly. Once she'd calmed, the priest steered the topic back.
"Anyway, back to the point. Since you know Hickzen's ambition, this'll be quick."
The priest began his explanation.
"Hickzen Group's chased one goal since founding, no matter the costs—they will achieve it."
Every megacorp had such an obsession. Pure greed for money couldn't reach that level. Becoming a megacorp demanded near-mad fixation beyond normal comprehension. Hickzen was one, and it propelled them there.
"They want to sell everything in this world. Including... divine power itself."
That mad obsession turned them into a top global department store. Groceries to appliances, drugs to guns—if a customer wanted it, they'd spin up an underground factory. No fixation like that without it.
But one item they couldn't stock yet: divine power. In a world of advanced magic and science, no corp or gov replaced it. Miracles relied wholly on the individual bearer. For Hickzen, who wanted to sell anywhere, that chafed.
So they planned: create an artificial saint.
The Vatican's reaction to the intel? Explosive. If Hickzen succeeded, the Vatican could lose purpose.
"The Pope's authority would tank."
The first Pope was the lead apostle, disciple of the Goddess's only begotten saint. Successors carried that legacy. But if Hickzen made artificial saints—and grabbed randos as apostles—what was the Pope then?
Vatican and Hickzen became irreconcilable under one sky.
"Priests, usually faction-fighting and scheming, united like never before."
With their lifeline at stake, none sided with Hickzen. The Vatican moved as one—unprecedented. Inquisitors scoured for intel, cardinals shared all, paladin orders obeyed without question.
No foot-dragging to stop Hickzen. True unity.
"Thus, Hickzen was declared heretical, and we've opposed them ever since."
But calling them heretics didn't matter—this wasn't the Middle Ages. Religion weakened; judgment came by raw power, not law or ethics. Vatican's options? Declare heresy, disrupt divine power hunts. Limited.
Even so, Hickzen gathered users, pushing the project. Now, one step from completion, Vatican interference ramped up.
"Then you two appeared."
Two divine power users from a Colorado orphanage—Hickzen HQ's backyard. Unprotected orphans? Irresistible prey.
Vatican's luck: they found you first. Investments poured in. Plots to hide, misdirect—then overt protection once exposed.
"Leading to now."
That explained the lavish support. Resort to distance from corps, orphanage guard against hostages. All Vatican desperation.
His explanation done, Amon finally trusted their goodwill. Equivalent exchange checked out.
"Now will you trust our Vatican?"
Amon nodded calmly.