Trinity Cathedral Church, Sacramento.

Praetorious arrived at the church after fifteen or so minutes, head swimming horrifically. Practically falling off of the motorcycle as he got off, he made sure his duffel bag was slung firmly over his shoulder before he entered the cathedral.

Praetorious had no time to savor the extravagant antechamber of the church as he walked in. Scanning the large room, he picked out faces among the clergy, sizing each of them up. The priest in the back, near the altar, probably weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds, and knew how to handle himself. The thinner one by the confession booth was left-handed, and judging by the way he held himself, carrying a concealed weapon of some sort. Another more nondescript priest near the back seemed the least threatening. Praetorious walked toward the altar, wondering where the kill zone would be.

He looked around, trying to see past open doors and through windows. Finally, he found what he was looking for. The door to the undercroft. It would be perfect. Well, not perfect, but it would be the best he could come up with. There would be no time to soundproof anything. No time to suspend the Seeker in midair. If there even was a Seeker there.

Praetorious' reverie was interrupted by the altar boy approaching him. Looking at him, Praetorious could tell that he couldn't be older than sixteen, with a skinny build and eyes that suggested that he hated being here.

"Can I help you, sir?" The altar boy said in a bored fashion. "No," Praetorious replied, trying to disguise his illness. "I'm just l-"

Praetorious' eyes fell to the pendant the boy had. Specifically, the two halves of a cross that adorned it.

"Actually, there's something you could help me with. My father was interned in the undercroft here, and I'd like to pay my respects. Is that possible?"

"Sure," the boy said, "what was his name?"

"Kyle A. Light."

Wordlessly, they walked toward the door to the undercroft, passing the threshold. They descended the flight of stairs wordlessly, coming to a long hallway filled with small alcoves, a coffin in each one.

"Uh..." said the boy, "I don't see him."

"That's alright," said Praetorious, who had by that point uncapped his syringe. It slid into the boy's neck smoothly and effortlessly, and the nameless altar boy collapsed like a rag doll in seconds. Picking him up, Praetorious coughed again, shuddering a little from the pain. Walking to the end of the hall, he found another door, one that led to a basement. Excellent.

Once he'd reached the bottom, Praetorious set the boy down, ungloving his left hand and jabbing it into his cheek. The boy started awake instantly, moaning upon the realization that his nervous system had been all but obliterated. He managed to groan out a few words, but they were scarcely recognizable.

"Normally," said Praetorious, talking as much to himself as he was the boy, "we would have some conversation first, about your Object, about the Holder you saw." He gently laid a hand on either side of the boy's head. "Unfortunately, we don't have that luxury right now." Praetorious twisted his head right, and then sharply left. The sound of the boy's neck snapping was audible. This wasn't how he normally enjoyed conducting the Ritual, but Praetorious couldn't afford having any screams be heard. He found his saw, flicking it on, and began his work.

---

Sighing in contentment, Praetorious used a towel he'd packed with him to mop the largest bloodstains off of his face. Shadow-Praetorious was appeased, lolling back in satisfaction. Although he hadn't been able to hear the screams like he usually did, hadn't been able to take out the organs one by one like he usually did, the cathartic rush of the act was still beautiful. He tilted his head back, mouth curled ever so slightly into a genuine smile. It was the only time he really could, truly. His eyes closed, and he sighed again. Bliss.

As the moment faded, Praetorious' smile disappeared, replaced by his normal grim expression. He changed clothes hurriedly, packing his equipment away and zipping up his bag. The sickness was gone, the coughing fits abated, the aches subsided. His leg even seemed to work better. Praetorious wondered if, for all her careful plans, "A" knew what she'd done. She had brought him back from the brink, satisfied his lust for death when he needed it most. Now he was ready to find her, to find out who she was. "A" might be smart, but Praetorious was her equal, if not better.

Running up the chapel steps two at a time, Praetorious moved as fast as he could while still mantaining a reasonable pace. It wouldn't take the priests long to figure out that he had come out of the undercroft and the boy hadn't. The name of the game was speed. However, moving too fast would blow his cover. Fingering the two cross halves in his hand, Praetorious continued to move quickly to the door. He noticed a priest walking toward the undercroft door, obviously making the connection. He hurried his pace.

Making it at last outside, he mounted his motorcycle, gunning the engine. Now with another Object and newfound health, both physical and mental, Praetorious sped off into the night.