A/N: Just got the movie on Blu-Ray, and let me just say that the picture quality is so much better than the quality of the DVD.


On average, when it was discovered that EC-10 materials were being housed in the Nether, the Grammaton Cleric's leading the raid would thoroughly go over the plan with law enforcement and set a schedule to carry out the raid within two to four hours so that the operation went smoothly.

Not this time.

Despite witnessing them taking their intervals, John suspected that the traitor was either Alice or Partridge and thus he couldn't risk giving them even a second to contact the Resistance and warn them of the coming raid. The two had seemed equally shocked at the lack of time to prepare, and while Alice appeared nervous for a fraction of a second, she quickly recovered and wore a typical neutral expression. The same could not be said for Partridge. A look of dread had flashed over his face and didn't vanish until a few seconds had passed, and even then he refused to look him in the eye. There was no denying that one of the two he sat in the car with was the traitor. He just couldn't be sure which.

Alice displayed traits of being a Sense Offender on occasion; giving him a smile when one wasn't expected, using his first name, and other things. But she also killed Rebels and took her interval.

Partridge displayed traits in a more profound manner and didn't always hide the emotional expressions or tone right away, and he couldn't recall the last time he'd seen him kill a Rebel. But he always took his interval and repeatedly examined evidence just to be thorough.

The first class Cleric's gut had always proven correct in the past, but this time he just didn't know.

In the middle seat, his young protege double checked both her weapons, making sure they were in proper working condition. She didn't always expect trouble, but she always said it was better to be safe than sorry and made it a habit to check her weapons prior to leaving, in the car, and upon returning to headquarters. He made sure his weapons were always in functioning at optimal capacity, but he didn't look them over quite as much as she did. As he was the only one who handled his weapons, there was no reason to check them twice before a raid and if they were fine the first time he checked they would most certainly be fine if he checked them a second time.

As unnecessary as it was, he was proud that she took such great care of her weapons.

"The police have already been dispatched to the location, I assume?" asked Partridge upon noticing that they were not being followed by a tactical unit.

John nodded. "They'll start the raid; we'll finish it and find the contraband."

Returning her weapons to their holsters, Alice looked straight forward and said, "Considering the amount of art we've recovered from the city, it's safe to assume that we may run into heavy resistance."

"It's possible."

"Do you think we should split up?" she asked, looking in his direction. "They expect Cleric's to work in twos, not threes. You and Partridge take the ground floor, I'll take the top and we'll meet in the middle."

It wasn't a bad idea, but he normally kept her by his side to keep an eye on her. At twenty-four she was a well-established Cleric, skilled and respected, but she still had a lot to learn and he didn't want to risk her safety. Sooner or later, however, she was going to have to do things without his help. Better to let her go off on her own now while he was in the area rather than when he couldn't provide assistance.

"Take the fire escape to the top floor with police backup, and take out Rebels who resist," he advised, and she nodded in understanding as they pulled up to the apartment complex. Adjusting his gloves, John stepped out of the car when it came to a stop and held the door open for Alice before motioning for her to make her leave.

Giving him what could only be called a reassuring smile, she went to a group of waiting officers who then followed her to the back of the building where they would gain access to the top floor via the fire escape.

John stared after her.

That reassuring smile didn't reassure him of his suspicions.

Tearing his eyes off her, he looked to his reluctant partner before they made their way inside the apartment complex to assess the situation. From the sound of it, the police was already doing a sufficient job at neutralizing the threat, but he hoped they would at least leave a few alive to interrogate. Not that he expected them to talk anyways. When it came down to it, most Rebels and Sense Offenders knew that they would be processed whether they talked or not, so on averaged they stayed silent and revealed nothing.

The partners of many years walked through the main corridor of the complex and down the hall with perfect synchronization. It smelled musky and of gun smoke, so unlike the scentless air of Libria, but John hardly reacted to it. The smell wasn't good, be it garnered no reaction from him. He didn't like it or dislike it, it just was. Partridge on the other hand, though he tried to hide it, didn't appear to like it at all. It was possible that the unfamiliar smell was wreaking havoc on his senses at a physical level rather than an emotional one, so he paid it no mind for now.

At last they reached a cluster of police officers standing guard at the end of a hall by a closed door, armed and ready.

Upon seeing them, the officer in charged approached. "Cleric," he greeted neutrally. "Lights out. Maybe more than a dozen inside."

"When the doors down, blow the bulbs," John ordered coolly. A dozen men and women in the dark were mere practice, an easy challenge that he spent his life training for.

"Yes, sir." Turning to his men, the officer relayed the order and those by the door aimed their high powered shotguns at the hinges and knob while two others aimed at the lights in the hall.

John didn't bother telling his partner that he would handle the Rebels inside, knowing that he already knew. As the senior Cleric, it was his duty to make the first move in every raid, expected in fact. Partridge was merely backup in case things went south, and Alice was still being taught.

Removing his twin pistols from their holsters, he steadied his breathing, preparing himself for the coming fight. As sure of himself as he was, there was always a chance that he could be shot even with the intense training he had. Being the best didn't make him invincible. And when he was ready to make his move, he gave no warning. Instead, he charged towards the door as fast as he could, counting on the officers to do their part. They would, of course. There was no reason for them to hesitate.

Simultaneously, he jumped and kicked the door down as the officers shot the hinges and knobs, sliding a few feet inside before rising to his feet when the door stopped. The men and women hiding in the room opened fire but not a second had passed before the officers shot out the lights, blanketing him in darkness, the only sounds being the heavy breathing of the Rebels.

After a few tense seconds, a man in the darkness whispered nervously, "Where is he?"

"Shut up!" hissed another quietly from the opposite direction.

"Did anybody hit him?"

"Shut up!"

And he did shut up for a few seconds until he heard something shift in the center of the room. "Listen…"

At that exact moment, John opened fire. With intricate and precise movements, he took down each and every man and women in the room without managing to get shot as well. After years of practice, the act came as easily as breathing. He did keep his eyes closed though to avoid being blinded by the sudden light of his weapons.

Seconds after it started, it was over, and flashlights appeared from behind him as the officers and his partner entered the room. No one so much as blinked at the corpses because in truth, they didn't care. The death of the individuals had little to no impact on any of them. There was no remorse, no anger, nothing. They were bodies, nothing more.

Gunfire erupted from one of the floors above and John turned his eyes upward to the ceiling. A short while later, there was silence.

The radio of the officer in charged buzzed to life. "All hostiles terminated, sir."

Nodding to Partridge, the two made their way upstairs to regroup with Alice and complete the raid.

They didn't spot her until they reached the third floor, and they found her in a kitchen standing over a bearded man sitting at the table. A TV was on beside him and he had his hand on an old record player in an affectionate manner, a shotgun in his lap with his hand on it. And his eyes were closed as if he'd resigned himself to his fate, accepted it.

Alice held her pistol tightly in her hand, and her face betrayed nothing if she was feeling anything. But when she turned her eyes to John, there was no masking the pain. Quickly, she looked away and walked past him whilst putting away her weapon.

"He refused to surrender himself when I ordered him to place his hands behind his head," she explained, coldly, tightly. "I was left with no choice but to fire on him when he made a move for his weapon."

She sounded honest, but upon looking at the man, his hand was nowhere near the trigger.

He should have grabbed her, demanded to know if she was a Sense Offender, checked her dosage gun and sent a sweeper team to her home, but something in his chest stopped him from doing so. He could be mistaken. The man's hand might have slipped when she shot him. He didn't know.

Leaving the room, the two followed close behind him as he searched for the paintings. There were storage closets in which they could be housed, but he walked by them without a second glance. If he were a Sense Offender trying to hide what could be dozens or hundreds of paintings he wouldn't hide them in a room or someplace quite so obvious. He'd make alterations to the room in which he put them in. Various rooms went unchecked, not meeting his standards for a suitable hiding place.

And then he stopped at the doorway of a room further down the hall. The room was bare, save for an illegal rug in the center.

"This is it," he announced.

Partridge studied the room. "Where?"

He stared at the rug. "There."

As the officers entered the room and began peeling the floorboards away, Partridge excused himself with an anxious huff, pressing his back against the wall outside the room. A few officers stopped to stare at him for a long moment before looking at John. He too stared at his partner through narrowed eyes, as did Alice. Any suspicion he had towards her shifted to Partridge in that moment, but he had more pressing concerns at the moment.

The floorboards were tossed to the side and the illusive paintings were revealed. Among them was the Mona Lisa, regally laying atop the others and smiling ever so softly at them.

John stared at it and felt absolutely nothing for what was once held high among humans.

The chemist approached and preformed a series of scans before giving the Clerics a curt nod. "It's real."

Staring at it a second longer, he motioned for the fire squad to step forward and ordered in a monotone voice, "Burn it."

The squad did as ordered and sent a stream of fire at the once beloved paintings, scorching the Mona Lisa's face.

He glanced to the side at the young woman, and though he saw her tense, she made no move to stop the men from destroying the art. And when she noticed him staring at her, she gave him a nod of approval.

Satisfied with her reaction, more or less, he led her out of the room while the paintings burned to return to the car outside and fill out some of the most pressing paperwork before leaving. Behind them, Partridge lingered at the room after walking inside.

"Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary with Partridge?" John asked once outside.

Staring at him, leaning against the car, she shrugged. "As I'm sure you've noticed, he hasn't been the same over these past few months as he was the rest of the time we've known him. I'm not entirely sure if anything is wrong with him or not, but he's changed."

He watched her closely, searching for answers in her expression. Once he was certain, he confided in her his concerns. "I think Partridge may be the traitor in the Grammaton."

She gaped momentarily. "You're certain?"

"Do you know of someone else I should be looking at instead of him?" he asked, testing her.

Surely if she was the Sense Offender among the Grammaton Clerics she would defend him and take the blame.

After a moment's hesitation, she shook her head slowly. "No… now that I think about it, I admit that he seems to be the most likely candidate." She sounded reluctant, but she had effectively pointed the finger at Partridge.

Never had she led him astray before, so he didn't believe she would start now.

All that was left to do was make sure that his suspicions were correct and collect enough evidence to search his partner's apartment and arrest him. Even as he thought it, he didn't feel right.


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