A note on this chapter: in order to both give background and foreshadow future events, this chapter consists of brief shots of the lives of various Iscariots, followed by flashbacks pertaining to one or more characters just shown in the shot. Essentially, any block of text in italics is a flashback of a varied, indeterminate distance in the past.

OOO

"So what you're saying," Murdock said as he took a sip of his coffee, "Is that you're almost positively, certainly, maybe going to give her the offspring at some point?"

"Yes. I think so," Castle answered. "I haven't come across a better candidate."

"Are you sure that's all it is?"

Castle said nothing in reply but instead gave Murdock a smile he could not see. As he turned to leave, the door burst open and a brunette in a rumpled shirt and collar entered with a package.

"Ah'm back, cheris!" He laughed cheerfully, hefting the large case onto Fr. Murdock's desk.

"How did it go?" He asked, reaching out to touched the case and run his fingers over the clasps.

"Alrigh'," he said, with a wink. "We got th' Samaritan. And you?"

Castle rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't even a real vampire, just some idiot geneticist who thought it would be a good idea to mess around with vampire bat DNA and electricity. It really makes you wonder where they all come from, the crazies who have no excuse other than their own unbridled stupidity and lack of foresight."

"Well, Ah kin remember when you were dat crazy, mon ami."

"It came upon me, though. I never did anything crazy to myself."

"Fair 'nough," conceded Deacon LeBeau, taking a pack of cards out and casually shuffling them.

OOO

He hadn't been with Section XIII more than two months when already he was in trouble – and he hadn't even gone into the church on business. The only reason he was there was to light a candle for his departed family, when he'd heard the bell ringing above him. He'd barely had time to wonder about it before the blackness descended upon him.

It oozed down over his head, flowed around him like water, except that it didn't flow off again. And when it knew what kind of man he was, it was exceedingly pleased.

Of course, it took some trying to get them under control, and Frank understood that if ever he became a threat to anyone other than the enemy, it was the end for both of them; Murdock would see to that. They got their act together, however, and even some of the more reluctant members of their branch had to admit…

They made quite a team.

OOO

Pietro put up a brave show; however, when the day actually came he was more than a little frightened, even more so than he had been running into Alucard again at the meeting. There, Fr. Anderson had been beside him as Maxwell's backup and they'd even gotten to make a few snide remarks to Integra, including insinuations about the recent attacks and a 'sow' remark that made Pietro snigger.

Besides which, he'd been confident in his new uniform, standing beside his boss. Not even the cutting remarks Integra had made about him being Maxwell's personal 'altar boy' could phase him, though it had nearly resulted in another incident until the fledgling had marched a troupe of elderly tourists through.

This, however, was entirely different. Once the treatment took place, there was nothing he personally could do to control what happened to him. It wasn't like being in a fight, not at all. All he would be able to do would be to wait and see whether it worked, whether it would kill him, or, still worse in his mind, strip him of his power and leave him human.

Maxwell noticed the boy's nervousness, so he promised him something special. Something to prepare him.

"Where are we going, Father?" He asked, getting into Maxwell's private Ferrari F50.

"You'll see. Somewhere special. I thought that you should have this done before you go in for the treatment."

"What do you mean?"

Maxwell only smiled in reply and they drove a little further on. Looking out the window, Pietro's eyes widened when they pulled over and stopped.

" St. John Lateran?" He asked in a hushed tone. "Father? What are we…"

"Come. We mustn't be late."

"Father?!"

"Today will be a rite of passage for you, Pietro, in more ways than one," he told the boy, leading him inside and down a long hallway to a chapel done beautifully in mosaics where there were several men already waiting.

Peitro gasped once, then stopped breathing altogether, and his legs felt like they would give way. The man in the center of the group stood from where he had been kneeling and looked towards the boy with a smile.

"Pietro?" He asked. "Do you wish to be confirmed, child?"

A long, silent moment passed before he found his voice again. Quickly, he knelt and fervently nodded.

"Yes I do, your Holiness; with all my heart and soul."

"I will be his sponsor," Fr. Maxwell declared.

When the service was completed, Pietro felt a surge of emotion; Father Maxwell had done so much, to gain such a favor for him! He felt the priest's arm around his shoulders and looked up at him.

"Are you ready now?"

"More that before. But I'm still… I'm sorry. I will do it, Father, do not doubt me. It's just…"

"Pietro, listen. Look at me," he said, turning the boy towards him. "It is in higher hands than yours now; but are you not a dutiful servant of the Lord? He would not break his own sword, would He? Have faith that it will turn out for the best; you are a good child and have nothing to fear from this trial. Be brave and true and you shall be rewarded."

The anxious look on the boy's face remained a moment longer, then it passed and he nodded fervently.

"Let us go."

The boy had gone with him back to the facility and had not wavered again, did not tremble even during the treatments in the chamber as he was saturated with the chemical mists. Only when he was directly injected did his body eventually convulse and burn with fever; but he did not cry out as he collapsed with Maxwell there to support him, save for one word.

"Father…" he whispered, his body shaking with its reaction.

The boy passed out, then, and Maxwell set him on the nearby bed while attendants watched the monitors hooked up to the boy. They made notes and adjusted dials; and while they did so, Enrico held the boy's limp hand and touched his feverish forehead, looking down upon the child who strove to such heights; and he saw himself reflected.

OOO

"No! Forget it! You've seen how he acts; and that look he gets creeps me the hell out! He's the devil's own and you damn well know it."

"Well, maybe nothing will show up this time. Maybe that's just him, just his personality…"

"No way I'm taking a chance on that. You've seen what happened to your relatives in America – you want to end up a target like that? Everybody died but Michael, and believe me, that kid is going to need some serious therapy. I'm not letting this one stick around to be our own little anti-Christ; and once he's gone, no more."

"We can't just leave him there can we?"

"Sure we can; they're trained to handle that sort of this. Just dump him on the doorstep, and once he's gone, it's not our problem."

Enrico had been listening at the door but didn't bother to cry. They didn't want him; well that was alright. They didn't treat him particularly well anyway and he didn't need them.

He would show them someday; he would show them all, he thought, his blood boiling beneath the surface but refusing to spill over into tears. Someday he'd get revenge on all of them who tossed him aside and counted him as nothing.

Someday…

OOO

The Major had laughed when he'd seen the two conversing at the café; the fools didn't know what they were getting into. The boy behind the young priest however… he felt something when he saw that boy; the way he stood, the profile he struck, the look in his eyes all reminded him of something he couldn't quite recall…

Until he remembered the other boy, from many, many years ago.

OOO

The boy had screamed and writhed in the hands of the officers when the train came in from the other camp. Evidently he'd been allowed to stay with his parents there, but now they were being separated and it was causing him no small distress. They had pulled him away quickly enough that the two of them had barely had a chance to glimpse his face; yet the short, fat one was sure he'd never forget it.

The Doctor and the Major looked at the twisted hunk of metal that had been the fence and made a note to see what it was about the boy that could have caused such a thing.

Much to their chagrin, however, the camp was raided only days later by that infernal special forces group let by that shield-bearing nuisance; they'd barely had enough time to get out themselves, let alone track down one trouble-making gypsy boy.

From time to time, though, that fence would cross their minds – and they would wonder.

OOO

When Father Anderson had returned to the orphanage after completing his mission with Maxwell, he was exhausted. Anticipating this, Wanda had a meal ready and had made up his bed with freshly laundered sheets. She was doing all she could to make sure that she was back in his good graces again, even apologizing from time to time, though their disobedience had been weeks ago.

He smiled at her when he saw what she'd done and called her a good girl. Beaming with the praise, she let him know that his room was ready and he nodded gratefully. She watched him ascend the stairs and heard the door to his room click shut. Certain that all was to his satisfaction, she left to prepare the younger orphans for bed.

Though the bed was comfortable, however, Anderson did not sleep easily. The near-battle with Alucard had put him on edge and the emerging problem of Millennium made him restless. Even his slumber did not afford him rest. Rather it was filled with strange and weird images that led him to wonder whether he were waking or sleeping; and if sleeping, whether the images were merely the jumbled excess of a teeming mind that had seen too much, or if they told the truth of either the past or a time to come.

OOO

He was in a tank; at least he assumed it was a tank for he was submerged in some manner of slimy liquid. He could barely see out, clouded as the material was and wavy as it made his surroundings look, but he was almost certain that there was glass in front of him. He tried to reach out to touch it but his hands didn't seem to want to obey.

Shapes moved beyond the circumference of the tank – tall, dark forms that he could not distinguish. Everything was muffled and he was only distantly aware that he was breathing and that there were tubes all around him, running in various directions.

He tried to force his body to stir; and when he did, he ached down to his bones, feeling as though his very skeleton was on fire. Then came the sensation of his skin splitting apart before all went finally and mercifully dark.

OOO

And that is it for this chapter; more on Kurt, Heinkel and Yumiko next chapter.

CC: Deacon LeBeau is, of course, Remy LeBeau – also known as Gambit. For those unfamiliar with the character, he hails from Louisiana (thus the Cajun accent – though I write it poorly) and has kinetic powers. Essentially he can charge up objects and use them as exploding projectiles, with playing cards being his favorite method of doing so. He's also skilled in various forms of combat, particularly with a bo. It is the card throwing, however, that will have connections with a certain other character and provide for some action in coming chapters.