Gabriel the Hunter

Tatiana, as Grif would find, was being kept in a facility approximately underneath the Domitilla Catacombs of Rome. Though designed much like the catacombs, with a multitude of rooms and a lot of ground to cover, it was very obviously made of modern technology. The walls were lined with reinforced steel, though the security system was somewhat dated; the doors were fixed with coded keypads, cameras and motion detectors were rare and scattered around seemingly at random, and there didn't seem to be anything build into the structure, technologically, to repeal possible invaders. It was, more obviously, a prison; designed to keep things trapped, accessible only from the catacombs themselves.

Montague and Mereiya, simultaneously, greeted him with concern when he entered his office. Where Mereiya was short, with deceptively slender limbs and a generally butch style, Montague was tall, somewhere just short of toned, and tended to be overdressed. His red hair was accented by the explosion of freckles on his face, and he more and more he looked perpetually worried. Gabriel was going to have to do something to change that; Monty was just a researcher, especially since he was still a stupid, and not a Hunter.

"It's bad," he said flatly, watching them exchange a look. "Just tell me how bad."

Monty laid out the technical side. Though nobody but Grif would have an accurate guess of what the place would look at, he had gone into possible weaponry. The Vatican was currently found of incendiary bullets that had a very limited burst range upon impact, designed for use against undead and deadly effective. They also, he warned, were likely to use old-fashioned methods: swords made of blessed steel that could slice through flesh like butter, wood-tipped crossbows and small exploding capsules of blessed water. They might, he added, use flamethrowers too; it wasn't unheard of.

Mereiya was short about it. "They'll call upon the blessed dead."

"The blessed dead?"

Christian bones and holy relics, the remains of the dead reappropriated to use against the supernatural. There were certain potent forms of magic handling that was enhanced through such articles that could conjure up just about anything. "It's rumored they can even revive the bones, create an army."

Gabriel was aghast. "That's necromancy."

Mereiya shrugged, chewing her lip. She still went to Mass every Sunday, he knew. "Not if the Church does it."

Gabriel resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands. Could he do this? Could he ask a group of strangers to fight this thing for people they might never know?

"What now?" Monty asked, sounding hopeful.

"Now you two are officially uninvolved, and I don't want to hear a word of argument about it. I'll gather the people from Xanadu, we'll come up with something. Uhm." He rubbed his eyes. "I've got to tell Brisbane."

The two of them exchange another look that Gabriel couldn't possibly miss.

"Oh, for - he knows? How long as he known?"

"Maybe awhile," Montague offered, hesitant. Mereiya nodded, silent, as Monty's eyes flickered to the door behind Gabriel. "He went over our work separately."

"Was everything I did to keep this quiet from you pointless?" Gabriel turned to look at Brisbane, standing in the doorway as if he had been there the whole time. Maybe he had been there the whole time. Somehow, someway, Brisbane had that ability over him.

The older man walked over to the group, reaching out to clamp a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. He was shorter by a few inches, but it never really seemed that way. "No, it wasn't. This is something I never could have done." Brisbane tightened the grip before letting go. "Thank you, Gabriel."

"What now?" Monty repeated.

Brisbane smiled. It wasn't a very nice smile, but it wasn't meant for anyone in the room. "Now I'm going to get my little girl back."