St. Martha's Church

Description: St. Martha's Church is located near a rather rundown and unpopular town in north-eastern Mexico, containing a population of only a few hundred. It's a single-story building constructed of old sandstone and wood, and is well over 1800 years old, being a historic landmark that has been maintained by the Catholic Church for quite some time. Situated about half a mile outside of the actual town, it is rather distant from the populace that typically uses it for weekly mass, thus making it surrounded by nothing but mostly barren land.

Recently, the Church has been visited by the pop idol, Justin Beiber, in order to pay his respects and only to be cleansed of all of his woeful sins, and to get his girlfriend back (though that last part was kept on the down low). Obviously, seeing as how totally famous and magnificent he is, a number of his crazily obsessed fans have also flocked to the church to witness the event and all of it's "glory," which are roughly several dozen in number. The event is being overseen by the five permanent clergy staying there; the Priest, an alter boy, and three nuns, as well as a True Cross Agent who just happened to be there on other business, but was roped into playing a somewhat covert security officer for the time being by the aforementioned clergy.  

The inside of the church resembles the countless others that many have seen. Upon opening the two large front doors and entering the main room, anyone would be greeted with the sight of dozens of rows of massive benches where the congregations typically sit at, currently filled with Beiber fans. Infront of all of them, opposite of the front doors, is a moderately sized alter for the preacher to deliver his daily sermons. A door on the right side of the main room breaks off into a small hallway which contains a number of doors, each leading to the Clerical staff's bedrooms and a bathroom, as well as granting entrance to the large spire that's connected to the side of the building, though nothing of interest lies there aside from the church bell at the top. Beside the alter is another door which leads into a back room which is where the True Cross Agent is currently located. There is another door in this room which leads to a small kitchen, where the nun's typically prepare their daily meals.

Spoiler:

Black clad and full worn, Americo wears a closed Cassock, wide brimmed hat with a rounded top, a pair of gloves, Aviator shades with reflective mirror-like surfaces, clerical collar, black shirt, and black pants with a pair of his usual jack boots underneath the sleeves of his pants with a fake beard that obscures much of whatever was below his nostril and was thick as if he were a lumberjack, his poise steady and his eyes darting about inspecting the Church he just pulled up a good 20 feet away from the Church's front among the cadre of other cares parked there to oversee Beiber's coronation or whatever it was he was doing on the pick up truck he 'borrowed' back from this guy named Afonso in Brazil, through a method called taking the keys, and as he was unaware of the event, it technically isn't theft since he didn't NOT get permission to take it. Hidden underneath his Cassock be his battle rifle, he didn't need to take the inhaler and whiff it, not now. NOPE, he felt just right at this moment. The great barren flat lands with elevations afar on the horizon which compliments the surface as it stood in stark contrast to the immediate dim plains before him, and the road he pulled at the side. Fixing his Cassock, he steps out of the car, walks towards the Church as he looked around and admired the scenery, turning about to marvel at the night licked horizon and the shimmering lights which fixate along the road upon posts to behold the marvel of the moonless star filled skies of Mexico. Truly was it a beauty, truly, did he admire nature at its finest, hence why he liked living in Brazil, but eh, a job is a job.

Pulling out a cigarette, he lights it up with a match, which he shakes to death as the fire flickered away and the matchstick thrown to the dusty ground, as he then pulls out a bottle, taking a smoke first, then a drink after pulling out his cigarette and back in after drinking his quarter fill, as he felt the Tequila barely even registering within his system despite the high alcohol content within, and that's just to give him SOME kick. Taking a stroll into the room after commandeering the entrance to accommodate his way within, he was assailed by the sight of dozens of Beliebers or so they term themselves, horrendous to see, pubescent girls that'd trek miles away (assuming they are pubescent girls) among the congregation (if not, correct me), taking the first seat on the empty segment next to a girl, as the Church made him feel reverent to God, whom admittedly he had prayed to, but not as a Catholic, or even a Christian for that matter. Then again, he had a job, and it was to see past the barbaric hordes of misguided cretins to view Justin Beiber himself, wherever he may be, whilst watching patiently, muttering a few Latin terms he once heard in Switzerland like "Iudicate matrem vestram, hircos futuit." He also mutters a few things as well in Latin, not that he spoke the language, making the Crucifix gesture as he puffed out plumes of smoke, "Amatores cingentibus filiis."

Who cares who heard him anyways? So as he was seated to the left at the very back by the edge next to the middle way that'd lead directly to the alter after making entry into the Church wafting through whatever obstacles that come through his way through a simple method known as merely flanking around, he looked all around him to find Justin Beiber in the ancient structure of limestone and of wooden make, taking in all the details and admiring how beautifully preserved the room was, and the priests that compliment it beautifully.

Jennifer awaited in the back room, concealed from the congregations view by the very wall in which her back was placed against, her gigantic cloth-wrapped cross standing next to her. Despite the protests of the nuns, she had already ignited a cigarette in order to help her deal with the situation she had been placed in, which could only be described as, in her own words, "retarded." So what if a stupid brat, who just happened to be somewhat famous in his part of the world, who made crappy music, decided to show up at this exact church to do whatever it is he planned to do? She wanted to know why in the blue hell everyone of the clergy currently maintaining the place wanted her to stay.

Her skills were stacked in the direction eradicating any supernatural creatures who were stupid enough to show themselves, not playing bodyguard to protect a pop idol who made her ears bleed everytime he touched a microphone. She questioned how one of the very nuns working here actually liked his music, while the other two felt the same way as Jennifer. Still, the pleading faces of the two nuns seemed to have rubbed off on her, for one reason or another, though she had suspected the only reason they had wanted her to stay was so that she had to suffer along with them.  

Flicking a bit of her cigarette ash to the floor as a slight form of revenge on her part, she cocked her head slightly as she finally heard the horde of girls, both pubescent and per-pubescent, begin their squeals of delight as Beiber finally entered the church through the front doors, the sound of which Jennifer compared to that of a nail on a chalkboard, only amplified by several dozen. She signed, obviously irritated. "Fuckin' 'Ell... I 'ount know 'ich is more annoyin'; 'is ear-bleedin' music or 'eir pathetic piggy-squeals. Che, I 'ate meh' life..." Her thoughts were interrupted as she suddenly groaned inwardly as the squealing sound only grew louder, to which she could only guess as to why.

He had finally began his trot toward the pedestal where the Priest had been waiting, who was obviously uncomfortable with the entire situation. The church was typically a quite place, only graced by a collaboration of choir singers once a week, which is the loudest the ancient place had ever gotten. This..unruliness was something he didn't quite know how to handle, demonstrated by his failed attempt at raising his hands in a signal to quite them all, which was ignored, leaving him unsure with an uncertain look on his aged features.  

Bieber himself was flanked by his four bodyguards; tall, muscular, dark skinned and looking less than friendly, though even the sight of them didn't stop a few overly obsessed fans from attempting to reach out and touch or grope the pop star, who was situated in the middle of them, to which their grubby hands were swatted away with more than enough force to cause a bit of redness and maybe even bruising. The pop star wasn't dressed for church. He didn't even seem to have made an attempt at it; a plane t-shirt and blue jeans were all he wore, adorned with obnoxious amounts of jewelery that passed for "bling" in famous circles.    

He approached the alter, bodyguards in tow, and while the priests lips began to move to begin whatever they had planned, his words weren't audible over the cheering fans still practically killing themselves to be noticed by their god. An awkward look formed on the Priests face for a moment, then Beiber finally understood and held his hands up. The motion for everyone to lower the volume was heeded, though the occasional giggle and whistle still slipped through the silence. He spoke as the noise died down. "C'mon on, guys, let's be respectful here, this is a holy place," he turned toward the priest afterwards. "Father, I've come to seek some guidance and clean up my woeful ways."

The priest cleared his throat after a moment of witnessing the spectacle, then spoke over the still occasional whistle and squeal that occurred. "O-of course, my son, the Lord will give his blessing to all who seek it..."

Jennifer rolled her eyes as she overheard the priest through the wall, beginning the event that they had planned. She took another long drag off of her coffin nail in response. Would she get in trouble with HQ for just shooting the brat in the face in order to put an end to the event, so she could just go home? "Pra'bly.... Naught ta mention the inner'national event tha'd pra'bly spark 'cause of 'is murder.... I need ah raise fer 'is shit...." Despite her thoughts, the question one needed to ask was did she really care? She really didn't, and despite the fact that she would be doing the world and countless eardrums a favor by putting a .50 caliber round through his face--that was blessed for good measure--she felt it would be more trouble to deal the backlash than what she was currently exposed to, so she'd hold off on that.... for now. She'd listen--or do her best to drown out--the talking the priest and the snot-nosed brat were currently engaging in, flicking her cigarette filter to the tile floor and lighting another one in the process.

Americo surveyed the entirety of the Church while he sat by a pubescent girl, smoking as his finger tapped harshly against his tequila bottle as it grew weary with brittle cracks webbing along the entirety of the bottle as if only a forceful impact it would take to burst it out. The open top letting loose noxious alcoholic fumes, and the bottle itself held together delicately by Americo's dexterous fingers so apt in measuring pressure to apply to hold it, without breaking it apart. It was obvious the tequila was highly alcoholic from whomever near took whiff abundant enough to even get intoxicated from the smell. His ears were assailed by the rampant squeals of pre-pubescent girls as the attention flickered to Justin Beiber and his bodyguards surrounding him, big stocky men and all. While Justin Beiber was on his way to the alter mid-way, practically the fans pooling over to him and obscuring whatever semblance of Americo standing out, the German merely sprinkles a little bit of booze to the ground by the bench in front of him, only a little bit, as the vapours were still existent. He afterwards with the cigarette still in his mouth, and the booze held in between his thighs gently, pulls out a match stick which he lights up with a scrape along the rough exterior of the match box's side, puts the match box back into his pocket, drops the burning match stick into the bottle atop the liquid while it remained somewhat sealed and cracked but not enough to leak, to which catches on fire as it streams out, even making the bottle further more brittle. That in mind, he picks up the bottle, and like a blur, it was flung towards Justin Beiber like a missile, with one smooth motion, towards the back of his skull in a manner done so it'd bypass everyone and still hit him from the trajectory arcing slightly over the shorter masses of larval/pubescent and pre-pubescent girls, spinning as it goes only once below so to spray below the fire booze as the spin were slow but deliberately planned out.

It was done while Justin Beiber was on his way while the fans surrounded him to spread the on fire booze all over him, his fans, and the guards within a good 5 meter radius as to splatter whilst it would shatter and let clothes work the magic of setting them on fire as the intent goes for the fluids were naught but the catalysts, also to ruin Beiber's ugly mug. Afterwards, as calmly as possible, while the fans were obscuring Americo in their abundant, standing up and in front of him in a good amount, pulls out his cigarette, he drops it into the pool of vaporous and high proof tequila as it too caught on fire, to spread over the bench. Keeping his head down so the crowd would hide him, and would focus on Justin Beiber's burning scalp if his ploy would work and that his measures undertaken had proceeded, as he leveled his height below visual range thanks to the sea of fangirls surrounding Beiber, and perhaps focusing on him given the recent predicament bestowed, Americo sprints out whilst remaining consistent in his obscurity in a speed otherwise thought as "too fucking fast", he too a blur, as he closes the main doorway behind him. The screams themselves, or rather squeals, he figured, shouldn't be too hard to differentiate from normal Beiber squealing anyways.

With his strength which is far beyond that of a normal man, he made sure to twist the circle hinges to a snap, coiling them around one another to be akin to a circular infinity sign as it effectively impairs the ability to pull the open from within into an open. It was easy to do so too, considering it was semi-circle with a portion missing, that he had only needed to turn it into a pretzel to the top, locking the door into a jam, inoperable by mere human strength, and for added measure, he pulls out a match, the entire box of it, flicks it to a light, places said match box and a lit match stick underneath the door frame to watch the wood, old it may be, to catch on fire as well. That he be outside, as it begun to pick up flames, merely rounds the corner to the entry door's right if viewed directly opposing it, as he smiles waiting for the screams of hysteria to entail. Standing with his back on the cool limestone wall as the corner to his right would lead back to the door, five feet away from him in fact be the corner.

"Brennen in den Flammen der Hölle, Hündinnen." Said Americo in his native Hessian accented German, guttural and harsh, for tonight, the Hot Gates watch and he shall have his Leonidas ploy against the Persians. Or something, then he followed it with Spanish, louder and more boastful, "El reinado del petimetre afeminado llega a su fin!"

A single scream resonated above the rest of the incoherent baby screams, which had started once again, but this one was of fright, worry, and dismay by one of his beloved fans. Out off the corner of her eye, as distracted as it was, she had caught sight of the man igniting the bottle and tossing it like a baseball, aimed directly toward her dream husband. Obviously, she did nothing to stop him, and she quickly lost sight of him as her attention turned toward Beiber with mixed expressions of fear and worry on her face.

One of the bodyguards, the one behind and to the right of Beiber, quickly turned the moment the scream had pierced the air and touched his ears. What he saw was the Molotov in mid-flight, his eyes widening immediately at the realization of what was coming toward them. Pure reflex drove him, and while letting out a distraught noise that seemed between a grunt and a yell, he had seized Beiber by the arm and jerked him to the side with strength comparable to a gorilla. The sudden motion easily yanked to young man from his feet and in the pulled direction, well out of the direct path of the burning projectile.  

The molotov instead hit one of the other bodyguards, who had also moved in the direction of Beiber in order to cover him, but wound up in the spot the pop star was previously in and was struck by the bottle, which shattered against his strong back and was lit ablaze. Small bits of flames shot in all directions, causing the three remaining bodyguards to shield their eyes from the gloriously bright display. Most of the liquid inside the bottle had mostly been absorbed into his clothing, turning the man into a now flailing human torch who was screaming in pure agony.

To the make-shift firebombs credit, however, the bits of flames that did manage to fly off in all directions had managed to catch fire to a few of the wooden benches, and even lit ablaze another of the bodyguards clothing. One burning in agony on the floor, another flailing to put out his burning shirt, the remaining two quickly converged on Beiber himself, forcibly hoisted him to his feet, and began to drag him toward the door beside the alter, which would lead to the back room in an attempt to find a back door, seeing as how the front was currently being swarmed with a number of females who hammered on it without success, despite it, too, being strangely set ablaze.

Jennifer took notice immediately, turning her gaze toward the door at her right to see the two men and pop idol stumble in; smoke quickly rising into the room behind them. The nuns scrambled in from the kitchen, who were caught by surprise at the sight. They inquired about a back door, to which one of the nuns pointed out through the kitchen, only to be knocked aside by one of the bodyguards as he and his companion drug their keep to what they thought was safety. "Che, I should'a shot 'im when ah 'ad tha' thought...." She muttered to herself, quickly grabbing the gigantic cross she had positioned next to her and placing it over her right shoulder, before entering the main room, where the priest had been trying his hardest to put out the burning man with his robe, but to no avail.

The panicked shrieks and screams were loud enough to where Jennifer's voice couldn't be heard, which was trying to direct them all to the back door. The flames on the benches had began to spread, and quickly so, which left Jennifer with two options. She would walk out the backdoor herself and leave those too stupid enough to seek another exit to die, or she could play the God-fearing, Jesus-like, helpful-Catholic and grant them a new door. Seeing as how the first--and honestly more preferred choice--would have a bit too much backlash on her end from HQ, she decided on the latter. "Matthew 7:7, Ask and it will be given to you..." She thought, before finally speaking.

"Shut tha' fuck up an' 'lear tha' way ya noisy brats, or I'll leh' ya all fuckin' roast!" Jennifer yelled at the top of her lungs, easily cutting through the fearful cries with her anger filled tone, which left no room for negotiation. She marched through the parting crowd, which did it's best to keep as far away from the approaching flames as possible, but also to keep distance from the oddly dressed nun and the giant cross-like object she carried on her shoulder. She easily lifted the cloth-wrapped cross with her right hand, brought it down and aimed the bottom end of the cross at the door, and then gave a mighty push forward. The reinforced steel frame of whatever was underneath the cloth was backed with inhuman strength, which was enough to allow Jennifer to easily fling the cross-like object around with no noticeable difficulty or effort, and it easily shattered the wooden door into splinters, as if stuck by a hundred pound battering ram, blowing it off the hinges and splitting it to pieces.

Floods upon floods of people erupted from the created opening, scrambling for their lives as Jennifer stood in the midst's of them, far enough back in the isle to not be blocking the now clearly open doorway. The priest had also begun his good deed for the day, as those too far back had been led out by him whilst Jennifer opened the door. The number of nuns and the alter boy has began to pull water from the kitchen sink in order to try to properly douse the flames, using buckets, bowls, and glasses from the dish tray carry the liquid in a frantic rush, to which the Priest had also joined in once leading those he had taken out the back as well.

Resting the giant cross-like object over her shoulder once again, Jennifer flicked her burnt out coffin nail through the broken door, retrieved another one, and used one the small embers on the door frame to light it, before placing it between her teeth. "T'is why ah dun't like celebrities.", she said over her shoulder to the panicked clergy as the last of the people rushed out and to their cars, who didn't seem to notice. She had taken note of the broken glass and the smell of alcohol when she had entered the room a few minutes earlier, and had deduced that the cause of the fire was a Molotov. A fan gone mad, a "hater", perhaps? She didn't give a fuck who or what they were, she just needed to find them so she could shove her cross up their ass and paint the ceiling red for ruining the inside of the church.

The bodyguards had effectively made their way out the backdoor, Beiber in tow, where they had taken a few moments to orient themselves and to check the pop idol for wounds, before they circled around to the left of the building in order to head back to the congregation of now fleeing vehicles, which Jennifer had noticed after stepping into the charred door frame where the door had once been.

Darkness was Americo, and Americo was darkness, metaphorically speaking, and it is not pertaining to his morality of which is best left ambiguous. The shrill screaming he had heard within that was effeminate as any fop's he thought would be that of Justin Beiber, but his expectations felt short had he known when his vision encompassed around to make sure the job was in fact done or rather it was to admire the scenery, completely, not that during the moment he knew he had failed but his wariness remained and he liked to hear the lullabies of death and destruction around, sometimes.

He needed to be thorough with these slippery weasels, such being the case of a celebrity protected by bodyguards, not that either that he knew either of the outcome of what entailed but the blazing inferno of brilliance within raging bigger like a throbbing membrane of an erectile cougar trying to have its fill of food. Well, one of them possibly being of gorilla heritage, not that Americo knew, for he stood outside draped in the depressing and maudlin darkness with glimmers of dimness for what light dared lick him in faint illumination, aside from the sudden incandescent light looming over to light up from within the Church. Anyways, he took a moment to admire the scenery and look about and beyond and around through the vast window shimmering with the art of saints and whatever Christian figures are looming about, forever judging another for sins they haven't committed. Fun times. Breaking gaze to look all elsewhere unto the desert sand as the fire had illuminated the glass patterns unto the floor to make for a nice projection in fact of the art, that he had looked left and right to assess the beauty of art for but a while, breaking gaze though from them after his appreciation of his deeds.

His vision was stifled to normalcy, akin to that of a human when it came to the dim low lighting which can barely make out the finer details of a being in spite of his keen eyesight, by his shades. He didn't need them so as to retain his keener vision, not in the blazing night skies to which he had removed from his shades, pocketing them into the folds of his pockets within the cassock. It was then his attention was roused to a sudden breaking of the door, shattered outward into a bundle of splinters bursting out with a force he had known akin to his own, as if his ploy had failed, but nonetheless had done nicely to see the pubescent bitches running out in sheer hysteria. He had made his point to them that nowhere is safe wherever they go, no place is sacred, but then the question was posed, what of Beiber? If they were able to pry open the door, he needed to confirm the kill. Otherwise he'd run amuck of making a mistake like olden times back in WWI, when he didn't kill one man that'd be the biggest mistake in his life, to not murder him when he had the chance, and to MAKE SURE he was dead. A mistake that haunted him for the rest of his life as he had wished him dead with every fibre of his being.

This job was going to be a pain in the ass, and whomever made his job harder will have his fist gouging out their heart through the rectum, lapping their flesh skinless, skewering the face, oh the punishments to amount abundant. Maybe shove his foot up whomever's ass that did that. But to whomever's credit that did that, Americo wasn't even mad, but impressed that they were smart enough to realize a burning door in cinders was nothing more than a weakened wood easier to slam into pieces. It must've been a group of coordinated people, curiously weird since the Church was the last place he had expected a bastion of competency, especially after their persecution and hatred dogmatism that blinded reason, most of the time.

Pulling his cassock to a snap, it had opened as the buttons popped out, he latched his grasp over to the EBR's grip, pulling out of his coat's folds as he wielded it as if it were nothing more than a pistol. It was light to him, in heaviness, sighting the running myriads from both directions in the group, among those in the back door and among those in the front whom were pooling like a great tidal wave, as they seemed to be so intent on just driving off. But he saw no Beiber, stepping closer to the thick fat corner till he had only two feet away just to round back over to the entrance, his gun he wielded both hands to aim in the front, his ears peeled to listen to anything besides the inferno, ignoring the fans that ran past him but still drew notice to his general vicinity.

That bitch, Beiber, he was going to die, that only when he had seen him ahead having taken the opposite side of where Americo stood close with his right closest enough to brush against the wall into a hug for Justin Beiber seemed to have taken an alternate route around to run in the same direction as the fans, a bit to Americo's right with his vision no longer obscured as he faced the cars speeding off through the high way, did his aim stay true, aligning the sights, as he methodically opened fire in several bursts, the recoil completely manageable, and his marksmanship keeping the aim to their backs, specifically the bodyguards, that in a strafe from right to left, he had shot at the three targets and their spines, those being the bodyguards and Beiber being pulled along, generally to the central mass to the bottom and in the middle, not seeing Jennifer to his right for a thick wall obscured his vision, but noting the rustle that comes from stepping through the mess of woods that comes from great weight, that to his guess, must've been a gorilla as he remained unaware of her specific presence besides being something heavy amidst and in between the ruined great doorframe. He grinds his teeth to a scowl, his temper flared, and his eyelids widened, giving the occasional lowering sway underneath his armpits and over his shoulders both into hasty gazes and back to the targets to confirm the kill, letting loose further shots as they were aimed and not exactly stray in nature as his firearm was originally meant to act as a marksman's rifle, hence the high powered shots from within looking unto the iron sights. Spending a quarter of his ammunition shot out at the brat and his two gorilla bodyguards.

The two scurrying bodyguards and the little pop idol they were dragging along finally came into Jennifer's view, who had still been standing the in doorway watching the still terrified masses crawl into their vehicles and speed off. Taking a long drag from her coffin nail and exhaling a toxic grey cloud from the corner of his mouth, the thought of shooting the brat in the knee had crossed her mind more than a few times in the past few moments. It was, after all, his fault the church wound up in this condition. But she had figured it best to let him leave. Better to let the problem get rid of itself than cause even more by physically removing it herself.

However, all of the noise had been muffled by a something even louder, to which Jennifer instantly recognized as several high caliber gunshots. She also immediately thought that it was probably the same jackass who threw the cocktail and lit the church ablaze. The unexpected sound startled the busy clergy inside, who had managed to douse most of the flames and were in the middle of stomping out the smaller embers when the gunshots send a jolt up their spines. Jennifer, however, remained unfazed by the sound. Her's was bigger, had more kick, and was definitely louder, so the sound was far from startling.

The True Cross Agent watched, with what many might say was unexpected indifference oh her part, as the bodyguards and Beiber toppled to the ground in a massive pile, the bullets tearing into their lower backs and punching through their flesh. She was somewhat surprised by the persistence of the two bodyguards, using their strong upper-body strength to roll themselves over to face their shooter, one drawing a concealed firearm to return fire while the other pulling himself on top of Beiber as a human shield. They were both gunned down by followup shots, leaving only Beiber underneath the one; in pain and screaming.

Jennifer figured the guy had aimed for the spine in order to take his time in doing whatever he had planned. She wasn't going to let him get that far. "Y'all might wanna' cover yer ears.", Jennifer warned to the clergy behind her, using a casual flick of her thumb to undo one of the straps restraining the cloth around the cross-like object on her shoulder. A chain reaction started, causing the rest of the straps to quickly undo themselves resulting in a shower of loose cloth flying back into the church and over the clergy, revealing a large, metallic cross underneath it all.  

The Mercy Giver, or so Jennifer had named it, was a unique minigun customly crafted to look like a cross, and was her signature weapon. The barrel was hidden in the bottom shaft of the cross, which remained split down the middle to reveal the barrel in the center. The barrel had the words, "In Bullets I Trust" written on either side. Her hand found the grip, a small hold being in the center of the cross where the two sections met, grasping hold of a small circular trigger that had a picture similar to a yin-yang sign painted on it where her fingers came to rest on the pressure triggers on it's edges. She casually lifted the behemoth of weapon, extending the barrel end out toward the wall in which she heard the gunshots originating from. "Fer'give me, Father, fer ah'm about to ruin 'oly ground. Ah shall increase tha' weight on mah cross as penance when tha deed's don', but fer now, I humbly ask o' thee tah guide meh ta victory."  

She pressed the trigger, and the gun roared to life. A sound resembling a high-powered jackhammer, which made everyone still in the church cover their ears in discomfort, followed the letting loose of hundreds of blessed .50 caliber armor piercing rounds toward the wall, each bullet of which had the words, "God's Mercy" carved into them. The heavy caliber rounds would easily punch through the thick limestone and anything behind it as if it were paper. She felt bad about destroying a wall, she truly did, it was a Church, after all, but whoever threw the Molotov had already damaged it, and if she had to do the same in order to act out divine punishment, then she would without hesitation.

She didn't know the targets exact location, but his general area was very clear due to his own gunshots giving away his position. However, to maximize her chances of not missing, she slowly sprayed the majority of the wall in a slow moving arch, even taking the precaution of firing near the bottom the make sure she didn't miss anyone who had went prone in the false expectation of safety they thought it would grant them. The Cross-like weapon held at least 3000 rounds of ammunition, each situated in one of the arms of the cross and the one at the top; 1000 each. However, she would stop after a few moments, despite the wall having already been turned to swiss cheese after such a short amount of time. She'd then casually step through the doorway, lifting the cross back up onto her shoulder with steam drifting off the barrel.

Keen hearing, enough so that after having slain the two fool guards with aim true and persisting, had noted the heavy clamping of metal quite close by in fact. The person whom he had noted by the thick rustle atop the door frame, on the splinters and whatever cinders around, had given way earlier truest. Nonetheless, it was the speech over covering their ears perhaps addressed to more parties within the burning Church that drew his attention to note there were hostiles, and the tone of it all suggested hostile action leveled to him, that at this point, it wasn't out of the question for the war veteran. Without really saying a word, considering the proximity of the enemy, or assumed one, as the traded fire from the bodyguards were irrelevant, some whizzing by him but none he saw were even close to hitting him, were not what drew his attention. The rest of the bullets merely were strays that left him unscathed as they all missed, desperate but admirable gorillas for someone undeserving of their patronage.

While the woman spoke, not really one to actually WAIT for whatever was going to happen, to happen, for that'd be foolhardy, Americo swiveled around in a quick few hasty step as the distance between him and her were in fact quite close given he was at the corner, rifle pointed forward, with his aim inclined so towards the enemy's earlier source of sound he'd had figured to be at the doorway that seemed to speak out with the intent to give out her position that he had timed it to make sure it was before she'd even lift the barrel of the crucifix gun whilst it remained pointed downward, his pace fast and a blur to the normal human eye augmented by the short proximity, without distraction and fully committed.

A preemptive action on his part really that he wouldn't know of being turned to Swiss cheese as a result. Lothar thought that she was an amateur when it came to warfare, that while she was unholstering her large crucifix, what with the cloth bursting out, he merely rounded the corner, literally being three feet away from the hussy, as he made sure to steer around in quickened haste with his rifle pointed out forward with it consistent in aim towards the woman, leveled at her as it was forward aimed the entire time, pulling the trigger some good number of times as it was pointed at her stomach within point blank range, .308 rounds bursting out of the muzzle within a number of five spinning out of the barrel as it spiraled towards her from such high powered shots, which drifted upwards to her shoulder, specifically the muscles that connect to her arm joints in another shooting strafe. Taking a strafe of his own by walking to his left which is Jennifer's right, whilst making sure to steer clear of the cross as he has spotted the holes quite similar to the MG-34's barrel, which he'd surmise was in fact a firearm, his eyes peeled and he were but 4 feet away from the mouthy Catholic, facing the door as he too was aligned to its middle, he would move to the left as his pace relaxed into a slower stroll.

"Ya might wanna cover yer gob next time, child fucker." He said in a mocking faux Irish accented English coldly.

OOC: Right, so that interruption cut off about the last two paragraphs of my previous post. Onward!
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Welp, he was fast, but not so fast as to where she couldn't follow him. However, he definitely wasn't a human, that much was certain. Unluckily for him, it was her job to kill shit just like him, and her training made that very feat possible. Regardless of the fact of how unexpected it was to see a being with supernatural abilities attacking a pop idol, she really didn't care. The fact one was here made her trip less worthless than it previously was. It wasn't surprising that he had acted before she had pulled the trigger, as she could recognize that fact that he possibly had heightened senses to hear her speaking beforehand, and the fact that she wasn't surprised allowed her to react in a proper manner.

Tracking him out of the corner of her eye whilst in the doorway, taking note of his weaponry being aimed directly at her the moment he had moved from his cover, a jerk of her wrist made the large weapon twist around in her grip. The small circle that acted as the grip and trigger in the center of the cross acted like a swivel point, allowing the entire cross to move in a 360 degree rotation while her hand and the trigger remained stationary. She did this as she took a several foot leap backwards, moving just as fast as her assailant with the same reactionary speeds, giving room for the large gun-end of the cross to rapidly fall down in front of her.

She immediately followed up with one swift and fluid motion of moving the rest of the cross's body before her; effectively placing the cross-weapon directly in front of her with the gun end touching the ground by her feet as she landed. The entire motion had brought the weapon in the path of the oncoming bullets moments just before impact, it's reinforced steel frame acting as a solid and unyielding shield against the onslaught, being just wide enough to cover the targeted areas with a slight contortion and angling of her body, which she did when the cross was in position. The bullets ricochet off and mushroomed against it, with little-to-no damage being done to it's body.

"Well, ain't yew jus' a rh'eel fuckin' original!" A sudden kick from her boot and bit of muscle strength in her arm rapidly lifted the bottom gun-end of the cross toward the door and the inhuman bastard with really old jokes. Having used her earlier jump to gain a few feet of distance, she was now standing in the center of the isle, with gave her more than enough room to properly utilize the cross-weapon's gun features. Immediately after lifting it, a bit of pressure on the trigger made it fire without delay, rapidly launching it's blessed .50 caliber AP rounds en mass which would no doubt shred apart the remaining door frame and the limestone walls around it.

(OOC: Tzeentch says change is good, but Papa Nurgle likes it best constant. Anyways, NO MORE INTERRUPTIONS!)

Lothar saw her finesse with a glint of appreciation for how she wasn't exactly as dumb as she seemed, but what made him far more murderous towards the woman was a simple fact as he had seen her face. Her eyes had the stink of destiny about it, that even were he to be heaped with brazen glory and praises for his roll in wounding Beiber, this woman, he knew in his heart and every fiber that perhaps there may be more to come out of her yet, or he should end her here and then, there was no in between. Still, his magazine had only four more bullets left, her artful cadence of movements, that he had seen the bullets turn into flattened mushrooms before his eyes, that the minigun was not for show at all or to be mounted, but to be wielded in open combat. If only he could close the distance, but now was not the time to lament.

He matched her speed and pace of kicking up the gun with his own commitment to fire, knowing that this'll turn into sheer barrage of bullets he dare not think to tank, then again, he had never found the sensation of being shot pleasant. With the weapon raised towards him, he squeezed the trigger to let loose some several shots of his own as he begun to try to in fact immediately strafe to the left simultaneously as his shooting, emptying the weapon to an audible click as a result. Spreading in a controlled manner the bullets towards her shoulders, both of them, once more. Whatever the case, he was committed now more than ever to this battle, though he may be mistaken for a supernatural, he is by all means still human, better thought of as a superhuman rather.

Anyways, with his ammo spent, and the gun aiming at him as he could see the nuances of her muscles twitch in ready to fire not that he needed the queue given the gun was pointing up to him as his shooting had spanned within the moment given her immediate response from raising the weapon to flood his body with powerful rounds meant for piercing tanks, he had torn away from the door frame's view to the left into a full blown sprint, barely breaking away to see what flutter of a trail he had left from his cassock, as a disguised priest, had been in fact torn apart into tattered shreds that a moment of a delay would've seen him shot. The foggy aftermath picked up to cloud the area in additional fog from the debris now blowing forth, crumbling from the powerful shots that are best described as overkill, as the Thousand Kni-- Americo turned a moment to see Justin Beiber. Now standing to the Church's left by the corner, he smoothly reaches for the folds of his coat, unveiling another magazine in his grasp. Using the magazine's lip against the release, the empty one fell off and a new one was fed into the firearm, and Americo turned his weapon, knowing what sort of response would entail as a result from the woman, knowing the weapon, with it aimed at Justin Beiber, and his visage siding a glance to the door by caution in briefness and back to the whelp, had let loose one round to the squealing brat's face.

He was silent, the thunderous roar that resounded from the weapon, he immediately sprints backward and away from the Church, strafing diagonally back readied against the one rife with a stench so heavy of fate, he could not help but want to incline into a battle with the Catholic. Wafting further into the looming darkness as his eyes adjust to it, his weapon pointing towards the Church, knowing what good it'd do him, that he should've invested in something heavier.

Jennifer followed it all, allowing herself to fall backwards as The Mercy Giver barked forth hails of gunfire, which lasted only until the threat disappeared from her view. The action allowed the Cross Wielder to angle herself out of the path of the man's bullets, but only barely. One of them had just managed to scape her shoulder, leaving a flesh wound, the others put a hole in her clothing just under the arm. Landing on her rear and rolling onto her back and then to her feet, to which she arose and lifted her cross once more.

By this time, the clergy members who had previously been putting out the fire had scattered, fleeing to their rooms and locking the doors, which luckily kept them out of harms way - for now. She paused for only a moment, knowing the doorway could be a fatal funnel, though such a fate could easily be blocked by exiting cross first. She could have easily just shot blindly through the wall, but knowing how old the church was any more damage to the structure could be irreparable.

A final gunshot had pulled her from her planning, causing her to bolt to and through the doorway with her cross covering her left side, which was the side the assailant had fled to, as a ward against any surprise shots the man might've taken. However, upon breaking through the exit and coming to a stop, she had taken note of a pile of bodies. She recognized them as the bodyguards that had earlier escorted the concert brat out the back door. She had thought they had already left, but it turns out the earlier shots she had heard found their mark.

The boy was beneath one of them, his upper body now sticking out as if he tried to crawl out from under the heavy meat shield that earlier protected him - a hole borrowing through the center of his face. So, Beiber was dead... She couldn't honestly say she cared, though she was bit worried about what backlash might fall back on her from HQ for this. However, after the mere moment it took for her to recognize and process all of this, she instantly turned to face the last known direction of her latest prey.

She carried a big gun, and generally an indifferent attitude, but she wasn't stupid enough to go out into the pitch darkness after something that was evenly matched with her. Regardless of her physical feats, she was human. She didn't have night vision. Waiting a moment while still behind her cross, as whether or not her enemy had such vision and was lining up another shot on her or not was an unknown, she had taken a few steps back into the church and the safety of it's walls.

The fucker had damaged the church, and she was pissed off to the fiery depths of hell about it, but she wasn't reckless or stupid enough to act on the impulses and walk blindly into an uneven match up that was as equally out of her favor as it was in it.

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Mission End: Americo accomplished his mission task of killing his target, and escaped Jennifer who wasn't stupid enough to follow him. Mission was successful on his end.