Christopher, second-in-command of the Papal Resistance, was annoyed. It had been twenty-three months, going on twenty-four, since Anastasy, leader of the debacle that was the Resistance, had disappeared. He had left only to fight in the Great War into which he was conscripted, and which had been over for nearly a year. Christopher had no doubt that his mentor was dead by now, but sometimes he still had dreams in which Anastasy would return. Most of these dreams, of course, included the brutal and usually messy murder of the men who had come to vie for his position.
Christopher was interrupted from these thoughts by a loud crash coming from the direction of the herd of men. He heard a guffaw coming from Locke Swift, the undisputable leader of the group of men, and the most likely to get picked for the role. Of course, they didn’t really care about the role of leader. Most of the men had come from the isolated outposts of the organisation – Irkutsk, Sorrento, Ljubljana, and t