Michael had blinked in and out of consciousness a few times. He was unsure how much time had gone by since he had found himself here. His arms stung, burned with a searing pain. No matter what he did, no matter how he shifted, could only seem to lessen the pain for a few minutes at most. He lifted his head, the pounding in his temples worsening with the movement.

Blinking away the blear in his eyes, he looked up to see that the ghost girl was still there. Sitting against the pole, she had placed a cup on the ground a good ten feet in front of her. She was ripping off little bits of a newspaper that lay next to her and was flicking the balls at the cup. Judging by the large smattering of paper balls around the cup, and the decent quantity that lay inside, she must have been at this for a while.

"I want to ask you something."

"Why should I talk to you?" She sounded bitter. Most likely still angry about what happened the night prior. It seemed there was something still capable of feeling remorse in her - good. Maybe he had hope - maybe she still had a soul.

"Because you were once human."

“I’m still human, Michael.” She balled up a chunk of the newspaper lying next to her into one gigantic wad and threw it across the room as if throwing the piece of paper would relieve some of her anger. “Once you come to accept the fact that I am a person, I’m human, and that I’m not evil-”

“You serve Isaac," Michael interrupted.

“I don’t want to - and I never said I haven’t done bad things," Muse sighed. "I suppose I have. I’m not going to lie. Especially recently, I guess. I may be 'forsaken by God,' but that doesn’t mean I’m not human. I’m not a demon, a beast, or a lampshade. I'm not an inanimate object."

"You should not exist," he said quietly. He didn't mean for it to sound vicious. It was true. He could help her, help her move on to whatever place she was destined to go. Her being locked like this was unnatural.

“And yet here we are," she snapped. She looked up at him, clearly frustrated with the conversation. "You wanted to ask me something."

Michael watched in silence for a long time, before finally speaking up. "Why is Ostheim keeping me here?"

He watched as the girl looked over at him with a quizzical look. The dark eyeliner she wore made her eyes appear bigger than he suspected they actually were.

"Who?"

"Ostheim. Isaac Ostheim. The sorcerer."

"So that’s his last name. Uh. Oh," the girl paused. "I don't know. He said this was an opportunity. I don't know much more than you do."

"What is it that you do know, then?"

The girl looked at him with a quirked eyebrow, as if debating her motivation for telling him. This girl seemed far less gone than the others. Yes, she had let him fall out of a forty-story window - a memory that still inspired nightmares. Yes, she had given him the bruise on his forehead when she had punched him. But she seemed to be debating the idea of telling him. Either she was naïve, or she had some semblance of grace left in her.

"I don't think I should be telling you."

"I don't seem to be going anywhere. I really pose no threat." Michael cringed as he shifted his weight again. Even if he were free, his arms would be too useless to do much of anything. His armor and his sword were nowhere to be seen.

"Yeah, right now. What happens if you get free?"

"We'll discuss it then, I guess."

The girl snorted at his half attempt at a joke and flicked another paper ball at the cup. Michael watched another whiz through the air, skitter across the ground as she missed. A few moments, and another attempt. The moments ticked by as he watched her throw the little paper balls. Apparently, she wasn't going to tell him. He was not particularly surprised.

He’d been wrong before.

"He's planning on 'removing' Raphael."

Michael snorted out a laugh. The girl looked at him, confused. He guessed he should return the favor. "Raphael cannot die. He can do all he wants, but Raphael is incapable of being 'removed.'"

"He knows that. He said he wasn't going to kill her, he was just going to 'remove' her."

"How?" Michael blinked. He wasn't sure how the sorcerer was planning on getting rid of Raphael. But he was worried - if there was anyone who could do such a thing, it would be Ostheim.

"Hell if I know." He cast her a look and she shrugged. "Really - I don't. He hasn't told any of us."

He shut his eyes, lowering his head. He was stuck here, helpless, as Ostheim was out threatening his companions. It was infuriating. Mustering his strength, he thrashed in the chair, trying to free himself. The only reward was a searing pain that lanced up his left arm and to his ear, causing his vision to swirl.

"Easy champ, you're gonna really hurt yourself..."

He didn't feel like replying. She seemed to notice his lack of enthusiasm for the conversation, and shrugging to herself, went back to chucking small little balls of paper into the cup.

"I don't like this idea!" Victor whined.

"Just do it already, you wuss." Mal snorted and looked up at the church looming over them.

Victor looked up at the building through the trees. He was standing here next to Mal and Isaac in some tiny little park, hidden in the darkness across the street from the ominous structure. The building looked old, its gothic spires stretching up towards the dark night sky. A gargoyle on the bell tower leered over them, backlit by the half-moon. Other than that, there was little in the sky. The city lights were too bright to pick out more than just a few scattered, flickering white pinholes.

Nervousness was turning his stomach over slowly. He was staring at the large circular window that decorated the face of the church, like an ironic bulls-eye. It made what he was about to do even that more annoying. It was like the building itself was mocking him.

"But it's going to hurt."

"Big effin' deal, Ruffles." Mal cracked his neck from one side to the other. "You don' have to break down the front door."

"Enough."

Their conversation went silent as Isaac approached them. Victor shoved his hands into his coat pockets. The sorcerer had been in an incredibly foul mood since Aaron had left a few days prior. Some days Victor'd find the temptation to push some of Isaac's buttons for a laugh. Not today. He'd get his ass kicked. He wished Eric was here, but he wasn't really talking much. When asked to come along, he quietly refused. Victor sighed, another thought weighing heavily on him. They hadn't actually spoken since they argued by his car, over a week ago.

"I will retrieve Raphael personally," Isaac said. "I suspect that at least Uriel and Azrael are inside. It is your task to deal with those two. I suspect you should be able to handle it..." Isaac narrowed his eyes at the two of them. "I hope I am not mistaken. Are we understood?"

"Yeah," Mal grunted out, cracking the knuckles on his hand.

"Yes Boss," Victor added meekly. Isaac, seemingly satisfied, walked away into the darkness. Victor pulled in a slow breath. "I'll take Azrael. Seeing as you take bullets better than I do."

"Deal. I hate that lil' Cirque Du Soleil reject anyways." Mal patted him roughly on the back. "On yer cue, fangs."

"Yeah... yeah..." Victor backed up, giving himself a good thirty feet. He rolled his shoulders, hunkered down - and ran. He half heard Mal yelp in surprise as Victor dashed - almost faster than the eye could see. He planted a foot onto a bench as he neared the street - and he jumped.

It could be debated whether or not he had an impeccable aim - or the worst luck in the world. This was what rolled through his mind as he crashed through the large circular stained glass window. The glass shattered around him in a rain of glittering multi-colored shards. Time almost seemed to slow down as he careened through the glass, putting one hand over his face to protect himself. Going through the window was what Victor had planned - the large statue of the Virgin Mary that he found in his landing path was not.

Victor's let out a yell as his body slammed into the statue. It teetered, and he barely had time to register what was going on. He grabbed hold of the statue as it crashed, and the blond rolled to the side. Victor lay on his back in a pile of marble rubble, glass shards and wood splinters. The vampire groaned in pain and looked up at the cross hanging over his head in his line of view. "Why me?" he asked the cross. Rolling onto his side, he picked himself up off of the floor and began brushing glass and marble dust off of his pants.

He blinked as he heard the familiar clicking of a gun hammer pulling back. He ducked barely in time as a bullet impacted a column where he stood a moment prior, cracking the marble where the bullet dug into the stone. Victor growled and ducked behind a pew. Another bullet thunked into the wood next to his head. Victor moved - dashing down around a corner, coming up behind Uriel and checking him with his shoulder, sending the older man smashing over another pew and to the ground.

Wincing, Victor reached up and pulled a shard of glass out of his hair and flicked it to the side. "I knew this was a stupid idea..." He leaped in surprise as the front door suddenly caved in like it had been hit by a car. Close enough. Mal came barreling through the wood, brushing splinters off of himself as he walked up to the vampire, flashing his lopsided smile.

"Wha'd I miss?"

"Me making an ass out of myself."

"Oh, so nuthin' out of the ordinary."

"Ah hah. Look-" Victor ducked as bullets ricochetted around them. One dug into Victor's arm. Putting his back to a column, he dug his fingers into the wound and yanked the bullet out, tossing it aside. He watched as the wound closed up on its own. At least the man wasn't packing silver bullets this time.

Mal was walking calmly towards Uriel, watching as the man uselessly fired his guns into the bigger man's chest. Mal simply brushed them off, watching the bullets plink to the ground. "I liked this shirt... c'mere!" Mal ran at Uriel, chucking a pew aside. It crashed against the wall, smashing in half.

Victor didn't have time to watch much more of the fight as he found a knife sticking into his chest. Snarling in pain as Azrael twisted the blade, sending arcs of electricity through him, he forced himself to work through it. This time he was expecting it. It hurt like hell, but he managed to keep his footing. "Not this time, asshole..." Victor planted his fist straight into Azrael's head, knocking whatever-it-was backwards onto the ground, taking the knife with him. Victor gagged in pain as the blade was yanked out, watching his shirt soak with blood. He could already feel the wound healing.

Not wanting to give Azrael any more opportunity, he leaped onto the black ragged thing and started pounding his fist into its mask, cracking the porcelain. Victor had a suspicion that the only reason they were getting off this easy was that they had caught the Crusaders at home, unprepared. He stood up, looking down at the hopefully unconscious form of the 'Archangel of Death.'

Victor lifted his head, suddenly realizing that there wasn't any gunfire. "Yo, Mal, what happened?"

"He ran off, goddamn coward..."

"That probably means he's coming back with soldiers."

"Prob'ly."

Victor sighed and leaned his arm on a large iron candelabra next to him. “Wha-oh!” he exclaimed as the candelabra teetered suddenly. He scrambled to catch it, but it fell a second too soon - the iron smashing into the ground and the lit candles rolling across the floor. The two men watched in somewhat idle fascination as a large tapestry against the wall began to smoke. It began to hiss and pop as the threads grew dark and then sparked with flame. They watched as the fire climbed up the tapestry to the roof, spreading from the wall to the ceiling. "Um... Whoops? " Victor snickered quietly. "Let's just... tell Isaac we did that on purpose..."

"Tell me you did what on purpose?"

"Help! Oh god, help!"

Victor turned to see Isaac step into the room. He had a young girl - he assumed Raphael - the hair, dragging the teenager next to him. Victor had never met her, as the 'lifeline' of the Crusaders was kept under heavy guard, but he figured it couldn’t be anyone else. The girl was struggling, sobbing, trying to wrench herself free from Isaac, who was dragging her along like she was nothing more than an unruly grocery bag. She was obviously terrified, screaming like a nightmare had become real. To her, it probably had.

"Um..." Victor blinked.

Isaac turned his attention upwards at the fire spreading along the wall. "Ah." He shrugged. "No matter. Come." Isaac began to walk towards the shattered door, dragging Raphael along.

Looking at Mal, Victor shrugged. Mal returned the gesture, and the two men walked after their employer. Victor knew he probably should have cared about the girl - she was just a kid after all - but it was just another job. He had done worse and probably would do worse again in his existence. It wasn't his place to ask questions like that. Besides, Victor reminded himself - she was a soldier. She was a Vatican freak whose purpose was to destroy things like him. It was eat or be eaten.

Raphael suddenly dug her heel into Isaac's shin, causing the man's knee to buckle forward. Isaac caught himself and turned, glaring down at the girl. Twisting her head roughly to look up at him, he began to talk to her quietly, like he was angrily scolding a student. "Raphael, I have been patient with your insolence to this point. As you have shown that you have no interest in calming yourself, you force me to do the only logical thing; I will do it for you."

Isaac spun Raphael around so her back was to him. Placing one hand on the front of her head and the other on the back, Isaac snapped his hands sharply - twisting her head to the side. Victor and Mal both winced at the stomach-churning crunch that followed. As Raphael slumped, Isaac caught her and slung her over his shoulder. Letting out an annoyed sigh at the interruption, Isaac simply turned and continued to walk.

Victor rubbed the back of his neck and followed, looking up at Mal. He wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do and knew that his expression said as much. The big bald man looked unsettled but resigned. Neither man dared to say anything, and Mal simply patted him on the shoulder. Shoving his hands into his pockets again, Victor decided to follow the big man's lead. Shut up and get paid.

Staring at the ceiling got really old around hour whatever-this-was. She had been down here for four straight days, watching Michael. Occasionally she was allowed to let him up to use the bathroom or to feed him. Isaac had instructed her to 'keep him alive.' So she was doing that to the best of her ability. The man was obviously exhausted and significantly the worse for wear. The last time she had let him up to use the bathroom, his legs had given out under him. He probably would have tried to run, if he could. But he was too weak to even attempt it, it seemed.

Muse was lying on her back, staring up at a little ball of light hovering over her. The little fuzzy blob of color was another ghost. She didn't know where the little thing came from, but it was flittering around the room and seemed to like her.

She picked up a tennis ball she found and tossed it up in the air. She watched as the little blob gripped onto it, held the ball for a moment, and then dropped it. Muse caught it and smiled. She tossed the ball again, watched as the ghost held it for a second, and then dropped it back to her.

"What are you doing...?" she heard Michael ask.

"Playing catch."

"With... what, exactly?" He sounded some mix of curious, nervous, and amused.

“Who.”

“Pardon?”

She threw the ball, knowing that to Michael, all it did was hover in the air for a moment, and then drop back down to her. "With ‘who.’ Another little ghost."

"Wait, another-" she heard Michael shift in the chair. "There's someone else here?"

"Kinda." Toss, hover, catch. "Not like me, though." Toss, hover, catch.

"Howso?"

"He's... small. He's not really thinking. He's just... feeling." Toss, hover, drop, catch. "A blob of emotions and energy just wandering around. Too weak to do much, I guess."

"Ghosts can become weak?"

Toss, hover, drop, catch. “Yeah. We fade out with time, or at least, I think so. I didn't get an instruction booklet." Toss, hover, drop, catch. "All I know is that... it's like watching someone go senile. Or watching a candle burn when you don’t know how long the wick is. Sometimes happens faster, sometimes happens slower. Then... sometimes, they blink out entirely." Muse let out a sigh. Toss, hover, drop, catch. Yet another thing she didn't want to dwell on. The idea of turning out like the little thing floating over her was not a comfortable thought.

"Why is it here?"

"This happens sometimes. He probably wandered from somewhere and found me." Toss, hover, drop, catch.

"Why would he care about you?"

"I'm bigger. I guess it's a moth-to-a-flame kind of thing." Muse watched as the remains of whoever it was that she was playing catch with got bored, distracted, and floated off through the wall and outside. She was glad she was spared the 'undead ADD' that most of her 'kin' suffered. "They're not like me."

"Thank God for that."

"Hey," Muse shot him an injured look, swiveling around to sit up, taking her favorite spot against the pole. She was surprised to see that he had a very mild smile on his face.

"What made you so particular?"

Muse tilted her head to the side slightly and shrugged. "I have no idea. Not a flipping clue."

"Well, what did you do to be condemned to this?"

She blinked. He asked it so casually. She wondered why he cared. It was probably because he had been down here for a while and had nothing better to do. She lowered her head lightly. "That's an awfully personal question."

"I suppose it is."

There was a long silence. Muse was watching him, trying to figure out this man. A Vatican soldier. An armored force of nature, one she had found herself terrified of. And now, she was sitting here, having a personal conversation with him. Michael was asking her questions that not even Isaac had asked. What the hell. Chances are he won't be alive for much longer anyway.

"I don't know that either. I wasn't exactly Christian, so I suppose if that condemns you to an existence of floating numb around a world you're loosely connected to, then I guess that's it." Muse folded her arms across her knees and propped her chin up on her forearm. Lost in thought, she tried to think back as to what could have caused her to be like this. Where she went 'wrong.' "I guess I did some stupid stuff - but - hell, who hasn't when they were a kid? Okay, " she chuckled. "Everyone but you."

Michael smiled faintly and shifted, hissing in pain as his arm dug into the chair again. "You must have done something. Being a heathen doesn't help, but there must be something."

"Not... that I can think of," she chewed on her lower lip. "I smoked some weed. I never killed anybody - never stole. Never screwed anybody over. I don't know. I really don't. No one spoke to me, I saw no lights, I saw nothing. It all went dark, and then... I woke up." The last thing she wanted to do was think about her predicament. All ‘thinking about it’ accomplished was to make it more difficult to cope with.

"How did you die?" Michael did his best to straighten out, wincing as the muscles in his arms protested to the movement.

"Christ." Muse let the word out in a sigh. She ran both of her hands through her hair, wishing she could hide from the question. She knew she didn't have to answer him. "Everybody always wants to know how I died. Million dollar question." Muse lifted her head and watched him. She was surprised at what she saw. His face was almost - not quite, but almost - kind. There wasn't the cold detachment in his hazel eyes that she saw when she told Isaac. It almost looked like Michael... cared.

"It's a sensitive subject, I can imagine... You don't have to tell me. I-"

"I was murdered," she said suddenly, blurting it out in a rush. She opened her mouth, paused, and let out a breath she started talking slower. She had to get used to the idea eventually. Yes, she was murdered. Yes, she was stabbed. What else had happened to her after she lost consciousness - she was glad she had been spared. Muse figured she might as well use this as an opportunity to 'talk about it.' Didn't they say it got better that way? "I was stabbed." She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, not wanting to meet his eyes. She sat there and watched the scene play out in her head again. "Will, my boyfriend. I loved him. Or at least, I think I did. He brought me out to this place, this graveyard. He murdered me." She shuddered and pulled her knees closer to her as she felt the sensation of the knife on her ribs. She hoped that someday the memory of that feeling would go away. “He... was the only person on this planet... ever... to look me in the eyes and say that he loved me.”

They sat in silence. Michael was staring off thoughtfully. Muse finally moved, sitting cross-legged on the ground. She tried to push the thoughts away, but the harder she tried, the more vivid the memories became. Whoever said 'talking about it makes it better' could go screw. It didn't feel any better at all. She got up and walked across the room, just finding the need to move.

"For what it is worth, I am sorry you suffered. God can be strange in the way he works. We can only have faith in his grand design."

That caught her by surprise. Muse would normally have mocked someone for claiming God had any sort of 'plan' involving her getting brutally murdered, but the look on his face stopped her. He was only trying to be nice, trying to be comforting. She wouldn't throw that back at him.

"Thanks." Muse took a moment. "I don't mean to sound rude... But... why do you care? It's not like we're best friends."

"I am a Crusader. A sword of the light. You are my enemy, and when we meet again on the battlefield I will show no mercy." Michael shut his eyes and leaned his head back. He suddenly sounded almost feverish. She wondered if he was going to pass out. He had done that a few times already. "But I can recognize and sympathize with your suffering. I still don't condone your actions. You were condemned to this for a reason. God would not have done this to you without due cause."

"Maybe God just gets a laugh out of it."

"Don't blaspheme."

"Hun, at this point it's become a hobby.”

Uriel stood across the street from his former home. St. Peter's had been their base of operations in New England for years, and now, half of it lay in ruin. The fire had shattered several of the windows and collapsed the roof in some sections. The firemen had saved a good portion of it, but there was no point in staying. He was gripping the railing of the fence in front of him. Azrael was somewhere close, he was sure. He was surrounded by Vatican soldiers, yet he didn't feel any safer.

"He took Raphael."

"Do we know why?" came a voice to his right, the Irish accent thinner than it used to be, but still a lilting presence in the words.

"No."

"Well, then we get her back. Raphael can't die, no matter what he does. He's a clever thing, but I don't see what he could do."

Uriel turned to look at the man next to him. Tall, white-haired, glasses, grizzled and pulling a drag on his cigarette. Despite the fact that they were on the same side, he still found the man’s presence nerve-wracking. The Vatican sent ‘the Priest.’ Things must be bad. Uriel had been a part of this contingent since its inception - he was well into his sixties and didn't consider himself a rookie by any means. But the Priest to his right made him feel like a boy.

"Zadkiel can tell us where they are... she hasn't been able to get a read on Michael alone, but if the two of them are in the same spot... we can find them," Uriel muttered out quietly.

"Good. Then take the squadron and go get your compatriots."

Uriel felt like he had just been reprimanded.

"Yes, Father Ramsden."

Being woken up by being stepped on is one thing. Being woken up by being stepped through is an altogether different level of unsettling. Muse jolted into consciousness as she realized that someone was standing in her. It took her a few seconds to realize that she was in the basement and had accidentally dozed off. It took her another second or two to realize that Michael was standing in her, collapsed on his knees. Pulling herself into a tighter ball, she appeared to the side of him.

Michael struggled to stand, and tried to make it to the door. She actually felt more than a little bad for him as his legs betrayed him, and gave out underneath his unsteady weight. But Isaac had put her to this job. If he got loose, it would mean hell for her. Sighing, she walked up to Michael and picked him up by the upper arm. His weight was nothing. She was slowly realizing how strong she actually was.

"Well, good morning," she said down to him.

"Let me go - Ghost, let me go," Michael pleaded as she dragged him back towards the center of the room and the chair. "You know he plans on killing me. He plans on killing all of my companions, my friends - please!"

Half of her wanted to let him go, but the other half wanted not to suffer Isaac's wrath. Lying to the sorcerer wouldn't do her any good, and she knew if he found out that she had let the Crusader go... she wasn't sure what he'd do, but she knew it'd hurt. She tried to remember what Michael had done to Victor - and her. Somehow she figured Isaac’s rage would still hurt worse. A lot worse. Self-preservation took over.

"I'm sorry, man." Muse forced Michael into the chair and pulled his arms behind him. He howled in pain as she did. She clasped the restraints back around him, squeezing together the link of the chain that he had bent out of shape.

She vanished, not wanting to have to stand there and have him look at her. She couldn't take the expression on the face, the pain he was in. She hovered by the wall as she heard the basement door swing open. Measured footsteps came down the stairs - it could only be one person.

"Muse?"

Yep. She was right.

She took form and looked over at Isaac. "Yeah?"

"We're going to need you for this. Come. Eric will be security."

"Need me for... what, exactly?"

Isaac watched her. His face was completely unreadable. There was no flicker of anything, no semblance of any emotion. "We are going to remove Raphael." He turned on his heels and headed back up the stairs. "Come. We have to do this quickly."

Michael howled in pain, and rage, struggling against the chains violently as he thrashed with renewed energy.

"Sorcerer! Sorcerer you will suffer for this! Face me like a man, you coward! You will be struck down, mark my words!"

Muse vanished, heading up the stairs past Isaac, glad to be away from Michael's suffering, although she had the feeling that where she was going was going to be no better.