Deviation The gravest error was the loss of mystery. Even fire and brimstone lose their ability to inspire awe eventually. And when that happens, the people will calmly look at the fire and ask - why can't we do that? It is only a delicate balancing act that can sustain the wonder, without provoking the retaliation. A religion that does not require a leap of faith - will ultimately fail. Excerpt from “Thoughts On The Crisis " by major general (ret.) Ambrose J. Bragg, commander of religion directorate. The heavy wooden door creaked as it opened. The man looked younger up close. Cahill hesitated. The man at the door spoke with a small voice "yes?" Cahill felt the knife at his side. His hand wrapped tightly around the handle. He could see that the man had just finished eating. A single wooden bowl was visible on the crudely built table behind him. Cahill took out the knife and thrashed it into the man's head. The carriage was waiting where it was supposed to. Cahill stepped in and sat down. Opposite him was the smiling face of the man who had sent him on this assignment. Frank was short, balding with piercing blue eyes. His eyes were now centered on Cahill, his smile fading as he waited for a reaction. "It's done" Cahill said. "I know" Frank said, "And you feel bad about it" Cahill had no answer. He diverted his gaze to the window avoiding Frank's eyes. "It’s not the last one son, you know that" "I know, I’ll be OK, just get me the hell out of here" The carriage moved slowly through the mud filled streets. Outside a cacophony of horses, children and merchants were rushing about, oblivious to the carriage carrying the man who had just committed murder. It was murder, Cahill thought. No other way to look at it. Cahill plunged his head outside the window and threw up violently. Frank's blue eyes met him as he brought his head back in, gasping for air. "It's not murder. You know that." Cahill wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The clothes still felt unnatural. "It’s ours; all of it, and all of them" Frank gestured to the streets outside. "Just get me out of here" Cahill answered, trying to compose himself. The body lay on the dirt floor, a puddle of crusty blood surrounding it's head. "Who is he?" chief praetorian Icarus asked "Augustus sir, Canus Augustus. Was a teacher" Praetorian Icarus looked at the gaping hole in the mans’ head. "Oh and sir, we also found this" Praetorian Icarus followed the patrolman to the back room where a small lab was set up. An assortment of vials and bottles were scattered about. A frail book was open on the table, its ancient pages barely holding together. "I guess we can close to book on this one, eh sir?" "yes, yes" Icarus said quietly. It was the fourth such murder in the last few months. They would not investigate any further. The man was clearly committing sin, and sins were the responsibility of the holy protectorate militia. Not that the protectorate militia would do anything about it. Sinners deserved to die.