A Bullet Through A Flock Of Doves

One - They Encourage Your Complete Co-Operation

He stared down the barrel of the gun, eyes narrowing, focusing on his target far below through the hole in the glass he hid behind. He licked his lips, moved his fingers, and the gun clicked, ready in his hands.

The street below him was a sea of people, hurrying and slowing and running and walking, a steady stream trickling into the bar across the way.

He was perched in a window, the window of the church that stood before the bar; tall, imposing, daring the sea of people to make their choice- sin, or be forgiven.

The stained glass sparkled, casting light across him- blood red, cadmium blue, saffron yellow. It gave him the appearance of a patchwork creature, his dark clothes morphing the light into the blackness, adding flecks of colour to his inky hair, which hung low around his shoulders and neck.

And then there was the most noticeable feature- the cross which hung around his neck, gold on a gold chain. There was a ruby embedded in the center, sparkling dully in the dim light of the church loft. Dust motes flickered around him, and the world was calm, quiet, peaceful.

Until he saw the man.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy, confident stride that led him to the mouth of the bar the other had been watching. His coiffed red hair was hard to miss, like a beacon, an easy target screaming, "I'M HERE! COME AND GET ME!"

And so the man with the gun did.

One second there was silence, and almost deafening pause, and then there was a click and a sound easily confused with a crack of thunder, before somebody screamed and a man fell, his hair even redder than before as the bullet pierced his skull.

The killer stood up. The crowd was wild and panicked, but the man was dead. His job was done. Smiling and tucking the gun into his belt, he made his careful, precise way down the stairs and into the chancel. The church's domed roof loomed high above, a cathedral of power and lies.

He pulled out his cellphone, typing in the passcode with deft fingers before pressing a button and bringing it to his ear, waiting for the ring.

It came, and someone picked up almost immediately.

"Hello?"

He paused. The voice was unfamiliar. His eyes widened the tiniest bit and he pulled the phone away from his ear. There were sounds of a scuffle on the other side, the phone being switched over.

"This is Gerard Way, correct?"

His eyes narrowed. He said nothing, though his heart told the tale for him- beating fast and scared in his chest.

He could almost feel the sneer of the person on the other end.

"Finally. You've been a lot of trouble for us. I'd suggest you do the right thing now and listen up."

"I won't do shit for you."

"Ah, but there's where you're wrong," the voice laughed. "We have your little brother- managed to keep out of your business but he's still a useful tool. I strongly encourage your complete cooperation, or who knows... an accident could happen."

He inhaled sharply before whispering, "What do you want me to do?"

"Go outside with your hands up, get rid of all your weapons. One bullet to another person is a bullet to your little brother."

"Fine." His voice was tight and angry.

But he walked through the lines of pews, down the aisle, and through the huge doors, the stone figures who peered down at him seeming almost sad to see him go.

He walked past their blank eyes and faces, down the stone steps, and to the cement sidewalk.

And he held his hands up.

And that was the day that Gerard Way was arrested.