Grym arrived at the top of the impossibly long escalator leading from the Metro station, shielding his eyes from the intense sunlight. He took a moment to get his bearings, then found the street sign he was after, thinking that Washington was one of the most difficult cities to navigate. The briefcase felt ridiculously heavy given its lack of contents. The burden was more psychological than physical. He trudged down the sidewalk, fighting for a chance to walk a straight line instead of stepping out of the way of people, increasingly upset at the lack of any system. In his world there was power and obedience, absolute order when required. Never mind that his soldiers were druggies and dropouts; they followed orders. His orders. Or his brother’s. The world could do with a little less chaos and a lot more order. He took a left, walked three blocks, and then a right. He stopped just long enough to drink in the beauty of the old cathedral. A recently constructed sign out front read: THE CHURCH OF HIGHER PURPOSE.
