WASHINGTON, D.C.

The only part of Benson that seemed to work was his brain. The rest of him was powerless as his nurses and assistants were murdered. It was fast and methodical. The paramedics used silenced pistols that were hidden under the stretcher. They were obviously experienced.

Benson had a flare of hope when the doors opened, but the chilly smiles on the clerics’ faces as they entered the room extinguished it. Their eyes leveled on the patient, who appeared dead. His chest didn’t move and his eyes were closed. The redhead cleric scanned the carnage, then focused on the paramedics, who awaited him.

“Pristine work, gentlemen,” the redhead cleric commented, nodding approvingly.

“Thanks,” the bald paramedic replied. The other one bowed slightly.

“Has he relocated yet?” the blonde cleric asked with a sharp enough tone to cut with, still looking at the patient.

“Yes, to the doctor,” the bald paramedic answered, glancing at Benson. Everyone’s eyes shifted to him. The redhead cleric approached him, chuckling when he got closer. He poked at Benson’s wound.

“Gross,” he said.

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