Silas had just grabbed a beer from the fridge when the computer beeped, indicating he had a call. The entire basement of the church had been remodeled into a living space for him—a large area for working out, one wall containing racks of weapons, mostly melee type, but with the occasional firearm; his bike sat on a lift at one end; the other contained most of his musical equipment and an isolation room for his guitar amplifiers so the holy rollers upstairs didn't flip out every time he got the urge to pick up an axe and tear out a nasty riff.
By far, however, two features dominated the large warehouse space (well, three if he counted the sixty inch flat screen; working for the Vatican did have its perks). One was the large technical center that Mort had insisted on installing. Multiple
