The Vatican, Italy

April 12, 1996

As the pale sun spread its light upon the sleeping town, the gale grew amused at the awakening and began to dance amongst the streets of Italy. The leaves too, began to celebrate, and slowly, life was breathed into the sleeping city of the Vatican. Curtains were drawn, and bread was served. It was the Sabbath; a day designated by God for rest and tribute.

Seeing it’s wake, the old man who stood by the window drank slowly the scarlet liquid from his crystal cup and kissed the golden ring placed onto the third finger of his right hand. He smiled fondly at it before his morning prayer, and upon its close, began to examine the aged testament with his calloused hands, tracing his finger hither and fro as he read the passage.

Sunday. It is said that when God created the Earth, he had created it, and all its attributes in seven days. On the first, he created light from the darkness and on the second, he manifested the waters. On the third, he molded the earthen grounds, from which the first trees are believed to have seen their impetus. On the fourth, he fashioned the stars, the moon, and the skies, giving birth to the effigy of time, and on the fifth, he formed creatures to inhabit the earth and sea. On the sixth day, he molded another creature; one who would inherit the image of God, as well as his dominion above all other creatures. The creation was named man, and his birth signaled an end to the work God had begun. And so on the seventh day, God rested, and reserved it as the Sabbath. A day where man would not work, but rest, find nourishment, and pay tribute to God.

“Amen,” he spoke. Looking to the text one last time, he closed the holy book with the utmost care and kissed its cover. He then removed his ring, and placed it gently next to the coveted creed.

“It is said that the one who wears that ring will be blessed by God and be made into a fisher of men,” said a voice. Trailing it to the door, the elder turned and looked onto the entrance of his office. There stood a man, suited in black. His face and figure was obscured by the shadow of the dawn, and all that could be seen was but his hand, upon whose company was a ring. Cast of gold, and decorated with blood, the faintest chuckle was heard as he too, like the old man before him, kissed the ring, complimenting the dulcet tones of prayer that continued to echo about.

“You have returned?” questioned the eldest.

“I have,” replied the younger.

“And?”

“I have completed you’re request, Your Holiness. God has taken her under his merciful wing.”

To this, the elder voiced no response, but instead, merited the most devious and cunning smile. And against the golden backdrop of the morn, a certain glint was seen shining from his aged eye.

“Your Holiness?” asked the younger cautiously. “Does something bother?”

“No. There is no bother. There is only delight,” he answered.

“Delight, most holy father?”

“Yes. Delight. Delight at the fact the first of the three comedies has been completed.” He then turned to the younger man and commanded, “Swear.”

Upon that word, the suited man knelt and bowed his head. “Here do I swear fealty and service to Your Holiness, the Office of the Vatican, and God Almighty. From this hour henceforth, I shall not want, complain, or weep until my lord releases me, or death take me.”

Embosoming his hands into the depths of his robe, the older man replied gently, “And I shall not be one to forget. Nor fail to reward that which is given. Fealty shall be rewarded with love, valor with honor, and disloyalty with vengeance. Hereupon do I christen you as the Virgil, guide to the terraces of the afterlife.” Kneeling to equal level, the eldest kissed his forehead gently. He then drew his hand, which now entertained a silenced gun, and aimed it at Virgil’s head.

Panic began to manifest in Virgil’s eyes, and his appendices began to tremble with morbid fear, as death stared him in the eye. “Y-Your Holiness? I-I have o-only served you.”

A lucrative smile formed at the crease of his venerable feature. “The name, Virgil, is given to the one destined to guide souls across the first two of the three terraces; the Inferno and the Purgudario. You, my son, have no place here in the world of the living.” Looking to the desperate figure before him, he smiled condescendingly before pulling the trigger. As the lifeless body fell on the floor, he walked over to his desk and picked up the phone as he dialed the contact.

“Hello?”

“I must speak with Beatrice.”

“This is he. May I ask who this is?”

“Beatrice, my son, this is Father. I have a request to ask of you.”

…

New York, New York

July 7, 2013

As he clutched firmly onto his cup of coffee, Jonghun stared intently at the empty murder board located at the center of his workstation.

“My god, Jonghun. It’s not even 4 AM yet, and you’re already waiting for a case?” beckoned a voice from down the corridor. “You should really try and get some sleep.”

“You know I have insomnia,” Jonghun answered flatly. “Besides, what is a lazy person like you doing this early in the morning? You’re never awake before noon.”

Chuckling, the slim figure down the hall walked to where Jonghun sat and tousled his hair. “I can be diligent if I want to be.” Eyeing the man from the corner of his periphery, a mischievous smile assembled on Jonghun’s features, as he teased, “By the way, you look like crap.”

Although irritated at the jab, the man made no visible sign of being offended because what Jonghun had said was true. He did look like crap. His hair was ruffled, and his attire was less then presentable. The cardigan he wore was skewered to the left more than right, and the blue polo shirt underneath was ed. Complemented by his wrinkled khakis, the dark circles that had shamelessly settled under his eyes looked almost natural in light of his attire. At first glance, many would commonly mistake him to be an adolescent at best, but in reality, the disheveled man was aged twenty-two. And in regards to that, the man was also celebrated for according many records, one of which was being the youngest homicide detective in the history of the New York Police Department, who in turn, had displaced this honorary title from Jonghun by a mere ratio of six weeks. To this extent, there had always been a friendly rivalry between the two.

“It’s not nice to tell people they look like crap, Jonghun,” he chastised.

“It’s also not nice for juniors to chastise their seniors, Jaejin,” Jonghun retorted.

“Maybe I would stop if you just acted you’re age,” spat Jaejin.

Rolling his eyes at the sharp remark, Jonghun slowly began to ready himself to chase the younger and physically force his apology and submission. But like any other bickering friendship, their strenghts were paradoxical. Jonghun’s influence began and ended at strength, while Jaejin’s repertoire boasted of agile reflexes and speed. “Tom and Jerry” was the infamous epitaph ascribed onto the pair by their fellow detectives in the precinct.

However, before their friendly contest of 'physical enterprise' could be realized, the friendly atmosphere was interrupted abruptly by the loud, techno, and obnoxious ring of Jaejin’s phone.

“Dude, change that ringtone. Nobody listens to ‘Party Rock Anthem’ anymore.”

“Maybe not you, but everyone else think that they’re awesome. Besides, shuffling is what its all about nowadays, Jonghun,” defended Jaejin.

“Says the kid who can’t shuffle even if his life depended on it.”

Irked at Jonghun’s scathing mention, Jaejin offered his middle finger in response as he answered the phone in the hallway. To this, Jonghun smiled carelessly and sipped on his cup of coffee. Some minutes later, Jaejin returned with two cups of coffee and offered one to Jonghun.

“Is this you’re token of apology to you’re senior, Jaejin?” he pried.

“No. I’m just being nice because I know you’ll need it later.”

Jonghun looked at the cup suspiciously, almost as if Jaejin had spiked the caffeinated formula with some foreign substance. He then shook the cup he had before in front of Jaejin.

“And why do you think I’ll need it later? I’ve already had my coffee, Jaejin.”

Smirking, Jaejin answered smugly, “Because that call I just got a few minutes back was from the famous ‘Minnie and Smiley’. There’s been a homicide on Lexington and 54^th.” Extending the coffee to Jonghun, he continued, “Still think you won’t be needing it?”

Taking the cup from Jaejin’s hand, Jonghun trashed his old cup happily, “Well, my coffee was getting cold.”

...

A/N: Well here's the first 'new' chapter. I did change a couple of things. Hopefully you guys will enjoy! Comment if possible!