Enlil was still chuckling to himself as he walked away from the detective. Saints moved, but it was towards the girls, so he let her be. It was time to leave and he needed new clothes. Ones not covered in the blood of scum, preferably. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt from the least-odorous pile he'd passed on his way in and headed to the rear of the house.

The master bedroom had a glowing blue screen atop a desk, some metal boxes that whirred, a filthy bed, and a dresser with a belt he'd noticed hanging off it earlier. Enlil grabbed the belt he’d come here for and stripped down. The jeans were rather wide, but a belt would keep them at public decency levels for now. He carefully wiped the blood off himself with the cleanest parts of the uniform Watson had given him, then tossed it on the bed.

Before he left, Enlil held up the shirt and considered it critically. It was a lost cause. These men didn’t have his bulk, the fabric would rip if he tried. Having trudged around in misfit, baggy clothes most of his day, Enlil was nearing the end of his patience playing scavenger. He needed to find a tailor. Until then though, he would have to go without. He might still be learning cultural norms for this society, but Enlil was reasonably certain going shirtless wouldn’t cause him problems with local law enforcement.

Detective Saints was waiting for him on the other side of the door when he opened it. He’d heard her listening, presumably to ensure he wasn’t about to escape. Enlil’s respect for her rose a half-notch when he noticed she still had her firearm firmly in hand. It rose again when she pointed it at his chest.

“Hands behind your head. I’m taking you in.” Saints commanded with practiced authority. “And before you try anything--” she warned, her blue eyes burning into him. “-- even someone as big as you can’t take two slugs to the chest. Hands. Up.” The expression on her face was deadly serious. It dared him to test her. To resist. The fear she had shown earlier around the demon wasn’t gone, he could sense that, but it was buried deep, deep down.

Her reaction made sense, really. The detective was clearly a veteran officer. Which meant she had tested experience, good instincts, and a quick mind. Saints was capable. And he, a perceived criminal, had treated her as if she didn’t exist. Worse, he’d shown her she couldn’t stop him.

Enlil had met few members of law enforcement who were alright with crime being committed right in front of them. Fewer still who had any sort of moral code or sense of justice. Being unable to stop him from killing that man, even if he was abhorrent, must’ve been hell for her.

At least, it must’ve seemed so before I brought Maerkhis up to greet her. Enlil thought with a pang of amusement as he remembered the look on her face when his demonic once-companion had appeared. Humans loved to invoke hell or make comparisons to it in daily life. That usually ended when they actually saw its denizens.

Enlil looked down at the detective and her gun. He made no movement. He could smell the adrenaline rushing through her. The scent was powerful and distinct. Yet her eyes were not hazed over. Detective Saints was in control of herself, despite what her instincts must be screaming at her. It made him… curious.

She couldn’t stop him, but getting shot would waste precious energy on recovery. Energy he had just gained. Energy he did not want to waste given the likely difficulty of Briel’s task. So he decided to do what he often did. Learn.

“Your weapon did not stop me earlier, Detective.” Enlil began in a calm voice, no trace of animosity or judgement in his voice. “What makes you think it will now?”

Saints, to her credit, didn’t even blink. “You aren’t wearing your body armor any more.” she responded simply. The look on her face made it clear she thought she’d caught him at the perfect time.

A look of sincere concern crossed over Enlil’s features. “What body armor, Detective?” he asked innocently, then - ever so slowly - stepped back into the room a bit so she could see behind him.

Confusion flitted across Saints’ face. She kept the gun trained on him, but her eyes swept the room at a glance. A slight furrow of her brow became evident as her mind worked to supply itself with an explanation that accounted for the lack of any ballistic plating in the room.

“It doesn’t matter.” She responded after a moment with some forced finality. “Now put your hands up, I mean i--” her mouth stopped moving as she watched the big man do the last thing she’d reasonably expected him to do. Enlil reached both of his enormous hands up and tapped the ceiling with his pointer finger dramatically extended.

Her gun was slung around it.

This time, Saints blinked. “How di-”

“Simple. I took it from you.” Enlil responded with the faintest hint of a smile starting at one corner of his mouth. “Here.” He continued, then lowered his arms and extended the pistol towards her. “You can try again, if you like.”

Tension hung in the air. Enlil remained still. Saints looked him dead in the eyes, searching for some hint of foul play. Her eyes went to the gun, then back to his. She reached for it cautiously, expecting an attack.

None came. Saints’ expression was one of pure incredulity as she retrieved the weapon and inspected it. Her eyes caught something. The safety was on. Saints took a step back, putting more distance between them than before. She trained the gun at his chest once more.

And fired. Once, twice-- the detective emptied the entire clip into his chest from near point blank range.

Enlil did not move. Each bullet felt much the same as the others had. Bright hot pain followed by a searing burning sensation as his flesh reknit itself. The energy he’d gained from Maerkhis flowed into the openings readily. In seconds, the pain was gone. Along with it went more energy than he cared to lose. Fixing vital organs was a more complex task than simple flesh.

The immortal sighed and pulled the shirt over his head, then used it to wipe up the blood. Humans never seemed to believe him without a demonstration. He tossed the bloody rag to the ground and fixed the detective with a piercing look.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked, letting just a hint of exasperation slip through.

“What… what are you?” the detective asked apprehensively. “How did-- I shot you! How are you not dead?”

In response, Enlil smiled at her. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Now,would you rather talk or continue to waste more ammunition?”

“You’re insane.” She decided after a moment. The incredulous expression on her face told him she’d deemed that to be the only logical conclusion.

“Inhuman.” Enlil corrected. “Now, you must have questions. Speak. I will answer them before I go.”

The detective’s eyes narrowed. Enlil watched with a growing satisfaction as the young woman’s mind raced. Now that she knew she couldn’t stop him, her only option was to keep the conversation going until backup arrived. A worthy tactic and exactly what he’d been hoping she’d do. Clever individuals were easier to predict than fools.

“Those men.” Saints jerked her head in the direction of the living room. “Did you kill them?”

“Yes.” Enlil confirmed readily, his tone utterly devoid of remorse. It was almost eager.

“And those girls?”

“They were being kept against their will. Abused. Tormented.” Enlil’s distaste for the act was evident in his tone. “Would you prefer I left them to their fate?”

Saints’ expression softened slightly. “Being a vigilante doesn’t give you the right to kill someone. That’s what the law is for. That’s what we are for. You don’t get to choose who lives and dies.”

“Yes, I do.” Enlil replied simply. “And so do you.” His eyes went to the still-smoking gun she’d just shot him with.

That paused the detective for a moment. She backed up from him until her back hit the wall behind her. “I follow the law. I serve the public. Those men you killed may have done… horrible things” she assented, then continued softly. “But you don’t get to kill them for it.”

Her eyes betrayed her true feelings.

“I do not suffer cruelty in my presence, Detective.” He responded as softly as she had. “Not to the innocent.” He amended.

Silence fell between them. The detective absorbed what he had said, but didn’t seem to have a response. It was time to give her a crumb. Something to follow once he’d left.

“What do you think happened to their souls?” Enlil asked after giving her a moment to think.

“Their souls?” Saints asked absently. One hand went to the silver cross at her neck, just above where her uniform stopped. It stopped halfway there and her eyes went distant. Saints shuddered, no doubt recalling the sight of the mens’ souls being taken to the Pit.

“You weren’t hallucinating.” Enlil continued, the detective’s eyes returning to him immediately as he did. “That was hellfire in the other room. The being who rose from it - a demon. A scraeb, to be specific.”

“A… scraeb?”

Before he could respond there was the sound of pounding hands at the front door. Saints’ attention slipped, just for an instant. As it did Enlil took a step towards her in time with the banging on the door. The weapon’s clip was spent, but he could see more in her jacket. He’d had enough of being shot for one day.

Enlil tossed her firearm lazily behind him. The detective’s eyes tracked her now useless gun, then back to him. Her feet began to settle back into the same stance he’d seen earlier.

“You are not getting away.” The persistent woman in front of him growled.

And just like that, she attacked him. Again. For the second time today, Saints landed a blow solidly in his midsection. Her blow didn’t drive him back as it had before, but it landed all the same.

The surprised immortal really had to hand it to her. Very few humans, especially ones with no supernatural aid on their side, had ever come after him more than once. Much less struck him unaware. Humanity, it seemed, had grown more brazen while he’d been away.

A plan began to form inside the maze of his mind. The big man smiled to himself as he swatted the rest of her blows effortlessly to one side or the other. The change and casual ease of it seemed to enrage her. Saints’ attacks came faster. A cry of rage escaped her lips as her techniques lost their earlier precision.

To Enlil, it seemed as if something inside her had finally broken. She was desperate to stop him. Desperate to hold onto a reality that had already slipped through her fingers.

The detective needed time to process. His continued presence would only aggravate her more.

With a practiced motion Enlil slipped a hand past the mad woman’s barrage. A careful pressure on the bridge of her nose caused heavy tears to well up in her eyes. The ancient technique forced a subconscious response that began with tears and ended in temporary - but extreme - pain. The body essentially blinded itself until it could reopen the nasal passageways he’d closed.

It was a simple move. Simple, but effective. Enlil was out the window and gone before her sight returned. Several flashing red and blue vehicles sat out front. To the rear was more housing. A few fences later and he was out of the neighborhood. Watson had pointed out a ‘mall’ - a small district of various shops - on their way over to his church. It was time he paid it a visit.

And found a tailor.

-------------------------------------------------

Fair Meadows Mall was bustling. There were hundreds of men and women all flowing in and out of more shops than the immortal had expected despite his earlier passing view. Fountains of water lined the walkways. Streams of water shot up in concerted patterns next to imported trees of a half dozen varieties. Enlil was surprised to see palm trees in America. And healthy ones, at that.

This ‘mall’ was quite impressive. Colorado Springs must be a capital or trade hub of some sort.

Still, it had taken Enlil the greater part of an hour to find a shop with a tailor inside. The neatly arranged racks of clothing he’d passed in several other establishments had followed a simple sizing schema. Unfortunately, it seemed designed to fit the broad spectrum rather than specific individuals. With energy once more flowing within, Enlil now stood at a measured 7 ft 2 inches.

Fortunately, there were always merchants willing to accommodate customers for the right price. Ahmad’s Attires held one such merchant. And the first today who hadn’t scowled immediately upon seeing Enlil’s dark skin, enormous frame, and shirtless torso. Instead, the man who looked to be of egyptian descent had brightened considerably.

“Ha-hah! A man who has given the very shirt off his back!” The thin, well dressed merchant chuckled at his own joke as he tossed a measuring tape over his neck and walked over. Clever eyes looked Enlil up and down. Unlike the other attendants the immortal had encountered, this one did not have a nametag on his chest.

The man’s eyes twinkled at him. With a sweep of his arm he gestured towards the racks lining his walls.

“Can I help you find something even a Samaritan like yourself would not part with?” asked the merchant brightly. There was no hint of mockery in the man’s voice, only the undertones of a practiced trader plying his customer.

Enlil returned the man’s chuckle with one of his own. “If you can find such a shirt, and it fits, I shall buy it from you.”

He did not recognize most of the styles on display, but that would change soon. Enlil enjoyed the sun on his shoulders, but he needed to blend in for this next part to work. That would be difficult, even for him, if wandering eyes continued to follow his topless form. Appreciative stares, while flattering, were still stares. The attention wasn’t something he needed right now.

Later, however...

The rotund merchant nodded confidently, his head bobbing up and down like an apple in moving water. “For a kind man, even one as big as you, I can find anything. Come. This way. Allow Ahmad to show you around.”

And show him around Bartholemew did. A quick explanation of being new to this country was all it took to explain away Enlil’s lack of familiarity with modern clothing. After that, and some back-and-forth in Arabic, Ahmad seemed to take the challenge of finding something to fit him as something of a personal challenge.

Nothing was in his size, which did not surprise him, but Ahmad was quite willing to make alterations for a small fee. The two chatted amicably about the world as Ahmad’s assistant, Yousef, took his selections to the rear of the store.

It was from Ahmad that Enlil finally learned what had become of the world in his absence. Ahmad had been forced to flee his beloved Egypt in the 80s - the 1980s, Enlil surmised - when domestic and foreign terrorism had been on the rise. It had taken him time to rebuild, but he’d founded his shop here in America with the help of family that had the good sense to flee with him.

Ever on the alert for a time when he might have to move again, Ahmad was almost exhaustively well-read on current events. The man was a gold mine of information that yielded more each time Enlil sent Yousef back with another intended purchase. Time slipped away and Enlil found himself enjoying his first real conversation in far too long. For his part, Ahmad seemed particularly interested in Enlil’s descriptions of the Great Sphinx at Giza - a sight Ahmad had unfortunately never made the time to see himself.

Several hours passed as the two sat and learned from one another. Enlil’s pile of purchases grew to a considerable height. When the pile looked as if it might topple despite being folded, he knew it was time to go.

Yousef helped him into a dark blue suit Ahmad had picked out almost immediately. The solace offered by the thick socks and snuggly fit shoes was enough to bring a single tear to his eyes. He’d forgotten the feel of comfort back in the cave. It was… hard to put into words. Ahmad watched him wipe the tear away with all the pride of a father watching his son dress up for the first time. The merchant was positively beaming.

Ahmad left Enlil to his thoughts and rang up his purchases as Yousef bagged them. All told, including the small tailoring fee for each item, the sum for his seven sets of full suits containing everything from the shoes up came to a tidy $12,843 dollars and 54 cents. Ahmad even threw in a 5% owner’s discount, bringing it down to $12,201.36. “For giving me a piece of home again” the merchant promised him at Enlil’s raised brow.

Truthfully, Enlil had little idea whether or not that was a fair price. Based on the quality change in the fabrics they’d discussed, and the prices he’d seen in other stores, it felt expensive. But quality always was, no matter where you went. And after wearing his last good pair of clothes out to literally the barest of threads - not to mention the mismatched hand me downs he’d gotten shot up in today - it seemed fair to him.

If he had any money, that is.

Watson had given Enlil a pair of twenty dollar bills to pay for breakfast, but Enlil had left that outside the church. The jeans he’d taken had what he’d learned was a quarter left in one pocket, but that obviously wouldn’t suffice.

Nonetheless, Enlil was not worried. He’d known before coming to the mall that any clothes he found would likely be beyond his current humble financial resources.

Ahmad waited patiently behind the counter. Yousef, who had been clearly suspicious of Enlil from the beginning, stood off to the side. The young lad did not share his employer’s congenial nature. The boy’s phone was in hand, clearly ready to summon the police should Enlil refuse to pay. It was a smart move, honestly, and Enlil did not fault him for it.

The immortal reached into his pocket for what Maerkhis had given him. The demon’s gift would resolve this quickly. Enlil placed the object on the counter and met Ahmad’s eyes evenly.

“Ah, credit then? Please sign on the pad when it turns blue.” The merchant happily retrieved the thin, red plastic card Maerkhis had thrown Enlil before vanishing back into the Pit and slid it down the side of a black box with a slit running through it. The ‘pad’ facing Enlil changed to blue with a line and an ‘x’ at one end. Enlil signed and pressed the ‘enter’ button as he’d seen other customers do earlier.

“Thank you for your patronage, my friend! Come back any time you find your generous self without a shirt again, hmm?” Ahmad chuckled to himself and Yousef passed the bags over to Enlil, relief mixed with a drop of shame evident on the boy’s face.

The duo happily walked Enlil out to where the sun was beginning to fall behind the mountain. A shining tapestry of crimson stretched out over the horizon and poked through the clouds. It would be dark soon. Enlil bid the merchants goodbye and headed out of the mall, the half-dozen garment bags slung over his back.

The night promised to be a busy evening. And Enlil wanted to make a few more stops before things started to heat up again.