Physical therapy. Again.

He swore he was gonna be going home with every single problem he could at this rate. Go out for drinks, come home poisoned, go to get a dog back for it's owner. Come home with a flayed face and more broken bones than unbroken ones. 

God damn did everything hurt too, christ, he hadn't expected it to hurt so much for so long. 

For now though, he had to keep himself on the straight and narrow. Learn to steady his hands and finally. 

Learn to take the energy he needed from the world around him. 

The energy that once tethered his dead and dying patients to reality could be harnessed, the shards of their souls used to form connections to others and finally.

To draw it into himself, or to pour his own vital energy into others but regardless. 

With practice, this power would be the answer to his prayers, and he would no longer be beholden to the limitations of modern medical science and with further research he knew that he could grant animus to more. 

Though for now, he had no further time to practice and after securing the purchase of his private jet he would take what other funds he had set aside and begin operations with Joe Scruggs, Eden Artha, and Ronnie Bram. There were after all, such wonderful gifts out there. Just waiting to be snatched. There were injuries that needed to be healed properly first though, and he would need to stay in the back of future fights if he wanted to have a prayer of healing well enough to live to use this power, but with just a single step forward. He would be able to grasp so, so, much more. 

Work had to be done.

First in getting his corrupt cop buddies to scrub all references to his past crimes, and second, in building up something more.

Money had to be spent to do this of course, but if there was one thing Gideon had in spades it was funds secreted in accounts all around the world. 

First, was collaborative work with Raphael. Sending him funds and securing building permits for a building that on paper, was intended for medical research. An easy enough feat to pull with his contributions to global society and stalling the development of superbugs with his little creative sidestep around anitbiotics. He was quite well known among those who gave a shit after all, but then again, those who didn't give a shit rarely mattered. 

Next was securing a stockpile of poisons, gas grenades, and the like. Another lesson he had learned is how important it was to be able to disable your opponents rather than just outright kill them, and well. He'd seen enough dead kids for this lifetime, and he'd like to be able to contribute to a fight without having to go so loud that he'd alert the entire god damn town to his presence.

So, his first pick up was the iconic curare poison, the next was some knockout gas grenades, and lastly enough cynaide filled syringes that he'd be able to handle any assholes who decided to get fresh. Didn't need but a few seconds for total muscle paralysis to kick in with that, and he didn't exactly care if he left a trail of bodies anymore with the cops on his payroll ready to clean them up. 

With this though, he was adjusting to contractor life, embracing it, and soon.

He'd have control of more than a few employees. 

Things had to change.

People were noticing, people were beginning to cause issues. Leaks were popping up faster than they could be plugged now and he had even gone so far as to murder someone to stop them.

So he had to prepare, he had to work on creating a system, and today's lesson had been simple. He needed to get better.

So he opted to travel to the Vatican, heading through for the purpose of claiming to have found renewed faith. Faith. What a crock. Not that he didn't understand that there were entities specifically repulsed by what he now recognized as a demonstrably provable faith particle, but that he was quite tired of all the other entities in the universe being the lone ones that could harvest the energy.

It was human belief after all, why did they alone claim agency over it? What right did they have to think that they had earned the right to OUR energy when the most a god had ever contributed was being distant during times of trouble?

It was disgusting. Abominable. Unjust. 

So, he decided that if he couldn't harness faith for himself. He'd go and find the ways that the Vatican used to destroy faith in their eradications of other religions. After all, they were oh so successful at it, and hundreds of years of history on their side would help in dealing with these kinds of things. 

Unfortunately for them, the man hiding among their faithful flock and bribing his way into inner circles who had just purchased a home in rome. Well, he was a viper. Waiting to strike in their midst. 

The nightmares were.. persistent. 

All of them about the same thing.

A cicada emerging from the cocoon of his body, and the endless chittering. 

Yet, Gideon had seen this God's face and come away unscarred. Telling him that it was not immutable, not undefeatable. 

So, despite the terrors that plagued his dreams Gideon knew.

He knew that a God could die. 

A fact that gave him some comfort when what happened to Luci happened next. As he knew then what his new life's mission was.

Harbingers thought they could bring someone onto a contract and then torture them, [b]RAPE[/b] them because of something as simple as victory?

They accomplished the conditions that were set out for them yet in all their impotent, petty, fury they sent killers after him? Sent rapists after their weakest? 

There was no longer room for negotiation for this. Not after Gideon felt everything that happened to her as he transfered the wounds off of him. The harbinger had gone too far, taken too much.

He knew he was facing off against someone who could scan him in under half an hour and clone him, but he didn't care. This harbinger had tricks, so did fucking he, and he purchased a class 3 tax stamp and began the measures for preparing for war.

First was buying the cops in Goshen Indiana. You want to establish some bullshit around all this? Fine. 

He went in for questioning and gave them honest answers. Not even sodium penathol or a lie detector would be able to ever get dirt on him or connect him to the strange dark skinned man who murdered that intern, next was to host the police man's ball.

Paying off the locals, becoming a figure in their culture, and offering cut rate security systems was all part of the plan. Yet, despite this progress Gideon went to bed so angry each night that his eyes were practically bloodshot when they awoke. 

This new driving force, would not go away, he would not allow his fury to abate. 

No, Dr.Wondertainment was going to die, and he was going to ensure that when that bitch popped up next she was going to know the fury of a man with godly aspirations who seeks to see them driven before them, and to hear their lamentations of someone driven to utter despair.