Reverend John McDougal saw that the world was going to hell. So he did the only thing he knew how. He prayed. He had locked himself in his office, in the Orthodox church, and drew the curtains, keeping the room dark. However, he knew that he had to leave. Taking everything he could, he unlocked the window, jumped outside, and made his way to the apartment building, where several of his flock had lived. Ducking past gunfire and explosions, which were down the street, illuminating shambling figures in a ball of flame. Just as he made his way to through the doors, the President had appeared on the TV's grainy screen, and gave such a cryptic reply to the reporter's comment, that there was one second of frustrated, angry, rioting reporters, before going back to some tripe about the weather. John looked about the lobby, and saw the scared, tired faces of the people. Some of them he knew from his church, and others, he didn't recognize. Letting the door close behind him, he said, [b]"Is everyone all right? Is anyone missing?"[/b] 

One of his flock came forward and grabbed him by the arm. "Reverend, most er'body is 'ere, but we don' know if th' upper levels are clear." Rubbing his chin, he thought for a moment. Indecisive in all the chaos, he gathered several members of his church around him. [b]"Let us gather in prayer. Lord, as we gather here today, we ask for your guidance...."[/b] As he prayed with his congregation, several of those around them either joined in, or simply snorted and went back to watching the television, the streets, or glancing nervously at the fireball across the street.