Simon-Pietro is referred to as the first Pope of the Christian church, his icons shown with the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven either in hand or bound at his neck. A Jewish fisherman who cast his nets for believers rather than fish after meeting somewhat worth listening to. Why not? His name, Simon, meant 'He Who Listens' anyway. Christian theologians kept on the second name though, Peter, meaning rock. Countless metaphors likening him to 'the foundation of the church' ultimately led to that one powerful seat -- Pope. He who is trusted to listen and he who holds firm like rock. And yet despite all the studies delving into cultural myths the Simon-Pietro greeting seven assault rifles paused.

Listening meant little when so far only you and the rifles talked and even rock would crumble to that fire-power. His parents named him after their patron saint. A blessing meant to guard, guide, and guilt him along the straight-and-narrow. Thus far he'd been exiled from home, starved, and made a slave. Simon glanced toward the overcast a moment. Thick and curving plumes of deep grey with a promise of rain hovered just over them. Nearly opposite of the shimmering beings holding flaming swords he'd hoped for. When his eyes returned to the soldiers they'd began to glance around. Not randomly nor to the sky, but back and forth between him and one soldier in particular. The round of their hip, even armoured, seemed feminine. She stepped lowered her rifle to knee-cap level and pushed her goggles up onto her helmet. 

"I'll assume the survivor's your man. He's back there," she declared, rifle steady with one hand as she pointed toward the rock. "Randalls will patch'em up on the helo during the debrief. Who am I speaking to?"

Simon smiled, watching one of the seven, Randalls, jog to Remmy's position as he answered, "Sergeant Joshua Lee Evans, ma'am. Friends call me Gunner." He drew out the rank long enough for Randalls to enter earshot with the supposed spotter. "That's him alright. My Cajun-Comrade, little worse-for-wear though." 

"Alive, unlike most of my targets. Remember that." she paused and waved him toward the helicopter. "I'm Staff Sergeant Lina Monahan, [I]Evans[/I]. You'll both surrender any weapons and load up."

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Joshua, like Simon, is Hebrew. It means Salvation. The word was honeyed even said within himself. A quiet thought, sweet and sustaining in the midst of all things. One word to keep up spirits as he sat beside a lying Remmy, flanked by soldiers in a soaring helicopter. The lack of doors made conversation difficult. It also flashed scenes of Simon breaking character, or flat out slipping, only to plummet to see if sweet words might pad his fall. Yet, with the noise and the fear, Monahan observed him coldly. Her cool blue eyes watched his hands, the twitch of his cheek when looking toward the doors, and his lightly tremouring muscles. Silence could be damning. Even without a single word, she could figure it out. It could all click. What would the real Gunner do? 

[I]Gunner[/I] met the staff sergeant's gaze and pursed his lips. About a week since his last bite, he said, days without clean water. Constant beatings and being chained up threw off his mind. Truth, the last part, that necessary bit behind every deception. He mentioned those old beheading videos of G.I's the news reported after the towers fell. Described one until a couple of the older soldiers unconsciously squirmed in their seats -- old memories rousing a discomfort no amount of positioning would ease. He described it until Monahan's cold gaze stumbled. "I remember. Your point?" she'd asked, finally. To that he allowed his eyes to lose focus and focused on the tense, stiff feeling in his smile lines. All the while they sat with the rhythm of the rotor and that video in mind. When Gunner felt sufficiently hollow, he told them about a fear. Shames himself for the feeling, but a fear that when the chains came off he'd be propped up just like the videos. Held at a scimitar's edge like he'd always feared back in Fallujah. That fear, he'd repeat, sighing. After another pause, this one for feigned reflection, he looked to Monahan once more. Her eyes softer, but working it all out. Gunner leaned over his comrade once more, meeting eyes with Remmy. 

"W-We'll be landing soon," Monahan explained, pensive. "You'll have a chance for some are-n-are. You're not off free, rules, but stay within Chico's borders while we look into things and we won't have trouble. Just keep your heads down, we tend to create quite the stir."