Churches confused Max. He didn't understand why people felt the need to go to them en masse to talk to a giant guy in the sky that probably didn't exist. But Brian had always liked churches. A latchkey kid, he didn't see his parents often, and some of his strongest memories came from their bimonthly church trips. Going every week was too much of a commitment, but once a month was too infrequent. Every other week was the sweet spot between caring and being indifferent, and it had suited the Jenkins family just fine.
While Max told himself he'd have never let his parents - if he had them, of course - dress him up in a little monkey suit for the amusement of all, Brian loved it. He had loved the little tie, the little jacket. He loved the gay little shoes and the way his mom fussed over his hair. So it was only natural that sometimes, when Brian was feeling low, he'd wander to the nearest church and try and collect some of those broken pieces he had left behind.
So it was no surprise that Brian had been to this place earlier that week. He had gotten off work early, and instead of going to Bellum, he wandered. He had ended up in this church, sitting in one of the empty pews and staring at the altar as if it would come to live and give him answers. It had been empty then, and now, it was just as barren.
Max leaned against the front door, surprised to feel it slide open. It was late, the sun having gone down long ago, and yet the church wasn't locked. Perhaps it had been an oversight, or a mistake. Perhaps churches were always open, an extended hand to the people of New York. He wasn't sure. But he slipped inside easily, closing the door behind him.
It was dark in the large church, but moonlight slatted through the stained glass windows, illuminating the pews. He meandered down the aisle, looking from left to right at the dark benches. Finally, he chose a random seat, sitting in the quiet darkness. He heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Brian had been growing angrier and angrier over the last few days. The party had made him feel a bit better, and he had spoken nicely to some of the other residents, but that was just a band-aid. Max could feel the storm brewing, and he didn't like it.
To him, the answer was simple. He needed to kill somebody. If he released, Brian would feel it, and everything would be back to normal. No more rage. No more uncertainty. No more emptiness. Max would be satisfied, and when the toxic waste dump was empty, Brian could pour everything he wanted into it. It was disgusting in a way, he knew. It was unhealthy. But it was all that he knew, and so that's what he would have to do.