Percy is once again at his evening shift. His fathers taxi service still works fine despite the disruptions from the struggle between the new Pope and the secular government of the US and there is much work to do. He doesn't really get those new gadgets they build in all the new cars nowadays, especially after the Pope proclaimed that technology brings one closer to god or something; he's just comfortable in his old but sturdy Mercedes. His next fare is to the Citronelle restaurant; one of the best in french cuisine they say. Not that he'll ever get a table there. But this nice guy with his girlfriend somehow managed to eat there for their 10th year. That he knows them already and asked them if they'd like to eat there is just a minor detail; they most likely don't even have to pay, important is only that he got a reason to be in the vicinity.
He lets them out at the restaurant and parks in the side-street at the kitchen entrance. Nobody bats an eye as he changes clothes in the cab, waits about half an hour and then walks through the kitchen. Nobody stops him, even as he clearly doesn't belong here; some even nod at him. Suddenly he bursts through the kitchen door into the main room.
Clothed in light blue and silver, with even a cape and a face-concealing mask that looks a bit like a silver helmet he goes straight for the table where the elderly Bishop Simmons is seated. The bodyguard wastes no time to draw his weapon, but gets interrupted as the massive Percy throws a table at the bodyguard showering him with fine coultry and food, not to metion slamming the table itself into him and burying him under it.
Percy goes straight for the bishop and grabs him at the collar and shouts: "Your damn false pope won't stay long here! You tossed the real bishop out of his church and forced everyone to accept you with your thugs! You went for the Congress and the President even! Prince Charming won't just stand by and allow that, even when WWE, ECW and TNA just fled there are a few still left who will fight you! We..." at this point though the bodyguard scrambled from below the table and shot at him, hitting him square in the side. With an angry "ahk!" he only punches the Bishop once in his face and throws him straight at the bodyguard, both lying stunned in a heap. But there was no time to waste, running back through the kitchen.
By the time the Papal guard arrives, the assailant is nowhere to be found, and nobody thinks anything about questioning the simple taxi driver who takes a pair of shocked diners away as fast as possible...