FicWad

Night settled in. The city, weary and beaten, slumped down to catch some rest before another brutally mundane day. Darkness slipped, silent and sneaky, into every corner, every alley, painting every brick and stoplight in inky shades of blue and violet. Silence crackled in the chilly November air. 



Above the squatting buildings and spindly high-rises, a figure was silhouetted against the hazy moon. It paused, looked around, then streaked through the city, diving directly for a brick apartment complex sagging on the corner of two pothole-scarred streets. The shadowed figure came to a deft stop just at the edge of the roof and touched down lightly. 



Grey's eyes snapped open. Though he was in human form, he was still less human than his brother, and his perception was much keener - not in the physical sense, but in the celestial. Something was amiss. He looked over, worried that he'd wake his brother . . . but Claude was snoring like a chainsaw. He quietly slipped out of bed and released his human form, allowing his pure white wings to unfold and envelop him in light. Claude snuffled and turned over at the flash of light, then settled back into his stuttering snores. 



Grey flickered out of the room, reappearing on the rooftop. The shadow was leaning casually against a protruding air duct, checking its talon-like nails. Sensing its guest, the figure stepped out of the shadow, smirking. 



She was a tall, slender woman with a beautiful figure and sharp, almost feline features. Her hair was cropped extremely short, with her choppy bangs cut longer on her left side. The longest strands were messily braided and fastened with two beads - one ebony, the other silver. Shining crimson eyes flashed beneath black-and-scarlet hair. She was dressed in a leather uniform - a minidress cut to mid-thigh, long sleeves, and a zipper down her front. Across her chest, "6.6.6." was emblazoned in red. 



Grey recoiled, instant recognition mingling with disgust in his expression. "Azrael," he hissed. 



"Oh, goody." The woman clapped her gloved hands, sauntering forward and grinning. Her smile exposed unnaturally long canine teeth. "You remember me. How sweet." She sighed and leaned back, looking Grey up and down with a thoughtful frown set on her face. "Unfortunately, I don't remember you. Refresh my memory, would you, doll?" 



Grey's answer came through clenched teeth. "Purgatory." 



Azrael's eyes flashed maliciously, and she let out a dark peal of laughter. "Oh, you! One half of that set of twins. Oh, you two were fun." The fanged smile flashed again. "I remember now. Torturing you did nothing - damn, you'd seem relieved - but torturing your brother while you watched . . . oh, that would make you squirm." 



Grey flinched at the mere memory. "What do you want, Azrael? Doesn't Lucifer have enough of you committing monstrosities up here? Or are you just running errands?"

Azrael sighed, brushing a few strands of flaming hair out of her eyes. Grey noticed (with a shudder) that her pupils were slitted like a cat's. "Okay, first of all, there's oodles of demons up here 'cos of our lovely visa policy. You angels, you've gotta go through all this ridiculous crap just to get a temporary visa . . . but I could write out a visa in magic marker on a sheet of toilet paper, and that would be overauthorized. Second, 'Devil's Advocate' doesn't translate to 'Satan's Secretary.' I don't run errands for the Big Man, I scout out business opportunities." She jumped up, taking a seat in thin air, and crossed one leg over the other, leaning forward and smirking at Grey. "I was gonna go all the way to Heaven to write up a contract with the Authority, but then I caught your scent." 



"Unfortunately for me," Grey replied coldly. Whenever he was upset, his articulation became even more precise and formal than it already was, and it showed now. "What's your position within your . . . group?" 



Azrael jumped down from her invisible perch, landing catlike on all fours, and popped up again, brandishing a shiny black badge. "Azrael Mochel, Devil's Advocate. Sixth Order, Sixth Subdivision, Sixth Agent. Honorary enlisted employee of H.E.L.L.: Heretic Economics, Lower Legion. Demon First Class, Earth Access Unlimited." She rattled all of this off without taking a single breath, then snapped her fingers, causing the badge to disappear in a wisp of black smoke. "I don't like to brag or anything," she chuckled, wiggling her eyebrows at Grey, "but I'm kinda important." 



Grey was unimpressed. "What's this contract you're talking about?" 



"Oh, that? Well, technically I'm not supposed to tell anybody anything. 'Specially an angel . . ." Azrael hemmed and hawed for a few moments, then suddenly surged forward, grinning like a maniac. "But, you know what? I like you. You an' your brother provided me with a good century of entertainment when I was stationed in Purgatory. So I'll tell you - but you can't spill to anybody, 'kay?" 



Without waiting for his answer, the demon launched into her explanation. "Well, you know how Purgatory works, right?" 



"All too well," Grey replied stiffly. 



"Not as well as me!" Azrael trilled cheerfully. She tapped Grey on the cheek lightly, and he cringed back instantly - her slender fingers left a dark, burning welt on his ethereal flesh. "I worked there for . . . oh, gosh, I dunno. Six centuries, maybe? But that was before I got promoted. Anyway, everybody goes to Purgatory when they die, right? Everybody. And H.E.L.L. generates energy from the pain of the souls there. Kind of like . . . what do they call it on Earth?" she asked, glancing at Grey curiously. 



Grey flinched away from the gaze of her blood-red eyes. "Power plants." 



"Yeah, like that. Except recently . . . well, we're having a power shortage. An energy crisis, you could say . . ."

“Explain yourself,” he commanded sternly.

“Well, I’m not supposed to . . .” Azrael drew out the words as she walked around in little circles, one finger laid across her blood-red lips. “But . . . okay! See, we generate power through the agony of souls in Purgatory. Erm, it’s kinda hard to explain to an angel, but . . . it’s like, a certain amount of energy is released for every, uh . . . unit, I guess you’d call it, of pain, and that’s how we power our End.”

Grey nodded silently. There were two Ends – the one souls went to after working as Angels, and the one directly connected to Purgatory. Needless to say, one was much more pleasant than the other.

“So,” Azrael continued cheerfully, “If we don’t get enough power from the souls in Purgatory, we get power outages and space-time rips and all that jazz. It’s not fun, and it’s expensive to recover from stuff like that. Recently, less people have been dying . . . I think the massive decrease in the NSI started, like, a century ago.”

“NSI?” Grey repeated quizzically. His curiosity was beginning to outweigh his disgust.

“Net Soul Intake,” the demon explained. “You guys don’t have that, ‘cos everybody goes to Purgatory first . . . and after that, I’d say it’s a 75%-25% split between our Ends. But anyway, even with wars and advanced weapons, people are living longer. One batch finishes their time in Purgatory and moves on to their End before we get a new batch in.”

Grey glowered at her. He hated how he referred to the souls as objects, mere loads of goods to be shipped from one place to another. Either Azrael didn’t notice or she didn’t care, for she simply continued blissfully with her explanation.

“So, every one and a while somebody does only partial time in Purgatory. They were good in their human life and get parole, right?” Azrael grinned and pointed directly between Grey’s eyes with one long, black-lacquered fingernail. “We call them angels. They work off the rest of their time through service to The Authority rather than in torment.” She chuckled, her crimson eyes sparkling in amusement. “Isn’t it funny that humans think angels are so wonderful, but you’re really just paying off your sins in a different way than everyone else? I think the humans call it ‘community service.’ Personally, I think it’s hilarious.”

“I have trouble finding anything that leaves your mouth anything but venomous and disgusting,” Grey replied coldly. “Where are you going with this, you lowly spawn?”

“Calm down. Jeez,” Azrael muttered. “I don’t call you names. Anyway, some angels Fall . . . now don’t they?” She noticed the spasm of panic that crossed Grey’s face and smirked. “Oh, you’re quick. You already get it. Well, if they Fall . . . that means they never should have left Purgatory early in the first place. Technically, they’re still H.E.L.L. property. And, because their pain is more complex than that of human souls, they’ll generate a hell of a lot more electricity, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

Grey stared at her, wide-eyed. The demon stood serene, smirking. Moonlight glinted off her hair, adding spangled splashes of silver to the red and black already in evidence. “You . . . you can’t do that,” he finally choked. He launched into frantic rationalizations – or excuses thinly veiled as rationalization. “The Authority would never allow it. And Fallen angels live on Earth. There was a treaty, Azrael – Earth is No Man’s Land. You can’t touch any heavenly beings as long as we’re here.”

Azrael began to laugh again. The sound make Grey wince. “Oh, but you’re forgetting something, dollface. Fallen angels are no longer considered part of The Authority’s domain. They’re like humans now. We can do whatever we damn well please with them, so long as we inform Heaven first and get an agreement in writing.” The fanged grin widened again. “Checkmate.”