"You're my Case Manager?"
Jude lowered his second boot slowly, staring at the balding angel standing in the center of his dorm room. "Does that mean you handle my payroll? Because I haven't seen a dime for last night's work."
Bob dusted a crumb of everything bagel off his tie and picked up his clipboard, looking entirely unbothered by the attempted assault.
"You get paid in 'continued existence,'" Bob said, tapping the paper with a pen. "It's a very competitive package. And I'm here because Management, specifically Her Tallness, flagged your file. Mandatory onboarding. Field training. Today."
"I can't," Jude said, turning back to his closet to find a shirt that didn't smell like the convenience store. "I have classes. If I miss Econ 401, I'm going to fail."
Bob snorted. "Kid, I've seen your transcript. You're already failing. You're pulling a 1.2 GPA. At this point, divine intervention is the only thing that could save your grades."
Jude stopped. He hated that the angel was right.
"I'm not going," Jude said stubbornly. "I did the thing last night. I stopped the bad guys. I saved the clerk. I'm tired."
"Last night?" Bob walked over to the mini-fridge and peered inside, looking judgmental about the lack of snacks. "Last night was a fluke. An adrenaline dump. Beginner's luck. You fought two meth-heads with pawn shop pistols."
Bob slammed the fridge shut.
"You think the legions of Hell are gonna be that easy? You think a ten-foot-tall demon is gonna stand there and let you slap him with a glowing stick? You need to know how to drive the car before we put you on the freeway."
"And if I say no?"
Bob shrugged. "Then I revoke the contract. You drop dead of a massive aneurysm right here, Ollie finds your body, cries for a week, and then turns your side of the dorm into a gaming lounge. Your choice."
Jude grit his teeth. "I hate this job already."
"That's the spirit," Bob grinned. "Grab your jacket. We're going to the roof."
Bob snapped his fingers. The air next to the bunk bed tore open, revealing a swirling vortex of blue light.
They stepped out onto the gravel roof of a skyscraper in Center City. The wind was brutal, whipping Jude's hair into his eyes. Thirty stories down, the traffic on Market Street looked like a stream of toy cars flowing through a canyon.
"Alright," Bob said, leaning against a massive HVAC unit. He checked his watch. "Lesson one: Deployment. Let's see those wings."
Jude stood in the center of the roof. He closed his eyes. He concentrated. He tried to remember how it felt in the cathedral—the surge of power, the feeling of being more.
Nothing happened.
"I'm waiting," Bob called out over the wind.
"I'm trying! Jesus Christ…" Jude yelled back. He scrunched his face up. "It... it's not working. Is there a trigger word? Booyah? Abracadabra?"
"It's intention, you idiot," Bob sighed. "You have to want it. Right now, you're thinking about your unfinished essay on supply and demand. Clear your mind."
Jude tried again. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. He grunted.
A single, small white feather popped out of his shoulder blade and drifted sadly to the ground.
Bob groaned, rubbing his temples. "Oh, for the love of... this is going to take forever. We don't have time for you to come down with a case of the yips."
"I just need a minute!"
"You don't have a minute," Bob said, pushing off the HVAC unit. He walked over to Jude. "In the field, you have seconds. React or a demon turns your head into a Banksy painting."
"What are you—"
Bob shoved him. Hard.
It wasn't a playful nudge. It was a two-handed shove squarely in the chest. Jude stumbled back, his heels catching the edge of the roof. His arms windmilled, grasping at empty air.
"Bob!" Jude screamed.
"Fly, little birdie!" Bob waved.
Jude tipped backward. Gravity took over.
He plummeted.
The wind roared in his ears, tearing at his clothes. The glass windows of the skyscraper rushed past him in a blur of gray and blue. Floor 29. Floor 28. Floor 27.
Panic, cold and primal, seized his chest.
I'm going to die. Again.
NO.
The survival instinct kicked in; not the depressed, fatalistic part of his brain, but the primal part of his brain that desperately wanted to breathe.
FLY.
SNAP.
Pain ripped through his shoulders, but it was a good pain; a stretching, tearing sensation as two massive wings exploded from his back, catching the air like parachutes.
The descent halted with a bone-jarring jerk. Jude swung in the air, ten feet away from the glass windows of a law firm conference room. A group of lawyers in expensive suits stared at him, mouths open, mid-presentation.
Jude stared back, hovering, his wings beating a steady, powerful rhythm against the gravity.
"Holy shit," Jude gasped.
"Less gawking, more climbing!" Bob's voice drifted down from the roof.
The next three hours were a blur of humiliation, gravity, and gravel.
"Grace: Zero," Bob shouted as Jude skidded across the roof face-first, his left wing clipping a rusted vent pipe. "You fly like a pigeon drunk on fermented bread."
Jude spat out a mouthful of roofing tar and pushed himself up. His arms shook. Every muscle in his back felt like it was on fire. "I'm... trying."
"Try harder. Summon the bow!"
Jude scrambled to his feet, closing his eyes. He reached for the feeling he had at the gas station: the cold, sharp clarity. But all he felt was exhaustion and the throbbing bruise on his shin.
A spark of golden light sputtered in his palm and died like a wet match.
"Dear Lord," Bob droned, checking his clipboard. "The demons are going to eat you like a soft pretzel."
"Shut the fuck up!" Jude roared.
Anger. That was the key.
The frustration boiled over, hot and sharp. He didn't ask for the weapon; he demanded it.
SNAP.
The Celestial Bow materialized in his grip, humming with a low, menacing resonance. The sheer weight of it grounded him.
"Better," Bob admitted, though he looked bored. He pointed a pen at a spinning ventilation fan on the adjacent roof, about fifty yards away. "Target practice. Hit the center hub."
"That's moving too fast," Jude argued.
"So are Hellhounds. Shoot."
Jude drew the string back. The energy arrow formed; blue, crackling, unstable. His hands trembled. He loosed the arrow.
Whiff.
It flew wide, spiraling out of control and exploding against a billboard for Ironclad three blocks away, blowing a smoking hole through the hero's perfectly white teeth.
"You owe the city for that," Bob noted dryly. "Again."
Jude gritted his teeth. He pulled another arrow. And another.
By the time the sun began to dip below the skyline, casting long, bruised purple shadows across Philadelphia, the roof looked like a war zone. Scorch marks pockmarked the concrete.
But Jude wasn't missing anymore.
He sprinted toward the ledge, his movements no longer hesitant. He jumped.
WHOOSH.
The wings snapped open, catching the updraft. He didn't flail this time. He banked hard left, feeling the air pressure against his feathers. In mid-air, he drew the bow, split it into dual blades with a metallic shing, slashed through a cloud of steam venting from a pipe, recombined the weapon, and turned.
He fell into a controlled dive. Gravity rushed up to meet him.
At the last second, he snapped his wings wide to brake, hovering ten feet off the deck. He drew. He fired.
THWIP. CRUNCH.
The arrow struck the center of the ventilation fan dead-on. The metal hub sheared off, sending the fan blades clattering across the roof.
Jude dropped to the gravel, landing in a crouch. He retracted the wings with a thought, the feathers dissolving into motes of light. He was soaked in sweat, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, but he was smiling.
Bob walked across the gravel, his dress shoes making a crunching sound that grated on Jude's nerves. He stood over Jude, blocking out the last of the setting sun.
"Break's over," Bob said, checking his clipboard. "Now, we patrol."
Jude groaned, tilting his head back to look at the angel upside down. "You have got to be kidding me. I've been thrown off a roof, I've been electrocuted by my own bow, and I've missed three meals. And now you want me to go hunt... what? Goblins? Ghouls? Sewer rats?"
"Yes," Bob said, deadpan. "That is literally the job description. That is the 'Terms and Conditions' you signed. We didn't bring you back to work on your tan."
"I'm hungry," Jude said, sitting up. "I can't fight the 'forces of darkness' on an empty stomach. I'll pass out. Then you'll look bad."
Bob sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You mortals. So needy. Biological maintenance is such a design flaw." He looked down at Jude with mock pity. "Does the wittle baby need his foody woody?"
Jude glared at him. "I will shoot you. I swear to god."
"Don't swear on your boss's name…" Bob smirked. "...fine. We get food. Then we kill things. Come on."
They descended to street level—taking the stairs, because apparently Bob's portals were "restricted for official business only"—and walked out into the humid Philadelphia evening.
The city was waking up. Neon signs buzzed to life, and cars honked in the gridlock of Chestnut Street. As they walked, people swerved to avoid Bob, though nobody seemed to see him. They just unconsciously drifted around the man with the wings like he was a pothole.
Bob stopped at a crosswalk, pointing a manicured finger up at a massive digital billboard wrapping around the corner of a bank.
It showed Titan, a hero clad in a tight spandex suit, muscles rippling, posing next to a new electric SUV. "The Power is Here. The 2026 EV Hyperdrive. Drive like a Hero."
"Look at that," Bob scoffed. "Big guy. Titan, right?"
"Yeah," Jude said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "He's one of the big ones. Top 5 in the P.I.T. hero rankings."
"Do you actually believe in that shit?" Bob asked, looking at Jude like he was an idiot. "I mean, before the whole 'meeting God' thing. Did you actually look at that guy in the spandex and think, 'Yes, he will save me from the darkness'?"
Jude shrugged. "I mean... yeah. Everyone does. It's not like we have a choice. You grow up watching them on Saturday morning cartoons. You buy their lunchboxes. Then you grow up and buy their car insurance. They stop bank robberies. They pull people out of burning buildings."
"They stop crime," Bob corrected. "Human crime. Robbers. Arsonists. Tax evaders. That's easy. That's low-hanging fruit."
Bob gestured to the billboard. "That guy? His strength is biological. He could probably lift two pick-up trucks at once if he tried hard enough. A demon berserker from the Third Circle walks through magma for fun. If Titan tried to fight a real threat, he'd be a smudge on the pavement in four seconds."
"Well, nobody knows that," Jude muttered. "It feels like P.I.T. keeps any bad press off the news."
"Exactly. It's a pacifier. Keep the babies happy so they don't scream."
They reached a taco truck parked on the corner of 18th. The smell of grilled pork and cilantro wafted through the air, momentarily overriding the smell of exhaust.
"Three al pastor," Jude ordered at the window. "And a ValorCola."
"Make it six," Bob added, leaning over Jude's shoulder. "I want to try the carnitas."
The guy in the truck didn't react to Bob. He just looked at Jude. "Six tacos, one soda. Eighteen dollars."
Jude patted his pockets. He pulled out his debit card. He hesitated. He knew exactly what the balance was. He looked at Bob.
"Do angels carry cash?" Jude whispered.
"I haven't carried currency since the last housing market crash," Bob said, examining the salsa selection. "You got this, big guy."
"I hate you," Jude whispered.
He swiped the card. He held his breath.
Approved.
Jude let out a sigh of relief. He was definitely overdrawn now. The fees were going to be astronomical. He was literally paying to save the world.
They ate on a lower roof, a parking garage about four stories up. It was quieter here. Jude sat on the concrete ledge, devouring his tacos like a starving animal. Bob ate delicately, using a napkin to wipe grease from his mustache after every bite.
"So," Jude said, mouthful of pork. "Why now?"
"Hmm?"
"Seraphile said the leaks are getting worse. Why?"
Bob swallowed. He took a sip of Jude's Coke without asking. "We don't know exactly. It all started around fifteen years ago. And humanity... you guys are getting louder. More psychic noise. More despair. More greed. It thins the veil between us and them."
Bob gestured with a half-eaten taco.
"Think of Earth like a submarine. The pressure outside is Hell. The hull is holding, but you guys keep drilling holes in the walls looking for oil or power or whatever. Eventually, the water gets in."
"And that's where I come in?"
"You're the duct tape," Bob said cheerfully. "You patch the hole. You kill the thing that crawls through. You keep the sub from imploding for one more day."
"Depressing metaphor."
"It's a depressing job."
Jude finished his last taco and crumbled the foil into a ball. He looked out at the skyline. The lights of the skyscrapers were beautiful from up here. It was hard to imagine that underneath the concrete, things were trying to claw their way up.
Suddenly, Bob went rigid.
He dropped his taco. It hit the concrete with a wet splat.
Bob stood up, his posture shifting instantly from 'bored bureaucrat' to 'alert predator.' He tapped the side of his head.
"Ping," Bob whispered.
"What?" Jude stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"We got a live one," Bob said. He turned to look north, toward the darker, grittier streets of North Philly. "Not a sensor ghost this time. A full breach."
Bob looked at Jude. His eyes were cold.
"Finish your soda, kid. It's time to see what you're up against."