Chapter Three

Yet again, Aeron was trapped inside another damnable metal box. However, this time wasn't so awful. He used the Minister's lift, which was quite a bit larger than the regular elevators. When the ride finally started to slow down, he heard a crackly woman's voice sputter out of the intercom. "You've arrived at the twenty-first floor," the automatic message said, "thank you for your patience."

"You're welcome," he responded as he jumped to escape his metallic cage. Without bothering to check if the doors were open, he walked right into a wall in his haste. "Ouch! What the hell?!" he cursed as he rubbed his sore forehead. Aeron didn't know what pissed him off more. Was it his unbelievable stupidity or the fact that the doors still hadn't opened? "Great, what is it this time?!" he thought as he bit his lip. With no way out, it felt as if the walls were starting to close in on him. Before he realized it, his hand rushed to his earpiece.

"Hello," he started, struggling to keep a somewhat manly tone of voice. "The Minister's elevator has stopped working. Could somebody help me out?" Sadly, the line seemed to be dead, and all he got was static. For a few moments, he couldn't believe what was happening. These earpieces couldn't lose connection; they didn't work via conventional signals. Unless an operator manually disconnected his earpiece from the major network, he should've been able to contact someone. Which meant that… did an operator have it out for him? Was he going to be stuck in this damnable box? All Aeron could think about were the walls, the inescapable metal walls that were now his prison.

"Wow…" a voice said as the intercom sputtered back to life. "One hundred years and you haven't changed a bit—Malcolm's not alone. The mighty Templar, Aeron Weber, is still afraid of elevators! God, it's priceless!" When he heard that voice, Aeron felt one of his veins burst.

"Jeremy! You slimy little prick! Open these doors!" In the span of a few milliseconds, his fear had vanished. Soon, a fiery rage took its place. In his angry stupor, Aeron drove his fist into one of the metal panels. They collapsed under the weight of his inhuman strength, almost as if they were made from wet paper. When the dust cleared, he found a man standing next to an open circuit board. He had long red hair, large shoulders, and a great tan. This dashing man's name was Jeremy, and he was the most demonic operator The Courthouse had ever known.

"Did you enjoy your alone time?" the man teased as he wrapped an arm around Aeron's shoulders. Unlike most, he wasn't afraid of his strength. With a light push, Aeron pinned him against the wall—his eyes brimming with malice. "For an Angel, you sure do love violence." Jeremy didn't know when to stop.

"I could crush you right here and now for that little stunt. I could also demote you and give your term an extension." His threats failed to deter the man. Instead, all they seemed to do was make his intolerable smile larger.

"Do what you want, but if you kill me, there won't be anybody left to annoy the clerks. Admit that you smiled when you saw Malcolm. I've been messing with his communications all day." Jeremy had a gift for making people laugh. Aeron tried his hardest to keep his face straight, but the jokester saw right through him. Eventually, he gave in and allowed his lips to curl into a subtle grin. Jeremy had won.

"He was pretty pissed," Aeron pinched the bridge of his nose as he laughed. Yet again, this jokester of an operator had gotten the better of him. Soon, he relented and let Jeremy go. Well, to be more accurate, he tossed the man sideways down the hallway. "Hmm… ten seconds, and he's still going strong; that has got to be a new record," the Cherub mumbled as he watched Jeremy tumble through the air. He'd probably still be flying if the man's body hadn't crashed into a nearby stone pillar.

After he got himself unstuck, Jeremy yawned and playfully skipped back towards Aeron. "Well, come on, I'm dying of old age." The irony of that remark aside, Jeremy was serious about his work. After all, there was a reason he was the Minister's operator.

"Tell me, what bone am I fetching today?" Aeron asked as the pair hurried into Jeremy's office. Unlike their boss' extravagant workplace, Jeremy's center of operations was messy and chaotic. Scrolls of all shapes and sizes were strewn across the floor, with towers of telephones lining the walls. No matter how many times he walked in here, this place always managed to give him a headache. Attendants and operators scurried about the room. Some were trying to clean up the mess, a futile endeavor if there was one, while others spent their time answering calls.

"You've added some employees," Aeron spoke as hundreds of new faces hurried past him. Jeremy nodded as he dragged himself to the center of the room—where his cluttered desk was sitting. Along the way, Aeron saw his earring's assigned telephone hanging down. Somebody had messed with it, and it looked like some wires had just been fixed. Jeremy's childish grin told him all he needed to know. "How did you jam my communications? I thought that was supposed to be impossible."

"The Minister said that it was impossible," Jeremy turned around and grinned. "What? Are you telling me you believed him?" Aeron scoffed and shook his head. "All an operator has to do to stop your communications is disconnect the phone line. That's the only way, but it's easy. Maybe a bit too easy." After swimming through a veritable sea of lost papers, a stewardess, who was overworked, interrupted their conversation.

"Sir! The Minister wants to talk to you! His earpiece is broken again." Until that day, Aeron had never seen Jeremy frown. The head operator sighed, thanked the stewardess for her hard work, and collapsed into his chair. There was only one phone on Jeremy's desk, but this one was solid gold, unlike all the others.

"That fat-ass needs to be more careful," the man mumbled as he dialed a few numbers into the telephone's keypad. Aeron couldn't help but laugh. He had never seen the infamous jokester so angry before. The situation tickled him so much that he couldn't keep his wings hidden. A few white feathers managed to escape the folds of his coat. They floated to the ground and then dissipated into a beautiful cascade of white particles.

"An Angel?" Aeron turned to find the same stewardess from before staring at him. Besides her, there were a few others that caught a glimpse of his stray feathers. They quickly informed their coworkers about his arrival, and soon he had attracted the entire room's attention. Aeron sighed and proceeded to unfurl his wings completely. He even revealed his halo—the silver ring shimmering into existence seemingly out of thin air. However, he did not do this to entertain his audience. He did this to scare them.

"Okay, the show's over! You all have ten seconds to get back to work. Otherwise, I'm giving every single one of you a five-year extension!" His threat worked, and within a minute, everything had returned to normal.

"Hey, asshole," Jeremy whispered as he flicked a piece of wadded-up paper at him. "These people are mine to terrorize. Stay off my turf." Jeremy, sadly, didn't have the time to finish his joke. "I'm so sorry, Councilman! One of my subordinates was slacking off." As the head operator talked, Aeron saw Jeremy roll his eyes.

"Are they giving you a hard time?" he asked. After a few seconds, Jeremy nodded and rolled his eyes once again.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh, interesting," he mumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Aeron had to admit. Jeremy had godlike tolerance for the Council's bureaucratic bullshit. "Minister, all you have to do is replace the handle. It's easy. Just grab the little knob on the right side and—" he hung up. "Oh no," he stated as he pulled a bottle of scotch out from under his desk. "The phone line went and disconnected itself. Now then," he continued as he downed a shot. "We're back in business!" Aeron grinned as he poured himself a glass.

"To the Minister's health, and the Council's demise." After the pair had their little toast, Jeremy finally reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar scroll. "Are you going to tell me what my mission is now?" Aeron asked. However, before he could grab the scroll, Jeremy snatched it away.

"Not so fast, Mr. Workaholic. You aren't due to head out until tomorrow evening. I'll debrief you then." Jeremy proceeded to shove the scroll into a nearby pile of papers. For Aeron, that meant it was out of his reach. After all, searching for a single piece of paper in that monstrous garbage pile would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

"What are you doing, Jeremy? Delaying a mission could result in your dismissal." His warning did little to sway the man.

"I'm not delaying the mission! All I'm doing is ensuring that you don't leave early. I mean, for heaven's sake, look at yourself!" Jeremy said as he whipped out a small deskside mirror.

"You know I don't age, right?" Aeron replied as he rubbed his forehead. That scotch was more potent than he thought.

"I know you templars get to stay in that big apartment upstairs. Tell me, do you even know what the inside of it looks like?" When he didn't respond, Jeremy grinned and rolled his fingers against the top of his desk. "You Angels may be immortal, but you aren't machines. Go and take the night off. Trust me, you'll need it."

"My work is how I relax," he lied, and Jeremy saw right through it. "Listen, give me the mission. It isn't like you to worry about others." Once again, the man yawned and shooed him away.

"I won't tell you anything until tomorrow. Although," Jeremy started—in the cockiest tone he could manage—as he reached for the Minister's phone. "You could talk to the boss. He could force me to brief you, but honestly, I know neither of us wants to deal with that shit." Finally, Aeron relented and got up from his chair. "You'll thank me for this someday!" the man yelled, his voice echoing through the halls as Aeron hurried back to the lift. Now he had another problem to deal with. One that all workaholics like him feared.

"Damn," he thought as he bit his tongue, "what do I do now?"

Nine hundred and twenty years ago...

I stepped into my quarters for the first time today. If I'm blunt, it's kind of tacky. The living room is sloped inwards like an upside-down pyramid with a gigantic templar crest engraved upon the ceiling. I'll have to make a note to remove it later. Every templar gets assigned a unique sigil, and this one had to be hundreds of thousands of years old. The border was lined with diamonds, and the sculpt consisted of an erratic mess of gilded feathers and crosses. Whoever put it there must've been quite the prideful prick; there was no way The Courthouse had the budget for such an extravagant piece of artwork. Mine is much more simplistic—just a cracked halo with a dove adorning its center.

At first, I had written the apartment off as somewhat livable, but then I got to the bedroom. The place is massive! Almost as big as a small house! Of course, to make matters worse, the bed was hideous. It was covered in many gemstones and gold—enough to make even the wealthiest king drool. The previous tenant also forgot to clean up his mess, as I found several inappropriate items hidden throughout the room. For someone who served as the Templar, my predecessor must've been quite the sinful bastard. I pity whatever poor soul had to be his partner.

So far, so horrid, but that's normal for Heaven. I'll have Malcolm send a worker my way before I leave for my next assignment. Hopefully, they'll have this hellhole fixed before I return.