Chapter Seven

"I heard that you caused quite a ruckus at the Flying Wing last night," Jeremy said as he followed Aeron into an elevator. What were the chances that he and that parasite arrived at work at the same time? The Cherub sighed; this was why he hated downtime. As the steel doors slid shut, Aeron could feel his stomach begin to churn. Being in an elevator was horrible enough, but being locked in with Jeremy, of all people, was nauseating. They weren't even halfway up when he started spouting his nonsense, which, to be fair, was a record for him. "Did you hear about Elena?" the office's jester started as he sank his teeth into a juicy stick of gum. Aeron thought for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. As much as he didn't want to talk, conversing with this idiot was probably the only method he had to stave off his claustrophobia.

"I don't know her. Is she one of the recruits?" Given the circumstances, this probably wasn't the case. From time to time, Aeron helped train the rookies, and he made sure to memorize the entire roster of new applicants when he returned. Elena wasn't a name on that list. Jeremy shook his head and smiled as he offered him a stick of gum.

"She's one of the new drill sergeants," he continued as he watched Aeron start to chew on his minty treat. "And let me tell you, she is a bombshell! I mean, my God, she has legs that go on forever, and…" at that point, Aeron had already tuned out. Did Jeremy forget he was an Angel? In a way, saying such things around one of God's Cherubs could be considered blasphemy. But he wouldn't even begin to humor that thought. After all, an Angel being a judge, a templar, no less, was something far more profane. And so, as Jeremy rambled on, the bored Angel found what little sense of bliss he could in the wooden carvings that lined the elevator's walls.

One of the carvings depicted a tiny little world being destroyed by a judge. It was your standard story. A planet was practically drowning under the weight of its inhabitants' sin, so God sent a judge to rehabilitate the realm and its twisted citizens. The judge, as usual, found them guilty and created a plague of death that washed over the surface—decimating the populace and destroying the planet. "What an absolute bore." If it were up to him, he would've had those fools boiled alive. It would be a fitting and just punishment, plus it would have made for a better carving. A few minutes later, the elevator doors finally opened, and to the pair's surprise, Malcolm was waiting for them.

The comically short receptionist cursed as he walked over and swatted at their kneecaps. "You bastards must love making me suffer! Look at this shit!" Malcolm told them as he shoved a clipboard into Jeremy's twitching hands. "You fuckers have to sign in every single morning, no exceptions! My supervisor's going to have me demoted again because of you two! So, from now on, sign the damned sheet!" he yelled as he drove one of his leather boots into Jeremy's left ankle.

"For a little guy, you sure have some power in those kicks." Jeremy tried to diffuse the situation with humor, but sadly, he was born a prick. "You know, those legs could do you well at the Wing. Why don't you go and strut your stuff there?" That quip earned him quite a lot of pain. And not just from Malcolm, Aeron also joined in on the fun. If they weren't coworkers, they would have had to scrape Jeremy off the elevator walls. Sadly, that wasn't the case, but still, a man can dream.

Once they had finished beating Jeremy into a bloody pulp, Malcolm handed Aeron a small handkerchief. They had to get the dirt and sweat off somehow. As he dabbed the tiny beads of sweat off his brow, Aeron helped Jeremy up. Sadly, he wasn't as hurt as they thought. At the most, Aeron and Malcolm had just given him a few bruises. "You deserved that," Aeron said as he forced Jeremy out of the elevator. His heels clinked against the white tiled floor as they meandered into the hallway. Immediately, the stench of chemicals and grinding metal assaulted their nostrils. The development team must have updated their technology while he was off on assignment.

As several scientists and engineers walked by, Aeron caught a glimpse of some of the prototypes. There was a device that looked like a gavel. However, it had no barrel or trigger. Lying next to that was a small watch. If he were to go by aesthetics alone, it was probably a communicator of some kind. After Jeremy took a deep breath of the putrid air—which revolted him and Malcolm—he grabbed one of the prototypes and tossed it to Aeron. Not many people knew this, but Jeremy oversaw The Courthouse's weapon development team besides being the head operator. "That's one of my favorites," he said as he watched Aeron inspect the strange device. It looked like a small black cube covered in gilded vines. With every slight movement or shake, the cube in the center vibrated. It looked like something straight out of a madman's dream, and it probably was, knowing Jeremy.

Strangely, it was Malcolm who was most curious about the device. "What does it do?" the receptionist asked as he snatched the bizarre contraption from his hands. The constant movement made the central cube rumble as if it were possessed. Being the ass that he was, Jeremy jumped at the chance to show off his team's newest creation. Carefully, he plucked the prototype from Malcolm's fingers and twiddled with the glowing vines.

"Now watch closely," the man said as he lowered the whirring device down to Malcolm's level. Aeron couldn't help but scoff. This was an obvious bait that Malcolm, of course, fell for. He bit like a starving trout, and when Jeremy was confident that he had the man hooked, he finally activated the gadget. Immediately, the glowing vines sprang out and clung to the curious receptionist's mouth.

"What the hell?!" the drunk cursed as he tried to tear the vines off his tongue. However, his struggle was useless. As the more he fought back, the deeper the vines dug into his flesh. After that, the cube started to turn. It started slow but quickly accelerated at a frightening pace. The intense speed caused the material the cube was forged from to turn red. It kept up this stride for a few seconds until Malcolm finally managed to yank the gadget from his jaws. "Asshole! I should've kicked you harder!" he yelled as he threw the prototype at Jeremy's head.

Jeremy caught the device with minimal effort. "If only your arms were as strong as your legs, that might have hurt." As Jeremy teased the receptionist, he slipped the prototype into his left breast pocket. "Still… besides the pain, I think I would call that little test a success." Jeremy then turned to Malcolm, with his usual smug grin, and handed him a small bottle. "What you just tested is something I like to call a toxifier. It detects and purifies poisonous substances. And—judging by the reactions I got from that little test—you may want to cut back on the drinking. Next time, when you're thirsty, fill up that bottle with some water. I guarantee it'll make you feel better!" he said as Malcolm shuffled past him. He'd had enough of Jeremy's bullshit for one day. Any more might kill him.

"Next time you use me as a guinea pig, I'll make sure you regret it," Malcolm seethed as he looked over his clipboard. He'd got what he came for and more. "You need to improve on that chicken scratch you call handwriting," Malcolm said as he laughed for the first time that morning. Was Jeremy's signature that bad? Aeron wanted to find out, but before he could get the chance to peek at the madman's handwriting, the elevator doors closed.

After that, Aeron shrugged; he'd inspect Jeremy's piss-poor handwriting later. Right now, he had a job to do. And so, once the man was ready, Aeron followed Jeremy through the weapons development lab and into a small conference room. The concrete walls were over a yard thick, and every inch of the place was blessed to keep outsiders from eavesdropping. This room was built specifically for his, and only his, briefings and assignments. The templar's missions were no laughing matter, and many of them involved highly populated realms. Realms that some of his fellow judges used to call home. Who knows what would happen if information about one of them got leaked? After all, he knew that quite a few recruits wouldn't appreciate him destroying their homeworlds. If there were a leak, there would probably be a revolt. Or, at the very least, a mass exodus of judges. Either way—whenever the Council sent him out—all of creation would shake. And today would be no exception.

Seven hundred and sixty-three years ago...

If there is one aspect about The Courthouse that often confuses outsiders, it's our weapons development and science branches. So many people wonder why The Courthouse even needs those branches. After all, we have the backing of the Almighty, so why do we even need to develop our weaponry? Jeremy tells me that it's because God doesn't give much of a shit about us. We're his enforcers and nothing more. The Almighty cares more about creating new words than helping the ones who destroy them. We're encouraged to be inventive and make do with what we have.

Of course, since he is one of God's Cherubs, the Minister thinks nothing of this. He thinks our lack of support is a good thing! Says that it's God's way of "testing" us. But I know that's a lie. The boss upstairs may be all-powerful, but that doesn't mean that he pays attention to what goes on down here. Hell, if he did, I wouldn't be the Templar right now.