Chapter Thirty

The lowest sector wasn't beautiful by any stretch of the word. Smog filled the sky, and rain rattled the cheap wooden roofs almost nonstop. There weren't many rotating apartment blocks, so most houses were packed. However, that didn't mean that the town was a sad and lonely neighborhood; it was quite the opposite. Smoke from several chimneys carried salivating aromas of various stews and roasts. At the same time, the small unofficial gambling house overflowed with patrons. A few young children were even playing in one of the town's many marble fountains. Their laughter could be heard for miles around and gave the dull sector an almost laid-back aura to it. "This place never changes," Zia thought as she stared out of her office window. Hundreds of little doodles and notes were taped to the glass, many of them from the children frolicking outside.

"Are you going to go play with them?" she heard Elizabeth say as the bodyguard stepped into her office. "Ugh… you know, you really should give this place a thorough cleaning." Papers and other office supplies were scattered about the room and floor—the only clear ground was the small path to her desk.

"I'll clean when I finish today's work," Zia responded as she studied a folder of requests and applications. Several of her constituents had been having problems with leaky ceilings. A few even had their rooms flooded. "Things just keep going from bad to worse," she thought as she scratched her chin.

"And I'm assuming we're running low on funds?" Elizabeth asked as she skimmed over one of the thousands of papers.

"As usual, yes we are," Zia sighed. That veritable speech she gave at the summit hadn't accomplished much. "The ambassadors upstairs must have put in some work," she thought as her eyebrows narrowed. "In hindsight, I should've seen this coming." Until the Bureau and the higher-ups finally recognized her plight, her sector would continue living off scraps. "Hmm… that reminds me," Zia mumbled as she turned to Elizabeth. "Has the Bureau given us any calls yet?" the bodyguard shook her head.

"No, ma'am, the phone line has been silent for the past four hours. Would you like me to see if I can set up a meeting?" Zia waved her off. There was no need for that.

"Don't bother. Even if somebody were there, they wouldn't answer." What she needed to worry about was the deluge outside. "Have the townspeople managed to plug the leak by the fountain?" she asked as a gust of cold wind blew through the building. "God," she thought, "I need to install some heating." It was freezing!

"One of the children stopped by this morning. He said that they've managed to fix it. Although, they aren't sure how long it'll last with this constant downpour." Zia bit her lip as she pressed her pen against her desk.

"If we had a judge here, I could solve this problem easily." The thought that she would need the Bureau's help for anything nearly made her vomit. However, she didn't have any other options. "Elizabeth, go and fetch Kashif. I'm going out," she ordered as she threw on her vibrant red coat and headed for the door.

"Sure thing, ma'am," the girl responded. After a playful salute and a half-serious smile, the bodyguard nodded and hurried towards the nearest exit.

"Before you go, Elizabeth," Zia cut her off as she reached into one of the smaller piles of rubble—pulling out a large umbrella. "Take this. It's pouring out there," she continued.

"Thanks, Ms. Lombardi! I promise to take good care of it!" Elizabeth cheered, practically dancing out of the room with her boss' gift in hand.

"She never changes," Zia thought as she walked into her office's main lobby. It wasn't anywhere near as extravagant as the summit's main hall, but it got the job done. The slightly moldy carpets and aging desks made the place feel homely. Zia smiled as she heard the rain patter softly against the glass doors and windows. Tiny droplets of water had pooled in the center of the room. Someone—she assumed it was Elizabeth—had placed a bucket under the source of the leak, which had wholly overflowed. Thankfully, there were several spares nearby. After emptying and replacing the bucket in the nearest bathroom, Zia buttoned up her jacket and made her way out onto the main road.

"So, the monster's finally left her cave?" one of the townsfolk, a teenager by the looks of it, said as he tossed her a small gift basket. "That's from me and my parents—we wanted to show you our thanks!"

"Aw, you didn't have to do that," she told the boy. "This thing must've cost you what? Almost three months? Your folks are already working hard enough as it is."

"C'mon, don't be like that. We're in Heaven. Let us live a little," the boy exclaimed as he ran off to join his friends. It was moments like these that put the spring in her step.

"These fools don't know how bad they've got it," Zia thought as she walked down one of the many filthy sidewalks. Most of the souls here were unbelievably poor. Many of them were friendly people, and the few that weren't usually didn't come outside. As she walked past some of the playing children, she noticed a piece of trash floating down into one of the gutters and sighed. "I swear… some people are absolute slobs," she thought as she plucked the garbage from the ground and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

"Is your town so low on manpower that it has to rely on its ambassador to clean up the streets?" a familiar voice said as she heard something crash into the ground behind her.

"Ah, Mr. Weber, I see you're as lively as ever," she spoke as she offered a hand to the Angel. The idiot had managed to slip on a puddle of water and was now absolutely soaked. "And here I thought Cherubs always landed gracefully."

"Yeah, well, we all have our bad days." Zia scoffed—that was putting it mildly.

"You aren't the sort of person who'd stop by for a friendly chat. So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked while they hurried under a nearby tree to take shelter from the rain. Now that they were dry, she could finally get a good look at the Angel. "He looks tired," she thought. It was incredibly subtle, but it was apparent that the Templar was carrying a heavy burden upon his shoulders.

"I can't talk about this out in the open," he told her. "It's official Bureau business." Zia sneered. If that was the case, then it could wait a while.

"Don't worry. Nobody's going to hear us in this storm. So, what's up?" she asked as she watched a family walk past them on the other side of the street. Once they were out of earshot, Aeron finally broke the silence.

"Something important has been stolen, and I want your help to get it back," he whispered as he wiped some moisture off his brow. Zia's jaw dropped to the ground. How in the world was that possible?

"That can't be," she muttered, clearly shocked. Heaven was, well, Heaven. It was supposed to be an impregnable fortress. "What was it exactly that got pilfered?" She couldn't work with vague terms. She needed something concrete.

"Have you ever heard of God's toolbox?" he asked. Zia shook her head. "As the name suggests, it's a collection of tools that the Almighty used to craft the Universe. And a few weeks ago, the most powerful and dangerous of the bunch was stolen."

"Wow… shit… this conversation sure went south fast. Do you have any suspects?"

"No, but we aren't completely in the dark," he started as he took out the glass vial containing the speck of dirt. "I found this in the tool's safe. It's a piece of earth from the mortal realm."

"Earth? How is that even possible?" Aeron shrugged; he had no idea. "So, why did you come here? I doubt it was on the Minister's orders. That man—and everyone else up top—hates my guts."

"Would you believe it if I told you I needed a guide?" he said in a half-joking tone. Zia only scoffed and nodded—a normal reaction.

"You're the templar. Learning your way around the realms comes with the territory. So, what's the real reason you need my help." Aeron sighed as he looked around the downtrodden town. "So that's it," she continued with a smile.

"What? Was it that easy to figure me out?" the Cherub asked.

"You know—if all you wanted was an ally—you didn't need to do this much. We've already agreed upon being partners," Zia exclaimed as she playfully smacked his back. "Aww, I get it! You're just not used to asking for help!" Aeron rolled his eyes. It wasn't that simple.

"Think of it like this: I scratch your back, you scratch mine. I know that a mission like this is the break you've been waiting for." That was true. Being directly involved in such an important assignment would do wonders for her resume.

"I'm just wondering why you're going this far. Think about it. You aren't the sort of person who'd normally do something like this. I know you want an ally in the government, but why me?" Aeron shrugged.

"Is it a crime to appreciate someone's company? You're a hell of a lot more interesting than those prudes back at the Bureau." Zia wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Did he decide to bring her along solely because she was more fun than his coworkers?

"You are one strange Angel, Mr. Weber." Even if that was the case, this wasn't an opportunity she could afford to let slip by. If she managed to find this crucial artifact, the Bureau and her higher-ups would have no choice but to notice her and the lower levels. "Fine—so let's say I agree to join you on this little mission—I'll still need more information. For example, a description of the tool itself. Does it have any noticeable characteristics?"

"All I can tell you is what it does; I have no idea what the thing looks like."

"Well… that's more than nothing," she pondered as the rain worsened. "Hmm," she thought, "I'll have to hurry this up." It wouldn't be long before this entire street was flooded.

"You'll have to wait until we're out of this place," Aeron said as he stepped into a gigantic puddle. "Shit, these were my new pants," he cursed as he got out his gavel and evaporated the moisture.

"You sure are skilled with that. Is there anything it can't do?" Zia wondered out loud as the storm worsened.

"The only limit is my imagination," the Cherub clarified as he placed the weapon back into its holster. "There's a bit more, but that knowledge is a trade secret." Zia rolled her eyes. When it came to the judges, barely anything wasn't classified. "Anyway, where are you going? I thought you agreed to accompany me. This isn't exactly the sort of thing you can put off."

"I'm not out in this rain for no reason. I'll come with you, but before I do, I have to take care of my responsibilities here," she told him as she wrapped a thick red scarf around her neck. The frigid rain rolled down her coat in buckets before splashing loudly onto the ground.

"Yeah… I'm just going to get rid of this," Aeron thought, aiming his gavel towards the sky. The effect wasn't exactly instant, but it was noticeable enough. "The Council will chew me out if I go any further." He so badly wanted to erase this gale in its entirety. Sadly, he wasn't allowed to use the full extent of his powers while in God's domain—for obvious reasons.

"I'm assuming that was you?" Zia asked. The woman was positively drenched. "Thanks for trying, but I don't think you've accomplished much." Even though the torrent had slowed down, the fragile roofs were still no match for the hefty winds and low temperatures. Within seconds a few tiles were torn off a nearby house and blown away into the distance. "I've got to hurry," she thought. If the Templar's gavel couldn't quell this storm, she'd have to take extra precautions to ensure her citizens' safety.

"Ms. Lombardi!" a voice on the wind called out to her as the typhoon picked up. "Thank goodness. When I stopped by the office, and you weren't there, I panicked." Zia grinned—she'd recognize that heavily accented voice anywhere.

"Is that Kashif?" Aeron wondered.

"Ah, is that Mr. Weber?" As the Templar had guessed, Zia's second bodyguard came stomping out of one of the many back alleys. He was covered in dust, muck, and various other forms of debris.

"Dear God, Kashif, what happened to you? Not even a storm as bad as this one could cause all this mess," Zia asked the man as she quickly wrapped her scarf around his quivering jaw. He must've been freezing. Tiny drops of frozen dew were scattered across his body, and his boots were covered in a thick layer of grime.

"It's the Brookers' house," he said. "The one that's right by the fountain that flooded this morning. The first floor is now five feet under. I and a few of the townsfolk did our best to patch the leaks, but there are simply too many." The man sounded exhausted, and just to add insult to injury, his hands were torn and bruised from all the hard labor.

"Let's get those patched up first before we talk about stopping that flood," Zia suggested as she reached into one of her pockets and pulled out some gauze.

"Do you seriously just carry medical supplies around with you?" Aeron asked as the ambassador grinned. It was always good to be prepared.

"Unlike you Angels—who have strong bodies—us mortals were created with rather fragile materials. Even when we finally make it to the other side, our souls are still equally brittle, so care like this, and thus the materials needed to provide said care, are a necessity."

"Thank you, ma'am," Kashif spoke as he rubbed his now-bandaged arms. Small patches of red instantly started to seep through the dressings. Soon, the entirety of the man's bandages had become stained a light shade of pink.

"Heh—if I squint—it almost looks like some crappy painting," Aeron thought as he patted Kashif on the shoulder. "Don't work yourself into an early grave." The irony of that statement made the injured bodyguard chuckle. "Anyway, what's this about a flood? I'll be willing to help if it means we can leave sooner." Zia bit her lip and shook her head.

"As much as I appreciate the gesture, I'll have to decline. Given the serious nature of the assignment we talked about, it'd be better for you to stick to the shadows. You never know who could be listening." Aeron shrugged. She did have a point. The last thing they needed was a curious eavesdropper.

"Alright, but I'm still tagging along. I haven't been to the lower levels in quite some time, so I'm curious to see what you've done with the place," Aeron said as he stepped back out into the rain. Thanks to the copious layers of makeup, he didn't notice Zia's eyebrows narrow.

"How suspicious," the ambassador thought as she scratched her chin. On principle, most Angels would see it as their duty to help inferior souls in need—they would insist on it. Even the racist pigs running the Bureau wouldn't just ignore a disaster if they were personally there. It simply wasn't a part of their DNA. Yet Aeron agreed on staying out of the way.

"Well, are we going to go, or are you just going to stand there?" the Cherub asked as he walked past her. For a moment, Zia felt a jolt of fear rush through her body.

"Yeah," she mumbled as she straightened her cap. "It's probably just my nerves talking."

Three years ago...

A thought came to me while I was working today. Why do we judges receive the powers of gods? Our gavels work in practically every realm—including Heaven—yet there are very few physical limitations on our actual abilities. Isn't the Almighty worried that one of us might turn against him? All it would take is one person to flip this entire system upside down. However, none of my coworkers have realized this. Maybe Yahweh already knows what people are fit to be judges and distributes the weapons accordingly. But, if that's the case, what about me? I'm not like my sinless brethren.

Every so often, my mind wanders to places that are… unbefitting of a person of my rank. God is supposed to be omnipotent, but I have found little evidence which supports that claim. Instead of processing worlds himself, he pushes the work off on the Bureau. So, when it comes to rehabilitated worlds, we—the Angels in charge—are the ones with the final say. It's questions like this that keep me up at night, questions that keep my mind from rotting.

That said, even with all our power, there is a line that we Cherubs can never cross. During a lengthy conversation with Jeremy, I discovered that one of my brethren had tried to commit suicide. Luckily, someone managed to stop the fool before he jumped. Suicide—among all the unforgivable acts—is a concept that is almost entirely foreign to my kin. Since we Angels are creatures born in Heaven, killing ourselves would be akin to denying God himself. The guilty Angel would be immediately damned if such an act were committed. Of course, this issue is insignificant, but it is an interesting little rule of life up here.