What had he become? The was no reflection here. Just glass.

He sighed and let his fingers slide down the mirror. The other person couldn't be him. They were old and worn--he was still young, even if he didn't feel like it. The mirror didn't show what he looked like. It showed him nothing. It showed what he'd become.

A puppet.

The thought made him sick. The fingers closed into a fist that slammed against the mirror. It didn't show him. It revealed his innermost. His secret. It showed him in all his sick and dark glory.

The hands. They were everpresent, common as the soulmirror was rare. And now they tugged, pulled, led him down a dark hallway, starkly lit. They led his blind feet, made sure he didn't come to harm--he was their Golden Fleece.

They left the mirror behind. He wanted to break it. Destroy it. Hide.

They were talking. The hands. They knew he wouldn't listen. He wasn't deaf--everyone knew that--but he didn't listen to their useless and idle chatter. They never talked about anything important anyway. He would listen if they did. They knew that, and so talked of mundane matters. He listened to their footsteps instead. He shuffled along as always, the joy in his work sucked from him by his work; but today the feet of the hands were different. They too were slow. The angel on his right was squeezing his arm too tightly. The angel on his left was dragging her feet.

They were frightened. But not of him. They were always afraid of him--it was like, how they said, handling a nuclear bomb. But handlers learn, and know how to treat and carry the bomb, and thus lose open fear of it, even it they remain wary.

No. They were going into Mordor with the ring, and they were frightened of the dark lord that lurked within.

Something stirred in his chest. Some revival of the old Jenova within--a remnant of the old self, the old master that still lurked in his heart. The thing that would not be tamed by a puppetmaster.

They were off to see the wizard.

---

Maria Ann Denver looked up when the door opened, but did not move. She knew it was pointless--she hadn't been able to use her full pyrokinetic powers for months now, ever since she had been captured. She could not conjure fire anymore, but they had learned to be wary of her when they learned she could still make an inferno out of a lighter. She forgot how many people she sent to fiery graves before they had wrestled the lighter from her grip and dumped her underwater; perhaps because they'd never told her how many she'd killed.

And now they were tossing in someone else.

The guards quickly shut the door on the two captives. The young man they'd just thrown in staggered and swayed before falling back against the shut door. He pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on, exhaling shakily.

"Who are you?" She asked.

He straightened. She'd seen him somewhere before... narrowing her eyes, she repeated the question impatiently.

"I heard you the first time, wench."

"What?" She shot up out of her seat, indignant.

"Sit down!" he barked.

"Don't tell me what to do, idiot!"

He walked over to the table and shoved her down into her seat. "Then don't demand someone else's name without giving yours first. It's very rude."

"Who are you?!"

"I am the false priest of a false god. I am Lucifer and Loki, Hades and Hamlet. I am not what I am. Is that enough for you?"

"No," she replied snottily.

He slammed his fist on the table and leaned in. "I am nothing." His scowl morphed into a grin. "And who are you?"

"I am Maria Ann Denver, leader of--"

He laughed and pulled back. Stupid! "Idiot! There's no way a silly little female like you could be the leader of a Girl Scout troop, much less the mastermind who orchestrated the are merely a pawn." He couldn't bring himself to say the word puppet. The strings chafed at his scars. "And pawns are expendable--that's why there are so many on a chess board."

She was speechless. "How dare--"

"Do you want to know?" The snarl had returned to his voice, curling his lips with the acidity they salted his words with. "I dare because I was more than a pawn. I had the leader of this organization chasing after me personally."

"Then why are you working for him?"

"Only Iago knows." He pulled a notebook out of his pocket, as well as a pencil.

Pointless. She had withstood a remarkable amount of questioning. Wasn't that why god had sent him in? No shadows without light. The only way to crack a nut was to hit it.

"I could--why, I could do anything to you." He opened his eyes wide as if he had hit upon some sort of revelation. "Heh. I could turn you into ugly Medusa herself--or perhaps her prey." Sitting on the edge of the table, he pursed his lips thoughtfully. "People don't kiss statues, do they."

She blinked. If he was the person sent in to make her talk, make her tell about who her connection to HAPGI was, then he wasn't doing a very good job.

"They've threatened you with death, right? And disfigurement? And all those other delightfully drastic D words?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "Because I don't really want to repeat anything."

"They've threatened me." She brushed her hair over her shoulder. "I didn't say anything."

"Well duh. If you had I wouldn't be here talking to you silly woman."

She made a face at him, which he ignored.

"We both know this is a practice session, and I need to think. So why don't we just call it a day?" He smiled and hopped off the table. "Seeya tomorrow." The door slammed shut behind him, and she was left wondering what on earth had happened.

He sagged, leaning against the door. Even though his eyes were closed beneath his sunglasses, his hands were busily flipping open his notebook. The hands took a hold again and his eyes slid open to slits, concentrating on the paper and pencil as they gently led him away.

She was fire and ashes, a half of a world he knew in dreams. He had smelt the smoke in her hair, like nicotine, a reek that wouldn't go away for acid. He hated it. He hated her. But she was burning the strings--he could feel it in his chest.

He decided that she would die.

---

Eli hadn't heard from Tim ever since he'd given the girl the letter. He'd asked Jason about his friend again and again, but his brother would simply shoo him away.

Now he stood at the top of the stairs, watching his older brother pacing back and forth in the hallway below. He looked older, and hadn't shaven in a few days--he was worried about something. Could it be Tim? Eli doubted it--there had been another attack on a HAPGI facility, and two children had been killed, five hurt, one stolen. Sitting down, Eli wrapped his hand around one of the rungs of the banister. They'd never targeted the children before. Maybe that's what he was worked up about.

"Eli."

He stood up. "Yes?"

"I have some things to do. Would you take that," he gestured to the counter where a fat manila envelope was sitting, "to Facility G? I don't think it can be trusted in the mail, and that would take too long anyway."

Eli nodded and walked down the steps. He was grateful to have something to do, even if he was still worried about his brother. He would go upstairs and smother his worries in reports and planning, and would probably forget to eat again. And then he would come across something disturbing in a report and come back downstairs and pace the hallway...it was an obvious cycle.

Sighing, he picked up the envelope and found the car keys, which had become stuck between the cushions of the couch, and headed out.

Halfway to his destination, Eli started wondering again. He wondered why he didn't have any powers--things would be so much easier if he did. And why shouldn't he? There were twins with similar powers--he'd met the boy before, Christopher. But maybe twins were one thing and siblings another--Keth didn't have powers, but his sister did.

He sighed and hit the blinker, merging out of the highway. Jason doubtless had written and stored a paper on that somewhere, or someone else had written it for him, or something. He didn't know. But before the insurrection, Jason had been working with someone, trying to figure out where the powers came from. There was a theory, but it hadn't been fully explained to Eli and he decided it was better not to think about it than agonize over something he didn't fully get.

But if there was a God, they had decided not to allow Eli a peaceful period of thought.

He had just gotten directions at the proper desk (since he got the feeling Jason wanted him to deliver it personally) and started down the hallway when he heard, "Get up. We both know you're faking it."

That in itself wasn't remarkable, but the reply was. "Fire and ice and dreams of tar for your god!" Eli only knew one person who spoke like that, and they slammed into him in the next second, knocking them both onto the ground.

"Tim?!"

Two rather muscular guards had caught up to the captive by this time, and hauled him upright by his arms. He hung limply, a vague smile on his features.

"Hello." He adopted a crude British accent. "You have reached the office of the puppeteer--and watch! I can dance too." He lifted his feet off the ground and swung them about wildly. Eli slowly got to his feet, clasping the manila envelope to his chest, and stared.

"Oh my god, Tim. What have they done to you?"

"Excuse me, miss--" One of the guards, an older man with a scruffy beard, began speaking, cuffing his captive with his free hand as he did. Eli stepped back and mimicked his older brother in don't-you-dare-question-me mode.

"Unhand your captive at once!"

The two guards glanced at each other over the top of their charge's head. He had dropped to his knees and was reaching out with one foot to bring a small red notebook closer to his grasp, mumbling to himself as he did. Eli leaned down and picked it up, handing it to him. The young man looked up and took it, then his eyes widened and he dropped it again with a screech.

"My promise!"

Eli bit his lip, face scrunching up until he looked ready to bawl. What was wrong with him? This must have been why Jason didn't want to talk to him about...about... His lip trembled.

"Oh dear. These are my hands, Cecil and Eric." Dropping his voice a bit, he added, "You must forgive Cecil's rudeness. Her boyfriend dumped her recently and she hasn't really gotten over it yet."

The packet fell to the floor as Eli's hands jumped to cover his mouth. It wouldn't be any good for him to be seen crying in public, and he buried his face in his hands until he got his emotions under control.

Tim stared, caught completely off-guard. Standing up straight, he wrenched his arms from Cecil and Eric's grasps and stepped forward, arms out in a gesture of goodwill. "Elijah, don't cry."

"Don't--"

Tim ignored Cecil's protest and stepped forward again, then pulled his friend into a hug. "Don't cry."

Eli lunged forward into the hug, wrapping his arms around Tim and sobbing openly into his shoulder. Tim closed his eyes and leaned his head against the top of his friends'. They didn't move for a while, simply clung to one another; each boy the other's anchor in a turbulent storm.

"Where are you going?" Tim finally asked, a whisper in his friend's ear.

"Nn?" Eli pulled back a bit and looked up, eyes red-rimmed and nose running. Sniffing, he wiped his eyes on the hem of his shirt as Tim smiled and tapped his foot on the manila envelope forgotten on the floor.

"I get the feeling you're acting as your brother's personal delivery boy. Where you going?"

Eli sniffed again, wishing he had something to blow his nose on. "I...I don't remember. I'm going to have to ask again." He pointed down the way he had come with one hand, keeping the other on Tim's right shoulder. He had gotten taller and thinner and somehow more worn, but he was clean and looked healthy enough, so Eli supposed he was being kept care of. "Back at the desk. What are you doing here, Tim?"

"Working." He chuckled and pulled out a pair of dark glasses, putting them on in an exaggeratedly smooth motion. "For the Man."

Eli wiped his eyes again. Tim made as if to continue speaking, but was interrupted by Cecil grabbing him roughly. He paused and looked over at the hand on his arm, then his gaze traveled upward until he met Cecil's eyes. In a dangerous tone of voice he said, "Kindly remove your distinguishing trait from me--unless, of course, you want it lost."

She removed her hand quickly, but did not back down. "We can't waste--"

"Shut up. There is no eternity--and therefore, no time to waste." When she didn't reply, he resumed ignoring her, turning back to his friend. Eli was staring at him in confusion, and the writer smiled reassuringly. "Come on, let's see where you have to go."

Eli crouched down and scooped up the envelope, showing the name--written in bold caps--on the front. Tim nodded.

"I have no idea who that is."

Eli sighed and his friend went on. "I'll accompany you."

They walked in silence back to the helpful front desk where Eli got the directions again and it was only when they were headed in the proper direction, Tim's hands trailing after them like the President's Secret Service on Terrorist Attack Day, that Eli spoke.

"Did you get my letter?"

Tim's face lit up and he rummaged through his pockets as he walked. "Oh yes! I've hung onto it..." Finally, he pulled it out of a pocket with a flourish. It was worn and somewhat crumpled, with a lightning bolt design scribbled onto one edge in blue ink, but Tim held it to his chest and stared distantly without breaking stride. "I want to see the mural, Eli."

"I'll take a picture when we're finished." He smiled quickly and Tim cast a furtive glance in his direction, putting the letter back in his pocket.

"Thanks. You do that. Oh!" He paused for a split second, then resumed walking, digging something out of the depths of his jacket pocket. "I made something for you."

The object he handed to his friend was a crumpled paper heart with torn edges, a message hastily scribbled into the center. "Sorry about the edges, but they wouldn't let me near scissors."

Eli gasped and smiled--genuinely this time. "Tim! When did you make this?" He stared at the poem without really reading it. Tim shrugged, obviously pleased with his friend's reaction.

"Therapy."

Eli's smile faded into a confused frown. "What?"

But they had apparently reached their destination, for Tim leaned against a wall and peered through an open doorway at the office's occupant. "Hey, I need more pens. I've only got one left."

The person, a middle-aged man, sighed and closed the folder they were reading, resting their head on their hands. "I don't know why you insist on pens. Paint would get the job done quickly and more efficiently."

Tim wrinkled his nose. "Pens. No one uses them anyway." He tapped the doorframe impatiently.

Eli blinked. "Do you two know each other?"

"Nope." Tim turned to face his friend and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "I think this is where you want to be."

The man stood up and walked to the door, pausing when he saw Eli. "Ah, you must be Elijah."

Eli held the folder out, more confused than ever, but secretly pleased that he didn't have to correct the man's pronunciation of his name. "Are you Dr. Abraham Hostler?"

"I am." The folder was taken from his grip and the man--Dr. Abraham Hostler--moved to his desk and tucked the envelope away in a drawer with brisk efficiency. "Did you come here solely to deliver this?"

"Yes sir. But I thought I might stay a while."

"Did you."

"Yes sir. I ran into an old friend." Eli met Dr. Hostler's gaze coolly. Tim bared his teeth in a grin.

"Oh yes, Master Angel. This is my bodhisattva. He's here to save me."

Dr. Hostler glanced over at the younger man. "I thought angels were supposed to save people."

The grin dropped from Tim's face like a bowling ball into a frozen lake. "Don't flatter yourself; angels are messengers. My pens?"

"Do you have any idea how much this costs us?"

"No, and I don't really care." Tim pushed himself off the wall and grabbed Eli's arm. "C'mon, I'll show you where I live."

"Tim!"

Eli paused and looked over his shoulder at Dr. Hostler, who obviously wanted to speak to them, but Tim continued on as if he hadn't heard. Grabbing Eli's arm, he pushed past the people Eli now figured to be his bodyguards.

"Tim..."

"Yes?"

Eli swallowed what he had been about to say. He had noticed there was the outline of a small wing embroidered on the right shoulder of his jacket in red thread, and wondered how it got there since Tim couldn't sew. As for the jacket, which Eli hadn't seen him wearing since that fateful night, the bottom hem was rather tattered but none worse for the wear. "How have they been treating you?"

Tim shrugged. "Well as can be expected. They make sure I don't do something stupid, I make sure they get what they want."

"And what do they want?"

Tim glanced at him and smiled wearily. "Nothing to concern you." He chuckled. "It's pretty funny, now that I think of it. I've got a high-paying job doing something I love, with all the free time in the world I could want, and I hate it."

"That's not funny." Eli looked at his friend in an almost reproachful manner.

Tim shrugged and sped up, refusing to speak until they had left the building. Stepping out of the doors, a fierce wind made them stagger; Eli hunched his shoulders and huddled into his jacket, but Tim held his head high and let the wind blow his hair and jacket sideways.

"I have to stay within the area so they can keep an eye on me, but I'm lucky enough to have my own apartment. More than some people here get." Grinning, he strode across the parking lot in an arrogant manner highly reminiscent of how he used to walk in high school when he had known control of the world. Eli scurried alongside, grateful he had decided not to wear a skirt. He hated windy, sunny days.

Tim did indeed have his own apartment, although it was rather small and sparsely furnished. The walls were white and gave the small living room an illusion of bigger space, but Tim went directly to a smaller room and sat on the bed that was there. "Well, what do you think?"

Eli was staring at the wall behind him. About a third of the wall was black, fading abruptly to white, and there was a ladder and a bucketful of pens. It suddenly became apparent to Eli why Tim had asked Dr. Hostler for pens--while paint would be quicker he'd have to put up with the fumes, and coloring the wall probably gave him something to do. "It's very nice, I guess."

Tim shrugged. "Crappy little place, but I wouldn't do anything with a big apartment. Wanna play a game?"

Eli shook his head. "Jason's probably wondering where I am..."

Tim made a 'tsk'ing noise through his teeth and leaned back casually. "And if he isn't?"

There was an elongated silence, then Eli sat down and made a face. "What games do you have?"

---

It had been a while since he had brushed away the hands. But he didn't need them anymore, and there was no point in using a wheelchair if you could walk under your own power.

He wondered if she knew she was going to die.

Stalking into the room like a thunderstorm, he ignored the door and slammed his hands down on the table like lightning, relishing the thunder they made and the way the violence lit up her face.

"I would delight in tearing out your intestines and making you use them for embroidery."

She was properly thunderstruck, and stared at him as such a manner would dictate. "What?"

"But I don't think I'm allowed to do that, lucky you." Drawing his hands back, he stared down his nose at her, then wrinkled it. "You reek."

"Really." Her eyes were the wide glare of one slightly insane--or really pissed off. He couldn't tell and didn't care.

"Like burnt corpses."

"Well you smell like blood." Really pissed off, more likely. But who knew what the flames had done to her brain.

"Touche."

The air crackled between them and he pulled his fingertips off the table. Then she sighed. "Well, are we going to get this over with?"

Without a word, he pulled a yoyo from his pocket. It rocketed from his hand and smashed into the wall next to her head before returning. He repeated the motion over and over, hitting more or less the same spot again and again without taking his eyes from hers.

"You're going to die, you know."

She nodded and blinked. "I know."

"It doesn't have to be now, but I'm sure I can arrange it." The yoyo slipped and hit closer to her ear; she winced. Unapologetic, he switched to the other side and continued his reckless game. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

"No."

"How about now?"

There was a dull crack as he fractured her collarbone with the toy. She gasped and turned pale, eyes tearing up with pain. Still apparently bored, he stopped, crossed his arms, and looked at her. "If you wanted someone with gentler techniques, you should have asked."

And suddenly the hands were at his elbows, feathers ruffled and halos askew; one whispered in his ear that he was wanted in the hallway. He stared at Maria Ann for a long moment before leaving the room, pocketing his yoyo as he did.

It was some higher-up angel--probably one of the ones they called Watchers. He mentally gave the well-groomed girl a third eye on her large forehead before tuning in to what she was saying.

"--torture someone without permission!" She put her hands on her hips and scowled ferociously. He stared back, bored.

"Isn't that why I was assigned this, uh," He searched for the proper word. "...traitor?"

"You were assigned to get the information we want, not break her bones!" She hissed, obviously trying to keep her voice--and her anger--down. He rolled his eyes.

"Then you should have given her to a proper interrogator. I'm a torturer, angel."

"Don't call me angel."

"Don't worry--there's no cute connotation with the nickname." He turned on his heel and went back into the room, shooing the hands out and shutting the door.

Turning to his subject, he said, "Our iillustrious/i leader," he rolled his eyes and continued without pausing, "has called me away on another project, so it looks like you have gained a brief respite. I suggest planning what you want to tell me while I'm gone, or it will be the worse for you."

She lifted her disheveled head and blinked at him, white hands held tenderly over her collarbone; but she said nothing and he left.

There was a ringing in his ears that transformed into a single high and unbroken note when he realized what had happened. Turning to one of the hands, he held out his hand and demanded her cell phone.

"What?" She stared at him for a second, holding his gaze longer than the firebird had.

"I need to talk to god and he doesn't listen to prayers. Hand it over."

"No!"

He rolled his eyes and pivoted on his heel to face the other angel, keeping his hand out and a meaningful expression on his face; Eric handed over the device mutely.

Tim typed in the number to Eli's house and glanced up at Eric. "Send?"

The man nodded and Tim pressed the button before putting the phone up to his ear. The dial tone combated for audibility with the sick note in his skull.

"Hello?"

"Eli?"

There was a pause. "Who is this?"

"I stole someone's phone. Can you pick me up? I need to speak with god--urgently."

"Tim--" He heard the crackly whoosh of someone sighing through the phone. "Fine. But I wish you'd--"

"We'll go out for tacos or something afterwards, okay?"

"--stop calling him that. What?"

"Tacos. Afterward. But I really need to speak to him."

"It's that important?"

"It's that important." The ringing increased. Jason was the only one who knew about his sordid accomplishments, wasn't he?

Another static sigh and following pause. There was also a funny tapping sound that he realized was Eli drumming his fingers on the phone while he thought--it was an old habit of his that didn't crop up very often, mainly because it was pointless to tap his fingers while pondering what kind of takeout to get.

"...can't you take the bus?"

"I could, but then you might see something on the news. I seem to attract busybodies."

The tapping returned. "Okaaay. You owe me quite a few favors by now, y'know."

"Lunch is on me and I'll buy you a pretty new dress."

"Cute matching outfits of my choice."

Tim made a face and rolled his eyes skyward. "Uhnn."

"And lunch. No whining."

"No pink."

"But you look so cute in pink!"

"I'll take the bus."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

Tim grunted a farewell and hung up, handing the phone back to Eric. "I'm going out."

"Where?" The female hand snagged his shoulder.

"The bench next to that godawful new sculpture out in the front." He shrugged her off and walked away. The high note in his head grew in pitch and he rubbed his ear, knowing that wouldn't help any but doing it anyway.

It wasn't as windy as it was yesterday, but it was still sunny; Tim groaned and put on his sunglasses, crossing the neatly trimmed lawn to reach the park bench. Arranging himself so that he would get maximum sunlight, he shut his eyes and waited.

He heard a car pull up to the curb and, opening his eyes, lifted his head slightly to see if it was who he was waiting for. It was. Getting to his feet, he staggered over and opened the passenger side door.

Eli was evidently annoyed. "You might not have schoolwork anymore, but I'm buried under my workload and need to finish my English--which is what I was working on when you called."

Tim blinked. "Shall I take the bus instead?"

"I drove all the way out here to get you! Get in."

Tim obeyed. As they pulled out of the parking lot, he rolled down the window and turned his face to the wind. Eli glanced over for a split second before turning his gaze back to the road.

"You're closing the window when we get to the highway."

"Naturally." The word was a murmur. They sat in silence the rest of the ride, and Tim only moved three times; once to close the window, once to open the window again when they got off the highway, and the last time to close it again when they pulled into the driveway.

Eli led his friend into the house, then gestured up the stairs and returned to his work, which was messily laid in a half-circle on the living room floor. Tim glanced at him, then trudged up to Jason's study.

He waited in the doorway until Jason noticed him.

The leader of HAPGI paused and put down the file he was reading, giving Tim his undivided attention. "And what brings the mad Angel of Death to my doorstep?"

"Don't call me that," Tim hissed, stepping across the threshold. "I'm not one of your angels."

Jason leaned back in his chair and waited with his arms crossed. Tim paced across the room and slammed his hands down on the desk, leaning in to glare at Jason.

"Did you assign me to her because she too is a murderer?"

Jason blinked. "So you read her file."

"She smells like roasted flesh. I didn't need to. Did you give me her because she is a killer?"

Pushing his hair out of his face, the older man stared evenly at his visitor and didn't say a word. Shoving himself away from the desk, Tim swore viciously and spun about to face the door. "Goddammit! I am a torturer, not an interrogator, and I do not appreciate being told I am doing something incorrectly!"

"Pick up that case by the door and bring it here."

Tim spun and stared at him, opening his mouth to say something in response, but Jason cut him off. "Do it."

Lip curling, Tim did as he was told, slamming the heavy case down on the desk.

Neither spoke for a lengthy minute, then Tim glanced down at the case and back to Jason. "What is it?"

"A gift."

"God doesn't give gifts."

"An upgrade, then." Jason gestured with one hand, keeping his arms crossed. "Open it."

The case opened with smooth click and Tim glanced down at the contents.

"Go on; pick it up."

He slowly picked up one of the guns, holding it up to the light in scrutiny. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he turned the weapon on his employer, who just as quickly said, "Don't."

The command made his arm--and the gun--shake as he tried to ignore it, tried to pull the trigger. Then he threw the gun down on the ground in disgust.

"It's not loaded, anyhow." Jason nodded at the gun. "Pick it up. Learn to use it with one hand, practice mixing in your power--"

"What are you planning to do with me?" Tim voice was low, his gaze cast down at the gun he had thrown.

Jason finally leaned forward, uncrossing his arms and putting his elbows on his desk. "What do you want?"

Tim's gaze crawled upwards to his employer. The window behind him gave the man an unholy halo of light and he remembered the puppetstrings. "More than anything?"

Jason nodded.

"Freedom."

Jason steepled his fingers. "Care to make another deal with the devil?"

Tim met his eyes. "Will I get my soul back?"

Eli glanced up the stairs in the direction of the study. He'd heard shouting a while ago, but it was quiet now. Eli knew something was up; either one of them was dead or they were scheming something dreadful up there. He couldn't concentrate on the algebra he was doing with that in mind, and finally sat up and stretched.

He couldn't understand anything, it seemed. Not numbers, and not the relationship between Tim and Jason. They respected each other, that much he knew, but there wasn't enough kindness for them to be close in any way.

Eli wondered what strategy his brother had used on his friend to get obedience from him.

Tim finally came down the stairs, a bulky black case in one hand. Frowning, Eli fished the keys to the car out of his pocket and jingled them at his friend. "We're going out to eat now, remember? What's in the case?"

"Guns."

The keys fell to the floor with a jangle and Eli gaped at the writer. "Not yours, I hope."

Tim gave him a look that demanded the subject be dropped. "Where are we going? I feel like tacos."

---

It had been a good three months or so since he recieved the divine gifts he had labeled Cloak and Dagger. He didn't carry them around, usually, but the firemaiden had finally burnt out and told everything she knew, from contacts within the agency to her favorite color. She was no longer of any use.

The hands stayed three feet behind him as he opened the door. Maria Ann looked up, blonde hair frazzled and dirty, and then slumped down in her chair again when he put a bullet through her skull from across the room.

He turned to grin at the hands, who were both pale and shocked, and held up the gun. "Not bad, huh? Hardly any kick at all. And the silencer's a beaut."

They moved out of his way when he walked past them, heading to the lobby of the building. They knew--as he knew--that they were useless now, at least to him; had they been completely useless they would have run the risk of being killed. For once they didn't follow him as he walked away, but remained by the door until the body was cleaned up.

In one corner of the lobby there were three people sitting next to a vending machine crammed with healthy snacks, which remained on and bright despite the late hour, a collective air of resigned waiting hanging over them. He walked over to them.

"Where were you?" A short girl with two ponytails uncrossed her legs and stretched their arms above their head, whining, "We've been waiting forever!"

"Oh stop it, Famine. We all know Death's never on time." This speaker was a lanky blonde teenager who looked like he belonged on a high school basketball team.

"I'm always on time," Tim replied, the grin from earlier gone. He glanced about the otherwise empty lobby, staring when he saw someone else he recognized.

"It doesn't really matter," the boy drawled, "since you're..." he trailed off in confusion as Tim walked away. The final person in the group, a tall black woman with her hair in tight cornrows, frowned and shouted after him.

"Hey!"

Tim ignored her and headed across the lobby to where a solitary figure sat on one of the couches against the wall, half hidden by a potted plant. They saw him coming and stood up, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair behind their ear.

"Eli, what are you doing here?"

Eli smiled, but there was sadness in his expression. "I came to wish you good luck on your mission. Don't," he warned, "ask me how I found out."

"I wasn't going to." Tim smiled in return. "Graduation's in a couple of weeks, right?"

Eli glanced down, then up again. "Yeah. And don't you dare miss it."

"Not for the world, as they say." Tim suddenly pulled his friend into a tight hug, which Eli gratefully returned. Tim leaned his head on top of his friend's, then whispered solemnly, "Will you forgive me?"

Eli didn't say anything, but shut his eyes and hugged more tightly.

"Please."

Eli nodded. He didn't want to let go of his friend, but Tim gently pried his hands off. They stood staring at each other for a short while before Tim, without looking away, gestured behind him to the three people. They walked past him out the door, the black woman shooting them a strange look.

"I go to become a demon. Forgive me." Tim walked away and Eli collapsed onto the couch, watching him go. There was a deep ache in his chest and a lump in his throat, but it was too strange to cry.

It wasn't until the four of them were in the black van that the black woman asked him who that had been.

Tim languidly rolled his gaze upward from the floor of the vehicle to look at her. "Why should you care?"

She arched a dark brow. "Just curious."

"Don't be." This advice came from the boy. "You know Death doesn't like to talk."

The girl rolled her eyes. "He's sitting right here, you know."

"Doesn't matter," the boy shot back. "He never pays any attention to us anyway."

Tim shut his eyes and leaned his head back. "Were that the case you could turn me into a statue at any moment, Medusa."

"Don't call me that."

"Pestilence, then."

The group lapsed into silence for the rest of the ride. Finally, the van pulled to a stop outside an old building; Tim didn't recognize it, but the black woman did and her no-nonsense demeanor grew grimmer.

"That explains a lot," she murmured, more to herself than to him. He glanced at her askew, then led the way around the side of the building to the back. The four of them, all dressed in black, blended well with the shadows and no one would have been able to spot them unless they were looking.

Standing in the black shadow of the back wall where no moonlight was cast, Tim turned to the other three.

"No stealing my kills."

The girl sighed and rolled her eyes again, the woman was impassive, and the boy made a face. "What?"

"I will kill them all, and you three shall not get in my way. You can clean up anyone I miss, but only if I miss them." He held up a finger. "Only if I miss them."

"Are you crazy?" the boy asked.

"Quite possibly." Tim didn't smile. "Turn them to stone if you need to make them easier to dispose of."

He made a gesture as if backing down from a fight. "You got it."

The girl leaned against the wall, which shattered; the broken pieces hung in the air around them, flying back into place once all four were inside. Tim went on ahead.

He took out the first three people he saw with coolly-placed shots; the other two people attempted to halt him with both their powers and guns, but the bullets didn't even slow him down anymore. Something slashed at his shoulder before he took out the remaining two people. He heard his companions enter the room and continued to stay ahead of them.

He blinked when he walked through the door and into what appeared to be a conference of sorts. They had heard the shots despite the silencer and had weapons out, all five of them trained right on him.

"Who are you?" One of them demanded. The person next to him conjured a cellphone out of thin air, which Tim ignored; he preferred the token resistence they would put up.

He took a deep bow, tattered jacket rippling as he did. "I am the Angel of Death." Straightening, he grinned and narrowed his eyes maliciously. "The other three Horsemen will be along shortly."