Angels and Dæmons Ch. 01

"Spitters are quitters?" Another voice replied, their grin audible.

"I think we can make that into the correct answer," the first voice chuckled.

Adam felt strength flood back to him, drowning the headache and bringing him to his feet. He looked upon the human god before him, questions racing through his mind. He was in a featureless white void, occupied by none but he and the god. The god walked up to him and tore off his his right hand, and he watched confused as a another replaced it. It was as a bird talon, black and glossy with short claws. The god put Evelynns revolver in his new talon, before putting a lit cigarette in Adams mouth.

"Wait a time, and don't be stupid," the god said, winking at him.

Then he was standing in his room, holding a massive revolver in his talons and a lit cigarette in his mouth. He instinctively took a drag on it, and his eyes opened wide. He chuckled as he pulled the cig from his mouth, gently snuffing it out and putting it behind his ear.

Adam sighed as he sprawled out on his bed, making sure his new wings weren't crushed underneath him. His apartment was a shabby little thing, dark and cramped. Part of a high-rise, the front door opened into the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, with the bathroom taking up the leftover elbow room. Both his and Evelynn's clothes were still scattered through the corner that was the bedroom. He reached across the bed and grabbed a black tie, holding it above his head. He could feel the quality of the black silk through his fingers, and he smiled as he let the memories take him.

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Laying sprawled across the ancient couch, Adam was so engrossed in his book it took him a few seconds to registrar the sound of someone unlocking his door. His hand dove under the cushions to his grandma's knife as he looked to the door. Although the adrenaline left his veins, his pulse quickened at the sight before him.

"I'm here for inspection," Evelynn said over a clipboard, shutting the door.

Adam grinned as he chose to play along, openly starting at her curve hugging business attire. A black tie brought his attention to the way her white shirt failed to hide her lack of bra.

"Please, inspect thoroughly," he said as he put his hands behind his head, making obvious the large tent in his jeans.

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A ragged breath escaped him as he sat up and moved to the couch, pulling the knife from where it lay hidden. It was a sturdy little hunting knife, and the blade swept back smoothly. It was designed for dressing down animals from start to finish, and in the one fight it had seen Adam had been frightened by it's cutting power. Laying the knife and revolver on the coffee table, he headed to his room to change.

Reaching to the back of his closet, his old clothes seemed heavy with memories. He was glad to have kept them, however. Not many blue jeans could hide a foot long revolver, and you needed a baggy hoodie to pull off what he was about to do. He grabbed one last thing from the back of his closet before leaving the room.

Pulling on an old leather glove to cover his talon, he made his way out the back of the building. It soon became apparent that unless he wanted otherwise, his wings were only real to him and other not-humans, as he decided to think of them.

Slinking around to the back of an old bar, he approached a man who was lighting a cigarette in the darkness. The man moved between him and the back entrance, one hand moving behind him.

"What'cha want," the figure said in a cloud of nicotine.

"Someone to lend a hand," he replied, using the same sentence from his youth.

The man opened the door for him, and Adam ducked into the claustrophobic room.

"You lost kid?" An aging man said from behind a desk.

"I ain't lost pop's," he grinned as he pushed his hood back.

"You," the man scowled, "you're the kid who got caught,"

In response, Adam pulled out the bag he had pulled from the back of his closet.

"Can I catch you with thirty k?" He asked, gesturing to the brick of coke.

"I can pay half now, the rest in a month," the man said cagily.

"Up front and I'll leave you alone," Adam pressed.

"You get forty-five now if you leave the coke here, deliver this, and then don't show your face," the man said as he wrestled a backpack from under the desk.

"That's a lot of trust in me, pop's," Adam grinned, taking the backpack.

"Your money's behind you, now get the fuck out," the old man growled.

Adam turned around, grabbed the offered envelope, and made his way out.

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Adam stopped just short of the old playground, something keeping him from exiting the treeline. There were big kids, and they seemed angry. Ducking behind a nearby oak, he watched as they started yelling. One of the big kids pulled a shooter out of his pocket and pointed it at someone. Suddenly cops were everywhere, pulling out their own shooters. All the big kids started running, then it was all loud noise and yelling. Adam took off running when one of the big kids fell, running away from the bad cops who had hurt the big kids.

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Digging through the backpack on the train ride home, he found a binder overflowing with papers covered in technical scienc-y jargon, but not much else. The envelope contained a black cheque and the when, where, and who of the delivery. Shrugging, he got off the tram at a bank near his house, cashed in his money, and headed home through the descending night.

Fumbling with his house key in his gloved talon, he took a step before freezing in the half open door. Checking to make sure the cig was still behind his ear, he sighed and shut the door behind him. His hunting knife was sticking out of his coffee table, next to a pile of thick black straps and a folded note. Yanking the knife out of his table, he watched as it became a massive fighting knife in his left hand.

Adam stared at the knife he held, his face hard as he dealt with the screaming chasm that he had felt open up inside. In a desperate attempt to avoid becoming a sobbing mess, he let rage take over. Throwing the knife in the general direction of his bed, he stormed into his kitchen and shattered a bottle of whiskey in his talon as he yanked it from his fridge.

Adam stared at the shattered reflection that stared back out of the shards of his last escape from his shattered life. He drew in a ragged breath, his hand tightening around the shards to the sounds of crunching glass. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder, yanking him around in time to see a fist cave in his nose. He didn't have time to exhale before both of his attackers clenched hands were slamming into him furiously, pain overwhelming him as some part of his mind made a connection to the matrix agents. As quickly as it had begun, it was over, letting him drop to the floor in a pitiful mess. A hand grabbed the back of his head, forcing him to bear witness to his caved in chest as the gods voice called out above him.

"You exist for me, because of mine," the god hissed as Adam watched his chest reform, "not to live in the past! Would you want Eve to have a six month pity party?!"

The god put his left foot on Adams neck, before wrenching it off his shoulders. He felt the distance stretch out as the god stood tall and held his head at eye level. There was no sense of separation from his body, and he watched the god smirk as he got his cadaver to it's feet. With a slight chuckle, the god tossed him back to his body. Everything became a blur as he tumbled through the air, and by the time he had caught his head and reattached it, the god was gone.

This was gonna be longer, but then this became the most logical stopping point. Sowwy :'