Radicle (Terminal trilogy #2, can stand alone)

28: The stars were falling

 As soon as we were more than ten feet from Glenn and Lane, Stacy squeezed my shoulder roughly and caught my eye.

"You're not allowed to die out there."

"I'm not going to." I laughed. "My old brothers know what I look like."

"They're going to send you out there in a nice uniform, and that's all you birds need to kill. They'll recognize you, maybe, but only once you're a corpse."

"Look, I speak my own language right? I'll tell them not to attack and they won't. Rest of my squad dies, but I live."

"And so they send you out again. And again. There's no going up from here- there's a good reason the common name for this unit is the 'death corps.'"

"Yes, but not me." I laughed again.

"Stop fucking laughing. You still owe me. And I'm not letting you go until your debt is repaid." He tapped his foot angrily. "Look, I may be able to pull some things around to get you emancipated of your crimes, but you're going to owe me another debt."

"And then another. And then another." I said mockingly. "This never ceases with you? There is no way to pay you off."

"You want to pay me off? Do your fucking job." He said. "And stop laughing so much. You acted cute in the courtroom, but you didn't act wise. You're going to die, Nichael."

"Not until someone kills me." I said. "And please, it's Michael now."

I hadn't thought about it before I said it, and the thought was at once both terrifying and just: I had left Heaven, and with it, my old name. I wasn't a good angel anymore. I was Michael Castellano. And as much as it hurt to even think of that name, it was who I was.

Or who I was going to be. I didn't know a thing about Michael Castellano except the fact that he was evidently a rebel, legally a demon, and enjoyed having sex.

"You've named yourself after your god?" Stacy laughed at that, but it was a brief respite from his irritation.

"I am my own god now."

"Shit, if that isn't a line from a B-grade drama, I don't know what is. You're going to die, you know, and the bastard that does it isn't going to bother learning your name."

"All my life, I've been alive. So, that's one trend that isn't about to change."

"Until you get a sword to your gut." Stacy was honestly pissed now, and I was beginning to feel less cool about it. Maybe this was his way of showing concern?

"Look, uh, I'll get out of it. Okay. I mean, this justice system is terrible to begin with, so I'm sure I can get Glenn to reconsider."

"She knows you're an angel. Everyone does. And rightfully, she'd like you dead. Officially, I'd like you dead too. You don't have allies in this city. There's not one person in your cult who wouldn't turn if the authorities asked them to- and believe me, that day is coming."

"My followers are loyal."

"Your followers are a fad. I gave them to you, and soon, we're going to have to redeem them for the long-term prize. But I will need you alive for that day."

"How does your military work?"

"Excuse me?"

"How do you send your squadrons? How often? How much respite are they given between being sent out?"

"The numbers vary, but these days it's usually at least ten. And well, if there's any survivors, they get to choose how long of a break they want. Up to a week. But you're a prisoner, not a soldier- you will be sent out as soon as possible." He looked at me coldly. "Please, stop arguing. Let me handle this."