Johnny Bze stood at the exit of a trendy boutique, leaning against the wall beside his motorcycle. His arms were crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on the storefront, where the source of his displeasure was hidden. He waited patiently for Melissa to finish her transformation.
Finally, the boutique door swung open, and Melissa appeared. Her stride radiated confidence, and a satisfied smile lit up her face.
“I allowed you to dress up for our mission,” Johnny muttered skeptically, giving her a head-to-toe once-over.
Melissa stopped and spun around sharply to face him.
“And it’s fabulous!” Her smile grew even wider. “I’m done with modesty!”
Johnny squinted, carefully examining her new look.
“You could’ve just swapped the maid outfit for something casual, not... this.”
Melissa now looked like the epitome of a hellish rocker. She wore tight leather pants, a fitted bck tank T-shirt with the words “Lucifer Was Right”, a leather jacket printed with a goat’s head on the back, and numerous metallic chains that jingled with her every move. Rings with skulls gleamed on her fingers, and a massive satanic pendant hung from her neck.
“A girl has to express herself!” Melissa spun on her heel, her chains and trinkets jingling like an orchestra of chaos. She beamed widely, gnced at her reflection in the store window, and tugged her T-shirt to make the bsphemous slogan on her chest even more visible.
“Feels like home!”
Johnny let out a heavy sigh.
“Now you really fit the Bze name. Wasn’t that my mother’s intention when she made your documents?” he asked sarcastically.
Melissa theatrically pulled out her ID and waved it in front of Johnny’s face.
“Melissa Bze. Pleased to meet you!”
Johnny smirked, climbed onto his motorcycle, and nodded for her to join him.
“Let’s go. We have a meeting.”
Thirty minutes ter, they arrived at the “Silver Wing Foundation” building. Its architecture was a blend of a church and a pace. White walls, golden crosses, and stained-gss windows depicting angels stood out even to passing pedestrians.
Melissa hopped off the motorcycle, carrying a rge rectangur object wrapped in bck cloth.
“I wonder how they’ll react if I fall inside and start convulsing,” she mused with a smirk as she walked through the doors.
The spacious lobby was filled with people in formal suits. Every corner of the building exuded reverence. Paintings of saints, carved benches, and massive chandeliers—it all resembled a cathedral.
But the attention of the foundation’s staff instantly shifted to Melissa. Her provocative appearance cshed with the sacred atmosphere. Employees stared at her with horror, as if Satan himself had walked in.
“Such sweet souls—I could just eat them up!” she giggled, relishing their reactions.
Some staff members began crossing themselves quietly, others left the lobby altogether. One young assistant reached for the phone, clearly debating whether to call security.
Johnny approached the reception desk, while Melissa lingered behind, enjoying the attention.
“I’m Jonathan Bze. I have an appointment,” he said calmly.
The receptionist blinked several times, seemingly at a loss for words. Her gaze darted between Melissa’s T-shirt and her face before she hesitantly asked:
“And this is... your... companion?”
Johnny sighed heavily.
“My retive.”
“Well, you don’t choose your retives!” Melissa added with a grin.
The receptionist frowned but said nothing, instead making a call.
“Mr. Lightman is ready to see you,” she informed them after a moment.
As they moved toward the office, the receptionist, emboldened, whispered:
“You could at least cover... that.”
Melissa, with an innocent expression, asked:
“Cover what? Freedom of speech?”
Mr. Lightman’s office was majestic. Paintings of archangels adorned the walls, and stained gss let in soft light, creating an atmosphere of seclusion and power. In the center stood a massive oak desk, behind which sat a man in his thirties. His demeanor and appearance resembled an aristocrat more than a religious figure.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bze,” he greeted Johnny with a slight nod. His gaze shifted to Melissa, and one eyebrow arched elegantly.
“Interesting statement,” he remarked, nodding at her T-shirt.
Johnny sat in a chair and replied calmly:
“She’s my retive. Something of a support group.”
“Usually, people come to me for confession alone,” Lightman observed with a smile. “But if this makes it easier for you to bare your soul, I won’t object. So, what brings you to me?”
Johnny locked eyes with the man.
“Actually, I’m here to talk about you. What are you, exactly?” He turned to Melissa.
“Do it.”
Melissa pulled the cloth off the object, revealing a mirror. Instantly, a burst of brilliant yellow light erupted from Zachariah, warm and powerful but not burning. Lightman fell from his chair but rose again in his true form. Behind him, enormous white wings unfurled, and his face radiated an otherworldly beauty.
“Solomon’s Mirror!” the angel spat, gring at Melissa with fury. His voice turned to a hiss: “Even in this new form, you’re still the same wretched serpent, Mephisto! Humiliate, destroy, manipute—nothing changes. Do you think I’ll kneel?”
He grabbed a rapier from the wall, ready to draw a celestial bde.
“Zadkiel, still the same warrior.” Melissa smirked, her amber eyes glinting with mischief. “I have a new name now, but the same tastes. It’s still fun to humiliate angels.”
Johnny frowned and snapped dryly:
“Cut the theatrics, Melissa. This isn’t Hell’s stage. We’re here for a serious conversation, not a comedy skit.”
“What do you want, child?” Zadkiel asked coldly, folding his wings behind him.
“To talk,” Johnny replied calmly. “And see how we can be useful to one another.”
The receptionist knocked on the door.
“Is everything alright?”
Zadkiel, glowing faintly, rasped:
“Cover the mirror!”
Reluctantly, Melissa draped the biblical artifact with the cloth. The burst of light faded, and Zadkiel returned to his human form.
“I fell off my chair,” he said, his voice once again steady. “But everything is fine now.”
The receptionist left.
/////
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