There's a breeze inside the house, which is somewhat unusual. The sound of something falling on the hardwood floor--is the shelf acting up again?

She swings her feet down off the bed, heading towards the living room. This time she'll get the darn thing anchored.

The sound of a switch flicking- a lamp switches on. There's someone sitting on her couch.

"Good evening," It's really night- "Sit down, now."

He has a gun in his hand, currently hanging off his hand on his lap, pointing somewhere between the floor and her legs.

She does not have a gun and is in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. She sits.

"That's good. I'll be brief- sorry for the rush, apologies for the scare, whatever. I'm here due to the results of your job interview: congratulations, you're in."

He gives a moment of silence.

"Before you start wondering, no, you have no idea if I am working on behalf of who I say I am, except-"

He gestures, and two men clad in black fatigues appear, one standing up from behind a table and the other stepping in from a corridor. Both have assault rifles.

"-These, and they may as well be Chinese or Russian, but they're armed, so you might as well not make this difficult. Am I understood?"

She nods weakly. "Who should I take you to be working for, then?"

He smiles slightly at that. "The United States of America."

"You have about five minutes to change and stuff whatever you like in your pockets. One of my friends will help you. If I have to drag you half-naked into the van, I will, so be quick. You won't need anything where we're going, though."

She's very aware that either one of those men with the guns could take her down individually, so she nods and moves back towards her room, kicking off her slippers. "I have a go-bag, can I take that?"

"Smart girl. My friend can pick it up for you. You'll want your hands free."

She doesn't know why she'll want that but honestly asking questions seems like a bad idea. She'll ask her visitor's "friend" to get the pack with her clothes from under her bed, so she can run out back and down into the storm cellar where she has some... extra supplies.

The grunt in black fatigues and a wrapping balaclava frowns, looks over the room, and mumbles something into his wrist. Sound of steps outside. Someone laughs, but no one seems to come to stop her when the grunt drops down and reaches for the bag of clothes.

She's looking for a sealed waterproof case that contains five hundred dollars in assorted bills and currencies, iodine, rolled up gauze and medical tape, a lighter, superglue, paracord, space blanket, several knives, and identity papers with a name that is not properly hers, but could be if one was judging by the picture on the passport. She casually presses a button in the floor that should start a timer. Hopefully she'll be back by the time a year's up, or there might be some questions about the collapse of the building. At least she hopes there will be.

She turns and scuffs some dirt over the button and turns to climb out of the cellar.

She's greeted by her new acquaintance crouching in front of the cellar door. "You can just ask, you know. Three minutes and change. Cozy in that robe? Not very scholastic."

She climbs out of the pit, deciding that the time's more valuable than argument. "Where are you taking me, when am I coming back, how much communication can I have with the outside world, who will pay my rent?" She starts to glare but thinks better of it and drops the robe, then the rest of her clothing to the ground. She's not embarrassed of her body. And it's not like these people want that from her or they'd already have taken it. She dresses in layers so she's protected no matter the weather where they end up, leggings and cargo pants and a sturdy t-shirt covered in a hoodie that's worn, but very soft. Socks and steel-toed boots - there are flip-flops in the travel case. She finishes her ensemble with a heavy coat, pockets jingling with with tools and various bits of electronics. It takes her one hundred and eighty seconds exactly, just as practiced. When she's done, she turns to the visitor and gestures to the door. "After you."

He stares fixedly at some vague spot around the nape of her neck as she changes, frowning. I was most clearly not sufficiently briefed on this one.

He speaks, walking towards the door. "In record time. You'll have my good word with the drill instructors. Don't dissapoint." 

They're out. Men remove wedges from under doors as they pass, her entire floor, five grunts in total that she can see. He stays close to her as they take to an alley with a large gray van in wait.

"Just in case," he adds, and swiftly grabs her wrists and tightens a zip-tie around them, nice and tight, no funny business. Leads her in and onto a seat with one hand on her back and another on her wrist.

She is not a fan of having her motion restricted, but she at least knows the trick with these - she manages to tense her wrists and press the heels of her palms together before the tie is pulled tight. It might not let her free herself on demand, but at least the sharp edges aren't digging into her quite as much. She scans the street and is simultaneously dismayed that noone is here to see her little journey and relieved that this means there aren't any loose ends to clean up. At least none that they need to know about.

The ride is smooth and quiet. No one is authorized to speak up except for the seeming leader, who only stares, now, at a fixed point on Electra's right cheek. It's a little unnerving. The whole thing takes maybe ten minutes--getting a sense for the curves, they're heading to the nearby outskirts, and soon enough, the side doors slide open and the grunts inside flow out onto a grassy field. She comes out the same way she came in, carefully guided, and they face the side of an FBI-black Blackhawk helicopter. 

"Is this going to be a long ride? I think I'm losing feeling in my hands."

"Yes," he says, his face slowly edging into a shit-eating grin and then smoothing itself over, "But you won't have to worry about that." 

A light shines-

Beams of golden light bathe Electra, warm rays that carry a pleasant tingle that penetrates under the skin. There's a shimmering in the air, like a star coming down from the night sky. It explodes into two wings the color of the brightest cloud, wide enough to rival the presence of the helicopter and make well up with sheer radiance; long fluttering robes in cerulean, bound tightly at the torso with similarly dyed webbings and a variety of pouches and pieces of equipment, including a prominent radio at the chest.

A benevolent, smiling face, beyond matronly, a genderless, perfect kindness that bares itself directly to the senses, something deeper than pattern recognition traveling through the eyes, implicit understanding, like you could tell it anything and be forgiven instantly. Skin well and truly bronze and hair a shining silver.

20:3 "I present unto thee Charlie Three, mobility asset ready and uncompromised with no complication to report. Is this to be my charge, o Scholar?"

It turns its warm gaze back to Electra, smiling.

"Yes," he says, suddenly speaking in a grave, formal tone. "She is treacherous in the third way and bears unknown curses in her pockets. Make sure she undertakes no preparations for arrival. Be mindful."

She doesn't have curses exactly. These days, tools use ncurses. "Always am." She can't resist the snark, even in the face of something that reminds her of statues at altars and the shape of childhood dreams after a particularly severe beating.

The men give the angel and the capture target a very wide berth, most moving into the helicopter; having more boots on the ground is no use. The asset already has everything under control, and besides, they'd rather not look at it for too long. Standard procedure.

The angel flows closer to the ground, robes caressing the grass. It offers Electra its hands, smiling with the burning patience of the stars.

23:3 "This need not be unpleasant, my ward. I am to be your guardian and chauffeur. My understanding is that you walk now towards the path of light. I am in your service, within my mandate, as I am in service of any being which holds a wisp of the Light of God in its heart."

"You know, when you put it that way, I probably do have the Light of God within me." She hesitates for a moment before grasping its hands - something about it makes her feel like she's melting, though that might be a good thing. Unclear.

25:1 "As do, if only in the least, all the Children of God, my ward."

The angel carefully, in practiced motions, places Electra's hands at its shoulder and waist, before looking at her seriously.

25:3 "I mean to offer comfort, and you are no unconscious body taken from a burning building. I also cannot carry you on my back due to my wings. I hope that you will forgive me the impropriety of the bridal position; let it be known that your good virginal standing will not be tarred due to this. I am not eligible in matters of marriage."