For three weeks, I wandered the streets of Los Angeles without closing my eyes, studying human nature. Each day brought new revelations about how mortal life worked. People rushed to work with coffee in hand, kissed goodbye at doorways, cursed in traffic, laughed at silly jokes. Simple things, but they carried an intensity I'd never seen among angels.
They knew their time was limited. This knowledge imbued every moment with special value. They lived, not merely existed. Unlike angels, they had no grand cosmic purpose. The short lives they raced through, chasing something, were astonishing in their own way.
I learned to drink coffee—bitter, scalding, awakening the senses. I learned to feel fatigue after a long day, hunger before a meal, satisfaction from simple food. The human body was a remarkable instrument for perceiving the world. Every touch, every scent, every sound was processed differently—not as absolute knowledge, but as experience.
In those weeks, I encountered seven sinners deserving of divine judgment. A drug dealer selling poison to children. A domestic abuser who beat his wife to death. A corrupt cop who stole the last savings of the elderly. Each I judged by their choices, each I sent to answer for their actions.
But today, something different happened.
I sat in a small café in Santa Monica, watching an old man who bought two coffees every morning—one for himself, another for a homeless veteran sitting by the entrance. A simple act of kindness, repeated daily without witnesses, without gratitude, just because it was right.
Human kindness struck me more than their cruelty. Evil was predictable—selfishness, greed, fear turned people into monsters. But goodness? Goodness arose without reason, defying logic, against all odds. A mother worked three jobs for her children. A teacher spent personal money on textbooks. A stranger stopped to help change a tire.
At a table across from me sat a girl reading a comic. Pale skin, black hair, dressed all in black. Something about her appearance felt familiar, but I couldn't place it. She looked up from the pages and smiled at me—a light, friendly smile.
"Hey, Mikey," she said with a slight smirk, slipping a bookmark between the pages. "Long time no see."
I recognized her voice instantly, though millennia had passed since our last meeting. Death of the Endless. She looked as youthful as ever, though she was older than most galaxies.
"Didi," I nodded with a faint smile. "You look… unexpectedly lively for the embodiment of the end of all things."
She laughed—that same melodic laugh I remembered from the cosmic dawn, when we occasionally met at the edges of realities. Back then, I created worlds, and she… concluded the stories of those who inhabited them.
"Very funny," she stood and approached my table, sitting without asking permission. "Mind if I join? Or are you too busy pretending to be human?"
"Sit." I leaned back in my chair, watching her settle across from me. "What are you reading?"
She showed me the comic—its cover featured her, though in a darker rendition by the artist.
"People get pretty creative with how they depict me," she said with a smirk. "Though this author captured my essence pretty well. Even if they added a bit too much goth flair."
"I remember when you were less… theatrical."
"And I remember when you didn't leave the Silver City without Daddy's permission," she countered, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Speaking of, what's this about? Archangel Michael, Hand of God, Warrior of Light, suddenly decides to stroll Earth in human form?"
I shrugged, sipping my coffee.
"Lucifer left Hell. Thought I'd see what draws him to this world."
"Mmm," Didi tilted her head, studying me. "And? Liking being mortal?"
"Not mortal. Just… free."
"Ah," her eyes lit with understanding. "So that's it. The golden cage finally got too cramped?"
"Something like that."
Didi ordered a hot chocolate from the approaching waitress and turned back to me.
"You know, I always thought you, of all the Archangels, would be the first to grasp what true choice means. Gabriel's too loyal, Raphael's too soft, and Uriel… well, he's just obsessed with justice. The others are different. But you? You always asked questions."
"Not enough to follow Lucifer."
"No, you chose your own path." She leaned back as her order arrived. "Which is far more interesting than rebellion. Rebellion's still a reaction to the system. You? You just… left."
I looked out the window, watching people hurry about their lives.
"Are you keeping tabs on me?"
"God, no," Didi snorted. "I've got enough on my plate. Someone dies every second, and I have to be there. Just… sometimes our paths cross. Especially when one of your charges is ready to meet me."
"I'm curious what you think about what I'm doing here."
"Judging sinners? Sending souls to the Higher Court?" Didi shrugged. "Honestly, a bit old-school. Though I get the urge to bring order to chaos."
"Old-school?" I raised an eyebrow. "It's justice."
"Mikey, honey," she leaned across the table, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I deal with humans every day. Every hour, every minute. And you know what? Justice to them doesn't look like justice to us."
She sipped her hot chocolate and glanced out the window, where an elderly woman helped a young mother with a stroller climb some steps.
"See her?" Didi nodded toward the old woman. "Martha Williams, seventy-four. Stole a loaf of bread from a store yesterday. First time she ever stole. By your standards—sin, right?"
I looked at the woman closer, letting my perception delve deeper into her story. Her soul. A sick grandson. Medicine ate up her entire pension. A choice between bread and asthma pills for the boy.
"I wouldn't judge her," I said quietly, looking away. "Motives matter."
"Exactly. And what about Carlos? That guy from the alley three weeks ago?"
I was surprised. No one should've known about that incident.
"How do you…?"
"Mikey, I told you—I meet everyone. Including Carlos Mendez, seventeen." Didi twirled her spoon in the chocolate. "Know what was interesting about his final thoughts?"
I stayed silent, waiting. She scooped some chocolate, licked the spoon's edge, set it down, and stared into her cup.
"He was thinking about his little sister. About how no one would protect her from their alcoholic stepfather now. About how the money from that briefcase could've gotten the family out of the slums." She looked up at me. "He was a shitty person, Mikey. But not a monster. Just a kid making awful choices in awful circumstances."
"He killed an innocent."
"Yes, he did." Didi nodded. "And deserved consequences. But instant annihilation? Sent to the Higher Court without a chance for redemption?"
She stood and walked to the window, watching the people outside. Everything froze. The world stilled when she willed it.
"Know the difference between us and them?" she continued, not turning. "They have time. Time to learn, time to change, time to fix mistakes. Carlos could've spent twenty years in prison, realized what he'd done, gotten out, and become an advocate for kids against abuse. I've seen such transformations."
"Or he could've killed a dozen more innocents."
"Could have." Didi returned to the table. "But isn't that the point of free choice? The chance to mess up and learn?"
I stared into my cup for a long time, mulling over her words. In the Silver City, everything was clear—good and evil, right and wrong. Here, every situation was cloaked in layers of gray. Too unclear.
"You think I'm wrong?"
"I think you're applying heavenly standards to earthly problems," Didi said softly. "It's like… using a hammer where a scalpel's needed."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"What if, instead of judging, you… guided?" Her voice sparked with enthusiasm. "You have power, knowledge, the ability to see people's souls. What if you used that to help them make better choices?"
"Turn into a guardian angel?"
"Turn into a teacher," she corrected. "One who shows the way, not one who punishes for wrong turns."
We sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in thought. Time resumed its flow. Outside, the city's life continued—people hurried, fell in love, argued, reconciled, made thousands of choices, big and small.
"Tell me about Lucifer," Didi said suddenly. "Is he also finding new ways to interact with humans?"
"He runs a nightclub," I replied with a slight smirk. "Called Lux. Helps people get what they desire most."
"Sounds very Lucifer-ish." Didi smiled. "And you? What do you desire most?"
The question caught me off guard. What did I desire? I'd never really thought about desires. Duty, service, justice—yes. But desires?
"Understanding choice," I said finally. "I want to understand what makes humans so… complex. How they can be cruel and kind, selfish and selfless at the same time."
"And?"
I looked at her—Death, one of the Endless, embodiment of the end of all things, sitting in a café drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows. In her eyes was ancient wisdom, but also something remarkably alive.
"Purpose," I admitted. "For millions of years, I followed orders. Now, for the first time, I'm doing what I think is right. And it's… intoxicating."
"Good," Didi nodded approvingly. "The high of freedom is a healthy feeling. Just don't let it turn into arrogance."
"Like Lucifer?"
"Lucifer had a different problem. He thought himself better than the system he was part of. You just want to find your place in it."
Didi finished her chocolate and leaned back in her chair.
"Listen, how about an experiment?" she proposed, eyes gleaming. "I'll show you a case that usually ends badly, and you try to change the outcome—not with judgment, but… what did you call it… guidance?"
"What case?"
"Young woman. Twenty-six. Terminal cancer. A few days left." Didi leaned forward. "She's planning to rob a bank tomorrow morning. Wants to leave something for her family after she's gone."
"And you want me to stop her?"
"I want you to help her find a better path." Didi's voice held a challenge. "No threats, no judgments, no sending souls anywhere. Just… help her make the right choice."
I looked at her for a long time, weighing the proposal. It was a risk—abandoning a familiar, proven method for something unknown. But wasn't that why I left the Silver City?
"Alright," I said finally. "Let's try."
Didi broke into a smile—bright, genuine, full of life despite who she was.
"Awesome! Then meet me tomorrow at seven a.m. at the First National Bank on Wilshire." She stood, leaving money for her chocolate on the table. "And Mikey?"
"Yeah?"
"Remember—sometimes helping someone doesn't mean saving their life, but helping them live it with dignity."
She headed for the exit but stopped at the door.
"By the way, your brother's changed since he came down here. Gotten more… human. Maybe you should let this world change you too, not just try to change it."
With that, she vanished, melting into the crowd of passersby, leaving behind only a faint scent of autumn leaves and silence.
I sat in the café for another hour, pondering her words. Tomorrow awaited a new experiment—trying to save a soul not through judgment, but understanding. For the first time in my time in Los Angeles, I felt something more than mere curiosity.
I felt hope.
***