There's got to be more to life than this. A phrase thrown around a lot by mortal folks. Never used by those who dwell in the heavens—home of the privileged, the pure, and the just. In his long life, Mike, one of the archangels of God, had never used this phrase... until now.

There's got to be more to life than this. There had to be more to life than this. More than being an angel, an archangel, and a child of God. For the first time he had questioned his existence, his position, and even his faith. He felt lost. This was unbecoming of an angel. What he was doing now—seeing his disowned brother, interacting with mortals, engaging a relationship with a mortal—was a transgression against Heaven and its angels. If the Council found out about his deeds, he knew that he would have to stand trial. So many thoughts. So much conflict.

His conflicting thoughts kept Mike distracted enough that he walked onto the crosswalk.

"LOOK OUT!" A voice snapped him out of it.

He glanced up and jumped back in time as the car barely clipped him. The car honked at the archangel, the driver wasn't too friendly.

"You know that can't technically hurt me, right?" he informed his girlfriend, Malaika Katan, or known as Ms. Kat to her kindergarten students.

"Well it doesn't mean that you should try to get run over," Ms. Kat corrected him.

The two then carried on once the crosswalk light flashed go. They were on their way to the elementary school where a Muslim cultural expo was being held. Ms. Kat carried a tray full of delicious light tan, cubic treats, all neatly wrapped under a plastic sheet. "I can't thank you enough for your help, Mike."

"It's no trouble at all." Mike replied. He carried in his hands a large crock pot filled with some sort of liquid. The contents inside sloshed around each step and the steam fogged up the glass cover. "So what exactly do you have in your hands?"

"It's called basbousa. A tasty treat from my culture. My mother would always bake these, and my siblings and I would always gobble them up as fast as we could."

"And I've got...?"

"Just some vegetable and beef stew. Nothing too special."

"Man, what'd I would give to have a cheeseburger with bacon slapped on top."

"That does sound so good. Too bad I can't have the bacon."

"Oh, because of your culture?"

"An allergy, actually," she corrected him again, which she seemed to enjoy so much. Mike didn't mind being corrected by her.

At last the couple had arrived at the front doors of Brimstone Elementary. Mike quickly grabbed the handle, balancing the pot with his other hand and body. The door was open for his lady. Ms. Kat smiled, proceeding inside as the archangel followed. Quite the gentleman, she thought to her self.

Mike and Malaika made their way into the gymnasium, where the expo was being held. Malaika had a helping hand in preparations with the nearby mosque. It was a chance for the local people to get a good experience of Muslim culture through their art, fashion, and food. But most importantly, to her, it was a way to educate people, to help understand that not all Muslims are terrorists. They too are like any other family trying to make a living.

All her life, since her parents moved across the world to settle in America, Ms. Kat and her people had been in the crosshairs of judgement and ridicule. She has met good people and made many friends, but there were always those who despised her because of her culture. Yet she refused to let the mocking from others stop her from achieving peace and friendship, one of the reasons she wanted to become a school teacher in the first place. 

The doors to the gymnasium were ajar. Upon entering, the couples happy expressions turned to utter shock. "Oh no!" Ms. Kat muttered sadly.

The expo, the gymnasium, was trashed. Tables knocked over, banners ripped, and racial slurs spray painted over the walls. Some people that were suppose to help run the expo were instead trying to clean up what was left of it. This was a mess. Hard work was reduced to wreckage.

A short, bearded man dressed in black approached the couple. His greeted them with grave sadness. "Pir Abdullah," Ms. Kat spoke to him. "What happened?"

"Ah Sister Malaika, it's terrible." said the spiritual leader, "Vandals broke in last night and did all this. Everything is ruined."

Mike tried to reassured them. "This isn't too bad. We can fix this."

"I don't think so, stranger." the disheartened Pir replied. "I'm afraid we'll have to cancel the expo."

"We can't, we just can't." Malaika pleaded. "This is a chance to show everyone that not every Muslim is some extremist terrorist. That we are a people who seek love and peace just as every person. We must take a stand against oppression, so that others who have been persecuted in some manner can take a stand too. This is how one achieves peace and acceptance."

The members all looked to Ms. Kat as she gave her grand speech. It was brief, but it was enough to touch their spirits, even Michael's too. An enlightened smile formulated around his lips the more he looked upon the woman he developed feelings for.

Even the Pir smiled from her words, "A noble thought, my dear." But the smile faded. "But with the expo suppose to open in half an hour, there just isn't enough time to clean and prepare. It would take a miracle."

A miracle, he said. Mike knew he had the power to grant such a miracle. But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't. It was not allowed, not in the presence of mortals. The Council forbade it after such miracles led to so many holy wars against their species. 

But then he thought, screw it.

There was a great flash of light in the gymnasium. Ms. Kat, the Pir, and the other Muslims watched in dazzle as the archangel disappeared into a streak of gold lightning. The streak spun around in the air like an electric funnel before blasting around the gymnasium.

Wherever the streak zipped it managed to clean up all vandalism inside. The streak flew through the knocked tables and stood them back up. Food trays and educational posters were then placed on top of the tables by the speeding ball of lightning. It then whipped by the torn banners and hung them high, restitching the lettering too. The insensitive graffiti was scrubbed right off as if it was never there. The music instruments and activities for children were placed on the other end of the gymnasium.

Everyone inside gasped of how their expo was quickly being set up by this magical, moving ball of light. Finally finished, the lightning ball impacted into the polished floor and the archangel appeared.

Mike smirked to the crowd. "How's that for a miracle?" 

The members of the expo all cheered. Their expo was back on track. Pir Abdullah graciously thanked Mike and shook his hand wild with excitement. Ms. Kat approached her angelic boyfriend, planting a small, warm kiss on his cheek. 

Everything was ready now.

The expo was open. There was a large gathering of people from all over Brimstone. They were people of many races and faiths that all had come to explore a new culture. There were friends and there were strangers, and they all have come together in one location.

The local news channel interviewed Pir Abdullah, which he was more than happy to answer their questions and explain the decor. Ms. Kat and Mike welcomed everybody that walked through the main doors. They welcomed families of all sizes and customs. Mike then noticed that his step-niece, Rosemary Gravely, entered the expo with her diverse group of friends: the young rich heiress Krystal; the African American daughter of a same-sex couple Kayleigh; the devoted Christian Joshua; the silent but expressive Ashley; and even the young imp from the Inferno Dominic. They were all warmly greeted by both Ms. Kat and Mike. The children's mouths gaped in awe to the wonder and amazement that was set up. They all hurried off to try the different food and activities of the Muslim cultures.

As the cultural expo continued, Ms. Kat's hand slipped into Mike's. Mike gently wrapped his fingers around hers, to which both adults smiled and blushed at one another. 

Mike felt he was a peace with himself for once. Yet he knows that the Council will likely have a word with him about his actions. And what about Malaika? He knew that there was so much he wanted to tell her but he knew he couldn't. He can't. Not now. Not at this moment. She was happy, and that's all that mattered to him.

Let the Council chew him out, he thought to himself. What could they really do to him? Tried for exposure? Most likely. Punished? Probably. He knows what he'll say and what he'll have to do when that time came. But for now, who cares. He didn't. Right now he had found something—or found someone—more to this life.

Waited. Expectations made me hold out. Oh, I had my orgies. Been part of a trio. Dated.

Marriage, however, that was sacred. The dime-a-dozen came and went. No harm, no foul; we were all consenting adults. It all became annoying after a time, what with emotions being involved, but most got over it and moved on. For those that didn't, c'est la vie.

Until I met the right soul, the right heart, the right mind with the right strength. We melded. The universe ceased to exist. We became the universe. It was perfect-We were perfect. 

Until an unhappy in-law placed a wedge between us. A nineteen year old relationship came to a tragic end.

Now-the sun shines, but doesn't warm. The moon rises, but all is shadow. All else is shallow. There's got to be more to life than this...

What a fool he was, wishing there was something only he could do. This dream turned nightmare had outfit him with handlers, bullet resistant equipment, and “Oversight.” They had preyed upon his infantile belief, “there’s got to be more to life than this.” At first, he was excited by answers.

He had no idea how painful those “answers” would be.

Ears ringing, he dragged himself to hands and knees. Cement dust spilled from him like water from falls. Chunks of the same landed about him like hail. Alone for the first time in months, he witnessed it all without consciously appreciating his momentary solitude.

He was so heavy.

Pattering in staccato echoed through the ringing in his ears. Vague relief bled through before he recognized the sound. The fight continued. Some survived. That was enough.

Was he enough?

Shuddering breath sucked in soot, dust, and death. He was only used to one of those scents. The other two choked him. Stubbornly, he let himself cough only once before releasing a controlled groan. Bleary eyes lifted from his debris covered, concrete “bed.” His gaze swept through this building’s craterous holes.

Naptime was over.

Shapes darted to and fro in the sky above him. Light from the setting sun lit the concrete dust still hanging in the air. Barely registered shadows whirled about the shapes as they spat sparks and fire. Three came into view, floating in formation. Pristine orchestration dropped blurs from shapes, blurs that erupted light behind them. The ringing in his ears could not subdue the faint roar after roar after roar.

Briefly, his concrete “Bed” shook.

Trembling hands met unsteady knees. Distant, painful protests lifted up in a biological choir of anger. But, he ignored his body’s complaints. He had a job to do. There was something only he could do! Uncle Sam had given him purpose. It had only cost him…

“...-port, damnit!” crackled a voice in his ear, screaming over the ringing.

Dragging his hateful, dusty grey body to stand, he closed his eyes and tensed up. Years of intensive, micro-muscular training hit surgically implanted sensors. Internal systems rebooted. Protocols appeared across ocular “anchors,” and transformed into a HUD. Carefully trained micro-movements of his eyes took in the last laser scan of the terrain. There was a twelve second delay, but he could see the office building he’d wrecked on the minimap.

“Brave 7, checking in,” he groaned.

“Sweet Jesus,” his handler sighed in relief over the radio, “Seven, what the--”

“EMP,” he groaned, reaching up.

His hand went through a hole in his helmet, and touched the side of his reinforced skull. Pulling bloodied fingers into view, he appraised the green goo on his fingertips as it quickly evaporated in tiny green flames. Of course, the ocular nano-camera implants had caught the image, as well.

“Seven?” his handler asked in a warning tone of concern.

“A really close EMP,” he said as he removed his useless helmet.

It was only camouflage that let him fit in with other grunts, anyway. Boots on the ground needed protective gear. At this point, it would be silly to simply say he had a “hard head.” Then again, there was a lot about him that was pretty silly in comparison to things. For example, when asked “how are you?” his answer could be pretty specific.

“How--?”

“Your fifty-billion dollar man is fine,” he interrupted, reading over his internal diagnostics, “Besides, this is a live fire test, right? It wouldn’t be a real operation in the field if everything didn’t go wrong.”

“Soldier,” his handler growled.

Suddenly, the bionic warrior nearly tore his body armor from his chest. With blinding speed, yet infinite care, he retrieved a photo from his pockets. It was the only thing on him with any real value to him. A bullet hole had replaced the smiling face he’d memorized. The proof he had that he was still human was warped and twisted by that hole. The familiar scene of a summer at Lake Hefner was indistinguishable from the hell he had woken up in.

His handler said nothing.

With his hearing clearing up, there were voices deep in the background of the radio. He made out the word “Contraband.” Slowly, he crumpled the ruins of the old photograph. His eyes closed. But, he couldn’t shut out the battle. He had live data broadcast into his eyes.

“You fat cats want to see the difference between me and drones?” he snapped.

Data was summoned by dozens of microscopic eye motions and tugging of specially trained muscles. Trajectories, weapon locks, projections, and more flooded his HUD. Chemically enhanced muscles had limiters removed. A binary broadcast was sent through an encrypted channel, giving the flight of drones an order to pull back.  Stubbornly, he held onto a belief.  There is more to life, so very much more. 

He was protecting it.

“Don’t blink,” he growled, twelve seconds before he abruptly, monstrously ended the battle.