I stood in a disused locker room with a combat team led by Michael, twenty Angels strong. The locker room connected to a gym, which connected to the main corridor. We waited for either the gunshots to start, to get spotted, or the lights to go out. My heart pounded in my chest. I wasn’t born a warrior. All I wanted was to survive, and somehow, I had ended up with a gun in my hand. I wanted to separate my emotions from the act of taking another man’s life, but I didn’t know if that was possible. I realized, not for the first time, that it could all end right here. I might never live to see Ragnarok Crater. I looked at Michael, whose gaze had homed in on the corridor across from the gym. He was the only person looking outside the dingy locker room, waiting. When it was go time, he’d raise his hand, and the killing would begin. A gunshot sounded, distant. One second passed. Two. The lights dimmed. Two seconds more, then darkness. Spots flared in my vision. “Go,” Michael whispered.
