The man woke up the little girl in her bedroom. He placed a cold hand on her shoulder and commanded her to wake up in a deep voice.
It worked. The girl sat up from the bed and turned her head to him. The blonde hair obscured her face. A face would not recognize now. A face that could not have been older than twelve.
"What's going on, daddy?" she asked in a confused, juvenile voice.
"Come." He shifted his hand from her shoulder to her hand, which she gripped. "Let's go outside."
The girl stood from her bed. He picked her up and carried her out of the house. Out of the bedroom, through the hallway, down the stairs – mind the kerosene on the side and don't step in it. It is already sufficiently spread out, no need to spread it out even further by walking into it.
He looked aside. His eyes fell on an old clock that survived the Great Disaster. It had been in the woman's family for generations. She was rather fond of this clock, which indicated it was approximately midnight. Time ticked away, one second at a time, each of its ticks deafening. But he turned his head away.
He carried the girl into the night. The world was asleep, the street lights provided the only light. There was no traffic at this hour; there never was. This was the world just as he liked it to be at this moment.
The man only placed the girl on the sidewalk behind the white picket fence. She looked at him. He firmly placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Do not come any closer," he told her. She nodded once and he turned his back on her again.
He took a lighter from his pocket and approached the house again. He stopped where he had finished his line of kerosene so he would not have to enter the house again.
With one flick, a flame sprang from the lighter. Castiel dropped the lighter and its open flame on the kerosene. He did not watch the flames race to the house or how they engulfed the house. He only turned to watch the spectacle at five yards' distance from the picket fence. It was a terrible, magnificent sight to behold, to see the flames consume the house – but he did not feel anything. This meant nothing to him, though it was the start of his new life.
Crowds gathered behind him; they respected the boundaries and stayed with the girl behind the fence. And they were loud; they were shocked, tumultuous and did not shut up. And one voice was louder than the rest: the girl, shouted for her daddy to stop and for her mommy to come out. The mother was in the house.
The man did not care – the girl's mother did not carry the gene, while her daughter did. His actions were justified. The woman needn't be saved, but the girl could grow into something great in the future.
Jimmy Novak would have cared. Jimmy Novak would never even think of setting his house on fire. But Jimmy Novak was gone and Castiel cared only for his newfound family; for the superior kind on this planet; for the angels he called his brothers and sisters.
Two men stood closer than the others and watched the scene from the sidelines. They could not have been more different. The older man, Zachariah, sported wrinkles, gray hair and watched in awe. The other was Michael; a younger, more handsome dark-skinned man who was delighted at the sight. Though they stood near Castiel, neither the people nor Castiel himself noticed the newcomers. Nobody could see them, for they merely visited one of Castiel's earliest memories.
"He actually did it," Zachariah said.
"You should know better than to doubt your recruits, Zachariah," Michael responded and he turned his head to his follower. A curious frown appeared on his face.
"Is this making you anxious?" Michael asked. Zachariah shook his head.
"Not at all!" Zachariah said. "When I tell my recruits to cut ties with their past, they usually burn their own physical possessions. I didn't think Castiel would burn his entire house." With his former wife inside, he thought. Zachariah did not say this out loud – it may give Michael the idea that Zachariah was sympathetic towards the woman, which he wasn't. He just believed it was astonishing Castiel would actually dispose of his former spouse, unlike other recruits.
"How long has he been in the garrison?" Michael wondered, his eyes still on the loyal soldier.
"Approximately one year," Zachariah said truthfully.
"One year," Michael repeated slowly, his mind mulling over the scene. A smile appeared on his face. "I made up my mind. He will be our inside man."
Zachariah's eyes widened and he opened his mouth in a gasp. Castiel indeed was loyal, yes. But could this angel carry out the mission?
"Don't you want anyone else?" Zachariah asked with the utmost respect and deep fear for his superior. "This one's barely developed any skills. He can only heal!"
"We need a young angel. We need a loyal angel." Michael turned his gaze to the burning building. "We need someone who will be strong enough not to break while residing with the resistance. We need him."
Zachariah nodded submissively. "Of course."
The memory had not changed during the interaction – Castiel stared at the building, the girl screamed for attention and the onlookers did not dare to intervene.
"Take us back," Michael said, bored by the sameness of the memory. Zachariah nodded again. The world around them shifted; darkness became brighter and a house on the edge of the city turned into a clean, white environment. The one thing in Michael's office that wasn't white was the oak desk and its matching chair. Two chairs facing the desk were white, and Castiel sat on one of them, unconscious for now. Michael and Zachariah were standing in front of the young angel.
When Michael and Zachariah were back in the real world, Castiel woke and remained seated n the chair, his eyes on his two superiors. Zachariah had folded his arms and stared at the soldier while Michael smiled.
"Congratulations," Michael said, "You are going to infiltrate the resistance."
Welcome and thank you for checking this out. Couple of things you need to know: this will be updated weekly on Wednesdays, I highly appreciate all feedback, and if something's unclear at the moment, it will be explained in due time. Don't be afraid to let me know what you think of this. Again, thanks for reading and have a good day.
-Writer207