It's the government. Fuck.

"Hello, Master Sergeant," says the pleasant voice on the other end, and Aden's blood runs cold. He goes numb; Tommy, who can see his face pale, feels fear boiling up from inside her. She's never seen that face, not even when he's really mad.

"Not interested," Aden says, but doesn't hang up. Part of him needs to know why they're calling, what horror they want him to commit this time.

"I'm sure you aren't," the voice says. "But we need you."

"You people have hundreds of men and women just like me. Call them."

There's a cool chuckle, and the voice corrects him. "We have barely a half-dozen men and women like you, Master Sergeant. And this particular job requires a certain kind of touch."

"No. I'm hanging up now."

"That would be a sad mistake in judgement." The voice becomes reasonable, friendly. "It's nothing you haven't done willingly in the past."

"So you tell me." Aden sees the panicked look on Tommy's face, tries to smile. He can't pull it off. "What are you calling yourself this time?" he asks, more out of habit than actual interest.

"Azrael." The voice seems pleased with himself. "The arch-angel in charge of ****. Fitting, I think."

"You're a sick and twisted bastard, and I seriously hope one of these days I'll be there to see you pay for all the horrible shit you've done."

"I sincerely hope that never happens, Master Sergeant." Azrael sounds amused. "If there's justice being handed out, the person pulling the trigger will be just as guilty as the person who gave the orders."

"Hang up, Nicki," Tommy pleads, quietly.

"I've sent your secure email a file. I suggest you read it, Master Sergeant. If you don't, people you care about from before your accident will pay for it." Azrael hangs up before Aden can say anything else. The look on Tommy's face is pure terror.