The mist was rolling in, smothering the city in it's candy cotton blanket. The city lights were becoming more translucent as the cloud covered them, making them seem otherworldly rather than the cold and harsh reality that they were.
      Somewhere a siren was going. Perhaps it was the local constabulary being called to another domestic situation where two frustrated lovers were facing off over some irrelevant and trivial matter, armed with kitchen knives and blood-stained hammers. Perhaps it was a meat-wagon being called out to yet another sullen and lost soul who cold find no direction in his meaningless life. Whatever it was, the city stood, ignorant of the loves and wars which made it hum and sing.
      A pigeon interrupted Revell's thoughts. It was cold, miserable and thoroughly lost, confused by the darkness and fuzziness of the fog in the night's air. The angel pointed downward with one long fingernail, and the bird cooed it's appreciation as it dove in the indicated direction. It had desperately needed food for it's young and mate, and the instincts that were inbred into the simple being drove it back to it's home.
      A screech of terror and agony suddenly rent the air, ending as quickly as it started as the a vian became yet another statistic in the struggle of life. Revell looked down at the few feathers that drifted through the fog, blood quickly congealing on the stems. They would probably land unnoticed on the steps of the Church of the Latter Day Saints upon which he was perched.
      Minutes later he was joined by a battle-scarred cat, calmly licking the last of the blood off it's muzzle. It had been a very good night. The pigeon was just enough to fill him completely, despite the fact that the meal's mate and young were also inside his very full tummy. It had been many nights since this city cat had such a feast, with no others scrambling to take it off him.
      The contented feline rubbed itself against the stranger's legs, enticing the familiar visitor to offer comfort, warmth and petting. Revell absently picked up the cat, and started scratching it behind the chewed ears, eliciting loud purrs and the sting of claws as the cat leaned into the darkened hand.
      Revell stood there for a few moments, listening and watching with his other Senses. The cat felt a brief moment of panic, as the stranger suddenly dropped the seventy five feet to land quietly and smoothly on the church steps and move quickly away, the passage sending the lonely feathers back into the air, to settle again unnoticed.
      The angel stopped a few moments later and peered through the barred window of a late night liquor store, watching as the dregs of society negotiated with the owner for their medication which would allow deep and dreamless sleep to overtake their shallow and dirty lives. The bright fluorescent lights garishly lit the corner drug dealer, as he tried to extort sexual favours from two young girls, pale and shaking from the effects of their addiction. Beside them were more winos, leering at the flesh which excited and aroused them because of their inability to garner sex themselves.
      Across the street, a small crowd jeered as a prostitute was beaten by her pimp for not paying her protection dues, and car were parked, their hazard lights blinking as lonely men bargained with experienced professionals for some small measure of comfort, and physical activity.
      Another car made it's way slowly down the street, it's headlights out and street lights reflecting off the tinted windows. The girls aligning the way beckoned the car with signs and flashes of stretched and scarred flesh, wanting with all their empty hearts for it to stop an choose them.
      A moment later, it stopped at the corner, where the small Hispanic drug dealer had finished his dealing and was about to lead the two children to a private place where he would fill them with chemical ecstasy and have his own degraded way with them. The back window slowly wound down, and an angry face with bulging eyes stared at him, the shape indicated that it was probably a Korean and no more than 14 years old.
      The pusher looked over to the vehicle, while his hands were already roughly pushing their way down and past lacy underwear to reach the soft and private domains of his prey. His eyes suddenly widened and his blood went cold. He struggled to free his probing hands as the young Korean calmly pointed an assault rifle in his direction and depressed the trigger.
      Molten lead, screams of terror, and blood filled the air as the gun went off. There was a screeching of tyres as before the magazine had been emptied, the black BMW sped away from the scene.
      At the thunder of automatic fire, the cat scratched and clawed its way to freedom, opening a large gash in the side of Revell's face, as it struggled to reach a small hidden hole out of range of the noise and death which flew through the air. The pain from that was inconsequential compared to the large holes in his shoulder and leg. He surveyed the carnage while the wounds closed up and the clothing was rewoven.
      The two girls were dead, killed instantly by the hail of bullets. The pusher was lying in a large pool of blood and brains, clutching his stomach which was also bleeding profusely. The leering winos would leer and wine no more, missing, as they were, the orifices by which they performed those actions.
      Blood and whisky dripped down the walls as more lead had found targets of cash registers and liquor store owners. Bodies lay squirming on the blood covered floor squealing like the stuck pigs they were. More casualties in a mindless war.
      Like most of men's wars, this was not over food nor mates. This skirmish was over territory and greed. The Koreans wanted that corner to push their own products of death, and the Hispanic had usurped their claim to the same corner. In cities all over the Western world, fights like this occurred, but it was no less brutal, here in the City of Angels.
      An instant later, Revell was in the sky, soaring over the city streets scanning for the car that now sped away from their executions. He spied it a moment later, turning onto the freeway. He listened as the bitter punks argued amongst themselves while congratulating each other on a kill well done. They were wondering what their boss would think, for they had used their own initiative to remove a thorn in their side. The Hispanics had been muscling in on their turf for some time, and there had been talk of examples. The kids, strung out on cocaine and heroin, hoped to score points with their leader.
      Revell followed the car as it turned off the freeway, silent and invisible above them, as the punks prepared for the upcoming meeting with their employer, and excitedly retelling the scene of bloodshed they had left behind, blam, the pusher was dead. It was fun, it was easy.
      Revell was familiar with this gang, come triad. He had been there when the Council of Seven had participated in the dark rites which entreated certain entities to empower and aid them. But there was a price for this aid. Service were required, and now it was time to pay. The triad had risen, with help, to a position of power within the underworld, respected by other large organisation and feared by smaller ones.
      The car finally drove down a deserted street stopped in outside a large warehouse, and the driver tooted the horn. Revell settled down on the roof and waited, while the car's occupants were checked. When the guards were satisfied with the identities, the roller doors squealed up and the assassins drove in.
      The young boys were quickly escorted from their car, through the stacks of containers, up to the leader's sanctum on the mezzanine floor above the main distribution centre. They were relieved of their armaments and were shown into the presence Sing Po, Council Leader of the Black Wing Triad.
      Po watched the nervous group enter his domain, while he finished his conversation with the precinct sergeant. He listened as the police officer informed him of the incident that had occurred earlier. The Black Wing Leader rapped out orders in Mandarin and promised payments for services rendered, greasing the already slippery wheels of corruption.
      The leader placed the ivory receiver back on his hook and coldly inspected the four sweating youths before him. He was about to give his bodyguards the signal to eliminate these trouble makers, when a bright golden light appeared floating in the middle of the ornate chamber.
      Po's eyebrows creased in irritation at this interruption, and was about to speak, when the light exploded, blinding all. Moments later, a sweet voice was heard.
      "Gentlemen, I have a proposition for you."
      An hour later, Revell soared through the air, satisfied with the negotiations and certain that life on the streets would never be the same again.