Gods Special Angels
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Gods Special Angles

Angel Reform School

God's Special Angels

Episode 1, Scene 1: The Awakening - Lost Memories

The desert sun cast long shadows across the bustling sidewalks of downtown Tucson as two young women made their way through the familiar rhythm of the city. Hope, her dark hair catching the golden light, walked alongside her best friend Abbie, their easy laughter blending with the ambient sounds of urban life. At twenty-one, both women embodied the carefree spirit of youth—Hope's petite frame and athletic build moving with natural grace, while Abbie's pale complexion provided a striking contrast to her friend's warm, light brown skin.

They wore the uniform of their generation: short shorts and cropped tank tops, perfectly suited to Arizona's dry heat. To any observer, they appeared to be just another pair of college-aged friends enjoying the low humidity and endless sunshine of the desert Southwest. But beneath this normalcy lay a troubling void—neither could remember anything beyond this moment, this street, this friendship that felt as natural as breathing yet remained mysteriously undefined.

"Hope," Abbie said, her green eyes reflecting a confusion she couldn't quite articulate, "doesn't it feel like we're missing something? Like there should be more to remember?"

Hope paused, her brown eyes searching her friend's face. "I... I don't know. It's strange, isn't it? We know each other, but I can't remember how we met, or—"

Her words were cut short as the air before them began to shimmer and distort. A swirling vortex of iridescent light materialized from nothing, its edges crackling with otherworldly energy. The colorful maelstrom expanded rapidly, creating a powerful suction that neither young woman could resist.

"Hope!" Abbie screamed, reaching for her friend as the portal's force pulled them forward.

The other pedestrians continued their conversations, checked their phones, and went about their business as if nothing had happened. Within seconds, the vortex disappeared, leaving no trace of the two women who had been walking there moments before.

Hope's consciousness returned slowly, like emerging from deep water. She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus on unfamiliar surroundings. The room was generic—a standard hotel room with neutral beige walls, mass-produced artwork, and the faint scent of industrial cleaning products.

"What the hell?" Abbie's voice came from the adjacent bed, groggy and disoriented. She sat up, her medium brown hair disheveled, staring around the room with growing alarm. "Where are we? How did we get here? And why am I wearing pajamas I've never seen before?"

Hope looked down at herself, finding she too was dressed in unfamiliar sleepwear. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the rough carpet. "I have no idea. This is..." She gestured helplessly at the room. "This isn't where we were."

Walking to the dresser, Hope discovered two complete makeup kits laid out with precision. "Look at this," she called to Abbie. "There are clothes hanging over there too—our sizes, it looks like." She picked up items from the bedside table: a hotel receipt, two electronic key cards, and two pristine white ATM cards. "These have our names on them, but they're from something called 'Angel Bank.' I've never heard of that institution."

Abbie joined her, examining the cards with growing unease. "It's morning now. We must have been unconscious all night. The last thing I remember is that... that thing. That portal that appeared out of nowhere. Do you remember it?"

"I remember walking downtown with you, and then—" Hope touched her temple, as if trying to physically access her memories. "Then waking up here. Everything else is just... gone. Like someone took an eraser to my mind." She looked at Abbie with growing fear. "Do you think we were drugged? Abducted? This feels like something out of a science fiction movie."

Abbie's eyes filled with tears. "I'm scared, Hope. I want to go home, but I can't remember where home is. I can't remember anything except your name and my own."

Hope moved to embrace her friend, feeling the same terror but knowing she needed to be strong. "We're going to figure this out," she said with more confidence than she felt. "First, I'm going to shower and get dressed. Then we'll find breakfast and start looking for answers. These ATM cards might be our only resource right now—I don't have identification, cash, or anything else."

An hour later, both women had applied their makeup with practiced ease—muscle memory, it seemed, transcended whatever had happened to their conscious recollections. They dressed in the mysteriously provided clothes, which fit perfectly, and ventured into the hotel corridor.

An hour later, both women had applied their makeup with practiced ease—muscle memory, it seemed, transcended whatever had happened to their conscious recollections. They dressed in the mysteriously provided clothes, which fit perfectly, and ventured into the hotel corridor.

The first ATM they found displayed a balance of sixty dollars on both cards. When Hope withdrew the full amount, expecting the balance to drop to zero, the screen still showed sixty dollars available.

"Well," Abbie said, staring at the machine in bewilderment, "I guess that's convenient. But it's also impossible."

Hope pocketed the cash, her mind racing. "Add it to the list of impossible things that have happened to us in the last twelve hours. Come on—let's find some coffee and start figuring out what's going on."

As they walked away from the ATM, neither woman noticed the faint golden glow that emanated from the cards in Hope's pocket, or the way their shadows seemed to shimmer slightly in the morning light. They were focused on survival, on finding answers, on making sense of a world that had suddenly become alien and uncertain.

Behind them, the hotel's security camera recorded nothing but an empty hallway.

Episode 1, Scene 2: Stranded in Tucson

As the girls emerged from the alley, they cautiously surveyed their surroundings. The familiar desert landscape and adobe architecture stretched before them under the blazing Arizona sun.

"I think we're still in Tucson," Abbie observed, squinting against the harsh light. "That portal didn't zap us very far."

Hope shook her head, still processing their impossible journey. "I'm just glad we're still on planet Earth." She gestured toward the bustling street ahead. "Let's walk around and see what's going on. Damn, we need phones though. What if we need an Uber or something? Let's grab some cheap phones when we get a chance."

The neighborhood appeared utterly ordinary—nothing to suggest the extraordinary circumstances that had brought them here. They wandered through the streets, taking in the mix of trendy cafes and local businesses that characterized this part of town. The normalcy felt almost surreal after their otherworldly experience.

Outside a small bistro, a young woman sat at a patio table, absorbed in her breakfast while her toddler played nearby. In an instant, everything changed. The little girl, drawn by something across the street, darted toward the busy roadway.

"No!" Abbie screamed, watching in horror as cars bore down on the unsuspecting child.

Without hesitation, Hope sprinted into traffic, her hands raised to stop the oncoming vehicles while Abbie swept the child into her arms. Tires squealed as drivers hit their brakes, horns blaring in the chaos.

As they returned the trembling child to her terrified mother, Hope's adrenaline transformed into anger. "You better keep an eye on your baby, sweetheart, or you're going to lose her," she snapped.

Walking away from the scene, Hope continued venting. "God, that pisses me off. Stupid mother, staring at her breakfast while her baby almost gets run over."

"Hey, take it easy," Abbie said gently. "That could happen to anyone. She should probably get one of those leash things for kids."

After wandering for another hour, they finally spotted a phone store. But as they approached the entrance, a desperate voice called out behind them.

"Babe! Babe! How? What the... How are you here?"

A disheveled young man, clearly homeless, rushed toward them with wild eyes. His clothes were dirty and torn, his hair matted, and the desperate hunger in his gaze made Abbie's skin crawl.

He reached for Abbie, but Hope quickly pulled her friend away. "Back off, fool. I'm short, but I can plant your face in the pavement if I need to. Who the hell are you, and why are you calling Abbie 'babe'?"

"Hope, what's going on?" Abbie stammered. "I don't know this guy." The man's face contorted with confusion and pain. "Abbie? Hope? Who are you trying to fool? Those aren't your names. Don't pretend you don't know me. You took my stuff, sweetheart. Remember? You broke my heart when you left with those dudes. And then... and then... they used you and drugged you and left you in the desert for dead. They told me you were dead. There was a funeral and everything. But here you are. How? Did you fake your death?"

He reached for Abbie again, his movements becoming more frantic. Hope pulled her friend further away as genuine fear crept into Abbie's voice.

"Hey, I don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen you before in my life. So get out of our way and leave us alone."

Before the situation could escalate further, a police officer approached. "Is this man bothering you ladies?"

The homeless man's eyes went wide with panic, and he bolted, disappearing into the crowd.

"Yeah, he kind of was," Hope replied, still shaken.

"You girls got ID?" the officer asked, his tone shifting to routine authority.

"No," Abbie admitted.

"What are your full names?"

"I'm Abbie," she said hesitantly. "Just... Abbie."

The officer's brow furrowed. "So you girls have no last names? Come on. You gotta do better than that."

"I'm sure we have last names," Hope said desperately. "We just can't remember what they are."

The officer's expression hardened, clearly thinking they were playing games. "Okay, we'll figure this out." He pulled out his phone and captured their images. After a few moments, his demeanor changed completely.

"Well, well. Facial recognition says you are Desiree Chen and Malinda Morales. There's no point in lying these days—technology will get you every time."
"I've never heard of those people," Abbie protested. "Can we go?"

The officer's expression grew serious. "Did you really think you could get away with this? No ID, no phones, no wallet. You still have a face, and that's all I need." He turned to Abbie. "You can go, Miss Chen, but I'm afraid I have to keep Miss Morales. Did you forget about your warrants, Malinda? Looks like we have possession of controlled substances, paraphernalia, shoplifting, and soliciting. I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I have to take you in."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hope said, her voice breaking.

"Don't make this difficult, Malinda. Don't resist. Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

Hope complied, tears streaming down her face as the officer secured zip ties around her wrists. Abbie watched in horror as her best friend was led away to a waiting patrol car.

Hours later, Abbie sat in the visitor section of a courtroom, her stomach churning with anxiety. Hope was led before the judge, looking small and vulnerable in the orange jumpsuit that hung loose on her petite frame.

The judge reviewed the paperwork with obvious confusion. "Well, we seem to have a problem here. You say your name is Hope, but you don't have ID and can't remember your last name. Funny thing—your face is a hundred percent match for a Malinda Morales, but unfortunately, Miss Morales died last week. Her body was found abandoned in the desert after some kind of party with drug users. The arrest warrant wasn't updated after the death certificate was issued."

The judge looked up at Hope with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. "So, Hope, if that's really your name, I guess you're free to go. But please, girl, get some ID. Don't pretend you're someone you're not. An ID is required in our world, so go get one. They'll take you back to process your release—should be a few hours. Have a nice day, and sorry for the confusion."

As the sun began to set, Abbie waited anxiously outside the county jail. When Hope finally emerged with a group of released inmates, she looked exhausted but relieved.

"Thank God," Abbie whispered, embracing her friend. "I thought I'd lost you."

They headed toward the bus stop across the street, eager to put distance between themselves and the county jail. But before they could reach the other side, the familiar shimmer of the colorful vortex appeared in the air before them.

"Not again," Hope breathed, but it was too late.

The swirling portal enveloped them, and they vanished from the street. Once again, the few pedestrians nearby continued their conversations and activities as if nothing had happened, their minds unable to process or retain what they had witnessed.

Episode 1, Scene 3: Echoes of Strangers

"Oh God, not again!" Hope's voice cracked as consciousness returned, her eyes opening to yet another unfamiliar hotel room. The morning light filtered through cheap curtains, casting long shadows across generic furniture that seemed to mock their predicament.

Abbie sat up abruptly, her face flushed with indignation. "This is completely messed up. Someone has been undressing us—changing our clothes, even our underwear—while we're unconscious. If anyone has been..." She couldn't finish the thought, her hands trembling as she checked herself over.

Hope forced herself to focus on practical matters, scanning the room with growing relief. "Our belongings are here, at least. And look—" She gestured toward the nightstand where two smartphones sat charging. "We have phones now. iPhones, even."

Despite everything, Abbie couldn't suppress a small smile. "I want the pink one. You can have the red."

"Of course you do, princess," Hope replied, though her teasing carried an undertone of affection that surprised them both.

Hope's attention was drawn to items laid out on the dresser with deliberate care. "There's more here. Purses, wallets..." She opened the leather billfold, examining the identification cards within. "According to these, I'm Hope Morales, and you're Abigail Chen. Whoever chose these names clearly doesn't know us at all—they feel completely foreign."

Abbie was already exploring her new phone, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Hope, look at this. There's a photo of a little girl on my home screen. The name says 'Zara.' This must have belonged to her originally."

"She's in my phone too," Hope confirmed, studying the image of a young woman with dark eyes that seemed to hold too much experience for her apparent age. "I think I'm beginning to understand what's happening to us, though it sounds insane."

"What do you mean?"

Hope considered her words carefully. "Do you remember those old television shows—the ones where someone gets transported or zapped into different situations, and they have to help people solve problems or change their fate?"

Abbie's face went blank. "I don't remember old TV shows. I don't remember much of anything, really. How are you able to recall things like that?"

"I wish I knew." Hope's voice was troubled. "But I suspect we're going to encounter this Zara today. Maybe she can provide some answers. Yesterday was terrifying enough—the idea that we apparently look identical to two deceased women is..." She shuddered.

"Let's not dwell on that," Abbie said quickly. "It's too disturbing to think about."

After showering and dressing, the young women ventured out into a world that felt both foreign and strangely familiar. They discovered their ATM cards still functioned, allowing them to enjoy a substantial breakfast at a nearby Waffle House. The normalcy of the meal felt surreal given their circumstances.

"I'm exhausted from all the walking yesterday," Abbie announced as they finished eating. "The bus system here is free. Should we try that instead?"

"Why not?" Hope shrugged. "We don't have a destination anyway."

They spent the morning as reluctant tourists, riding buses aimlessly through the city. When boredom set in, they disembarked at a shopping center, wandering through Target and Walmart. They purchased better walking shoes, leaving their old ones by the dumpster—a small gesture of hope that someone else might benefit from them.

By afternoon, they found themselves on the west side of town. When hunger struck again, they stopped at a McDonald's, settling into a booth near the window.

"I knew it," Hope said quietly, her voice tense with recognition.

The young woman who entered matched the photo on their phones perfectly, though she looked older than her years. When Zara spotted them, her face lit up with desperate relief, and she rushed to their table.

"Oh my God, I'm so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, sliding into the booth across from them. "You got anything? I have cash."

Hope and Abbie exchanged confused glances. "Have any what?" Abbie asked gently.

Zara's expression shifted from hope to dismay. "Oh, crap. You detoxed, didn't you? So now you're goody-two-shoes 'just say no' types. Damn it. I need something—I'm getting sick, and if I don't come home with product, I'll get beaten."

"Who's going to hurt you, sweetheart?" Hope's voice carried a protective edge that surprised her.

"My old man, obviously. We used to share a couch, remember?" Zara's confusion was evident. "You're acting like you don't know me."

"Who exactly do you think we are?" Abbie asked with genuine compassion.

"Desie and Linda, of course. What kind of question is that?" Zara studied their faces intently. "Oh my God, what's wrong with you two? Did the drugs mess up your memory? I've heard that can happen."

Hope retrieved her phone, pulling up a news article she'd discovered earlier. She turned the screen toward Zara, who went pale as she read the headline about two young women—Desiree and Malinda—found dead in the desert.

"We're not the girls you're looking for," Hope said gently. "We just happen to resemble them."

Zara's face crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks. "They were my friends," she sobbed. "They're really dead? I have to find something. I have to get out of here."

She bolted from the restaurant, running toward a drainage wash and disappearing into a tunnel that passed beneath the roadway.

"Is that it?" Abbie asked. "Do we just let her go?"

"I doubt our involvement ends here," Hope replied grimly. "Let's finish eating and then follow her. I think there's more we need to understand."

They approached the tunnel entrance cautiously, sliding down the embankment with care. As they entered the shadowy space, an elderly Mexican woman who had been sitting against the wall leaped up, screaming "¡Dios mío! ¡Virgen Santísima!" before fleeing in apparent terror.

Zara lay unconscious near the interior wall, while half a dozen other people stared at Hope and Abbie with expressions ranging from indifference to disbelief.

Abbie knelt beside Zara, helping her to her feet. "Come on, honey. We need to talk."

Zara resisted weakly. "I have to get home. He's waiting for me."

"Later," Hope said firmly. "We're not letting you go back just to get hurt again. Come with us for a while. Let's figure out another solution."

"You don't understand!" Zara's voice was desperate. "He's all I have!"

"Then go back if you must," Abbie said softly. "But first, let's find somewhere cool to sit and talk."

They crossed the street to a convenience store, purchasing cold drinks before settling under a tree on the banks of the wash. The shade provided some relief from the afternoon heat.

"Tell us about Desie and Linda," Hope said. "How did you meet them? How did you become friends?"

Zara's voice was barely above a whisper. "I was fifteen. We came here looking for a place to stay, you know? We were living on the streets. My mom, my street mom, was a... working girl. She did what she had to do to survive, and she made the three of us part of the business. I was fifteen; Desie and Linda were seventeen. We were successful back then—we made good money from clients on the east side, not the trailer park crowd from around here."

"So you were prostitutes?" Abbie's voice held no judgment, only sadness.

Zara bristled slightly. "If you have to put it that way. But we weren't street corner trash. We were high-class. We had the best clients—clean, professional. But then we got busted and had to spend time in juvenile detention. Mom got arrested for managing us, so she's doing twenty years. Desie and Linda got involved with older guys when they got out, and so did I. I'm still with him."

Hope leaned forward intently. "Have you ever thought about getting clean? Getting out of this life? You're what, eighteen? It would be possible for you to leave this behind and build something better. This lifestyle is killing you. By the time you're thirty, you'll look sixty, standing on street corners with a sign, dependent on whoever will have you. Is that really what you want?"

Zara's laugh was bitter. "Oh yeah, I've gotten clean several times. But my life with my parents is worse. They wanted to arrange a marriage with some old man. My mother won't speak to me except to tell me how shameful I am. My father wants me dead—literally. You can tell from how I'm dressed," she gestured to her sarong, "that my parents aren't from this country. In the old country, they would call it an honor killing. They would actually kill me. If I married that old man they chose, he'd probably kill me too."

"So your choices are between old men who will kill you and an old man who beats you," Abbie said quietly. "Surely there must be someone else? I can't believe God would only give you those options."

"There is my uncle," Zara admitted reluctantly. "He doesn't follow the old ways, and he's wealthy. But I don't fit in there. His life is so different, so conservative. I get bored to death and run back to what I know. Where I belong."

Hope sighed deeply. "Your mother introduced you to a life of drugs and exploitation when you were just a child, and you imprinted on it—like baby ducks who think the first person they see is their mother. That life, as destructive as it is, has become your normal. But you're not a baby duck. You can reprogram yourself. You can join the rest of the world, where you were meant to be, and thrive as the woman you were born to be. Will you come with us to your uncle's house? If it doesn't work out, we'll bring you back here, and we'll visit you regularly to help keep you safe."

Zara agreed hesitantly, and they made their way to her uncle`s house. He welcomed her with open arms and visible love, as he had many times before. Zara promised to try harder this time, while Hope and Abbie promised to support her through the transition.

As they rode the bus back into town, Abbie turned to Hope with curiosity. "Where did that come from? 'Thrive as the woman you were born to be'? Who are you, really?"

Hope shook her head in wonder. "I suppose it comes from the same place as your comment about God not giving her only terrible choices. You know she's going to run back to that life, don't you? She's too young and too damaged to make such a dramatic change. She thinks she's a grown woman at eighteen, but she isn't."

"I know," Abbie agreed sadly. "We'll see her again, probably many times. There's definitely a higher power at work here. I just wish He or She would tell us what's happening."

Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light filled the bus. When it faded, two seats sat empty, their occupants vanished without a trace.

Episode 2, Scene 1: Cosmic Reckoning

Dawn filtered through the thin curtains of yet another anonymous motel room as Abbie stirred beneath scratchy sheets. She rolled over, her body protesting the cheap mattress, and fixed her gaze on Hope, who was just beginning to emerge from sleep in the adjacent bed. The familiar weight of their inexplicable circumstances settled over her like a suffocating blanket.

"I guess this is our new normal," Abbie said, her voice hoarse with frustration and fatigue. "Another nameless hotel room, designer clothes we never bought, money we never earned, and layer upon layer of mystery—yet still not a single goddamn answer about what's happening to us."

The anger that had been simmering beneath her confusion finally boiled over. She sat up abruptly, her hair disheveled, and shouted at the stained ceiling, "Whoever's pulling the strings here, I want answers! Get your ass in here and start explaining what the hell is going on!" She paused, then added with bitter sarcasm, "And bring room service while you're at it. If I'm trapped in this nightmare, I at least want breakfast in bed!"

Hope couldn't suppress a laugh despite their surreal circumstances. "I don't think cosmic puppet masters respond to room service demands, Abbie." She stretched, working out the kinks in her neck. "Maybe we should just accept what we can't change and focus on what we can. Get dressed, figure out this new job of ours—apparently we're supposed to be bringing salvation to a dying world, one homeless girl at a time."

They moved through their morning routine with mechanical precision—showering in the cramped bathroom, applying makeup they'd found in their mysterious luggage, and dressing in clothes that fit perfectly despite having no memory of purchasing them. Abbie was just finishing with her shoelaces when three sharp knocks echoed through the room.

"Room service!" came a cheerful voice from the hallway.

Both girls froze, their eyes meeting across the room. The same thought flashed between them: this run-down motel barely had functioning plumbing, let alone room service.

They approached the door with the caution of prey animals, peering through the peephole before slowly turning the deadbolt. A young man stood in the hallway, perhaps mid-twenties, with an oddly timeless quality about him. His smile was warm but unsettling, and he pushed a cart laden with an elaborate breakfast spread that looked entirely out of place in their grim surroundings.

"Sorry for the delay," he said, maneuvering the cart into their room as if he'd done this a thousand times before. "This place doesn't exactly have kitchen facilities, so I had to coordinate with the diner across the parking lot." He began setting out plates and silverware with practiced efficiency while the girls stood frozen, watching his every movement.

Finally, Abbie found her voice. "So, who the hell are you, and what have you done to our world?"

He looked up from arranging the food and laughed—a sound that seemed to contain multitudes of experience. "Hmm," he said, his expression growing thoughtful. "I suppose you could call me your guardian angel, though that's a gross oversimplification. I'm also your father, your grandfather, your son, your daughter, your mother, your husband—we've been all of these things to each other and more, across countless lifetimes."

He gestured broadly, as if encompassing the entire universe. "We've traveled from planet to planet, inhabited the lives of thousands of different creatures—giants who could crush mountains, pixies who lived in flower petals, elves who sang with the trees, fairies who danced with starlight, and yes, the most challenging species of all: humans."

His expression grew stern. "But this isn't some cosmic vacation. Every life comes with responsibilities, contributions that must be made to the species we inhabit. You two—" he pointed at them with something approaching parental exasperation, "—decided to come to Earth despite our strong recommendations against it. We gave you the simplest possible assignment: live quiet lives, be loving, compassionate, empathetic. Add to the collective consciousness of humanity, make the world incrementally better through your very existence."

His voice took on a tone of profound disappointment. "But as you always do, you completely botched it. You got seduced by human drama, abandoned every principle we'd taught you, behaved in the most unladylike ways possible, and got yourselves killed in the most preventable way."

Hope's voice came out as barely a whisper. "So we're dead? Then why are we still here?"

He fixed her with a look that seemed to peer into her soul. "Oh no, not this time. Usually, you mess up, come back to us, get a cosmic slap on the wrist, and then go mess up some other species. But we've decided enough is enough. We brought you back to finish your job, but not the easy way. No more passive existence, no more simply radiating good vibes. Now you have to get directly involved, get your hands dirty in the very human drama you found so irresistible."

His smile was both compassionate and merciless. "You wanted excitement? You wanted complexity? Now you're drowning in it. Try not to let it destroy you completely."

"What exactly are we?" Hope asked, her scientific mind grappling with the implications.

"Angels," he said simply. "I thought you'd figured out at least that much. Though we're not the ethereal, harp-playing type from your Sunday school books. We're the kind who incarnate fully, who become indistinguishable from the species we're trying to help. We live their lives, feel their pain, understand their struggles from the inside out."

Abbie crossed her arms defiantly. "What if we refuse? What if we don't want to do this?"

His expression softened with something like pity. "Sorry, sweetheart. Your choice-making privileges have been revoked."

A brilliant flash of light filled the room, and when their vision cleared, he was gone.

Almost immediately, their phones chimed with an incoming message. The text was cryptic but somehow carried the weight of divine instruction: "Today is an easy one. Look for a man with a heavy load, and find the puppies."

Hope stared at her phone, then at Abbie. "Well," she said with forced lightness, "I guess we're really doing this."

Episode 2, Scene 2: Desert Lessons and Lost Puppies

Hope and Abbie finished their breakfast in contemplative silence, the weight of their supernatural encounter still settling between them. Neither wanted to acknowledge how genuinely satisfying the meal had been—a small comfort in their bewildering new existence.

"So what do we do now?" Abbie finally asked, her voice carrying an edge of uncertainty.

Hope set down her coffee cup with deliberate care. "I suppose we wander around until we encounter someone struggling with a burden, or stumble across those puppies he mentioned. But first, I need to call Zara's uncle—check if she made it into detox safely." Her voice softened. "I genuinely care about her. She deserves a real chance."

Abbie studied her friend's face. "Do you think we'll recover our memories? Or would that just transform us back into whoever we were before?"

"Some memories are already surfacing," Hope admitted, "like fragments in dreams. But maybe it's better we don't remember everything. If I recalled the full extent of our past abuse..." She paused, her jaw tightening. "In our current state, I might actually seek revenge."

Hope stood abruptly, as if shaking off dark thoughts. "Well, let's get out there and make—whoever that entity was—proud. We could call him Grandfather, or perhaps Boss Man. This whole situation confuses me."

Abbie frowned deeply. "I have an unsettling feeling about that being. I don't trust him, so I'll find my own name for him. Maybe that's my human rebellious nature talking, but his presence felt genuinely menacing. What gives him the right to address us so condescendingly?"

"Whoever or whatever he is, he clearly holds power over us," Hope replied pragmatically. "As he said, what choice do we have but to comply?"

The girls stepped outside, prepared to let fate guide them. Abbie immediately groaned. "Perfect. This motel sits on the desert's edge. It's miles back to town with no bus service. I'm setting up Uber."

Hope laughed, pointing across the parking lot. "Not necessary, sis. Look."

An elderly homeless man struggled with an unwieldy collection of grocery bags and luggage, clearly in danger of dropping everything.

"I don't have any, so go away!" he barked without looking up as they approached.

"Any what?" Hope asked gently. "We just wanted to help carry those bags. They look heavy."

"Bullshit!" The man's weathered face twisted with suspicion. "You kids are all the same. So what is it this time? White? Black? Blues? Percs? Just because I'm an old homeless guy, you think I'm dealing? Think batting those pretty eyelashes will make me share my stash? Get lost!"

Abbie stepped forward, her voice remarkably calm. "We're sorry to bother you, sir. We genuinely wanted to help—you know, do the right thing. We're not seeking drugs. Honestly, I don't even recognize half the substances you mentioned. We'll leave you be. Have a good day."

The old man's hostile expression gradually softened as he studied their faces, searching for deception. Something in their genuine confusion seemed to convince him.

"Wait," he called as they began to turn away. "Don't go yet. If you're truly as innocent as you appear, you need education before you get hurt—or worse. Walk with me, and I'll teach you about the real world."

"What kind of things?" Hope asked, curiosity overriding caution.

The old man hefted his bags and began walking toward distant trees. "You need to understand the throwaway people—the community I live with in the desert. It's like entering an alternate dimension. A place where young women like you..." He paused, his voice taking on a protective edge. "Well, it's a place that devours people whole and expels empty shells, pushing shopping carts and begging for survival."

"Throwaway people?" Abbie echoed, intrigued by the phrase.

"Yes. People get discarded for countless reasons. Parents exile teenagers for being gay. Individuals with mental health issues get expelled from programs, evicted from housing, released from jail with nowhere to go. Those with addiction problems face rejection from family and get pushed to society's margins—into streets, woods, deserts. Anyone deemed undesirable gets cast where they remain invisible, even in your pristine middle-class community."

Hope frowned thoughtfully. "But aren't most homeless people addicts or criminals? Isn't that why they can't integrate into normal society?"

The old man chuckled grimly. "Most are addicts, certainly—everyone except me in this particular settlement. There are some fugitives, usually people who missed court dates for minor charges. Here's what you must understand: don't confuse cause and effect. Drug addiction isn't the root—it's a symptom. Most people I know suffer from mental illness, and the addiction and antisocial behavior are manifestations of that illness."

He shifted his bags' weight. "Many have schizophrenia, but even more suffer PTSD. You see it in war veterans, but increasingly in young people. Unresolved childhood trauma is epidemic among homeless youth. Some neighborhoods—the ones your parents warn you about—are as psychologically damaging as war zones. These people aren't choosing this life; they're surviving trauma."

They reached a narrow, well-worn path leading into the desert. The old man stopped. "This is where I turn in. You should go home now. It's not safe for young women where I'm going."

"Don't worry about us," Hope said with quiet confidence. "We're protected in ways you couldn't imagine. I want to see how you live, understand this world better."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Protected? Federal agents watching over you?"

"We can't really discuss that," Abbie said with a nervous smile.

"So what is this—a setup? A raid? You working for law enforcement?"

"Like we said, we can't discuss it," Hope explained carefully. "We're part of a special church-sponsored program. It's religious research. Nobody's getting arrested."

"Research, huh?" The old man studied them with new interest.

Abbie stepped forward, her instincts sharpening. "Time to turn the tables. The way you speak, your understanding of homelessness—something doesn't add up. You're not just another guy with mental illness, are you? Who are you really?"

The man laughed genuinely. "Busted by a teenager. I'm not an agent—I'm an author. I've written books about indigenous populations across several continents. To truly understand them, I become one of them, immerse myself completely in their culture, sometimes for years. I'm doing the same here. To understand homelessness, I became homeless. It's the only way to get the authentic story, not some academic's surface observations."

"So you're a scholar? Sociologist or anthropologist?" Hope asked.

"Just a writer. I don't oppose those academic disciplines, but formal training can create tunnel vision. You end up seeing everything through one theoretical lens. I want raw experience, unfiltered data, so I can conduct my own analysis."

"How do you get published without academic credentials?" Abbie asked, her own writing ambitions evident.

"Smart question for someone so young. Are you a writer too?"

"I want to be. My teachers say you need credentials to be taken seriously."

"Not true anymore. Self-publishing has revolutionized everything—though then you handle your own marketing. I started by essentially giving away articles to magazines, which built recognition. Now I have a following and mailing list. The first book is always hardest; without existing networks, gaining visibility is nearly impossible."

The girls followed their new companion down the narrow path, leaving pavement behind as they ventured deeper into the desert. The temperature rose steadily under the cloudless sky, and the morning light grew oppressive, like opening a hot oven. Just when the girls began feeling apprehensive about the distance they'd traveled, a cluster of tents and makeshift structures materialized in a clearing ahead.

"Oh my God," Abbie breathed. "It's like a whole village out here. By the way, what's your name?"

"Bernard. And you are?"

"I'm Abbie. This is Hope, my best friend since forever. We're here to learn."

Bernard smiled at their dynamic. "You're both delightful. Now, let me explain what you're seeing. That wooden structure belongs to the first resident—he calls himself Abaddon, though everyone says Abe. This whole camp is known as Abe-Camp. He's the unofficial leader, keeps the peace. You could call him mayor, though 'tribal chief' or 'OG' might be more accurate. There aren't many rules here, but the ones that exist are enforced absolutely."

"Abaddon?" Hope's voice sharpened with recognition. "That's biblical—the angel of the bottomless pit. Is that his real name?"

"Probably chosen. Many homeless people adopt dark names—Diablo, Lucifer, that sort of thing. I think they find power in them."

Abbie's attention was caught by a woman sitting alone outside a battered tent. "Is that the only woman here?"

"Almost entirely men, yes. That's Mabel—our sole female resident currently."

"Can I talk to her?"

"She's not very social, but we can try." Bernard called out, "Hey, Mabel! Come meet some visitors."

A thin woman with prematurely aged features approached, her eyes darting between the girls with unsettling intensity. "Good Lord, Bernie, what are you doing bringing kids out here? They joining us? Can I have the dark one? She looks just like my first."

"No, Mabel, they're not for sale," Bernard said quickly. "They're just visiting for a school project."

"Oh, here to study the crazy desert people?" Mabel's laugh was harsh. "Well, screw you all. I've got better things to do."

"Wait," Hope said gently. "I'm Hope. I'm sorry if we've offended you. We're not here to judge. I'd genuinely like to hear your story—understand how a woman ends up in a place like this. Wouldn't a women's shelter be safer?"

"Can't smoke in shelters. Uptight bitches running those places don't let you do anything. Followed my ex here when he got out of prison. Didn't work out—he died, I stayed." Mabel shrugged as if discussing the weather.

"What do you smoke?" Abbie asked with characteristic directness.

"Whatever I can get. Crack, heroin, meth, blues when I'm lucky. Usually have to trade favors for the good stuff." Mabel's eyes grew distant. "I was a model once, you know. Did a photo shoot in New York City. Anyway, nice meeting you little girls, but I've got business to attend to."

After Mabel wandered off, Abbie looked around at the litter surrounding the tents. "What's with all the trash? And where do people use the bathroom?"

Bernard laughed dryly. "See any dumpsters out here? No services, no infrastructure. Everything needed—food, water, shelter—has to be carried in. As for bathrooms, you dig a hole and hope you have toilet paper."

"Couldn't they at least collect the trash and carry it out?" Abbie asked.

"Remember what I said about everyone having serious anxiety? Anxiety and depression are two sides of the same coin. Living surrounded by filth is a symptom of severe depression. They could clean up, but they don't. It creates legal problems too—the county wants to clear them out for health violations, but since this is public land and they're part of the public, they have a right to be here. The trash gives the health department justification for raids, though. Few years ago, they sent crews to haul everything away—tents, structures, personal belongings, the works."

"Can't the authorities arrest them for drug use?" Abbie pressed.

"That's one of Abe's enforced rules. No obvious buying, selling, or public intoxication. Drug use happens, but it has to be discrete. What people do privately in their tents is their business, but anything that draws law enforcement attention gets you beaten down—hard."

Hope asked, "Bernard, you've studied indigenous cultures. This community must have its own economic system to survive. How would you compare it to the aboriginal tribes you've researched?"

Bernard's face lit up. "Brilliant question! That's exactly what I'm studying. Aboriginal cultures typically have two economic models: the traditional system based on their environment—hunting, gathering, agriculture—that's sustained them for millennia. But when modern culture encroaches, either through environmental destruction or forced assimilation, they develop a parasitic relationship with the dominant system."

"How is this camp parasitic?" Abbie asked.

"A parasite feeds off another organism without providing benefit in return. This community survives entirely by extracting resources from the surrounding modern culture. See that gray tent? That's Booster Sam—he shoplifts merchandise and sells it at half price for cash or drugs. Mabel uses her sister's address to collect disability payments, food stamps, and food bank supplies, then trades most of it for drugs or cash. The red tent houses Mike the 'appropriator'—need a bike wheel? He'll find one, no questions asked. The whole economy runs on theft, government assistance, and barter, with drugs and cigarettes as primary currency."

"Why doesn't Mabel live with her sister?" Abbie asked.

"Mabel's schizophrenia makes relationships difficult. Her sister has children and doesn't want them exposed to Mabel's addiction and prostitution."

Hope fixed Bernard with an intense stare. "You're worried about societal collapse, aren't you? An extinction-level event. Your interest in aboriginal cultures isn't purely academic—you're looking for survival skills for when modern civilization fails."

Bernard stared at her in amazement. "Remarkable. You read people like books. Yes, though at seventy, I'm more concerned about preserving knowledge for younger people—people like you."

Suddenly, Abbie's phone buzzed. Her expression shifted to concern as she read. "Damn. Text from our boss man. We need to head back. It was nice meeting you, Bernard. We might visit again sometime."

As they walked away, Abbie's voice grew troubled. "That was weird. I'm starting to have flashbacks. We've lived in the desert, just like this place. That's where we died. This is freaking me out. Suddenly I remember wanting to be a writer, a journalist—a life path abandoned for the drama of the thug life, the drug life. It's creepy. Let's get out of here."

The girls hurried back toward civilization, not running from danger, but from memories that haunted them. Then they heard it—the desperate whimpering of puppies. Little puppies, abandoned in the desert to starve and die.

Hope quickly searched her phone for a no-kill shelter and made a call. Soon they were met by a shelter worker who explained that animals of all sorts—dogs, cats, snakes, even an alligator—are frequently abandoned in the desert where they will starve and die, out of sight and out of mind. The worker shook her head sadly. "It's a tragic commentary on humanity, how we treat the animals we claim to love."

The girls got to cuddle the puppies, giving them water and food before they were loaded into cages for the ride to the shelter.

Hope looked at her friend. "Hey sis. Let's find a nice restaurant and burn some cash off these ATM cards. I need to relax and eat some good food before we go poof again."

Abbie smiled for the first time since leaving the camp. "I'm with you. Lead the way. I feel like Italian."

Episode 2, Scene 3: Ghosts of Past Lives

The familiar electric tingle that usually accompanied their dimensional transitions was notably absent as Abbie and Hope approached their motel room. For the first time since their otherworldly journey began, they passed through the portal without the jarring sensation of being pulled through space and time.

"Did you feel that?" Hope asked, pausing at the threshold. "Or rather, did you not feel that?"

"The zapping? Yeah, it's gone." Abbie pushed open the door to reveal their room had been transformed. Gone were the threadbare bedspreads and water-stained wallpaper. In their place hung elegant evening gowns in rich jewel tones, complete with matching accessories laid out with hotel-like precision.

"Well, I guess we're going out tonight," Hope murmured, running her fingers over the silk fabric of a deep emerald dress.

An hour later, they found themselves seated at a candlelit table in an upscale Italian restaurant, the kind of place that would have been impossibly beyond their means in their previous life. The irony wasn't lost on either of them—death, it seemed, came with better dining options.

Abbie set down her wine glass, studying the burgundy liquid that had appeared despite their IDs clearly showing they were twenty. "Hope, I've been thinking about this whole situation. It feels like everywhere we go, there's some crisis demanding our intervention, some profound lesson we're supposed to absorb. I understand the concept—we're essentially in celestial rehabilitation, Angel Reform School for the cosmically wayward." She paused, her brow furrowing. "But were we really so terrible that we deserved this elaborate spiritual intervention?"

Hope's attention had drifted to a couple seated across the restaurant. The woman's gentle laugh, the man's protective gesture as he helped her with her coat—something about them tugged at a memory she couldn't quite grasp. "You know what's strange? That couple over there... they remind me of my parents. Not exactly, but there's something..." She shook her head, refocusing on Abbie's question. "As for whether we deserved this, I think the answer is complicated."

She took a sip of wine, her expression growing distant. "My earth parents were devout fundamentalists. Conservative doesn't begin to cover it. Every aspect of my life was regulated by rules that seemed designed to eliminate any possibility of joy or freedom. No music except hymns, no friends they hadn't vetted, no books beyond scripture and approved texts. By twelve, I was already planning my escapes—first for hours, then days at a time."

Abbie leaned forward, recognizing the pain in her friend's voice.

"I lost my virginity at thirteen to a boy whose name I can't even remember now. It wasn't about desire or curiosity—it was about rebellion, about proving I could make my own choices, even destructive ones." Hope's voice grew quieter. "Two stints in rehab by fourteen. Most of my fifteenth year locked up in juvenile detention. That's where our paths really crossed, wasn't it? Two angry kids who'd given up on everything."

The memories were cascading back now, and Abbie felt the familiar weight of their shared history. "Sixteen and seventeen were just cycles of detention and rehab. Then eighteen and nineteen brought real jail time, real consequences. But by then, we were so numb to it all." She met Hope's eyes. "I'm starting to remember how much I hated everything—life, myself, the world. I think I was actively challenging death, daring it to take me."

"And then that party in the desert," Hope said quietly. "The one where we..."

"Where we were drugged and assaulted and left for dead." Abbie's voice was barely a whisper. "I guess death accepted the challenge."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their past settling around them like a shroud. Finally, Hope straightened her shoulders. "You know what? Tonight, let's just be two women enjoying an excellent meal. I just wish our IDs reflected our actual drinking age instead of keeping us trapped at twenty."

As if summoned by their conversation, their waiter appeared—a young man with kind eyes and an easy smile. "How are you two angels doing this evening?" he asked, refilling their wine glasses without being asked.

Abbie's response was sharp, defensive. "What do you mean by that? Why do you think we're angels?"

The waiter's face flushed, his practiced confidence evaporating. "Oh, I... I just meant you're both so beautiful, angelic-looking. I was attempting to flirt without being obvious, but clearly that backfired spectacularly." He managed a sheepish smile. "Are you two together?"

"That's more information than you need," Hope replied curtly. "Can we order now?"

After the waiter retreated, Abbie found herself studying his retreating form with detached curiosity. "You know what's odd? He's conventionally attractive, but I felt absolutely nothing. No spark, no interest, nothing. And I know I'm not attracted to women either." She looked at Hope with growing concern. "What did they do to us? Are we supposed to be celibate now? Because that seems like cruel and unusual punishment."

Hope considered this. "We died a week ago, Abbie. Maybe our sexuality is just... in shock. I'm sure it will return eventually, and we can get back to..." She gestured vaguely.

"To what we used to do," Abbie finished, though neither of them sounded convinced.

They managed to enjoy the rest of their dinner, even venturing onto the small dance floor where a jazz trio played soft standards. For a few hours, they almost felt normal—two friends enjoying an evening out, their supernatural circumstances temporarily forgotten. Exhausted from the day`s revelations and adventures, they called an Uber back to the hotel. But when the driver arrived at the restaurant`s entrance, he found only empty sidewalks and the lingering scent of jasmine in the night air.

Episode 3, Scene 1: Angels in the Oasis

Hope stirred awake, her fingers instinctively grasping the Egyptian cotton comforter that enveloped her like a cloud. The morning light filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting geometric shadows across marble floors. She sat up abruptly, taking in the opulent surroundings—hand-painted tiles, carved wooden furnishings, and the unmistakable scent of desert blooms wafting through the air.

"Oh! Abbie!" Hope's voice carried a note of wonder as she shook her sister's shoulder. "Check it out! I think we're at the Ventana Canyon Resort."

Abbie emerged from beneath her own luxurious bedding, squinting at the leather portfolio on the nightstand. "Actually, no," she said, scanning the embossed letterhead. "The receipt says La Paloma Desert Resort. Same tier though—this is definitely a step up from that fleabag motel yesterday." She gestured toward the expansive suite with its Southwest-inspired décor and private balcony overlooking the Catalina Mountains.

Hope glanced at the ornate clock on the wall and groaned. "It's six in the morning. I hate waking up this early—there's nothing fun to do for hours, and everything's still closed."

Abbie laughed, her mood brightening as she surveyed their surroundings. "Not true, my overly dramatic sister. The weather app says it'll hit 106 degrees by this afternoon, so let's hit the pool and order room service before it becomes unbearable. I bet they have an incredible breakfast spread here." She pointed toward the vanity where two designer swimsuits hung with tags still attached. "And look—our mysterious benefactor has thought of everything. Those look like they're exactly our sizes."

Hope's expression softened despite herself. "Well, I suppose I can't be too irritated with our enigmatic boss today. This actually might be fun."

The sisters abandoned their usual morning beauty routine—there was no point in applying makeup that would wash off in the pool. Not that they needed it anyway. Whatever force had brought them back had been remarkably generous; the acne scars, self-harm marks, and regrettable tattoos from their previous lives had been left behind like discarded clothes.

As the Arizona sun climbed higher, Hope's medium brown skin seemed to drink in the rays, developing a warm golden undertone that made her look radiant. Abbie, however, methodically applied sunscreen with the dedication of someone who'd learned the hard way that fair skin and desert sun were natural enemies. She had no desire to spend the evening nursing lobster-red burns.

Being off-season, the resort was blissfully quiet, and the kitchen staff had outdone themselves with a breakfast feast that could have fed a small army. The sisters decided to lounge on the elegant poolside furniture, letting their food settle before taking their first swim of the day.

The peaceful morning was shattered by a splash and a piercing scream.

A toddler had tumbled into the deep end of the pool, her small arms flailing as she sank below the surface. Her mother stood frozen at the pool's edge, her own screams of terror echoing off the surrounding adobe walls. "I can't swim! Someone help her! Please!"

Without hesitation, both sisters launched themselves into the water. Abbie reached the child first, her strong arms wrapping around the toddler's small body as Hope helped guide them both to safety. They lifted the coughing, crying child from the pool and placed her in her mother's trembling arms.

"What were you thinking?" Hope's voice cut through the morning air like a blade, her protective instincts overriding any sense of diplomacy. "If you can't swim, why would you bring your baby near a pool without a lifeguard on duty? You could have killed her!"

The mother's relief quickly transformed into defensive anger, but before she could respond, Abbie stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm. "My sister isn't trying to be cruel," she said, placing a calming hand on the woman's shoulder. "She just gets emotional when children are in danger. But please—be more careful. Consider swimming lessons, or at least stay within arm's reach."

As the shaken family gathered their things and left, Abbie turned to her sister with a puzzled expression. "Hope, where did that come from? Did you drown in a past life or something? You don't usually come on that strong."

Hope's jaw remained tight. "She needed to hear it. Maybe now she'll think twice before putting her child at risk."

Abbie studied her sister's face, noting the intensity that hadn't been there before. "I knew something like this would happen," she said quietly. "We were placed here for a reason. That little girl would be dead if we hadn't been here." She paused, considering. "I actually like feeling useful like this. Don't you?"

Hope's expression softened slightly, but uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "I guess, a little. I don't know. I'm not ready to be some kind of superhero. It makes me feel... weird. Like I'm not in control."

By noon, the desert heat had become oppressive, driving them indoors. The hotel`s complimentary shuttle to Tucson Mall provided a welcome escape to air-conditioned comfort, where they found themselves wandering through the food court and discount stores. Despite their magically-provided wardrobe, old habits died hard, and they couldn`t resist rifling through clearance racks.

"At first I thought people were just self-absorbed and rude," Abbie mused as they walked past a group of teenagers, "but I just noticed something interesting." She gestured toward the security monitors displaying the mall's various corridors. "Watch those kids over there—they're making faces at themselves in the cameras, goofing around. But when we walk by..." She led Hope directly in front of a monitor. The screen showed only empty space where they should have been standing.

Hope stared at the screen in fascination. "We're invisible to the cameras? That's... actually pretty convenient. Especially when we disappear. Nobody freaks out because they literally can't see us." She grinned wryly. "Where was this superpower when we were shoplifting? Would have saved us a lot of jail time."

"That's not all," Abbie continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "When that group of teenagers passed us earlier, most of them looked right through us like we weren't there. But one girl—she made direct eye contact. I think we're invisible to most people, but not everyone." Her expression grew determined. "I need to find her."

Hope's shoulders sagged. "Really? The last thing I need is to get dragged into teenage drama. Do we have to? What if she's not part of our mission?"

Abbie was already scanning the crowd. "There's only one way to find out."

They searched both floors of the mall methodically, but the group of teenagers seemed to have vanished. Just as they were about to give up, Abbie spotted a lone figure sitting on a bench near a jewelry kiosk—a girl with vibrant red hair and freckles, staring at her phone with the particular slouch of someone who'd been abandoned.

Abbie approached carefully and sat down, leaving space between them. "Where are your friends?"

The girl looked up, her green eyes wary. "Gone. They left."

"Why did they leave you here alone?"

The girl's gaze returned to the floor. "They were going to go do some stupid stuff, and I didn't want to go. I called my mom. She'll come get me."

"That's actually pretty smart," Abbie said with genuine admiration. "I got into a ton of trouble doing stupid stuff when I was your age."

The girl studied Abbie with sharp intelligence. "Why are you talking to me? Are you one of those church girls who wants me to find Jesus?"

Abbie laughed. "I wasn't aware Jesus was lost. No, I'm not a church girl. I saw you look at me earlier when you walked past with your friends, and now I see you sitting alone. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine," the girl said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"What's your name, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Julie. Who are you?"

"I'm Abbie. Nice to meet you, Julie."

Julie's expression grew suspicious. "So really, why are you talking to me? You're old. What do you want?"

Abbie smiled. "I'm twenty. That's not old, though I suspect it seems ancient to you. Don't worry—I'm not one of those 'stranger danger' creeps. I just remember being your age, feeling alone and not fitting in. I got into a lot of trouble because of it." She started to stand. "I'll leave you alone now. Sorry to bother you. But for what it's worth, you're absolutely gorgeous. I love your whole look."

Julie's mouth fell open. "Me? Gorgeous? With this bright red hair and a face covered in freckles? I don't feel gorgeous. My dad's furious because I got piercings and tattoos even though I'm underage. He says I look like some alien creature from another planet."

Abbie gently touched Julie's shoulder. "Don't worry about what your dad says. You're stunning, even with the unnecessary body art, and that probably scares him. Fathers have a hard time when their little girls grow up." She smiled warmly. "I have a feeling I'll see you around. Until next time, sweetheart—be good, be safe, and don't let your friends pressure you into trouble."

As Abbie walked away, Hope fell into step beside her. "Was that necessary? Are you planning to adopt every troubled teenager we meet? I think we're going to have plenty of drama without going looking for it."

"Sometimes someone just needs a kind word," Abbie replied thoughtfully. "You might never see them again, but you could make a profound difference in their life. We'll see if she shows up again."

Hope shook her head. "Well, she's your project, not mine."

As they exited the mall into the blazing afternoon heat, preparing to call a rideshare, the familiar flash of light enveloped them. They vanished without a trace, unnoticed by the crowds of shoppers—all except one young woman named Julie, who watched from the mall entrance with wide eyes, now convinced she had spoken with an angel.

Episode 3, Scene 2: Aftermath of the Deluge

Abbie's eyes snapped open to a world that felt utterly foreign. Disoriented and heart racing, she struggled to piece together her surroundings—the musty smell of wet canvas, the sound of rushing water, the unfamiliar weight of exhaustion in her bones. She was lying in a sleeping bag inside a small tent, and through the thin walls, she could hear the distant murmur of voices and the persistent roar of what sounded like a swollen river.

"Hope!" she called out, her voice cracking with panic. "Hope, wake up!"

Her companion stirred beside her, rubbing sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand. "What's happening?" Hope mumbled, then sat up abruptly as awareness dawned. "Where are we? What's going on?"

"I have no idea," Abbie replied, crawling toward the tent opening. "Let's get dressed. All we have are these." She held up two identical jumpsuits—utilitarian blue garments that bore a small emblem neither of them recognized.

Before they could say more, a weathered face appeared at the tent flap. The man attached to it was middle-aged, with kind eyes that carried the weight of someone who had seen too much.

"Good," he said, addressing others outside. "The Angel girls are awake." He turned back to them with a mixture of gentleness and urgency. "You need to get up and come out here. We have important work to do today. Your assignment is to manage the resource station—food, water, and medical supplies for the recovery teams."

Still bewildered, the girls pulled on their jumpsuits and stepped outside. What they saw stopped them cold. The landscape before them was apocalyptic—a vast expanse of mud and debris stretching to the horizon. Trees lay uprooted and twisted, their branches jutting from the muck like broken bones. The remnants of what had once been a community were scattered everywhere: pieces of houses, overturned cars, children's toys caked in silt.

"What happened here?" Hope whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of the receding waters.

The man who had woken them stood beside them, his expression grim. "It was a flood of biblical proportions—what meteorologists are calling a 500-year event, though there's no historical record of anything this severe. The storm system stalled over the valley and dropped more water in six hours than this area typically sees in a year. The flash flood that followed..." He paused, searching for words. "It was like watching the earth itself tear apart. Our job now is to recover and identify the victims. At this point, we've moved from rescue to recovery operations."

Abbie looked at him with growing confusion. "Why did you call us 'Angel girls'?"

A sad smile crossed his face. "We're all Angels here. You're part of our crew today. We came to assist with the recovery efforts and to help this community begin healing from the trauma that's settled over this place like a shroud."

"But why didn't the Angel crew arrive in time to prevent this?" Abbie's voice rose with frustration. "Isn't that what we do? Save people from harm?"

The crew leader looked at both girls with deep compassion, recognizing the innocence that was about to be shattered. "I can see you're still learning how this works. It's not our role to interfere with natural forces. Humanity must learn to coexist with nature, to understand her patterns and create safe environments for themselves and their children. If we intervene every time, they never develop the wisdom to protect themselves."

Hope had volunteered to carry supplies up the hill to where the recovery teams were working. When she returned twenty minutes later, she was pale and shaking, tears streaming down her face.

"Abbie, don't go up there," she sobbed. "They were washing mud off the bodies before putting them in bags. There were children—little girls, maybe ten years old. I couldn't... I had to stop and be sick." She doubled over, dry heaving. "How could this be allowed to happen?"

Abbie wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her as she trembled. "They explained it to me. Humanity has to learn nature's ways and how to live safely. If the Angels always intervene, people never learn to protect themselves."

Hope pulled back, her eyes blazing through her tears. "No. That's wrong. That's completely wrong. Children died—babies covered in mud, their bodies..." She couldn't finish. "There has to be a better way."

The crew leader approached them, his own eyes wet with unshed tears. He placed his hands on both their shoulders. "I know this is hard. This is a harsh world we're trying to serve. But this is how the universe seems to be designed—lessons learned through suffering, wisdom earned through loss. I don't like it any more than you do, but I've had to accept that some things are beyond our power to change. Right now, all we can do is serve those who are left."

The remainder of the day passed in a blur of mechanical motions. The girls distributed water bottles, handed out sandwiches, and restocked first aid supplies, moving through their tasks like sleepwalkers. They avoided looking toward the recovery site, but they couldn't escape the sounds—the scrape of shovels against debris, the low voices of the workers, the occasional cry of recognition when someone identified a victim.

A profound trauma settled into their bones that day, a darkness that would revisit them in nightmares for years to come. Something fundamental had shifted in their understanding of their role as Angels, and in their faith in the benevolence of the universe itself.

Episode 3, Scene 3: The Star Motel Encounter

Hope stirred awake, immediately pressing her hand to her nose as the stale smell of cigarettes and industrial disinfectant hit her. "God, this is definitely not the La Paloma," she muttered, surveying the water-stained ceiling and threadbare carpet. "Where the hell are we? This place makes a zero-star motel look like the Ritz."

Abbie stretched and laughed, her voice still thick with sleep. "Actually, it has one star—it's literally called the Star Motel. Check the sign outside."

Stepping onto the cracked concrete walkway, the girls assessed their surroundings. The morning sun cast harsh shadows across the parking lot, where a few beat-up cars sat next to the steady drone of freeway traffic just beyond a chain-link fence.

"Ah, what a picturesque view of Interstate 10," Hope said dryly. "I know exactly where we are—right by the VA Hospital. I used to... well, let's just say I'm familiar with this neighborhood. Used to score on that corner, and that one, and probably that one too." She gestured toward the intersection where a few early-morning figures were already conducting their business. "This isn't exactly the safest part of town."

As they watched, a young woman carefully crossed at the crosswalk, her arms full of shopping bags from various stores. She was perhaps twenty-two, with long dark hair and striking features that spoke to indigenous heritage.

"Morning," she called out as she passed, offering a tentative smile before disappearing into a room just a few doors down from theirs.

Hope's expression shifted to one of recognition—not of the person, but of the situation. "Ten bucks says she's why we're here today. She's Latina like me, so maybe we'll have some common ground to work with."

Abbie smirked. "Well, she's beautiful like me, so we all have something in common."

Hope shot her a withering look that could have melted steel.

Back in their room, the girls finished applying their makeup and getting dressed, unsure what the day would bring but wanting to be ready for it. Right on cue, a soft knock came at the door.

The young woman from earlier stood outside, holding a designer shopping bag. Up close, they could see she was nervous, her eyes darting around the parking lot before settling on them.

"Hi, I'm Angel," she said, her voice carrying a slight accent. "I saw you earlier when I got back from... shopping. I thought you might be interested in some of these items I have—really nice clothes, expensive bathroom products, all name-brand stuff. I can let it go for half price, way less than you'd pay retail."

Abbie stepped aside to let Angel enter, while Hope examined the merchandise with a practiced eye. Designer perfumes, high-end makeup, clothing with tags still attached—all of it screaming "five-finger discount."

Hope gave Angel a compassionate look, her voice gentle but direct. "Listen, sweetheart, I can feel the karma radiating off these items. You boosted them, didn't you? Are you stealing to support a habit?"

Angel's face flushed as she stared at the floor. "Damn, I should have known better than to try selling anything at this place. Sorry I bothered you." She moved toward the door, but Abbie intercepted her.

"No, wait, Angel. We're not judging you—we want to help. It's actually what we do. Stay and talk with us. Better yet, let's walk over to that Burger King across the street. I'll buy—I'm starving anyway."

Angel studied Abbie with obvious suspicion, drawing out her response: "Okaaaay..."

Hope smiled reassuringly. "Don't be scared. We don't bite. Let's go eat."

The three women walked to the restaurant, Angel remaining silent, clearly wondering what she'd gotten herself into. Finally, she spoke up: "So what's the deal with you two? Are you some kind of bible-thumpers trying to save the world one Indian at a time?"

"You're Native American?" Abbie asked with genuine interest.

"Yeah. Not dot Indian," Angel said, pointing to her forehead with a slight smile, "feather Indian. Tohono O'odham—what people used to call Papago."

"Ah, like down by Desert Diamond Casino," Hope said, referencing the tribal gaming establishment.

"Exactly."

"No, we're not missionaries or anything like that," Abbie continued. "What we're doing is... well, you could call it community service. We did a lot of bad shit and got into serious trouble, so now we're trying to trade some good karma for the bad."

"Oh, like twelve-step?" Angel asked.

"No, we're sort of freelance," Hope explained, "just trying to help out whatever comes our way. Like you, for instance."

Angel gave Hope a skeptical look. "So you're buying lunch, so I guess I'll bite. Do you have a prepared speech, a pamphlet or something? Do I have to join a group and sing 'Kumbaya'?" She paused, then continued: "Look, I appreciate the meal, but I've got a lot to do today and I need to move this merchandise so I can make rent."

"How much do you want for all of it?" Abbie asked suddenly.

Angel looked surprised. "Uh... sixty dollars?"

Without hesitation, Abbie pulled three twenties from her wallet and handed them over. "Here. Take it. Now either return that stuff to where you got it, or give it away to people who need it. Let's try to salvage as much karma as we can."

Angel stared at the money. "So what's the deal with karma? You've mentioned it several times. Is there some karma god sitting on a cloud somewhere getting ready to mess up my life if I piss her off?"

Hope leaned forward intently. "Let me show you where the karma god lives." She pointed to the left side of Angel's forehead. "Behind here is your left brain—that's where your everyday consciousness lives, your practical self." She moved her finger to the right side. "Behind here is your right brain—that's where karma lives."

"So karma lives on the right side of my brain?" Angel asked, clearly skeptical.

Hope laughed. "Not exactly. You have two hemispheres that are connected but function somewhat independently. The left brain is practical—it's where your everyday awareness lives, the part that works to keep you alive in this crazy world. The right brain is more spiritual—it's where your conscience lives, where guilt lives, and where karma operates."

Seeing Angel's confused expression, Hope continued: "Let me back up. We're born with certain ideas buried in our DNA, evolutionary programming if you will. One of those is what I call the Fundamental Law of Balance—a deep belief that things must be balanced. If you steal something, then someone needs to steal from you to balance it out. If you hurt someone, then someone needs to hurt you. It's more complicated than that, and it's not actually true most of the time, but your right brain believes it absolutely."

Hope paused to take a bite of her burger. "Here's where karma comes in. The right brain doesn't have as much control over your body as the left brain does, and its internal voice is so quiet most people can't even hear it. But it can still mess you up. For example, when you boost those items from the store, your right brain thinks that has to be balanced—that you still have to pay for those items somehow, even if you don't pay with money, even if you don't pay the person you stole from. So what does the right brain do? It makes subconscious suggestions that result in self-destructive behavior you may not even be aware of. Let's say your right brain thinks you're forty dollars out of balance, and you're driving along and there's broken glass in the road. You see it, but instead of swerving around it, you drive right over it. You think to yourself, 'Why did I do that? That was stupid,' and it costs forty dollars to fix your tire. Now the right brain is satisfied because it thinks things are balanced again."

"Yeah, that's stupid all right," Angel said flatly. "The whole thing. I think you made it up."

"Maybe," Hope shrugged. "But just watch. As time goes by and you boost more and more stuff, watch how your luck goes from bad to worse. Look at other boosters—see how their lives turn to shit. Look carefully, because you can build up so much negative karma that you won't live long enough to ever balance it out. You're a good person—I can sense an angelic quality about you, and that actually makes it worse, trust me on that. I know you think you need to steal or commit other crimes to survive, but that's not true. Boost a sandwich if you're starving—you can balance that out easily. But don't keep boosting more and more, or your whole life will be a mess."

Angel shook her head and stood up. "Hey, I get what you're trying to do. Thanks for trying, thanks for the money and the food, but I can't just stop everything and start over like that. My boyfriend needs me to contribute to our living expenses, and my anxiety won't let me hold down a regular job, so what else am I supposed to do? Anyway, none of this is really any of your business." She paused at the door. "Maybe I'll see you around, but right now, I've got to go."

As Angel left the restaurant, Abbie looked at Hope with raised eyebrows. "You really did make all that up, didn't you?"

"No, not really," Hope said thoughtfully. "It just sort of came to me as I was talking, like it wasn't really me speaking. But think about it—all the boosting we did, the con games we played, the catalytic converters we stole, and on and on. Aren't we right now trying to balance that out? Don't you think that has a lot to do with the predicament we're in?"

Abbie stared at Hope skeptically. "So giving that sermon about karma to Angel—and isn't it funny that her name is Angel?—that balances some of our bad stuff out? I'm not so sure."

Hope laughed. "What about your little friend Julie yesterday? You said yourself that something as simple as a kind word can change someone's life."

"Yeah, I guess," Abbie conceded. "Now let's find something fun to do before we get zapped into some strange place and wake up on Mars or something."

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