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THE STENCH OF THE LOS ANGELES headquarters was nothing compared to the sights and sounds that flooded my senses as I followed Brayden through the alley and through the makeshift door that led directly to a stairway. Down we went and as we did so, the screams of people - mostly women and children - pounded against my eardrums and the sights of people clinging to the bars of their cells, begging Brayden to let them go were enough to send my gaze to the ground.
This was not my first time seeing or hearing the products of the Corps’ cruelty and I wasn’t willing to try to put a stop to it (after all, the CWN was essentially one of our only line of defense before the military itself), but that didn’t mean that I ever got used to it. Most of the time, I found it to be easier to just turn a blind eye to everything than to know the horrors that occurred below the ground of Los Angeles. I looked at Brayden as he led the way through the building.
“What are we doing here, exactly?” I asked him.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Brayden mused.
I shook my head. I couldn’t figure out why I would have been asking if it was already obvious.
Brayden rolled his eyes at me, “We’re here because those Angel Hunters are here. If they don’t come down here tonight, they’ll come down here tomorrow morning. We need to be prepared, so we’ll be hiding in the back parts of this place and wait. I’ll be sure to get some cells ready for them - we’re going to need them.”