Sara lay in bed with her eyes peeled to the ceiling. Hot pink earphones were in her ears and were blasting her favorite music. The window let in some shine and a breeze into the room. Clothing was scattered all over her flooring.

She groaned and put her hand on her forehead. She rolled over to see it be eleven o’clock in the morning. Sara sighed and stopped her music and unplugged her earphones. She managed to get out of her tangled sheets and fell to the floor with a thump. She didn’t wince and untangled herself from her sheets and kicked clothing out of her way, opening the door to a bright hallway. She blinked a few times, adjusted to the light, and came into the hallway, seeing eyes look her way.

Sara knew she looked like shit. Dark circles under her eyes and her hair looked like a rat’s nest. She really didn’t care at this point anymore. She sniffed down at her clothing, smelling a bad odor, and shrugged.

The girl walked barefooted on the cool white wooden flooring and saw her pants needed to be in the washer a week ago. She walked down into the cafeteria but went the opposite way to the buffet and flung open a glassed, glossy door.

“Morning Sara,” Michael said, looking at documents on his neat desk.

“Morning Dad,” she grumbled and tossed herself onto a chair and put her head on the desk, closing her eyes, placing her phone on the desk with a clang.

Michael looked up at her again, seeing a mess of long hair spilled on the desk, “When was the last time you washed?”

Sara said, “I don’t remember.”

Michael closed his eyes and sighed, “Sara, please go take a shower.”

“Do I have to?” she asked.

Michael pressed his lips and put down his paperwork, “Sara, you can’t stay in your room. You need to go out and socialize.”

Sara jerked her hand and waved her hands around angrily, “Oh, like I can go out to the shitty place and you would actually let me out to see the world? I would love that!"

Michael frowned, “Sara, this place offers everything and anything.”

Sara groaned, “That is literally the same meaning.”

“It’s actually not. Everything means all things in general. Anything is a definition to indicate a range of something or empathizes a thing.”

“Everything is a thing!”

“But, it empathizes something, a particular object.”

Sara groaned out loudly, “Dad!”

“Sara, go take a shower,” Michael ordered.

Sara muttered about how Mr. Right was constantly and Michael pretended not to hear. She left the office and dragged herself back into her room, pushing her door open and seeing a darkened room with dirty clothes that smelled up her room, “I need to get a life,” Sara said, depressingly. She walked in and tripped on her bra. She fell down and cursed.

She heard footsteps and some giggling, “Some assassin,” a girl mocked with her friend. Sara chose to ignore them and slammed the door with her foot. She picked up her clothing and tossed them into her laundry basket, which was overfilled with clothing already.

Sara turned on the hot water and stripped down. She stepped in the steaming burning water and scrubbed down all her dead skins. Washed her messy hair, taking long minutes of combing out the tangles.

She came out of the shower, freshen, and blew dry her hair with a towel. She stepped on a new t-shirt and black leggings. She put her hair into a ponytail and looked at herself hard in the mirror.

Sara didn’t realize how cleaned she looked and...didn’t look half bad. Her stomach rumbled and she went back to the cafeteria and grabbed loaded fries and a hamburger. She ignored the looks of heroes taking a glance at her shiny appearance. It has been a while since she cleaned herself, and she felt pretty good. She sipped on a mocha and took a big bite of her burger.

She kicked the front of the table and rested her legs on it, finishing off her hamburger. She saw more looks and she said with a mouth full of food, “What?”

There were offensive looks from the angels, one of them muttering, “Thought Michael would raise a better daughter.”

Sara tightened her jaw and so badly wanted to flip each of them off, “If you haven’t noticed, the Archangel is currently busy spending his time-saving people than wasting his time to raise—” she quoted her fingers, “’ better daughter’” She stared at them, “I thought angels wouldn’t care of how Michael raised his daughter.” Sara gasped harshly, “Or are you questioning your leader in command?”

The angels shut their mouths shut and went back to doing what they were doing—judging.

Most of the heroes didn’t seem to care. Some minded their own businesses, which Sara liked, and others just sat there, staring like a hawk.

Once she finished her meal, she put the plates and her cup on a ledge, an angel took her dirty plate and cup away in the kitchen. “Hey,” Sara said, leaning into the long opening and putting her head inside the kitchen, “thank the chief for cooking the meat perfectly of medium-rare.”

One chief gave her a thumbs up and she went back to Michael’s office, opening the door and slamming it behind her. In a few steps, she collapsed on Michael’s lap, flinging her legs over the armchair and her head on the desk, “You’re angels are being mean to me again.”

“I heard the conversation,” responded Michael, stopping what he was doing and stroking her damp hair, “You know you are representative of this place and me.”

Sara puffed out her lips, “I know.” She rolled over and faced him, “Dad, I just, don’t know what to do. I feel I do everything to try to be the perfect daughter for you, but the angels always push on me.” She pouted and crossed her arms, lying half her body back down on the desk.

Michael reassured, “Sara, you are the perfect daughter to me. Don’t listen to what other angels and heroes say. It only matters what I think—and I love you no matter what.” He kissed her forehead.

Sara sighed and sat up, wrapping her arms around his neck, and started to open his drawers, “I know, it’s just, I feel I am never enough for the heroes here.” She grabbed a flute out of a drawer and studied it.

“Sara, don’t think of that. You are enough for me.”

Sara tried to play the flute, blowing it, but no sounds came out of it, “What is this?”

Michael grabbed it from her, “It’s a flute that attracts sirens. Only sirens can hear it.” He put the flute back in the drawer, “You gave it to and other items a while back on a mission.”

Sara trailed her memories of missions she did.

“Your first one.”

“Oh,” Sara’s eyes lit up, “I remember. I helped get the creatures out of the cage and stole the items. Didn’t Kate burn that building down?”

Michael nodded, “Yes. That was two years ago.”

“That was fun,” smiled Sara. She looked down at her hands and at Michael’s eyes, “I want to go on a mission again.” Her eyes begged and her eyes glistered with hope again of saving people.

Michael knew this was coming, “Let me think of it.”

“You are always thinking of it,” pouted Sara, crossing her arms.

Michael sighed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, “The last time you were on a mission…”

“I know,” interrupted Sara, “I won’t do it again. I promise! Let me follow Kate again as her bodyguard while she makes out with her boyfriend. An easy task and I won’t get in trouble!”

Michael pressed his lips, “How about tonight? You can follow Kate as she goes out with Andrew. “

Sara’s eyes brightened, “Really?”

“But,” the Archangel pointed up a finger at her, “You cannot interrupt them unless they are in any danger. If a villain tries to hurt them, you can protect them, but anything else, you cannot make yourself known. And if Kate doesn’t find out she is watching her if no monsters attack, then I might let you do some errands for me.” He empathized with the word: might strongly in telling her that it wasn’t a done agreement.

“Like missions?” Sara asked excitedly.

“Yes,” answered Michael. “But, let's see what happens.” He opened a drawer and took out his wallet. He handed her a credit card, “While you wait for your task tonight, why don’t you go out and buy some nice clothing for yourself? Be back by five.”

Sara hugged him, “Thank you! Are you going to tell Kate that I am stalking her?”

Michael shook his head, “I don’t use ‘stalking’ as the right word, but I’ll tell her that someone will keep an eye out. And when you come back, I will let yourself find your way in following her and keeping an eye out, understand.”

Sara nodded and smiled, “You’re the best.”

“Buy anything you want...reasonably,” added Michael.

Sara planted a kiss on his cheek and jumped down, “See you later.” She skipped to the door.

“Sara,” Michael said, “I want you to come over to my brother’s house tomorrow. So, buy a nice dress, not too fancy.”

“The Seers?” wondered Sara, already thinking of what to have a dress in mind.

Michael shook his head dreadfully, “No, Lucifer’s.”

Sara’s mouth hung open, “Why do you want me to see him?”

“You will be my personal assassin one day when you are ready, I need you to know what he looks like, but do not tell him you will be my assassin...or that you are my daughter,” he added tightly.

Sara’s face went flushed, “Why don’t you want to say you are my dad?” She bent her head sorrowfully.

Michael stood up from his chair and went next to her. He embraced her tightly, “Because, if he knows, he will hurt you.” He cupped her face up to him, “And I don’t want anything to happen to you. I would never forgive myself.”

Sara went stiff from what he said, “Dad, nothing will happen to me.”

Michael smiled painfully, and stroked her smooth face, “I know sweetie.” He said, changing the subject, “And you are my best fighter here. I know what you are compatible with. If you weren’t so damn good—”

Sara laughed that he cursed and blushed, “Dad, I am not that good.”

“Sara,” Michael said, his tone serious, “All my years of living, you are the best warrior I’ve ever seen. And we need people like you on our side, someone who knows is right and will advocate what is right and save people.”

“By killing people,” scoffed Sara.

Michael stared down at her, “Sara, villains are not people. Remember what our motto is: Innocent until proven guilty. All demons and monsters, could all be evil, that is why, we have people on our side watching them and telling us who are the bad ones, and who are the good ones. It is never good to want to kill and like killing, but, sometimes, it’s a job that is necessary. We give them a choice, and the villains know we do. So, do not be upset when you...kill a villain. It makes the world a better place.”

Sara leaned in the hug, letting Michael’s body support her. She closed her eyes, inhaling his scent. She let the words ingrain her brain like she did every time, “I keep that in mind.” She felt a final kiss on her head before she left.

Sara walked through the alleys of the clothing in Macy’s. She had a blouse in her arms and was looking for a nice dress to wear with Michael, while she was being introduced by the Devil. She kept trying to ignore the thought of meeting him. What was he like? What would he think of her?

Sara, don’t care what that little dickhead thinks of you. Sara knew Michael will be there. He will comfort her. She took a deep breath and couldn’t think of what to wear. Something white? She would prefer to wear something black.

Sara saw in the corner of her eyes across the women’s clothing, to a group in the men’s clothing, picking out nice pants. A girl with flaming red hair was sitting on a comfy chair next to the dressing room, commenting on what looked good or not on the men.

Sara grabbed a mini skirt and went to the changing room for the women’s and tried on her blouse and skirt. She looked at herself in the mirror. The blouse showed more cleavage than she liked, she barely revealed her breast. It was nice fitting around her waist. The skirt was snugged around her hips. She wanted to know if she could fight well in the skirt and if it had enough freedom to move. The small room gave her no room to let herself do a practice excuse of throwing a punch or a round kick. She left the room and out of the women’s dressing room.

The red flaming hair girl laughed at one of the men, “Your ass looks so nice in those pants.”

A blond friend answered, “Yes, you look so fucking gay right now. Turn anyone on.”

The man wearing the pants crossed his arms bitterly, “Seriously guys?” He huffed and looked at himself in the mirror. “I guess it’s okay.”

“Keep it!” the group exclaimed.

Sara dismissed this conversation as she did a punch in the air a nonexisting person in the face she punched. She swirled around and kneed up to the invisible groan and another fist punch to where the guts were.

She then ran down the alley and let her body fall down at a certain angle and fell down, letting her legs skid comfortably across the floor, the rest of her body following the same suit as if she was diving underneath something.

The skirt flew up, flashing some underwear, but she didn’t care. She stood up, seeing the group now watching her. She didn’t bother to look back at them. The skirt looked in a good condition, with no scratch marks and no holes. She knew this skirt was real leather or it would’ve torn by the move she did.

“Nice move,” the girl purred, “Where did you learn that move?”

Sara glanced at her as she walked back to the changing room. She nervously grabbed her arm tightly sideways and said, with a little awkwardness, “I taught myself that move.”

She quickly went back to the dressing room without waiting for a response. She put back on her clothing, deciding where to start looking for a dress.

Sara had social anxiety. She was never much around humans and the ones she were at the Heroes’ Headquarters didn’t even talk to her, and the angels were no better. She tried to make friendly conversations, once in a while, but being the Archangel’s daughter surprisingly didn’t make her famous—granted, she never wanted to be famous in the first place.

She put the blouse back on the rack, now looking through another one and eyeing the dresses. After two minutes of searching, she went to the dress rack and pulled out a short dress. As she looked closer at it, the navy dress was Gothic and medieval. It looked like a cosmal play dress.

She shrugged and tried it on. She went out of the dressing room, to look at the full length of three-sided mirrors. The dress had a nice Gothic corset around her waist, showing off her hourglass and her curvy hips. It did lift her breasts, leather strip across the bloomers. She swirled around, the elegant bottom flying around like a fan.

Sara took down her ponytail, her curly, glossy black hair bouncing down and up, her dark eyelashes fluttering up to the mirror, her hair reaching low on her bosom. She twisted her hair around, thinking if it was appropriate to represent her father...Well, if the Devil doesn’t know I am Michael’s daughter then it shouldn’t matter.

She glanced at one of the sides of the mirror, seeing a reflection of the guy, who was trying on the pants, sucking in a breath. But not an attractiveness from her, Sara didn’t understand the reaction. It made her uneasy. She stepped down the platform, feeling how surprising that the corset was comfortable.

Sara could easily fight in this dress without much trouble.

The red-haired girl said, “Looks pretty on you. You should get it. You're getting it for a party or something?”

Sara felt her face flush, quietly answering, “My dad wants me to meet his brother and dress nicely.”

The girl scanned her up and down, “Not sure if that would be formal.”

The guy replied, “Just wear it. If you like the style, I am pretty sure your father will understand.”

Sara stared at the guy’s chocolate eyes, “Um, thanks. I will.”

“What’s your name, honey?” the girl asked.

The young girl looked at the three men and the one woman. Could she trust them? After all, it was just her name, not as if she was given off her personal whereabouts and life, “Sara.”

The woman nodded and went to her, shaking her hand, Sara trying not to yank away, her heart beating a million miles, “My name is Elena.” She gestured to the three men, “That’s my boss,” she pointed to the guy, “That’s Jackson,” in which she turned to the blond man, “And that’s Caliber,” as she reached to a tall stocky person. “A day to spend time together.”

Elena’s boss concluded flatly, “We needed clothing.”

Sara didn’t understand why they were talking to her and the boss was looking at her strangely. She went back to the dressing room, not sure what to say to them as she did. In her clothing again, she walked back out, rooming through shirts, having the Gothic dress across her shoulder with the mini skirt.

The hours passed and she went to the checkout with new pair of black high heels, a Gothic dress, a white blouse, and a mini skirt. During those hours of looking, she kept looking up at the boss. He looked, familiar as if she saw a twin brother of his. The group was behind her, talking about what to have for dinner when their guests came over.

Sara took out her father’s credit card and swiped it. The pin number popped up and she grimaced. She didn’t remember what the pin number was. She typed in some guessed numbers, but it declined. After a few minutes of trying and the cashier getting tired of her, Elena’s boss walked up.

He swiped his own card, “I’ll pay.”

Sara burst in exclamation, “No, you don’t have to! I forgot the stupid pin number!” Her eyes gazed at him with awestruck but her body swayed back, nervous if she was going to say something wrong. He was being such a gentleman, she didn’t know how to react.

The boss smiled, “It’s not a problem.” He paid before Sara could do anything to stop him.

Sara gasped and did a weak smile, “Thank you so much, sir. That was really kind of you.” She lowered her head in embarrassment.

Jackson snickered, “That’s the first someone told him that.”

Sara let out another smile and tucked her hair behind her ear uncomfortable, not sure how to express her feelings of gratitude, “I owe you.”

The boss shook his head, “No. It’s fine.”

The cashier gave her items in two bags.

Sara stumbled out her thanks again, “What’s your name at least?”

The boss stared at her, “I rather not say, but have a good day, Sara.”

Sara grunted out her frustration with him being so stubborn, “Thank you.” She repeated and waved bye to them, and they waved back.

Elena put the clothing down, “She’s cute.”

Caliber said, his voice naturally deep, like the echoing of an endless cave, “She’s has social anxiety.”

“No shit,” Jackson responded. “Nice of you to pay for her items.”

The boss stared at Sara leaving. His thoughts chewed on his brain. She reminded him of someone. He didn’t know. He looked at her again and knew that for some reason, she drew his attention. He dismissed Jackson’s comment and his thoughts; and paid for their stuff.