"The unexplained figures have been seen all around the world," the female news anchor announced. "Here in America, Britain, Vietnam, China, Uzbekistan, Russia, Senegal ..." She reeled them off.

Kaitlyn bit her lip as the news report switched over to the recording of the eerie sighting. She had her knees clasped to her chest as her heart raced. Four "creatures" were flying high in the sky. It was hard to see them clearly but they were too big and too solid to be birds, that was certain. Kaitlyn squinted as they moved in and out between the clouds. Eight of them. There was little doubt—they looked like men. They looked like flying men.

'What do you think they are?' Kaitlyn asked.

'I think they're bullshit,' Rachel said. 'It's got to be some kind of hoax.'

Afternoon light poured through their living room windows, brightening Rachel's red hair. She drank down her can of soft drink and wiped her mouth. Her finished bag of takeaway sat crumpled on the coffee table.

Kaitlyn would have usually joined her for lunch, but she didn't have the appetite for fatty food anymore. Her empty dish of salad sat beside Rachel's rubbish. For eight weeks her belly hadn't been sitting right, not since that confusing and embarrassing interview at the law firm. Along with that, her head was still bothering her. No matter how many tablets she took, the throb in her temples wouldn't go away.

'Pretty amazing hoax, don't you think, though?' Kaitlyn said. 'To happen all over the world.'

Rachel shrugged. 'They've done it with spaceships. They've done it with crop circles. They've done it with the Loch Ness monster and Area 51 and the bleeding Mary.' She shrugged again.

'But to happen all over the world—the same unexplained happening.'

'It's called the internet. Whoever they are, they've been working together.'

'If it's so easy, how do you think they've done it?'

'Who knows? I've got better things to do than to figure it out. Too busy working and studying and doing stuff with my life.' Picking up her empty cup of chips, she dragged her finger around the bottom, then popped her finger in her mouth to suck away the salt.

Kaitlyn leaned her chin on her knees. If only she could be so confident that it was nothing.

"All around the world believers and non-believers alike are dubbing them the "Dark Angels"," the anchorwoman finished.

Rachel scoffed again. Finishing her drink, she crushed the can in her fist. 'Religious nonsense. Gird your loins, Kat, Armageddon approaches!'

She threw the can at the bin. It soared across the living room. They both watched as it vanished inside. Rachel punched the air. 'Now that's a miracle!'

Kaitlyn grasped at her necklace. She fingered the pendant—a golden cross. She hadn't been to church in a decade. She hadn't prayed in just as long. And she certainly didn't believe in any of the myths or legends.

Then why was she so fearful?

She tried to have a quick nap before work but failed, tossing and turning in bed. Just like her stomach pain and headache, she'd been having difficulty sleeping too. She was going to be exhausted by the end of her shift tonight. Sedatives didn't work and neither did alcohol. Almost every night she dreamed strange dreams that left her panting and confused come morning. She could hardly remember them, only shadows and shapes and colours.

Blonde hair. She remembered blonde hair.

Sometimes they left her sick. Other times they left her aching in embarrassing ways. And they didn't only affect her at night. They seemed to chase her during the day too, images that suddenly flashed in her mind, feelings and sensations that left her blushing and breathless. In the beginning, eight weeks ago, she'd been getting through three pairs of underwear a day. Now she was continuously wearing panty liners. She should probably go to the doctor and get herself checked out but she was just too tired and too busy.

It was time to get ready for work. Her heart was sitting in her stomach. The thought of dragging herself to the bar always made her depressed, but she had no choice. None of her job interviews had been successful. She was stuck.

She sat up with a sigh.

It was five o'clock by the time she pushed through the door leading to the back entrance of the restaurant. It was hot inside, the steam from the kitchen turning the air stuffy.

'Hi, Abdul,' she said with a wave as she passed.

The chef waved back from behind his plastic window with a grin. 'Hi Miss Kaitlyn, how are you?'

'Better knowing that you're here.'

He laughed.

After stuffing her handbag in her locker, she straightened her blouse and skirt in the mirror and checked her make-up. She'd tried to cover up the bags under her eyes but they were only getting worse. She forced a smile as she walked into her shift.

It was the usual night. Hectic. Physically draining. Emotionally exhausting. People were either mostly rude or mostly drunk. Or both. She was sick of them. She was sick of everything.

She was sick of her whole Goddamn life.

'Here you are,' she told the customer, putting down his schooner of beer in front of him.

'Thank you,' he replied. He was sitting away from the rest of the crowd in a darkened corner of the bar, his grey hoodie pulled low over his eyes. He'd been sitting there for at least an hour before he'd ordered anything. He hadn't eaten. He hadn't met anyone.

Not good for business but it wasn't her problem.

She nodded and was about to leave when he said, 'What's your name?'

She stifled a sigh. Forcing a smile, she turned back. Did he not see how busy she was? 'Kaitlyn.'

'Have you been having dreams, Kaitlyn?'

She froze. 'Excuse me?'

He was gazing down at his drink, his face concealed within his hood. The back of her neck prickled. Who wore a hoodie inside if it wasn't their intention to conceal their identity?

'Have you been having dreams?' he repeated. He tilted up his head but not enough to reveal his face. He sounded older, like a man in his thirties or forties. His voice was soft and husky.

'We all have dreams,' she answered. Heart pounding, she turned and hurried back to the bar before he could answer.

'I'm sick of men,' she snapped at Felicity, the other barmaid.

'You and me both, babe,' she answered, flicking her purple fringe out of the way as she poured out a glass of wine.

Kaitlyn glanced back at the man in the corner. He was holding his drink in both hands, his face still lowered. How could he know about her dreams? She bit her lip, then shook herself. She was being silly. It was just a coincidence. He was just another greasy guy with a really bad pick-up line.

Weirdo.

She tried to forget as she turned to the next customer.