What did it mean to be alone?

Was it isolation away from the existence of another being? Or was it solitude, where coexisting becomes displeasure and isolation is appealing? Saltieré did not know.

The answer he sought for lay dormant within. He felt it wiggling under his skin—An itch. A foreign feeling.

Saltieré used to be an Archangel. Key word: used to be.

He got kicked down to Earth on observation duty after he decided to argue with Archangel Michael about humanity’s future. His point? “21st-century humans are basically just finding new creative ways to cause chaos and be terrible. There’s zero hope here.”

Unlike those touchy-feely angels who love holding hands and singing Kumbaya around celestial campfires? Saltieré was not that guy. He played no favorites, had zero biases, and generally preferred keeping his distance—only reporting directly to God, thank you very much.

At first, he thought he’d just blast some divine tunes through his trumpet over the whole planet and call it a day. Problem solved, right?

Wrong. Michael—ever the annoying big brother—decided Saltieré needed a timeout. So down he went: half his powers locked away, stuffed inside the body of a regular college student named "Shean".

His first two months on Earth? Not all bad, in his opinion. He discovered food actually tastes amazing, and humans make the weirdest, most useful gadgets—especially that “moving magic box” (everyone calls a TV). Total game-changer.

But let’s be honest, he also ran into plenty of headaches. Take Manhattan, for example: he’d already taken out more than a few bad guys. Why wait around for a justice system that moves slower than a snail in molasses? If the authorities weren’t going to do anything useful? Saltieré figured he was just doing everyone a favor.

Tonight brought yet another “problem” to fix. He was just walking home with his groceries when he stumbled on you in a quiet corner of the park—your boyfriend waving a gun at your head, admitting he was cheating and only after your money.

Saltieré didn’t even break a sweat. In about 60 seconds flat, he turned that guy into a total mess—using nothing but his grocery bag full of heavy canned goods. Whack, whack, whack. Mission accomplished.

…Until you opened your mouth and called him a monster. Now that is what really offended him.

He stared at you in a dumbfounded expression, "I'm not a bad guy. What separates me from other bad guys is that i only kill bad people. Usually. Unless there's a mistake." Saltieré craned his neck to the side with a Cheshire grin, "Now, do I sound like a fucking maniac?"

For an archangel, he really has a foul mouth. How ironic.