Uh yeah, that's where that report ends. But it about covers everything. There's another one by him that basically just reads 'I can no longer die,' and another later dated one where he discusses cycles, which had just come into existence. But about cycles.

But actually, more importantly, about you: you haven't always been you, you know. That's what you seem so set to skimp around every time you admit Michael may have once been human- you were once human.

And for God's sake, I hope you're not offended when I tell you your name wasn't Nichael back then.

And that leads me to this short, brief, and infuriating point. Bare with me here. Breath, Nichael, breath.

'There's a new concern on the minds of the residents of Bristol. Though home to only eleven thousand, there's a sudden surge of tourists coming to town- ones the make the locals more than edgy.

'They're calling themselves the chosen ones." Said local Catherine Ault. "It's not even the kids. There are grown men joining this thing."

What 'this thing' is has been quite hard to define. Asking around town, the answers vary greatly- but most seem to define these 'chosen ones' as some sort of religious cult. The members, all men, refuse to talk to anyone here at The Courier. But we've managed to locate one source. Twenty-seven year old Tegan Castellano, whose older brother works as a professor at our college. He teaches astronomy, and has become involved with this apparent cult.

Q: First, off the base, what can you tell us?

TC: Tell you? About anything? That's a hard request to ask. I don't know. Michael [Her brother] has never been someone I'd suspect to fall into this sort of thing. He's always been... normal, I'd say.

Q: When did he get involved with the cult?

TC: First off, I do believe they call themselves 'followers of Michael'- different Michael. It's a pretty common name. The whole movement is brand new, and I honestly don't know how long it's been around. A year at most.

Q: What are their beliefs?

TC: They worship Michael, their very young leader, like some sort of deity. His brothers too. I don't know the full of it, but I think they call themselves angels. The brother's names are Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel. But it's unlikely those are their real names.

Q: Is it dangerous?

TC: Dangerous? How am I supposed to know? My brother's cut off all contact with me in the last couple months. Before that, I still only had the vaguest of glimpses into his life. I made the mistake of trying to talk him out of it, and he grew upset and left me. Turns out one of their core beliefs is not to trust women. So dangerous, yes, in that it can drive people apart. And that it's terribly sexist.

Q: But what about-

TC: What, human sacrifice? I don't think so. I wouldn't be surprised if there's some sort of weird sexual extreme going on, either pure chastity or homosexual rampage, but that's just typical. They seem tame, if not fairly isolated.

So there you have it- spreading on our campuses and into our homes is the latest trend: Angels. Follow count: unknown. Leader: a teenage boy named Michael. What is drawing men towards him? What does he stand for?

Plenty of people have seen him on campus. Sometimes he even sneaks into classes. And out of everyone who's seen him, not one has described him as anything but unremarkable.

But the hotels are filling up and the ads are going out on internet. Exactly who these people are, and what they want, is something we may never know. At least, of course, until someone leaves and gives us the full story from the inside.'

So yes. There's that. Hi again, Nichael. Hi. I have some very sorry news to report- you're my brother.

It's a weird sort of game to sort out. Here's a fun fact- you're thirty-three. You used to be six years older than me though, but that gap's been whittled down to just one year. When Alexander sold his soul, all the angels reset to be eternally the age they were when he first started experimenting on them. You're thirty-three years old, externally, but by all accounts you're actually two hundred and twenty four. Heaven's just one-hundred and seventy-six years old.

But do you know what it was like to be eleven years old, sorting through files in a dusty library, and finding one that told you the strangest sort of things? About you, about your life, in the oddest of details. No one had explained cycles to me at that point. I was just stuck reading this article and thinking to myself, vaguely before drifting off to sleep, 'I think I remember.' But was it my past or my future?

Do you remember me, Nichael?

I have some things left in the oldest corners of my mind that make me think I know you. And that's why I sought you out. Because when my parents sat me down to explain the mess our world was, I had to feign surprise.

I've always been the girl who knew too much. And when I felt I was ready, I gathered my documents- these ones, about Michael and the angels- and set off to Heaven. And I sat down with Michael. And I made it clear that I wanted you to come to Hell with me.

He is a pain in the ass to deal with, and after a couple hard rounds he finally agreed to let you go- if you were allowed to be his spy. I was to house you and carry anything you found back to him. Whatever. I didn't mind.

I still don't get what you see in him. And in Heaven. I guess that's why I keep pressing you about it- you speak of love and beauty, and all I saw was rot and a teenager with no self control. The only reason he didn't kill me was because I knew his last name. And after that, I suppose I was just his game to play.

You know how I never sold my soul? I mean, I half did. I was collected and reborn as a demon when I was ten. But I've been saving my soul, and my wish, for something special. And I guess it was always meant to be my last resort. You know, if you never remembered me. It's risky, messing with souls too much- look what happened to Alexander. But still. I always thought it'd be worth it if you'd remember.

My life among demons is my life. But my parents aren't my parents, and they never did much to raise me. This is a city that hates children. I grew up in a fucking library, for God's sake- you can't blame a young girl for dreaming of having a friend. Even is he is her brother.

But I've given up on you. And that's okay too. You're simply not Michael Castellano- you're Nichael. No last name. And nothing else.

And after all these years, it really pisses me off. But it's sort of a relief. One less goal in life, one less problem to seek out."