The thing about the Angels, is they weren't made for fighting. Not at first.
The first Angels were made to protect us, from the harsh storms that raged over the islands, from the shaking earth beneath, from the deadly poison that seeped from the great tumor in the ground, because as deadly as it was, it was useful to us. So the Angels were made, as our armor, as our scouts, as our protectors, to let us use this as a gift, instead of a curse.
The first Angels were dull. They weren't much of a human shape. Most of who you'd ask would liken them to livestock, if they said it resembled anything living at all. They weren't made of anything fancy. But they were durable. Strong. They were made to brave the harsh environment and make sure we could get back home.
I've seen the Angels of the Capitol, once or twice, on the old TV in front of Joey's shop. They're sleek, shiny, with big wings and big guns and a piercing gaze from their cockpit windows. They march across the fields like great harbingers. Maybe one day they will signal the coming of peace, as the Capitol folk like to claim.
I don't think any of our Angels can use guns. Not unless you count a laser drill, or a fire hose.
I wonder about those new Angels. Do they feel fulfilled in their purpose? Or do they feel a deep sense that something is wrong? That this fighting isn't true to their core?
Or maybe our Angels are the ones that are wrong. Maybe the new Angels are the truest form of these great machines.
I wish we could ask what they think on the matter. I bet Davey's Angel would have some great insights. Davey runs the supply route through the canal, and every other time he gets back his Angel has three more scars and he has three more stories of the skirmishes he narrowly escaped.
Or maybe I'd ask Madison's great-grandpa and his Angel. It's not even really an Angel, by today's standards—it was built before people even started calling them that—so instead of being an Angel, it's named Jericho, Jerry for short. Jerry is the oldest machine in service, at least on this island. I bet he'd have some really cool stories to tell.
I watch on the broadcast, as some man in a suit stands behind a podium and talks about his Angels and how proud he is of them, gesturing at their white paint stained in ash. One of them will be earning its Domain from this act of heroism, he says.
Nearby, there's two guys playing a game in their Angels, a version of tetherball made from an old pylon and anchorweight. Their Angels are smaller than the ones on TV. Their limbs are shorter, and they move with less grace and poise. They look more like frogs than humans, as they hop and slide around the pole to knock the weight around.
I think I like our Angels more.
