Zeke ran for his bedroom. He slammed the door shut and locked it then froze as he caught sight of himself in the mirrored door of his closet.

His short black hair was now snow white and long. His clothes were gone, replaced by a black shirt and pants and a long, full black leather coat. Three spikes stood out on each shoulder and a red chain was wrapped around his left arm.

Holy shit! I’m a refugee from FUNimation.…

Or Final Fantasy.

On his right hip was the hilt of a sword that looked like an ancient cross. As he watched the hilt in the mirror, the center opened to reveal two pale blue eyes and a small mouth.

“You can call me Jack.”

Zeke screamed and ripped the hilt off then threw it to the ground. He turned to run to the window only to find Gabriel there.

“I see you met Jack. Don’t worry. Most men scream like girls when he does that.”

Zeke shook his head. “This is a whacked-out dream. I’m going to wake…” He trailed off as “Jack” mutated from a cross-hilt into a large, metallic man.

How much Fullmetal Alchemist have I watched?

Jack extended his hand. “All Seraph have a minion and a guardian. I’m yours.”

Zeke’s head whirled at what was happening. This is not real. It couldn’t be.

“Breathe deep before you hyperventilate,” Jack said.

“What are you?”

“I told you. I’m your guardian and your minion. Anything you need that’s metal, from transportation to weaponry, I can be. When you need a hand fighting, I look like this.” He indicated his armored human form then pounded his hand against his metallic breast. “The best armor in the world. Nothing, except a handful of demonic weapons, can mar me.”

Gabriel clapped Zeke on the back. “Welcome to the fold, Ezekiel.”

Suddenly something warm swept through Zeke. It felt as if his very blood was on fire. His breathing ragged, he turned back toward the closet. His eyes were a vibrant red and his face was every bit as perfect and ethereal as Gabriel’s.

Zeke lifted his armored arm to make sure it was him.

Shit. It was.

Still in shock, he frowned at Gabriel. “What about my day job?”

A bit sheepish, Gabriel glanced away. “There’s no payment for being a Seraph. Sorry. But you will have a whole new set of skills. Just wait.”

That sounded ominous. “The only skill I want is the ability to wish myself a billionaire.”

Jack laughed. “Won’t happen. They like poverty.”

“They” who?

Gabriel scratched nervously at his neck. “And there’s one more thing you should know.”

Of course there was. “And that is?”

“Your granduncle Michael notwithstanding, the average life expectancy for a Seraph is … two years.”

Zeke laughed nervously. “Oh yeah … hell to the no. I definitely decline. You can take this crap and stick it.”