(Some time in the future...)
A fist - a female fist; a well-scrubbed, perfectly suitable fist; but not in any way, shape, or form a fist that dripped sex appeal from every pore - slammed on the countertop. "What the Hell is going on here, Michael?" The voice was likewise serviceable, but precisely calibrated as to avoid a mellifluous state.
Michael's left eyebrow raised, in perfect Lightning-approved fashion. "N.J., I am the Archangel of War, called Saint, Taxiarch, and Who Is Like God. I am the patron saint of Germany, police officers, paratroopers, soldiers, and the champion of Israel. I was the teacher of Moses, the destroyer of the army of Sennacherib; I was once Commander of the Hosts of Heaven, still am one of the Archangels of the Four Corners of the Earth, and will be the Archangel of The Last Thing That Baal Will Ever See. Lucifer still has the imprint of my boot on his anal scales, mostly because if he ever lets it fade I will personally go down there and reapply it.
"The least that you can do is not swear."
N.J. frowned, twisted her head a bit in obvious confusion, visibly thought better of it and continued. "...Fine. What the heck is going on here, Michael?"
The Archangel of War smiled. "Why, we're giving you a partner. Isn't that nice of us?" He extended one hand to indicate the young girl sitting beside him. "N.J., you can call her, ah, Tiffany. The name she was born with will set off alarm bells with too many of the Enemy. Tiffany, this is N.J. You should recognize the name behind the initials. You'll be working with each other for the foreseeable future."