Right. It was nearing sunset, the sky spectacular with the pollution: wild streaks of red and pink that swirled across the grey dusk like oil on water.

He kept driving carefully, though he was quite amazed by it.

On almost every street corner, silver and blue Church of Angels signs were painted on the sides of buildings like giant billboards. And lots of people were visibly sick.

The signs made him squirm a little.

Of course.

His grip on the wheel tightened a little.

A young woman pause on the sidewalk, gripping a street light for support. It could have been a coincidence, of course. She could have just had a dizzy spell or something.

Slowly, a massive stone cathedral loomed into view above the other buildings. It had two ornate bell towers; they stood to either side of a central dome, where a golden angel perched on one foot, lifting a garland towards the sky.

Vexin felt bad for her, no matter the reason. But the church is what made him grip the wheel so much that his knuckles turned whiter than his light colored skin.

Electa noticed and didn't blame him.

He still drove, seeming confused in the chaotic river of other types of drivers that ... seemed to disregard law.