Why Is Angel Wings Wrong

A thin sheet of glass stands between me and a room filled with cryo chambers. And in those chambers? Angel wings. Hundreds of them. I practically have my nose against the glass. Stacks and stacks of podded angel wings line the giant room below like bookshelves in a library. Giant hand-like machines sort the chambers, maintaining them and moving them if needed. On the floor, control panels sit alone, simply waiting for their workers. On the bottom, under all the angel wings, are rows of humans. Perfect, unblemished humans. My heart drops and my entire body slightly curls into itself. My fist pounds against the glass.
I wanted so much to be wrong. I didn’t want my suspicions to be true.
I wanted to be wrong.
Why can’t I be wrong?
I back

I can’t pass out.
I have to move.
So move!
With what little strength I current have, I flip onto my stomach and a whimper escapes my lips. It takes so much just to keep my head up. My arms try to sit me up, but they give out and I collapse, cheek pressed against the warm metal floor.
I’m idiot.
I should have known I wasn’t ready to this. I should have rested more.
An arm wraps around my torso and carefully lifts me. I look up with a weak smile of relief. Jagger. I lean into him, welcoming the help. I throw my arm around his shoulder as he wraps his around my waist. “What happened to you?” he asks.
“Nothing. Let’s just get out of here,” I grumble.
He doesn’t object, quickly leading us forward and around the bodies. The door is trying to close, but the pile of dead demons continue to block it. Those bodies keep us from behind trapped in the room. My left leg drags behind as we move. Dammit, I’m limping again. This just keeps getting better and better. My ribs and lungs are what hurt the most. It feels as if my ribs are catching fire. Not actually burning until I inhale, and it takes my breath away.
I wonder if I hold my breath, the pain with go

“It doesn’t matter. Just fix it so we can get the hell out of here.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Why?”
“Because what can hurt you, can hurt me too, idiot,” he growls. There’s something in his words that tell me he’s partly lying. I don’t know what he’s lying about.
“Always thinking about yourself first, right Jagger?”
He rubs something cool on my burning skin and it begins to tingle, slightly dulling the pain. The pain-killer only worked for maybe a minute before it’s gone. Stupid demon ability. “What demon did this to you?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Oh, if only it was a demon.”
He pulls another object out of the bag and warns me, “This is going to hurt.”
I nod. The object is in his hands is a Bonumarites. It has two long thin metal rods that will hook onto broken bones and set them in place, releasing a chemical bond to hold them. He slowly pierces the rods into my side and I groan in pain, slightly banging my head against the wall. I grind my teeth as he gets to work, carefully fixing my ribs.
“What do you mean if only it was a demon?” Jagger questions, working away. I don’t know how he knows all this medical stuff, but I’m not about to ask him. He won’t give me a straight answer. He never