NOTE: I AM EDITING THIS CHAPTER. THERE WILL BE INCONSISTENCIES

[Date: 04/29/2645, 22:45, Eastern Standard Time]
[Location: Fortress, Old Virginia, Former Continental United States]

The campfire danced gold beneath the pale lunar glow, Johnathan Moore's media-player blasted some ancient noise called hard-rock. He and his older brother, Christopher sang along. Two Archangel fireteams gathered that night: Rapture, and Sabbath. Their commanders Michael Ward, and Anthony Lupine stood off in the shadows.

Michael leaned against a tree. His amber gaze tore through the night, reflecting the golden flame which burned only a stone's throw away. "Heard from Warmaster Lewis today. Our next deployment is going to be different."

"How different?" Anthony's voice was an aged, dry rasp.

"'Game-changing' he called it." Michael huffed. "Heard that one before."

Anthony shook his head. "You and Lewis may have your differences, but that doesn't change that he's the Warmaster. He's kept both cities intact thus far."

"Hardly." Michael scoffed. He pushed himself off the tree and stood next to Anthony, who looked upon both Rapture, and Sabbath with pride. "He's kept us all on the backfoot." Michael continued. "You ever looked outside the windows of HQ?"

"You've said this before." replied Anthony. "We've only got about half the city we did a hundred years ago."

"Precisely."

"And what if we do push back? The Mechrion would end us that very moment."

"Then why haven't they? Why are they pulling their punches?"

"I don't know. But a better question, why provoke them to stop?"

"Why give them a chance to stop?"

"Michael, just look at the numbers! One hundred Archangels versus how many millions of Mechrion? How many billions? Trillions?"

"We know how to fight back. We have the weapons."

"Whatever weapons you think we have, they've got weapons to counter it. God, why am I having this conversation with you again?"

Michael had no reply. He simply looked at his fireteam. "So, what do we tell them?"

"We tell them nothing. We just let them do what they're good at. Let them fight. But we can't fight them head on."

"So, we just delay the inevitable?"

"And what would you say is the inevitable, Michael?"

Michael looks at the Fortress walls, no more than a mile away, and standing at two miles tall, then back at Anthony. "Collapse. Extinction. Defeat. Take your pick."

"Those aren't all the same thing, Michael. Humanity's great nations have collapsed many times before. Rome, the United States, the Golden World Coalition. I'm pretty sure they all thought it was the end of the world. Guess what, it wasn't."

"It was for the GWC."

"We've still got a world to walk on, right? Means the world hasn't ended."

"How the hell are you so confident that won't change?"

"Hey, boss!" Jonathan called from the fire. "With respect, sir, get your ass over here! Jacob just got back with the drinks!" The headlights shining behind him confirmed this.

"That's contraband, Moore."

"Oh, come on, boss, like you actually care. It's the end of the world, right? Might as well enjoy it."

Michael looked to Anthony, who shrugged and lifted his brows. A look that said, 'What'll it be, Colonel?' Michael chuckled. "Alright, I'm in."

The sound of friends cheering filled the air, and both the Moore brothers resumed bobbing their blonde heads to the music's beat. Christopher took Elena by the hand, and began their usual chaotic, joyous dance. Laughter and taunting replaced the cheers.

"You're really okay with Chris getting that close and personal with your daughter, sir?" asked Jonathan.

Anthony sighed. "There aren't any regs against it. Command has no issue with them either."

"I'm not asking what command thinks, sir. I'm asking what you think."

Anthony closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Elena's a grown-ass woman now. And Chris is a good man. If she wants to take that risk, that's her business. She could have picked worse."

"She could've picked me."

"Thank God she didn't."

"Ouch." Jonathan stepped away with a chuckle. 

Jacob stepped out of his truck, a six-pack in either hand. He towered above the rest of the Archangels. "The gentle giant's back!" said Jonathan. Jacob passed one six-pack to Jonathan, and handed out drinks from the other. "Wasn't easy to get this shit, by the way." said Jacob.

"It's hard for Archangels to get anything fun." added Christopher, accepting a drink, and offering one to Elena. "Anything other than good company." His tone shifted slyly as he looked towards Elena.

"But not impossible." she said, accepting the drink.

Jonathan approached the fire. A wisened man sat on a log, peering into the dancing flame as if it could answer all his questions. He did not sing, and did not dance. "There he is. Mr. Life-of-the-party." He offered a drink to Charles Lund, who silently shook his head. He did not look away from the fire.

"Oh, don't be like that." Jonathan groaned, playfully. "It's our last night on leave."

"And I'd rather not regret it tomorrow."

Jonathan sighed. "Suit yourself."

Jonathan turned back towards the other Archangels, and noticed one missing. "Where's Scott gone off to? Didn't he go with you Jacob?"

"Takeda?" Jacob asked. "He called it a night."

"Smart move." said Lund, plainly.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "At least now we've all got a chance at horseshoes."

"There's no way Takeda's aim is human." Christopher chuckled. "When was the last time we've seen him not throw a ringer?"

"The first time he played." Elena replied, swiftly.

"When's the last time we've seen Jonathan throw a ringer?" asked Jacob.

"Never." chuckled Christopher.

Jonathan's immediate reply was to give his elder brother the finger. Everyone shared a laugh then, and many times again that night.

The sun rose high the following morning, and the pale moon drowned beneath the horizon. Michael stood in the Titan Bay of the Archangels HQ. He leaned against the catwalk railing across from his Titan. It was stout, broad, stood low on the back-bent pillars the technicians called legs. The nose of its torso was a downward-pointed wedge, with floodlights on either side. On either arm was two heavy barrels, and over each shoulder was a large cube with a massive array of forward-pointing laser emitters. The hull was painted a dark greenish-grey, and there was no visible cockpit glass. Its name, Thunderhead, was painted along the cannons.

Michael reached into the pocket of his dark blue uniform; a habit he'd picked up years prior, just to make sure that one photo always rested nearby. That same picture sat singed in the Thunderhead's cockpit. Lund stepped beside him. "Your hand's in your pocket again, sir."

"Old habits die hard." Michael's reply seemed distant, detached even. His mind and gaze rested anywhere and everywhere but here.

"Not that you've made an effort to break them."

"What if I don't want to break them?"

Lund shook his head, slowly. "Why do you remind yourself of that night, Michael? Why do you insist on hurting yourself like that?"

"Because I'd rather remember why I fight. I'd rather have a reason other than 'I was bred for it'."

"Self-preservation's just as good a reason as that."

"If I'm only fighting for self-preservation, I become that cornered animal from that pre-Golden Age metaphor. I become selfish, fighting for myself instead of something greater."

"You romanticize war like a child." Lund's tone grew short.

"No, I'm choosing not to be reduced to a weapon."

"Weren't you just saying how you refuse to be selfish? You're choosing to be something more than what you were meant to be. Something neither Fortress nor Sanctuary needs you to be. You were born a weapon, sir. Born with a mind free of ailment and defect. A mind designed to withstand the strain of controlling a Titan. A mind a very precious few are naturally born with. You were given this mind not by chance, but because we needed it. We needed Archangels."

"Manufactured soldiers." Michael scoffed. "Then what's left to separate us from the Mechrion?"

"Flesh and blood. Invader versus defender."

"If you say, 'This is our world, and it's up to us to defend it,' I'm kicking you in the balls."

"Then I won't say it." Lund pushed himself off the railing, and turned to march away. "Do us all a favor, Colonel? Don't let Miranda make you forget what you are."

"Or what I could have been."

Lund gave no further reply. Once again, Michael was alone. His hand lingered in his pocket. Across the way, he noticed Takeda leaning against the railing similarly to himself, looking up at his own Titan the same way Michael just was. His face was that of a samurai. He was stern, focused, and wise, despite his youth. When he noticed his commander, he simply nodded and returned his gaze to his Titan.

Its silver hull gleamed in the hangar, contrasting handsomely against the name printed black across its left shoulder, and again on the opposite shoulder in Japanese text. Kyudo.

"Sir." he said as his commander approached, snapping a swift Archangels salute. His feet together, left hand at his side, and right fist in the center of his chest, as if he were holding a sword.

"At ease, Archangel." Ward said. "Commander Lewis should be calling us into the situation room any moment now."

"So I've heard, sir." Taketa let himself relax, slightly. "Any idea what he's got planned?"

"Other than it's not the usual? Not a clue."

"Is he anticipating a larger-scale attack?"

"Like I said, Archangel, not a clue."

"Sorry, sir." Taketa bowed his head, slightly. A pause fell between them until Taketa continued. "Do you think we're ready?"

"I guess there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

"That does not instill confidence, sir."

Ward smiled, and turned his gaze to the young Archangel's Titan. "Took me a while to get your file, Takeda. I noticed something odd about your Titan's design."

"Odd, sir?" Takeda's posture stiffened.

"The chassis is a Johnson Mechanized Warfare design. Advanced, but expensive. Made from salvaged Mechrion tech, and given only to the most capable or promising of Archangels."

"That is accurate, sir. Is there a problem with that?"

"Nothing. But I noticed the weapon you chose to put in your Titan's hands is a Nathan Armories design."

"With respect, sir, there aren't many compatibility issues when you're just pulling a massive trigger. It's a newer classification of Titan, to be sure. Giving them detachable rifles as opposed to mounting the weapons to the frame."

"I know that much, Takeda. I just thought someone piloting a JMW chassis would prefer either lasers or plasma as their primary weapon. Not the ballistics of Nathan Armories or H&A."

"With respect, sir? Fireteam Rapture has plenty of lasers already, between the Thunderhead and the Phalanx. If I chose to hold a laser weapon, it would hurt mine, and the rest of our fireteam's ability to hurt the Mechrion beyond their shields. And plasma doesn't pierce through walls like bullets do."

"I just needed to see how well you knew your own machine."

"She's the only one of her kind, sir. It'd be concerning if I didn't."

"Damn straight." Ward's gaze lingered on the Kyudo.

"Was there something else you needed, sir?"

Both Archangels' wrist-worn communicators trilled. Three beats, with the last one sounding an octave higher in pitch, and lasting twice as long. "That's our cue, Takeda."

Takeda was already on his way.

The large, steel-grey chamber was lit a clear, emerald green. Shadows were cast sharp over everyone's faces by the holographic display, which showed the Archangels crest. A kite shield with three points on top, one point at its lower tip. On it, a downward-pointed flaming sword with angel wings. Across the top of the shield was the text, "Archangels Mechanized Infantry Corps". Michael was the first to enter, followed closely by Lund, then Takeda, and Jonathan.

A bold voice called from behind the emblem. "Fireteam Rapture," the holographic image flickered away, revealing a man whose mere presence was one that held command. His eyes seemed to glow in contrast to his dark figure. The residual glow of the room's artificial light shown across his white uniform. In gold, his name, Lewis, Mason was embroidered on his left shoulder. All four Archangels immediately snapped the Archangel salute.

"At ease." The Archangels stood with their feet at shoulder-width, and their hands behind their backs. Their gaze locked on the opposite wall instead of their commander. "As I'm sure Colonel Ward has told you, your mission today will be vastly different from anything you've done up to this point."

"Affirmative." replied Michael.

"Reason being, you will not be operating within neither Fortress' or Sanctuary's walls."

"With respect, sir." Lund said. "Everything outside these walls is Mechrion territory. There's no telling by how much they outnumber us."

"No," said the Commander. "It's just no-man's land. Our Total Salvation Act has allowed the nomadic outsider clans to find safety, sustenance, and employment within both Sanctuary and Fortress. In exchange, they offer information on what lies beyond."

Takeda struggled not to roll his eyes at the mention of the Total Salvation Act.

The Commander continued, "And according to several unrelated interviews, the Mechrion don't have nearly as strong a hold on our world as we thought. There are several clans who have gone their entire lives without even once seeing even a single Mechrion Stinger flying through the sky. Fireteam Sabath's scout, Jacob Sword was among them."

"Sir?" said Lund. "All this confirms is that the aliens are focusing their efforts on Fortress and Sanctuary."

"Not entirely, Corporal." The Commander pressed a series of commands into the holographic display, and pulled up a map of the world, focused on the Former Continental United States. The green dot in Old Virginia represented Fortress. The one in Old Montana was Sanctuary. Pockmarked across the entire map was red dots and lines representing the Mechrion presence. There was far less activity than any of the Archangels expected. Most of the planet looked... empty.

"Our air defenses and focused shielding make aerial assault and orbital bombing almost impossible, forcing ground movement as the only conceivable offensive action. And while their mothership rests atop our moon, there's a much greater concentration of resources planetside, which makes focusing their operations down here much more efficient. This means ground-based supply lines, manufacturing hubs, operating bases, and troop movements. They have all the time in the world, so their main motivation shifts to resource conservation. Our ability to defend from any attack has made our own offensive action possible. We can disrupt their ground operations, cut supply lines, and even take their resources for our own."

Michael couldn't hide his admiration for the idea. Resources have been in steady decline since Fortress was first constructed. He saw an opportunity for the pendulum to swing the other way for the first time in over a century. Not just resources, but alien technology. The same technology that only JMW could only recently replicate. How soon before such becomes commonplace?

The Commander continued. "If we are going to survive, we need to strike back. Which is why I chose you, Fireteam Rapture, to perform the Archangels' first offensive op. Welcome to Project Revelation."

All four Archangels exchanged glances. Some more approving than others. Michael turned his gaze to meet the Commander's. "What's our first mission under Project Revelation?"

The Commander smiled. "We need to start small. A group of outsiders, one that has seen the aliens before, has pinpointed the location of a small Mechrion supply depot in Northwest Old Montana, none too far outside of Sanctuary. One of its central structures seems to be some sort of communications tower. This was confirmed by the nano-wave signals we tracked moving to and from that point. That's your first target. Cut off communication with the other Mechrion forces, and you ensure reinforcements won't be an issue. Then, you'll eliminate the defending forces however you see necessary, and take the site. Once you've completed this objective, contact us, and we'll send salvage crews from Sanctuary to recover any resources and materials the Mechrion have on site. After they arrive, your mission will be to defend said salvage crew until it's time to return to Fortress. Deployment is in four hours. Ready your Titans, Archangels. Humanity hides no longer."