[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 this ancient noise called hard rock. He and his older brother, Christopher sang along. Two fireteams gathered that night. Rapture, and Sabbath. Their commanders Colonel Michael Ward, and Major Anthony Lupine stood off in the shadows.

Ward stood leaning against a tree. "Heard from Warmaster Lewis today. Our next deployment is going to be different."

"How different?" Lupine's voice was an aged, dry rasp, weathered from years of fighting.

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

"Look, Michael, you may not like him on a personal level, but you have to admit, his command over the Archangels is the reason neither Fortress or Sanctuary have fallen."

"He's the reason we haven't grown any, either." Ward snapped, and sighed. "He's the kind of man content to always sit on the backfoot. 'Retreat and live to fight another day!' We're running out of other days to fight, Anthony. You ever look out a window when you're at Archangel HQ? How many walls have fallen before the one we guard now? The rubble that surrounds what we today call "Fortress"?"

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

"Precisely."

"And what if we do push back? We all know the Mechrion could end us in a moment. You've read the history records. You've watched the old footage. Their EZ Conversion weapons turned mountains into valleys. What do you think that would do to either of our cities?"

"Then why haven't they done that to either of our cities yet? 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, look at just the numbers! One hundred Archangels versus how many millions of Mechrion? How many billions? Trillions? We don't know! All we do know is we are outnumbered."

"We have the weapons to take them down! We're at the point now where a single Titan can reliably come out on top against a Mechrion Battlesuit. They're all shields, no armor."

"We fall in just a couple hits too. And particle accelerator cannons make salvage very difficult. Look at World War II, six hundred years ago. By and large, the Sherman tank was the better long-term investment. The Allied Forces could produce more of them, and swarm the German Panther tanks, ultimately coming out ahead in attrition. And that's only when the Shermans outnumbered the Panthers by a factor of eight. By how much do the Mechrion outnumber us by?"

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

"We tell them nothing, Michael. We just let them do what they're good at. That's what got you promoted as fast as you did. You're better at fighting the aliens than any Archangel I know. And I know most of them. 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 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 nations have collapsed many times before. Rome, United States, the Golden World Coalition, just to name a few. And I'm sure the Romans, Americans, and Golden Citizens all thought it was the end of the world. Guess what, it wasn't."

"It was for the GWC. They collapsed when the Mechrion showed up."

"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?" Michael forced a dry chuckle.

"Hey, boss!" Jonathan called. "With respect, sir, get your ass over here! Jacob just got back with the drinks!"

"That's contraband, Moore."

"Oh, come on, boss, like you actually care. It's the end of the world, 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 sighed. "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, discordant, joyous dance. Laughter and taunting replaced the cheers.

"Gettin' awfully close to your commander's daughter, there, Chris." Jonathan teased. "pair that with the beard, I might start thinking you're a civilian."

"Oh, shut up, baby-face." Christopher chided. Elena laughed in reply as Christopher continued. "You think my beard's a problem, look at the Major's."

Anthony chuckled, and slid a hand over his bald head. "Not my fault my chin reached up and pulled it all down there. Elena's a grown woman now, if she wants to risk a romance, that's her business. So long as you're good to her, and keep your hands where I can see them, then we'll get along fine."

The pickup truck that just rolled in idled only a moment longer before Jacob killed the engine. Out stepped probably the tallest man in the Archangel's ranks. Jonathan picked up a rock, and tossed it at velocity towards Jacob. Without looking, Jacob snatched it straight out of the air, and tossed it right back. "Fastest reflexes in the entire Archangels Mechanized Infantry Corps." Jonathan chuckled.

"It's why I'm Sabbath's scout." His voice was soft, quiet almost. Barely audible over the music, to which he paid no mind.

"Yeah, yeah, let's see if those reflexes hold up after the first bottle."

"First bottle?!" Jacob laughed. "You insult me. What, you think an outlander can't build up a tolerance? It'd take at least three." Jacob cracked one open for himself, and for Jonathan. He offered one to Elena, who declined. Moore leaned over to Elena. "You sure? He's quite a specimen. You'd get those silver locks, that towering frame."

Before Jonathan could continue, Elena interrupted. "He's built like a twig, and moves way too fast. Besides, it sounds like you've already got eyes for him."

"Girl, shut up!" Jonathan laughed. Jabob seemingly appeared behind him, dwarfing the younger Moore brother. "You're not my type." he said flatly, and walked away, taking a deep gulp off his beer. 

"Ohhh..." Christopher teased. "Got somethin' you wanna tell me, Jonny?"

"Oh, yeah, the closet's open wide now, isn't it?" Jonathan said sarcastically. "God, can we switch jokes, please?"

"Nope." said Michael. "You're a faggot now. That's an order."

Jonathan's voice raised three octaves, and he adopted a tone like he were roleplaying a whore in an alley. "Sir, yes sir, sweetie." He could barely snap his fingers and strike an effeminate pose before everyone doubled over laughing. Everyone except that one lone man, sitting and staring at the fire as if it held all of life's answers.

"And there's good old Charlie Lund, the life of the party!" said Jonathan, his normal demeanor returning to him. "You gonna have a drink or what?"

Charles shook his head and said nothing. "You sure, buddy? We're all goin' back to work tomorrow, and tonight might be your last night off."

"Then I might as well do it right." he said plainly. His eyes never left the fire.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that. Look, I know one thing, and one thing only. Life is temporary. Especially so for an Archangel. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts."

"It'd be unwise to distract myself, Moore. My life has one purpose. Anything more is unimportant."

"Sometimes we need a little unimportance, Chuck."

"Don't call me that."

"Suit yourself. We'll be over here having fun with our last day on leave."

"Yeah, you do that."

"Wait." said Michael. "Where's Taketa?"

"Scott?" Christopher continued. "Didn't he go with Jacob to get the drinks?"

Everyone looked to Jacob. "He opted to call it a night on the way to the store. Had me drop him off at his place."

"And you didn't think to say anything?" asked Michael.

"I thought it was obvious when I showed up without him. Either he wanted to go home, or he had somewhere else to be."

"It'd still be nice to have it announced, asshole." Michael shook his head.

"Oh, come on, guys. All that means is the rest of us have a sportin' chance at horseshoes." declared Jonathan.

"True. When's the last time we saw that guy threw anything less than a ringer?" asked Christopher.

"The first time he played." answered Elena.

"There's no way that guy's human. Not with that aim." chuckled Jonathan.

"Seems a bit too 'pro-human' not to be." replied Christopher.

"Nah, that's all just a cover-up. We all know he's got a heart of pure EZ."

"The way I see it?" Lund spoke flatly. "He's good at breaking the aliens, good at keeping them off our wall."

Everyone chuckled, Michael raised his drink. "And that's why we're all here. A few among the best. Some among us born with the necessary perfect minds," he gestured to Christopher and Jonathan Moore, "some of us bred for it." He gestured to the rest, himself included. "But we all are Archangels, tasked with protecting Fortress and Sanctuary, the last strongholds of humanity."

"With respect sir?" Jacob said. "You are terrible at giving speeches."

"What do you expect, Sword?" Jonathan laughed. "The guy was bred to break robots, not perform standup."

"Neither were you." chided Christopher. Jacob's immediate reaction was to give Chris the finger.

The sun rose high the following morning, and the pale moon drowned beneath the horizon. Ward stood in the Titan Bay of Fortress' Archangel 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. On either arm was two heavy barrels, and over each shoulder was a large box 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 across the cannons Michael called arms.

Ward 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 rests nearby. That same picture sits singed and burnt in the Thunderhead's cockpit. Lund stepped beside him. "Your hand's in your pocket again, sir."

"Old habits die hard, Lund." Ward'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 it."

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

Lund shook his head, slowly. "Why do you remind yourself of why you have that habit in the first place?"

"Because I'd rather remember why I'm pissed than forget why I fight."

"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, sir." 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 need 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 minds like yours. We needed Archangels."

"Manufactured soldiers." Ward 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. God, I've heard it more times than I'd care to ever again."

"Then I won't say it." Lund pushed himself off the railing, and turned to march off. "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, Ward was alone, his hand lingered in his pocket. Across the way, he noticed Takeda leaning against the railing similarly to himself, looking upon his own Titan the same way Ward just was. His face was that of a samurai, stern, focused, and wise, despite his own 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 across its left shoulder, and again in pre-Golden Age Japanese text. Kyudo. Takeda was one of the few who researched, and kept his roots alive. Said it's one thing to survive, but it's quite another to remember. He still operated under the required western military standards, still saluted with his index and middle fingers to his brow, and his palm turned inward.

"Sir." he said as his commander approached, giving the aforementioned salute.

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

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

"Other than it's not the usual wall patrol, parade, or invasion prep? Not a clue."

"Is he anticipating a larger-scale attack?"

"Like I said, Archangel, not a clue." Ward's tone grew short.

"Sorry, sir." Taketa bowed his head, slightly. A pause fell between them until Taketa continued. "Do you think we're ready for whatever our next mission has in store?"

"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. There's a discrepancy in your Titan's design."

"Discrepancy, 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 choose to put in your Titan's hands is a Nathan Armories design."

"With respect, sir, there aren't many compatibility issues when you're essentially 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 Holland and Anderson Mechanization."

"My issued role is direct fire support and sniping, sir. The rest of our fireteam already has plenty of lasers, and plasma doesn't pierce through concrete walls. The way I see it? You guys knock down their shields, I crack them open. Me and Moore both."

"I know. And it's saved my ass multiple times."

"If you already knew, sir, then why ask me?"

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

"She's the only one of her kind, sir. Just like yours, Lund's, Anthony and Elena Lupine's Titans, all one hundred under the Archangels' banner. 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 behind every corner of every console and station and across 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 Ward was the first to enter, followed closely by Charles Lund, then Scott Takeda, and Jonathan Moore.

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. Legs and back straight, left arm at their side, right fist in the center of their chest, as if they were holding a sword.

"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 Ward.

"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. As you know, our Total Salvation Act has allowed the nomadic outsider clans to find safety, sustenance, and employment within both Sanctuary and Fortress in exchange for 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, as described by the outsiders let into the cities through the Total Salvation Act. There was very little activity in the eastern hemisphere, with most of their presence being focused in the Americas.

"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 offensive action possible. We can disrupt their ground operations, cut supply lines, take their resources for our own."

Ward 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, Colonel Ward, to lead the Archangels' first offensive op. Welcome to Project Revelation."

All four Archangels of Fireteam Rapture exchanged glances. Some more approving than others. Ward 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 radio tower, confirmed by the nano-wave signals 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 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."