[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. Archangel fireteam Sierra gathered for their final night on leave. Michael Ward leaned against a tree. His form was that of a soldier, with a sharp face to match. Though, his eyes were gentle, betraying his humanity. His emerald gaze glided through the night, reflecting the golden flame which burned only a stone's throw away. Charles Lund stood next to him. His hair greyed near his scalp, his face locked in a perpetual Scottish scowl. A deep scar ran down his forehead, crossing the bridge of his nose, and narrowly missing his eyes.

"Heard from Warmaster Lewis today." said Michael. "Our next deployment is going to be different."

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

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

Lund 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 Lund, 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 Lund. "We've only got about half the city we did thirty years ago."

"Precisely."

"And what if we do push back? What if they retaliate? We've only got two cities. Neither one of them would survive an all-out assault from the Mechrion."

"Then why haven't they attacked then? 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 thousands of Mechrion? How many millions? billions?"

"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?" Moore and Takeda stood on the opposite side of the fire from Michael and Lund. Moore's young, softened smile beamed with excitement. His hair was a gold that rivaled the fire behind him. His bright blue eyes matched his glee. He carried himself lighter than other Archangels, with a frame to match.

Takeda stood taller than Jonathan, his gaze was focused and wise, despite his youth. His obsidian hair framed a sharp, narrow gaze. He carried himself with the poise and strength of the samurai of olde. They were throwing horseshoes. Takeda was winning.

"We tell them nothing." said Lund. "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 looked at the Fortress walls, no more than a mile away. He'd patrolled those very walls many times before. From them, he'd seen the entire city. From below, he felt shrunken. He looked back at Lund. "Collapse. Extinction. Defeat. Take your pick."

"Those aren't all necessarily the same thing. Humanity's great nations have collapsed many times before. Rome, the British Empire, 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! Theta just got back with the drinks!" The headlights shining behind him confirmed this.

"That's contraband, Moore."

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

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

A long, grey pickup truck came to a halt. From it stepped four more Archangels. First to meet Sierra was Theta's commander, Anthony Lupine. His raven hair was combed back, streaked with grey framing his aged silver eyes, and sculpted jawline. He stood tall, bearded chin up, revealing a deep, savage burn scar running up his neck. "Sorry we're late, boys." his voice was as rough as gravel, but as warm as the summer sun. 

Behind him, coming out the driver's side, was Jacob Sword. Easily the tallest man in the entire AMIC. His pale hair was buzzed short, but shown bright in the moonlight, his amber eyes reflected the fire before him. In either hand, he carried a six-pack of beer. He spoke smoothly, and twice as strong. "This shit was not easy to get."

"Archangels don't get anything fun." said Christopher, Jonathan's older brother. That much was plain to see, given how closely their hair and eyes matched. Though Christopher's face was wiser, stronger. As was his frame. In his hand, he held Elena's. He looked over to Elena, eyes growing wide with awe.

Unlike her father, she let her raven hair grow out, its ends touching her shoulders. Her silver gaze was softer, her jaw tapered to a point. Her smile was brighter than the fire itself when turned towards Christopher. Her hand squeezed his. When she spoke, it was lighter than the clouds, "Anything but good company." Christopher returned her smile.

"Alright, lovebirds." said Jonathan. 'It's your guys' turn to lose to Takeda at horseshoes. I'm done trying." He accepted a six pack from Jacob, and started passing out drinks. Takeda was still over by the horseshoe pit, taking practice shots. Ringer, after ringer, the loud ping filled the air.

"Screw that." said Jacob. "I'm not playing against an aim like that."

"There's no way his aim's human." said Christopher. "When's the last time we've seen him not throw a ringer?"

"The first time he played." said Jacob.

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

"Never." said Christopher.

Jonathan's immediate reply was to give Christopher the finger. "At least I'm not dating my commander's daughter." Christopher returned the gesture.

Anthony looked at Christopher. A man who'd saved Elena's life more than once. Elena had done the same for him. "He's a good man." Anthony spoke in Christopher's defense. "And Elena's a grown-ass woman. If she wants to risk it, that's her business."

"With respect, sir," replied Jonathan. "It was only a joke."

"I didn't get it."

Jonathan nodded with his realization. "That's right. Sometimes I forget you guys are autistic."

"We're not autistic, Moore." said Michael, taking a swig from his drink. "Just a part of project Archangel."

"Autistic test-tube babies." he chuckled.

"No," continued Michael. "We were conceived through our mothers accepting gene-samples from past soldiers. And we're not autistic. We just perceive things differently."

"You've told me this before. Things that are obvious to you aren't necessarily obvious to the rest of us. And things that are obvious to others aren't always obvious to you. Sound familiar?"

"We're not autistic!" Jacob cracks open his beer, Takeda finally joins the crowd around the fire. He accepts a drink. "We don't get that sensory-overload or whatever it's called."

"So, you're high-functioning autists." His already mischievous smile grew wider.

"Shut the hell up, Jonathan." chided Christopher, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why are we having this conversation?" asked Takeda. "Aren't they Archangels too?"

"We were conceived naturally." answered Christopher. "From parents who weren't Archangels. No superhuman reflexes, no hyper analysis, nothing. Same for Jacob. But, unlike most people, we can pilot the Titans."

"So, are we the better soldiers by default then?" asked Takeda.

"In combat, yes. But since we weren't born as part of the Archangels process, our brains function the same as normal people's do."

"They can see things we can't," said Lund. "And think in ways we don't."

"Understood." said Takeda. "Now, who wants to play horseshoes?" No one answered.

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. Its blue-grey hull was muted under the hangar's dry lights, its narrow torso was situated horizontally on two strong digitigrade legs. There was no visible cockpit glass, but rather a forward-facing taper to a flat frontal plate. It stood low, an apex predator among the Archangels ranks. A lion among its pride. Over either shoulder was a cubical array of small laser emitters, and on each arm was two large cannons. On each cannon, the machine's name was printed: "Thunderhead."

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." 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 you refuse to be selfish? And yet, you're trying 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."

"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. When he noticed his commander, he simply nodded and returned his gaze to his Titan. Michael turned and began moving towards him.

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 old 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, his grip aligned virtically, 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." Takeda 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." A pause fell between them until Takeda 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 not of the same make."

"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 chassis like that would prefer either lasers or plasma as their primary weapon. Not balistics."

"With respect, sir? Fireteam Sierra 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 Sierra," the holographic image flickered away. The man who stood behind it was easily the strongest of all the Archangels. A bold jawline and stern gaze dominated his face. 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. "Sir!" said Michael. 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 either 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."

"How do we know this, sir?" asked Lund.

"The Total Salvation Act is how."

Takeda struggled not to roll his eyes at the mention of that damned policy. "I fail to see what that has to do with it, sir?"

"The Act allows outsider groups from beyond the cities to come into either Fortress or Sanctuary. In exchange, they give us information regarding what lies outside our city."

"What are they telling us, sir?" asked Moore.

The Commander continued, "According to several unrelated interviews, the Mechrion don't have nearly as strong a hold on our world as we thought. The Golden World Coalition managed to do enough damage to the Mechrion's numbers, and force so much resource expenditure that they had to leave us at two cities. There are several groups who have gone their entire lives without seeing even a single Mechrion Stinger flying through the sky. Fireteam Sabath's scout, Jacob Sword was among them."

"That means they're focusing their efforts on Fortress and Sanctuary." said Michael.

"Not entirely, Colonel." 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.

"These reports have also given some insight as to why the Mechrion are ere in the first place. They're harvesting our world. They're sucking up all our natural resources, and rebuilding their armies. And it looks like they've been doing so for the last thirty years. If we wait, they will strike. And we will fall."

A cold stone sank in their stomachs. All this time, they've rested on the backfoot, content to just defend, slowly shrinking while the Mechrion forces silently swelled. The Commander continued.

"Given their current force projection, our air defenses and focused shielding make aerial assault and orbital bombing from the aliens almost impossible, forcing ground movement as their 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 collection. 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 back our world's resources."

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 decades. Not just resources, but alien technology. The same technology that 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 Sierra, to perform the Archangels' first offensive op. Welcome to Operation 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 Operation 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."

"How do we deploy?" asked Lund. "Outside the cities, the Mechrion have air supremacy. Any dropship flying out there would get eviscerated."

"Not anymore." said the Commander. He hit a button on the display. All the lights in the room blacked out, replaced by dark red LEDs in the corners. The Archangels recognized this. The following, officially, was never said, as no recording was taken. Top secret. "The boys in R&D have come up with a new stealth drive that should allow for unnoticed air travel between the cities. We've already retrofitted a dropship with the new technology."

"What does this mean for the subterranean superhighway?" asked Moore. 

"Current civilian and Archangel transportation between cities will remain unchanged. If this works, it is only for mission deployment. Anything more would bring about unnecessary risk, and would cost fuel we can't spare."

"If, sir?" asked Michael.

"This mission is just as much a test run of the stealth drive as it is a first strike." said the Commander.

"You haven't tested this stealth drive before?" asked Takeda, tilting his head slightly.

"We've tested. But never with a full fireteam of Archangels and their Titans inside, or over long flights. And our ability to do so is limited within the cities."

"Understood, sir."

"Let's hope R&D knows what they're doing." said Moore.

The Commander turned the lights back on.

"Ready your Titans, Archangels!" the Commander barked. "Humanity cowers no longer."