Note that, this being a chapter written years and years ago by now, it's far shorter than the typical chapter that comes later down the line.
Archangel peered down into the depths of the freezing Atlantic Ocean, now a mass of radioactive sludge, safe from its fury as he rode through the night in one of the few Black Hawk choppers that was still serviceable after the apocalypse. He was not particularly fond of the ocean. In fact, he may have even gone so far as to say that he hated it. It was a force of nature that could not be controlled, and he valued, as well as feared, control more than the average man. If he could not control something, he either had to protect it or destroy it, and the latter was usually his preferred course of action.
Some would say he was a strange man, being obsessed with control. But life had not been kind to him, nor had it to most of the world. Many uncontrollable things had happened in the past few decades. The World Trade Center, uncountable natural disasters, NOVA... the list of calamities the world had suffered was painfully tedious and long.
It was mostly the first one that had changed Archangel though. Granted, the following were awful as well, but they had not been personal. When an airline had been purposefully plowed into the World Trade Center, both of Archangel's parents had been taken from him in an instant, violently torn from the world by what he believed to be an unjust god. He had been seven years old at that time. It was devastating, to lose your parents at such an age, where you already knew them so well. If he had been younger, young enough that the memory of his parents would fade after he matured, he would have been better off. But he had not been so lucky: he had been seven, and the people in this world he both loved and depended on more than anyone else had been removed from his life, killed by fanatical terrorists who had slain them in the name of their god, as if that justified the mass murder they had committed.
From that day onward, after receiving the news of his fallen loved ones, he changed, some would say for better, and many others for worse. The instrument of this change was hatred. He hated the ones who had killed his family, and for years he directed his hate towards those people, towards their entire race. If not for his younger cousin, who had come to live with him after his parent's deaths, he probably would have continued living that way, only to become a bitter and hateful avenger, wrongfully slaying those who followed Islam merely for sharing the faith of those who had scarred him.
His cousin, and one day adopted little sister, had brought him to the truth; it was not Islam that had harmed him. It was not any specific race, religion, or creed; it was simply a group of people who felt the need to cause destruction and death among the innocent, for whatever demented reason they deemed fit. There were plenty of others who did the same. Americans, Germans, Japanese, Russians; every country, every religion, and every creed had such people, such terrorists. And so Archangel redirected his hate to those that sought to willingly harm his friends, family, or countrymen; no matter where they came from or what they believed in, they were his enemies, and he swore to himself that he would mercilessly destroy each and every one of them.
That was only one-side of his coin, however, although it was the one most people who knew him were accustomed to seeing. Yes, he had a goal, fueled by anger, hate, and justice, but it did not consume his entire being. He had a life outside of tracking terrorist cells and killing the enemies of humanity. He had friends, he had a sister, his family, and he had the community he belonged to; all who knew him as a kind and gentle man.
He was like the sky almost, sometimes calm and serene and other times a raging tempest. Depending on the situation in which you found him, Archangel would seem like an entirely different person. When not on the field of battle no trace of his murderous intent could be distinguished. Some people thought him schizophrenic, but in reality it was just hard-line compartmentalization. Archangel wanted his peaceful life to stay entirely separate from his life as a soldier, and so he kept things related to the battlefield locked away at home. Besides, he was not an inherently cruel and hateful individual. An unjust and cold world had simply made him callous in some ways. He could still be friendly. He could still laugh and smile just fine, and in most cases that light-heatered man was his primary identity. Only when faced with those that sought to harm his loved ones did he become that soldier that killed so mercilessly.
Archangel dwelt on these thoughts as the chopper he rode in drew ever closer to its destination, Greenland. A relatively new terrorist cell calling themselves Revolution Deathwing had been discovered along the coast of the misnamed country, developing EMP weapons to use against New Eden. The Legion had dispatched an elite squad to stamp out the threat before they grew larger and more dangerous. After all, New Eden was where the last vestiges of humanity resided. If something happened to it, the survivors of NOVA would be forced to return to the poisoned ground below that now constituted the majority of the Earth. New Eden was the only place with clean water and clean air, not to mention safety from the heavy radiation that covered the planet's surface.
Therefore, threats to the new utopia were absolutely unacceptable. All enemies of the floating metropolis had to be eliminated, lest they cause the destruction of what was left of mankind. And so the Legion, which was essentially the new world military, was dispatching their top squad to destroy their enemies. That was the primary objective, but the secondary one was to discover how the terrorists were surviving in their irradiated environment. If they could do it, then it was possible for others to do so as well, and both New Eden and The Legion wanted to know how it was done.
The voice of the aircraft's pilot interrupted Archangel's train of thought. "ETA until we reach the drop zone, two minutes! Our seismic scopes are picking up a NOVA flare too; about four hours until it hits the surface, right around the AO. That's just a rough estimate though, you'd better be inside that base before it hits."
Cossack, the squad leader, nodded his confirmation to the pilot, even though the airman was not looking in his direction. The grizzled old Russian man was a reliable leader, having led the team through many tough situations. He was gradually losing his edge though; the forty-seven year old veteran, no matter how strong he was, was susceptible to the weakness of age. It was likely that Cossack would receive a desk job soon, and Shellcase would take his place as squad leader.
Speaking of which, Archangel wondered how his little sister would take such a promotion. Although she was technically second-in-command, she didn't really look forward to the idea of taking charge of such a prestigious squad. Not that she didn't have confidence in her abilities, but the pressure of performing well on the battlefield weighed more on her than it did to others like Archangel and Scorch. Still, Archangel knew she would make a great leader, whether she believed it or not.
The last member of their team was Scorch; an Irish man that was relatively new to The Legion. His specialty was explosives, and he went all out when he rigged something to blow. His only other specialty was wasting more ammo than was necessary in a spray-and-pray fashion.
And of course, there was himself; Archangel, who could be both protector and eliminator, depending on who spoke of him. His marksmanship was nearly unmatched; only a handful people had skills that were close to his. Every shot he fired marked death for another enemy. Very rarely did he ever miss; and if he did, he readjusted quickly enough to slay his target before they even realized that a bullet had whizzed past their fragile skulls. Only once had he failed to do such a thing. And that one time had been enough to cost him.
"Jake. Hey, are you listening to me?"
Archangel looked up at the helmeted, slim figure of his little sister. After all, only she ever called him by that name. "Sorry, you were saying?"
The young girl folder her arms, likely glaring at him for losing focus at a time like this. "Is something wrong? You seem a little... off."
With no way to affirm or deny it, Archangel merely shrugged. "Just a little nervous, I guess. After the last time..."
His sister pulled off her helmet so she could level her emerald gaze at him for a serious remark. She didn't like the idea of not making eye contact when something important needed to be said. Her long, waist length silver hair framed those severe eyes that held far more determination than anyone Archangel had ever met. He remembered when that flowing hair had been dark brown, before the wave of radiation that had bathed Berlin and most of Europe in sickness and mutation. Such a thing did not affect her beauty in the slightest however; now it was just less natural and more exotic.
She frowned at him heavily, not at all pleased to to find that her quintessential brother was still suffering over an incident now long in the past. "C'mon Jake, that wasn't even 'last time.' It's been years, you said you were over it."
Archangel nodded, seeking to placate his sister even if he wasn't necessarily telling the truth. "I am over it Mission. I just like to make you pout. It's kind of adorable."
The usually serious girl stuck her tongue out at him as she returned her helmet to its proper place on her head, grabbing her rifle from the rack on the ceiling of the chopper. She also kicked Archangel in the side. He teased her all the time, but that didn't make it irritate her any less.
Cossack tapped the two pseudo-siblings on the shoulder. "Twenty seconds! Get ready to deploy!"
The two of them nodded and quickly double-checked all of their gear. After doing so, the brother and sister grabbed each others' hands and looked into the reflective visor of the helmets they wore; they would be separated for the majority of this operation. And despite the girl's lack of penchant for overly emotional displays, she always did this before a mission.
"Be careful, Jake. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
Archangel nodded. "How can I? You're taking all of the stupid with you."
She punched him in the shoulder. "Jerk."
Deciding against physical retaliation, Archangel shrugged the light blow off. "Punk."
The two of them hugged one more time before separating, each of them hopping off an opposite side of their chopper, and moving towards the designated areas that they needed to be. Between worrying about her and worrying about the enemy, it was going to be a long night for the team's resident sniper.
Sliding a round into the chamber of his sniper rifle, Archangel settled the cross-hairs of his weapon over the head of yet another of the facility's heavily-armored guards, for the fifth time in the last hour and a half. These terrorists were surprisingly well equipped; body armor, gas masks, M16's and frag grenades, even detox packs and defibrillators. Those last two items were hard to get your hands on unless you had access to the military resources back on New Eden, leading Archangel to wonder if these targets were ex-military types, or worse, being sponsored by someone in New Eden in the first place.
He concentrated on his breathing so he could get a stable shot at the tiny slit that served the purpose of an eye socket in the gas mask his target wore. It was the only vulnerable place he could target that would guarantee an instant kill.
A nearly inaudible whistle pierced the night as the guard's head snapped backwards, his body crumpling to the ground in an inglorious pile of limbs. Archangel didn't bother loading another round after this kill; that guard had been the last of the five he had been hunting over the last ninety minutes. He had been very careful in making sure none of his victims saw one of their buddies being killed. Their patrol paths had been well coordinated, in a fashion were one of the guards almost always had a view of one of his teammates. Still, if that was the case, how had they not noticed when their comrades failed to come back from the end of their patrol route? They had been very foolish, not checking in on their allies when they couldn't see them when they were supposed to. Such behavior made Archangel believe that the men themselves had been untrained mercs or militia, and their gear and patrol routes had been planned and procured by someone else.
Of course, none of that was his concern. Someone else could deal with the logistics and implications of all this. The only thing he had to worry about was how his teammates inside the facility were doing. They were all elite soldiers, all well trained and efficient... but Archangel had a problem with trusting comrades who were out of his sight. He felt that his team was safest when he was around to guard them. This notion was also amplified because his little sister was part of that team. Protecting her was natural, even if she was entirely capable of taking care of herself.
He was about to return to actively scanning the compound for threats, when a massive earthquake shook the cliff side. The shock-wave lasted for nearly ten seconds before subsiding, which of course heralded nothing goof. Archangel quickly wracked his brain for possible explanations. One, an earthquake had actually occurred; which was highly unlikely in Greenland. Two, there had been an explosion in the facility below him, which was easily possible. And three, as well as the most dreadful... the predicted NOVA flare was much closer than had been expected.
Archangel checked the Geiger counter in his HUD, fervently praying that the thing would remain inactive. He breathed a sigh of relief when the device stayed silent for more than a few moments. If the flare had been closer, he didn't even want to think about-
His relieved thoughts were cut short as a deep rumbling interrupted them, followed by a rapid clicking by his Geiger counter. Unlike the first instance, the rumbling did not desist after a few moments, nor did the irritating noise from the instrument in his helmet. Quickly realizing the very serious threat to his safety, Archangel scrambled to his feet and began to hook his rappelling gear onto the cliff-side, the two continuous noises combining to remind him of imminent destruction in the most unpleasant manner possible.
Shit, shit shit shit...
Archangel could not formulate any other thoughts as he finished hooking up his gear and proceeded to hop down the cliff towards the terrorist base below as quickly as he could manage. The incessant rumbling of the earth made his passage difficult, and he slipped several times on the way down, distracted by his Geiger counter and his own growing fear.
As he reached the ground, he subconsciously noticed that the rumbling had increased in magnitude. The whole Earth seemed to shift below his feet as he bolted for the facility that would save him from a terrible death. He reached the only entrance he could see on this side of the blocky steel complex, only to realize that the sliding door was locked. He checked around the door for some sort of switch to open it with, but he found none. Panicking and distracted by the rapid clicking of his Geiger counter, Archangel couldn't think of a way out of this. He had mere seconds before a massive wave of heat and radiation washed over him and melted the flesh from his bones.
As that horrible reality entered his mind, he could do nothing except punch the steel door in front of him that mockingly kept him from salvation with its unyielding metal.
But fate seemed to have other plans. Just as Archangel was about to give in to despair and accept his gruesome fate, the door in front of him slid open, and an armored gauntlet yanked the Legion soldier into the safety of the facility, the steel door sliding shut behind him just in time; the sniper could hear the roar of the NOVA flare as it bathed the outside of the facility in destructive fire. Archangel could only imagine the horrifying effect it was having on the bodies he had left out there.
He turned to look at the face of his savior, only to be met with the barrel of an automatic shotgun, as well as a gas mask worn by a hostile soldier. This raised several questions for him, as he couldn't see why an enemy would save him rather than just leave him to die outside, but Archangel was not about to question his good fortune. After all, anything was better than roasting alive in a sea of infernal fire.
Archangel did not like the idea of options. He preferred one singular way to handle things: it made the decision making process much easier if you only had one viable course of action. Unfortunately though, he had many options right now. Any one of them would solve his problem, but only one was the best choice.
He could feasibly wait for his team to complete their objective and then come and rescue him. On the other hand he could engage his captor in hand-to-hand combat, kill him, and then proceed with the objective.
Being someone who didn't want to put his comrades in undue danger, the first one wasn't his best option. It would seem that the sniper would go with the second choice, despite a rather crippling physical limitation that could harm his chances of success. He had never been especially proficient in close quarters fighting after the injury he had sustained all those years ago. Even so, Archangel factored all of the ingredients of a successful melee; the element of surprise, the readiness of his captor, the position his enemy currently held his gun in, and even which foot his opponent currently had forward.
Taking everything into consideration, Archangel gave himself about a 78% chance of survival in the next maneuver. That seemed like good enough odds to him, so he prepared to assault the faceless trooper who was walking him forward at gunpoint.
But before he could even begin, a flash of light and a resounding crack stopped him just before engaging his enemy, and Archangel heard a thump behind him as his captor crumpled to the ground. He turned around and reached down to pick up the automatic shotgun the man had been carrying, before facing the form of the sibling who had rescued him. How she had gotten behind both of them was unknown to him, but Archangel didn't care to ask.
His sister, devoid of her helmet for some reason, came up and smirked at him. "How embarrassing; the mighty Archangel was captured by a hired gun and held at his mercy."
Archangel pointed a finger at her accusingly. "I was about to kick his ass, if you hadn't interrupted me."
She swatted his outstretched hand away and smiled. "Oh sure, I bet you were. Now come on, we still have a job to do."
Archangel grumbled to himself but nevertheless followed his sister down the hallway he had been captured in, somehow certain that he was once again heading straight for the breach, although this one would have far more dire consequences than he ever would have expected.
Having made it through the base without much incident, Archangel stepped into the room where the team's objective was located, gun at the ready and little sis by his side. Unfortunately the room was currently the location of a heated firefight. With little time to spare, Archangel surveyed the whole situation in seconds. Cossack and Scorch were pinned down behind computer terminals on the far left of the room, while the terrorists suppressed them with light machine guns and shotguns from the opposite end, which was littered with work desks and a few terminals of its own. Above them all was a twisting series of catwalks.
He and his sister hadn't been noticed yet, and the two of them silently agreed that dismantling the cylindrical EMP device in the center of the room was top priority. The two of them dashed for the large, turbine looking piece of machinery, doing their best to avoid the occasional burst of machine gun fire as an enemy soldier noticed them.
Once they reached the cover of the actual EMP device, Mission got to work on opening one of the many panels that would be needed to place an explosive charge inside the equipment. Archangel watched her back, slaughtering any over-confident hostiles who rounded the corner of the device to stop the two siblings.
Over the cacophonous roar of the battle, Archangel could hear someone shouting in a foreign language somewhere above him. He looked up to identify the source of the foreign voice, and saw what may have been an enemy commander on the catwalks that crisscrossed the upper level of the room. Archangel had half a mind to shoot him, but he was too far away to get a decent shot with his current weapon.
Seeing that his soldiers were making no progress against the Legion invaders, the man Archangel had spotted pointed at a technician cowering behind a control panel before shouting at him as well.
The technician yelled back frantically, his tone of voice speaking more volumes to Archangel than his foreign words. Whatever the commander had just told him to do, this technician thought it was a bad idea. And if he thought it was a bad idea, so did Archangel.
Besides, as Archangel watched the fearful man begin some sort of procedure on a nearby computer terminal, he knew that it was not for the best interest of him or his team to let the technician live.
So he did what any good soldier does. Leveling the barrel of his stolen shotgun at the non-combatant, Archangel squeezed the trigger without hesitation. Unfortunately shotguns were by no means precision firearms, and as much of the spray hit the machinery around the target as the man himself. Archangel did not think this a serious problem until the EMP device behind him began emitting loud sounds of whirring and short circuits, accompanied by smoke from several of its ventilation shafts. Obviously the procedure he had just interrupted was not supposed to be halted halfway. In hindsight, things would have gone much more smoothly had he used a rifle: such precision would have avoided a catastrophe of this magnitude.
So this is the third redux of the first chapter. Hope this will draw more new readers in and give experienced readers a new perspective on the OC and the world he came from.