Anger is a liquid feeling. No one can pin-point it. No one can put a generic tag on it. If something could be said about anger, it would be that the feeling was clear as it could ever be on the face of Aaron Zorchak. Not only did the face display anger, the body was often molded to match. Despite his oil stained wife-beater, the muscles beneath could be seen as nothing but tense. With his arms crossed over his chest and seemingly flexed to their limit, he was portraying Anger's elder brother, Fury, more and more.

He growled out a number of commands, each steeped in a throaty Russian accent. Normally, the officer was in control of any emotion bubbling up from the pit of his stomach. Normally, he put a stopper on everything. It was not one of those moments. A deep breath aided him in collecting himself.

"Leave. Now."

Growing up, his hair had always hung down around his ears. It didn't stay in such a fashion anymore. Field work made it impossible. Now, when he ran his hand across his head, there was the prickle of short, buzzed hair. He closed his eyes, needing his fists into his eye sockets and attempting to will himself to loose the forever present feeling of being tired. When he blinked his eyes open, they presented a neutral brown color. Like millions upon millions in the world. They weren't that way when he was born. No, Aaron's eyes were naturally violet. A strange occurrence in the world. Every once and a while the color would present itself in a child. In a way they were wasted on him. He couldn't allow the color to show itself, it was such a unique color… easily identifiable.

Aaron was a crucial piece of something that could be described as nothing but an urban legend. The people of Russia were divided in their thinking. Was he real, was he not? Did he and his unit really do what they were said to? It was impossible for the average citizen to decide it.

'Суперлюди'. It's what they called them. It sounded far more elegant in it's native language then it did under it's English translation of 'super humans'.

"Сэр?"

Sir?

The call for him outside was ignored. Yes, he knew it was getting close to time. It was time for him to perform the switch. From Aaron to aрхангел. An alter ego? Maybe. A cover? Surely. His better half? No. His alternate wasn't one who liked to play nice. It was something all it's own, without a conscience. Without so much of a second thought about anything it did. His humanity was shed the moment he became it. No longer was he just Aaron. His mind took on a different form. He felt little to no emotion. Human error was eliminated.

It's said that once a human obtains power, it's their instinct to search for more. Or at least find a path way to further control over what surrounds. As much as he attempted to keep himself separate from natural impulse, Aaron wasn't immune. He was as human as all the others. He was handed a power. He'd taken the ride through the Russian military, position upon position, one more step up each time. When he learned he'd reached his peak, another path was found. Why keep power over a unit of men when you could obtain power over a people in it's entirety?

Of course, Aaron's mind hadn't taken such a direct path. Little by little he started in another direction. Childhood habits of thievery began to present themselves again. Little by little he became reclusive. He surrounded himself with a small group. Only those he would trust with his life were placed in the circle. Each one benefit greatly through the friendship. Each job meant money. They did little more than plan.

Aaron did not fill their pockets.

His alternate did.

Архангел was stronger.

Архангел was superior.

Архангел did not fail.

Архангел.

Archangel.

"Where is she?"

"Sir."

"Where the hell is she?!"

"Sir, she's shopping for her wedding dress."