Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Resistance franchise. I do not intend to steal it, either. For those who attempt to, beware the curse that Hybrids will gun you down, and a Titan will melee you, resulting in instant death. Be afraid. Very afraid.

Rating: "T", for certain themes and the "better-to-be-safe-than-sorry" motto.

Notes: Alright. So here is the second chapter. Mind you, I twist things to what I see fit, and I also keep them generic. Another OC, just because I felt like it. If you haven't, you should go to the Project Abraham website -- it explains a lot about what the government did. . . So anyway! Drop a review, leave a comment, and read to your content. Sorry it took so long, as well -- I had some of it written out, but it didn't feel like our beloved Hale. So I started over. I apologize for any OOCness on my part. He's a very enigmatic character to grasp.


"Hold it together, birds of a feather,
Nothing but lies and crooked wings.
I have the answer, spreading the cancer,
You are the faith inside me.

No, don't
Leave me to die here,
Help me survive here.
Alone, don't remember, remember.

-- "Evil Angel" by Breaking Benjamin


He breathed deeply, attempting to calm the emotions raging about inside of him. As a military man, he couldn't afford to lose control -- ever. Especially not if he was a part of the Sentinels. . . He'd be sedated and restrained quicker than he could blink. Of course, he'd probably manage to knock two or four of them out before he went down. That, unfortunately, was fact -- it wasn't in his nature to brag.

Nathan Hale closed his eyes, fighting against the nausea that was churning in his stomach.

He knew that he was feeling sick because the Chimera inside of him was beginning to win. He had been warned of this at first; way back when he'd been introduced to Malikov. Back then, Hale had suffered from the same odd sickness he was feeling now, although at the current moment, it was much more intense. . . Like a severe stomach cramp that wouldn't go away. "That would be your metabolism, Nathan. Your body is demanding more food to compensate for the changes." Malikov had told him that once, and he'd absorbed the information in a disconnected way. Back then, he'd been in denial over what was happening, and what would happen. . . Hale gave a mental shake of his head, willing his focus back onto the mission.

He and the Sentinels were on a VTOL to Iceland, to go shut down the tower that. . . monster had turned back on. Whatever the hell those towers were for, it wasn't good. At all. Leaning back against the hard metal shell of the giant machine, Hale expelled a slow, cautious breath. A small quirk of amusement raced through him as he felt Capelli's scorching glare burn into the side of his head. One would think that the entire situation was ironic -- Capelli was, by nature, a completely aggressive and furious man. Violence ran through him just as thick as his blood. The doctors had all been honest with Capelli, saying that his anger might very well trigger the Chimeran virus inside of him, turn him quicker than the others.

As per the norm, Capelli had shrugged it off with a nonchalant, "Whatever."

Yet here Hale was, fighting against a mild sickness, and turning into one of them faster than any Sentinel.

Hale clenched his hands as he felt his stomach revolt, and the nearly sickening sensation that something was inside of him, crawling underneath his skin and twisting his insides. . . Shaking his head after a moment, he dispelled the image. He was running hotter now, internal body temperature raised by a few degrees, so it was making him a bit disoriented. That was it. . . Closing his eyes, Hale felt exhaustion pulling at him. When did I sleep last? He wearily wondered, but he couldn't remember.

For a moment, he thought that he heard one his comrades say something to him, but sleep claimed his mind before he could decipher it.

. . . inside of him, crawling, twisting, burning. . . his hands scraped uselessly at his skin, and he screamed as he felt pain spreading to every part of his body. . . His arms were all bloody now, reminding him of some coke addict that felt the bugs, too. . . And then his body was going weak, the pain turning into a dull throb, and a pleasant warmth began to steal throughout his muscles. He felt so tired, so scared and alone and exhausted. . . It wouldn't hurt to close his eyes -- just for a moment, right? His body collapsed onto the warm soil beneath him, and with one last, shaky breath, he finally closed his eyes and let the warmth take him.

Come to me.

His body. . . Why was it so hot? It felt as though he were burning up. . .

Awaken. Rise.

The voice floated over his mind again, but the words seemed broken. Hale couldn't process exactly what the voice wanted from him -- he just wanted to rest. After the monsters, and the bugs. . .

Become one with the Chimera.

Images flashed through his sleep-fogged brain, and he saw the monsters they'd shot in York. It was wrong, but he felt a thrill crawl through him as one of the monsters gunned down a human. The images changed again, and Hale saw his unit standing in the riverbed, and he saw the bugs sweeping over them like locusts, crawling inside of them. Yellow then, flashes of a deep golden color, and he was stronger, not human, but better in every way.

Rise and become one with me.

Hale wanted to. He wanted to obey this voice, have the voice help his body from the fevered state it was in. . . That power, it was so beautiful and tempting. . . How could he deny such an act? He couldn't disobey the voice that was commanding him, and he reached out towards it, attempting--

Hale snapped awake from the sleep he'd fallen into, mind and body disoriented. It took a moment, but a foreign part of his mind suddenly had him on red alert, as there was something nearby -- and it was attacking him. Feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut, Hale sucked in air as his hand made a lightning-fast grab for his gun. There was an enemy attacking him, but was it human or Chimera? He couldn't tell. Undiluted fear lanced through him as his hand curled around empty air -- where was his gun? Tamping down the emotion, Hale reached for his knife to lash out, but something stopped him. A voice -- a human voice.

"Sir? Sir, you're on the VTOL." Hawthorn, his mind placed. It was Hawthorn who had woken him up.

Forcing his body to relax, Hale finally found the surrounding environment coming into focus. Hawthorn was standing in front of him, Warner somewhere to the side, and Capelli looking as though he wanted to deck him. All was normal. Murmuring an apology, Hale bent over and scrubbed his hand over his face, rubbing his temples. He hadn't had a dream about his first conversion in the UK for a while. Worse yet, he'd had flashbacks about waking up, but never actually embracing the Angel's request.

"It looks like you need a medic, sir." Hawthorn said gently, earning a confused and slightly worried look from Hale. Had he really been that bad? He'd just been sleeping. . .

"I'll be fine, Hawthorn. What's going on?" He said gruffly, ignoring the aches and pains as he leaned forward. Scrubbing his face with his hand, Hale tried to come back to reality. He also amended he would never sleep in a VTOL like that again. Ever.

"We had to stop and refuel. They gave us an hour before we took off again, sir." Warner answered, and Hale nodded his head.

Still, he couldn't get the images of the dream out of his head. Biting back a groan, he rose and stepped out of the VTOL, onto the military base. Stretching lightly, he took a small walk around the place. It doubled as a survivor camp, apparently. SRPA forces and medics ran to a fro, treating the wounded and the sick, while guarding those who were jumpy and wanting to escape. It was a repeated behavior with all survivors of the war -- they ran. It was likely the only way possible to survive, because staying in one spot meant getting hit by Spires, or getting gunned down by a Hybrid. Stopping on the edge of the entertainment area (for the soldiers who lived on the compound), Hale gazed at the three large tents erected for the refugees.

Sadly, there weren't enough survivors to fill the tents.

"You're different from everyone, aren't you?" A quiet, feminine voice penetrated his thoughts. Turning, he found there was a teenage girl seated on one of the many wooden tables dotting the area. Her clothing was standard of a civilian, although she looked worse for wear.

She wore jeans that were frayed, ripped, and stained with blood and mud. Her shoes were all but ruined, along with whatever blouse she'd been wearing. A soldier had been kind enough to give her a jacket, it seemed, as she clutched the ends together to cover herself. Haunted brown eyes stared at him, somewhat glassy, and not without shards of fear. Hale didn't say anything, as he wasn't sure how to respond. Red hair lay in dirty, matted strands around her face.

"It's okay. We're all different, anyway." She might have murmured something else, but it was inaudible and he couldn't understand it. Hale felt awkward -- he hadn't affiliated with any civilians, and especially not those who were survivors.

"Where are your parents?" He finally asked, unable to conjure up anything actually worth saying.

The haunted brown eyes stared at him again, and she almost whispered the word, "Dead."

"I, uh. . . I'm sorry." He said awkwardly. Hale was not a man who knew how to deal with kids -- he couldn't even handle his own emotions. . . So he tamped them down. As a Sentinel, he couldn't afford to let frustration, anger, and sorrow cloud his fury.

The girl's eyes turned to the ground, and Hale noticed her body tense, how her knuckles turned white as she gripped the jacket closer to herself. She didn't hide the pain that she felt, and Hale felt very much like an intruder as he gazed at the scene of emotion. She closed her eyes and expelled a shaky breath, hands shaking as her fingers turned a white shade as well. Hale shifted his weight, and contemplated leaving her. There was nothing that he could do for her -- and that was the cold truth.

Some human part of him (probably that long-dead conscience) rose and screamed that what he was doing was wrong. He did not live without emotions. All she had done was try to talk to him, and what that such a crime? Her reward for trying to reach out to him was to be shunned. How pathetic. He would murder Chimera and monsters alike without batting an eye. . . Yet, when this girl displayed open emotions of fear and grief, he turned away like some coward and hid behind his emotional wall.

Nathan Hale knew how to deal with his troops, how to keep them alive. . . But dealing with teenagers was something beyond his control. He'd been in the military for so long, that his grip on younger generations had slipped considerably.

"Wait!" The girl called out to him again, and he heard her sneakered feet running over the asphalt, catching up to him.

Hale turned, curious, and hoping she wasn't going to rage against his behavior. Luckily, however, the only thing he saw was tears shining in her eyes. Scrubbing her face with the back of her hand, she sucked in a few deep breaths and then smiled up at him. Hale felt a pang of pain travel through his heart at that smile. It was happiness touched with heartbreak.

"I wanted to say thank you," She said through small hiccups, wiping more tears away with the sleeve of the oversized jacket, "You're doing so much. . . And I want you to come back alive."

The request was so odd. Hale knew that this girl knew absolutely nothing about him, and yet here she was, making a request that made it seem as though they were lifelong friends. Still. . . He wanted to branch out, if only a fraction of an inch. People needed to have faith that no matter what, the Sentinels and SRPA forces would save them. So Hale lifted his hand and placed it on her shoulder, squeezing her too-thin frame gently. He tried to smile, but what came out was something slightly twisted and half-hearted.

"Don't worry. I always come back alive."

She nodded her head and something akin to relief flooded over her features. She stepped back and gave a small wave with the sleeve of her jacket, before turning away. By far one of the strangest encounters I've had with today's youth. He thought, before he turned away as well. Striding back over to the VTOL, Hale found that time had elapsed quicker than he'd thought -- and it was time to go again. Boarding the aircraft, he took a seat on one of the benches and gazed about the cabin.

No, he wouldn't lose. He would come back from this mission very much alive. The Chimera (and Daedalus) had to be stopped at all costs. As America's last defense, SRPA and the Sentinel forces would do their absolute best.

Mankind would not lose this war.