Welcome To Archangel
Dear those specially chosen,
We are Archangel. You have been chosen because you could somehow be important to
our operation. We need agents to help us change the world for the better. If this interests you
in any way please call the number written below.
We'll be awaiting your call,
"This is complete bullsh*t," Tripp said as she let the paper fall from her hands.
Her bare feet padded across the floor as she walked into the kitchen to grab a cup of
coffee. As she walked back into the living room she hit the stereo to turn it on and then relaxed
on the couch. A man with an english accent announced that Fightstar would be playing next
while she absent-mindedly sipped her morning elixir. The bright sun peeked through her drawn
curtains, asking her to come out and play, but she wasn't a sun person. In fact she lived most of
her life by the moon.
Her eyes scanned her darkened flat until they landed back on the paper. "Jesus Christ,"
She set her mug down on the table beside the couch and plucked the paper from the
ground. She reread the short message a few more times and grumbled to herself. After several
minutes of contemplation she grabbed the phone next to her coffee and dialed.
He ran his hand through his electric blonde hair as a shiver ran through his body. He
was sweating horribly as his fingers and forearm muscles twitched. He tore at his own skin in
an attempt to keep control. He sat alone in his dark one-bedroom apartment and battled with
the monsters inside him. He was so unaware of his surroundings that he jumped and screamed
when someone knocked on his door.
"Rhys, it's your land lord. You haven't been out in days."
"I'm fine!" he cried shakily.
"I brought your mail."
Rhys stumbled to his feet and threw open his door. The land lord had a shocked look
on his face when he saw his tennants scratched and bleeding arms. Rhys looked down, ripped
his mail from the land lords hands, and slammed the door on him. He quickly scanned through
the stack of bills and junk until he found a letter with no return address. He was so intrigued
that he didn't even realize he was shaking all over now.
He eagerly tore open the envelope and his eyes rapidly took in the words. A bemused
look spread over his face as he finished reading. Me, help people, pfft, he thought, all I do is hurt.
Still, he couldn't help but want to find out what it was all about. As he reached for the phone with
a trembling hand something inside him screamed in protest. Rhys built up the courage to ignore
it an dialed the number.
The sun beat down upon a head of perfectly groomed black hair. He squinted up at the
sky with his bright blue eyes and snowy pale skin. He was perfection in a sea of the mundane;
the dark angel of suburbia. It was an odd place for someone like him to live in. Everyday he
was given horrible looks from the housewives and white collar men that lived in the cookie-cutter
houses around him but he didn't care. In fact he just gave them an amused smile and waved
politely. With his black nails and gaged ears he was definitely out of place but he happily called
He walked down his cobble stone driveway and stopped at his mailbox that he'd painted
himself. A black box decoratively covered in webs, skulls, and roses with the name 'Wright' in
slashed lettering. He pulled a stack of envelopes out and looked up as he heard a door slam.
One of his neighbors walked to the edge of the road to get his newspaper.
His neighbor turned to face him when he heard his name. "Uh, hi, Saxon is it?"
"Yes, sir. How are the kids?" he flashed a perfect smile to match the rest of him.
"Fine." he replied stiffly.
Saxon nodded and looked through his stack of mail as he walkedback to his house. He
stopped at an odd envelope that peaked his interest and opened it. He carefully read through the
words and then broke out into a smirk.
"That sounds like fun," he dug through his pocket, extracted a cell phone, and dialed.
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