The A-Team Reloaded

Chapter 1: Good Morning California

Nikolai lay in his bed, his eyelids gently blanketing his heavy, sore eyes. The early hours of the morning had slowly faded into daylight. He lie face up in his small apartment room, not quite asleep but certainly not awake. His mind danced around as he knew his alarm would go off soon. The silence would be shattered and he's have to start a new day, a new mission just as he did every morning.

He could hear the twisting and turning of the second hand of a clock, even though there wasn't one in the room. In his head he counted each second as it tiptoed by. Every tick felt louder and louder. His mind was awake but his body was exhausted.

Within a minute, the small radio beside him made the largest noise. "Good morning California!" A voice spoke in a very proper and deep tone, much as a news anchor, putting more emphases on certain vowels and words. "It is seven thirty on a beautiful monday morning."

Nikolai fought to raise his eyelids which seemed to be glued to his eyes. He searched the night stand and spotted the radio. Just as the radio announcer had said, it was 7:30, monday, September 10th, 2001.

Nikolai rolled over on to his chest and stretched out his back. He moaned vigorously, and clenched his eyes closed real tight. When he opened them, he reached out his arm and pressed the off button on the top of the small black radio. He sat up and rubbed his face.

He began to mumble to himself in Russian before swinging his legs over the end of the bed, and standing up. As he stood, every bone in his body seemed to crack loudly. You would have thought he broke something if you listened close enough. He scratched at his unshaven face and made his way for the small bathroom.

He paced through the low hanging door and hunched over the sink. He tilted the nob for the hot water and rested his hands in the running water. He then rose his hands to his face and rubbed the water coarsely into his pores. He straightened his back and looked into the mirror.

He stared into his bright blue eyes and the bags that hung from them. His face was paler than usual and his eyes sunken in. His face was covered in short sharp hairs that hugged his lip and cheek. His hair was short in the back and curled down the sides and in splotches on the top. The roots of his hair greyed with parts of his beard. He just appeared much older than usual.

He pulled off his t-shirt and dropped his grey boxers as he stepped into the shower.

On the opposite side of town, there was another small brick apartment that was so small, it appeared to be engulfed by those around it. Simon sat awake on his bed. He had sweat dripping from his short blond hair. He had been doing chin-ups since five o'clock that morning and was tiring slowly. He too jumped from his bed and jogged to his bathroom.

He grabbed a towel and dabbed at his forehead. Then he peered into the mirror. His dark green eyes burned into the mirror an impression of fear. He ran his finger down a long scar through his left eye. As he did memories flashed through his mind. Memories of pain and anguish, dispelled to the darkest recesses of his brain.

He ran his long, skinny fingers through his wavy blond locks and walked to his closet to dress.

In the room beside him, a young woman, about his age was just arising from her slumber just as Nikolai. Natasha sat in the center of a small bed and stretched her arms out as far as she could. She smiled and yawned lightly, before licking her perfectly straight teeth, and heading for the kitchen.

Her entire day would revolve around that morning coffee. If it was brewed bad, she was brewed bad. If it was sweet, she was sweet, and so on.

On the kitchen counter beside her coffee machine, sat a pair of black, diamond studded glasses. They were not real by any means but they held her identity and that was all she needed.

She peered down into her black coffee, and staring back at her was a beautiful young woman. Her skin was very smooth and dark tan. Her hair was dark brown and wavy, but she held it in a bun perched a top of her head. She smirked at herself and slyed in a wink. Her smile had been perfected by braces and was always kept shining bright white.

One floor down in the same apartment, a Betty lie awake. She was not asleep but she remained very still. She had short blond hair with natural brown highlights. Her eyes were oceanic and flooded deep in the room with a blue glow. The curtains to her room were closed and so she lay in a dark corner.

She wiggled her nose a moment and licked at her teeth, before sitting up. She sat hunched over and scratched at the back of her head. Then she stretched her kegs as far as she could and moaned loudly, raising pitch, and ending in a yawn. She smiled and straightened her back.

Then she leaped from bed over to her chest of drawers. She ran her fingers down the wooden finish and rummaged the drawers, in search of clothing to wear for the day. She pulled a calendar from the top drawer and found a pen lying on the floor. She crossed out Sunday the ninth and circled today, monday, September tenth. She set her calendar back and began to dress.

This was the regular routine for all of them, and the way they liked it. Moments later, Nikolai emerged from his room. He had on a pair of black dress pants with matching shoes. On top he had a pink and red striped shirt with a long, blood red, tie. Over it all, he had a long black over coat and a black fedora housing his curly locks.

Natasha was next to exit her room. She looked much like a secretary or receptionist, having a long, grey skirt that wen't past her knees and black high heels. Her shirt was a simple white blouse with a blue sweater over it and a matching bow in her hair. She held a lap top close to her and wore the black glasses on the tip of her nose.

Simon stomped out next in a pair of khakis with pockets all down the sides. He had a black polo shirt with a tan vest over top. His hair was spiked high and he wore a pair of red converses.

Finally, Betty exited her room in a pair of tight skinny jeans that hugged her body like a mother. She had a white tank top on and a small jean jacket over top. Her hair sat on her head, waving in the distance. She wire two brown leather boots that came almost up to her knees and appeared to house something more than just legs. All four were on their way to work.