If you put a splice of Angel's DNA under a microscope, you would see a genetically altered madman. Be that as it may, Warren Worthington III is one of the most underappreciated creations in comic books. Out of ten Marvel powerhouse movies, he has appeared in two different installments. He did not have speaking parts, at least no more than 15 minute screen time all together.
Angel is going to be agressive. He's going to have a drink of hard liquor. He's going to sail through the winds feeling unbelieveably awesome. He is to do what he he wants, too. It should not be misunderstood, he has battled guerilla terrorists, and he views them as nothing short of delusioned pieces of dirt. He will not be a terrorist. He may make you an enemy, but grudges are best kept in your therapist's file. He's also a womanizer.
If there was ever a world-quaking event in the singular universe, he would take sides with the team or group that spoke of freedom and diplomacy. Any battles that confront him, he would fight. Or, he would contact people he looked upon as suitable and poweful.
His grandfather upstarted a pharmacy outlet, which went big time over ten years. He earned his Ph.D in chemistry, and already had a college degree in Marketing. His son, Warren Worthington II, who is Angel's father, continued to run Worthington Industries and after fifty years the Worthingtons had billions. This could play a big part in my character's journey,
“I’ve taken my independence and revved it to level 5. I have witnessed so much and hurt so bad that I am ready to kill. Pushed to the act of murder? It could be.”
Warren’s exceptional prayer to the god was unusually short. He got off from his knees and rotated both his shoulders because they were some tight. He cracked his neck, too. He took a gander at his penthouse. The lamp had too many loose half-inch big ripped pieces of red colored fabric bottom trim. When he moved his eyes around he naturally tuned in and was alert to his environment, like the melted ice that had turned into a small splotch of water at the foot end base of the bed, it having decomposed from Warren getting drunk and tipping over some ice from the bucket . He did not suffer from hangover.
The safety horn cried out inside of the fireman’s station. Those who were on duty and assigned, that is by the NYFD, hurriedly thought and acted and were on their way out the door. They turned up the siren, and sped towards a head-on collision not only dispatched as on fire, but also there was someone reported trapped. They flew!
BUZZ! There was an intercom properly installed throughout the house, and it was for communication between the Angel and approved buzzers. “Hello?”
“I hope you are doing good this morning, Mr. Worthington. Today, it is 80 degrees outside, which is warm enough. . . “
“Sure, but what about that collision?”
“It was reported fifteen minutes ago on 8th and Academy. I hope they help those people, it really sends chills up my back to think of some one being deceased because of a text, or a call.”
“Yep. OK, I will speak to you later, Raymond.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
WORTHINGTON HQ
There are people every where. They're all dressed well and they all smell good and smile, perhaps some flirting or undressing someone with their eyes, pointing at the chubby numbers analyst staring hard through his glasses at the busty, black-haired young emo girl yapping on her smartphone. She definitely couldn't be a sacrifice. Jerry had seen her on an amateur Internet show.
Elsewhere, there was an executive going back and forth with a sports medicine specialist from the Food and Drug company. It was a multi-faceted, intelligent conversation, but the specially ranked doctor was going to have to pursue accelerated information from a WLabs scientist. Then, there were shots fired! The scramble to run, hide, and not spill your espresso was not completely unlike a John Travolta movie, except people were getting hit by AK-47 bullets, and it was a killing onslaught so god awful that whoever was doing it was going to answer for it with his life. If he didn't off himself with his fascinating, stable victims.
Shattered glass was everywhere. Some people were wounded, and others may have been dead. Of course, many people called the authorities.
WARREN'S PENTHOUSE/TRANSIT
Warren was through eating breakfast. it included a candy apple. Now, he was preparing to leave the nest and see what was going on in the world, soundly commerce, chemical engineering, and upscale mutant prostitute houses. He had on his designer dark wash denim jeans when his main cell phone paused him.
The call was urgent. It was about the shooting that took place an hour ago, and Warren had to double up and get fully dressed, then he logged on his computer for a few minutes to search the basics about the office shooter. He got it all, schizoid personality with depression. Finally, he raced to the elevator and jetted down to his Escalade. He started the car, and pulled out from a private parking spot that had a sign stating that the parking space was legally reserved for Warren Worthington III.
The news companies were at the scene. They were busier than ever. Their question they asked were about robbery, terrorism, anti-animal testing, and the works. One in particular documented two interviews with Warren, and she thought that this time she would get in big time when she saw the Cadillac truck driving into the debacle. Every one launched into a frenzy when he stopped and parked beside a fire hydrant, and opened the door and hit the deck. Out of all the questions and commends, Warren had a definitive comment: "I know someone come in and starting shooting my employees. That is all." He knew everything about the assailant from reviewing his records at his work computer at the penthouse.
He caught a break when city police pushed the reporters back. He thanked them, and they allowed to step into the building, but the presence of cops and more cops, and with the US Marshals on the way, Warren was was disconcerted. They did tell him that the man he knew as Jack Mannessy was actually a nine year old fugitive from Delaware prison. He underwent a trial, and was convicted of armed robbery, and acts of terrorism. Warren asked some questions to the police captain. How many were wounded, or shot, or traumatized. Were there any cracks in any of the network security infrastructure? Was there a thief motive? The captain didn't know, but this would amount to more capital crimes and probably death row. It would be, but Mr. Jack Mannessy was no longer alive.
Some days went by. It was a law suit, one after another Warren didn't mind. He only had a billion dollars, and a billion more. The US Marshals had explained everyrthing, all the way down to the type of bullet used in the shooting. He asked if there was anything that the federal government could help out with, lawyers or extra security. They provided information to civilian protection agencies, a bunch of ex-soldiers and SEALs. He was even offered a gun permit and a specially trained canine assistant who would go for the neck. Warren passed. It was an act of disgruntled, domestic work office terrorism. He would be okay.
"The proceedings today qualify that the involved claimants maintain soverignity over the assets that hereby will be dignified unless otherwise judged. The trial before the court must be thorough, documented propery, constitutional, and just. There will be no conditions that I am not made appointed to, because my court will be violated, and I will not be violated. Objections must be consistent with what is going on accordingly with the trial. Now, for the defense. You have offered every one of your opponent each $2,000,000?"
Well, Warren didn't know too many suburban families that couldn't use a couple million dollars, so he put the offer on the table. Out of the three organized thief clans, all of them took the deal. While the proceedings were handled, he had two cups of coffee. He had a taste for some liquor. He surveryed everything, including himself. He smiled because he was giving away six million dollars, and he wanted to get drunk. He recalled news that it was being legislatively argued, it was about whether people could sue company head figures due to the state of the country, business law, and terrorism.
His attorney that worked for Worthingon Labs earned a $100;000 bonus on top of his usual $250,000. Three days after a brief vacation to Washington, D.C., Abraham Washington pulled into the parking area in a new 2019 Mercedes Benz. And, a Switzerland crafted timepiece.
Warren had been running here and running there. He gave in to the reporters and conducted several interviews. They would not get pushy with him after they understood how belligerent he could act. But, his favorite thing to do was go to the beach and go crazy with his jet skis and floats, with his friends and associates. He picked everybody up. There was ten of them, and they were drinking. It was going to be awesome. So, they arrived in the concrete loading dock and unhooked three jet skis and Warren flirted with one of his friends. He made her laugh and move sexy, but it was only flirting.
It was one hour in. They slowed down drinking. Warren was sitting around with everybody. Suddenly, he had to use the restroom He walked away unnoticed. He walked away, and he had the urge: the urge to sail away. He had hid his wings with a huge life vest and a tailor made long sleeve shirt that he was wearing underneath the vest. He stripped it off.
He looked around, the coast was clear. So, he walked forward bearing a strong pace. His vision sharpended, reducing water production in his eyes, widening his eyes. He felt the surge, the energy, his shoulders being tugged on, his bare feet levitating from the ground, his back relaxinf, his abs tightening. He flew.
He was in the sky. He felt so good. He swinged his wings to and fro, and as he landed on his sky high path his wings sedated and he went into gliding. He loved the cruise. He could see people all over the beach. Suddenly, he twisted and spiraled up and down, feeling ferocious and good and having fun. He noticed a vendor, he believed it was hot dogs and chips. He had seen a kid not too old, so Warren dipped by the vendor and got a hot dog with mustard and ketchup, and flew it back to the boy. The kid's mom asked him if she had seen Warren before, but he said no and went on. He had a good time, but he returned to the spot where he had stripped and put back on his beach gear.
With his friends, he was a badass type of nice person, but to himself he was the Angel.
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