#Bomb da car | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carpkoinobori · 4 days ago

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[⟢] cop car — karina x reader

[𖤐] 1/1 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): cop car - mitski | no te pido mas - helenita vargas | de oro - la familia andre | la murga - willie colón | la cuchilla - las hermanas calle

summary: you grew up desperate and made your way to the top, even started working for DAS. but your first assignment shouldn’t have been this— they sent you to die. your body lived, though. you didnt.

pairing: patrón!karina x halcón!reader (also x teniente!giselle)

tags: angst, like horrible angst, toxic and I mean Very Toxic yuri, major character death, implied sexual content, this is DARK, set in 1970-90’s colombia, kind of ambiguous but happy ending? reader is lowk stupid and a bop

wc: 10.9k

cw: karina is horribly manipulative, cartels, guns, selling, making, and use of drugs, use of weapons, murder, bombs, death, etc. this is about the colombian cartel ok shit is fucked.

ex: before there’s any outrage I AM COLOMBIAN. all information is acquired through primary sources (ex: family who literally lived through it). most info will be accurate, but my family specifically lived in medellín, calí, and barranquilla. this is set in bogotá. apologies for any city-based in accuracies.

a/n: this is for you aettudae my #1 ❤️

1964, Cundinamarca, Colombia Local time: 1:00 A.M. Location: a small town in Soacha, Cundinamarca, Colombia Objective: . . .

You were born on the outskirts of the city. Bogotá, the capital— the inside was rich, used to be filled with tourists, big buildings and fancy cars. The outside was él pueblo, where you’d wake up at three in the morning, walk to the nearest bus stop, which was probably a few kilometers away, take the buses that never ran on time with the rest of the exhausted men and women heading to work— work for rich people that ran the city till nightfall, get on another bus, and walk a few kilometers home, every day, constantly, while getting paid barely enough to support your family.

That was if you didn’t get robbed, or blown up in the middle of the city, of course— political unrest stemming from La Violencia had made FARC, and the cartel had begun to ramp up production and organization, planting car bombs under public buses and cars. The country was rife with bombings and gang violence till the late 90’s.

But right now, it was in the very early morning.

You would be born in 1964 to a poor family living in Soacha, Cundinamarca, Colombia, right on the outskirts of Bogotá. Your mother would be killed in 1970. Your father would be killed en la cantina, at night, in 1972.

You had been working since 12, anyway. Being told of your pathetic father’s death by a police officer who clearly did not care was when it was decided— you would not die in this town. You would make a name for yourself.

You were right, of course. You did make a name for yourself— you took down one of the most prominent cartel leaders in the country.

Or, at least, that’s what the media thought.

LA VERDAD DE LO QUE PASÓ EN 1989. —————————————————————— THE TRUTH OF WHAT HAPPENED IN 1989.

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 2:00 P.M. Location: Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad | Administrative Department of Security (DAS) HQ Objective: Enter the meeting

You made it into DAS at 21.

Really, it was probably just because the high-rank workers felt bad for you. They understood— a girl from the outer part near Bogotá, no parents— you just wanted to make the country better for people like you.

You were given small jobs like paperwork and editing documents, until now. They were calling you in for your first meeting. Despite your usually serious nature, you couldn’t help a bubble of excitement. You’d finally be able to help like you’d always wanted.

which is why it was confusing why everyone was so somber when you walked in.

“Good morning,” you greeted, taking a seat.

“Good morning, y/n,” replied the woman who headed the ground-team. All your coworkers around her looked solemn, and you stared at them all puzzled.

“Your first assignment will be to infiltrate a specific branch of the Bogotá cartel— we fear they might be working with either FARC or plan to merge with another faction, and they’re already quite dangerous as it is— we don’t need more of them,”

the room was silent. You knew what this was— your first year on the job with barely any training. They were sending you to die, just to get some information.

You sat up straight, squaring your shoulders. You would get the information to help your people. You would live.

“I understand,” you replied, with a nod, standing to collect your file.

The woman handing it to you leaned in, a pained look in her eyes “Perdón,”

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 10:54 P.M. Location: Una cantina Objective: Scout an in to the “organization”

The woman in charge of the specific section of the widespread cartel that was causing so much destruction frequented a specific bar. You had been given her file— she was beautiful, with dark hair and pale skin, but she didn’t seem to be colombian. It didn’t really matter, to you— you weren’t here to ask her why she’d made these choices— you needed to infiltrate one of the largest cartels in Bogotá, on your first job.

you sighed, your head in your hands, the bartender giving you a cursory glance. The place was seedy, filled with alcoholics and sex-workers, as well as probable cartel members, which is why you were here.

You sat up, looking around. It was said Karina frequented this bar. You prayed she’d show up, making the sign of the cross.

God delivered— she walked in, with two other people you didn’t quite recognize— one had dark hair, as well, with big eyes, although her face was serious. The other was lithe, thin— her hair was shorter, and lighter in color, more similar to a brown.

You knew what you’d have to do to start getting information. It made you feel a little sick— a part of you, though, was grateful Karina was so beautiful. Her smile was cocky and smug, like that of someone who knew she was untouchable. She made conversation with her two accompanies, talking and laughing and drinking. You waited for an hour or so, so that she was now most definitely more than tipsy.

you walked over, wearing a short, tight black dress that let you fit the bill of another profession, looking at her through half lidded eyes.

another thing about the cartel. if they wanted a girl, they’d have her. The club was a dangerous place, the bar was a dangerous place— you’d seen a man get shot at a hamburger cart. The cartel was ruining the country.

you pushed down your sudden wave of resentment, focused on flirting with Karina. Her friend, the long haired girl, stared at you for a long time, scrutinizing. You wouldn’t know what that meant, for a while.

Karina grinned, tilting her head. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t see why not,” you smiled, voice practiced to be smooth and flirty. You didn’t drink, usually, but you needed the courage.

She handed you a shot of aguardiente. It was dry and burned your throat, but it was good. You made conversation. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” You smiled, putting a hand on her arm. “Seems a bit.. dirty,”

Karina smiled, predatorily, teeth glinting in the low yellowed light. “Just trying to relax. You don’t seem like the type of girl to frequent this place. Why are you here?” She asked back.

“Oh, just.. trying to have a little fun,” you replied, lowly, voice ghosting over her ear. She seemed to like that answer.

“Yeah? Why don’t you come home with me, then?”

Your smile widened, although your eyes with still half lidded, touches fleeting. You still played your part.

“I will,”

you ended up going home with Karina. It took months to get her to trust you, but you had finally managed to get her to let you start working. All it took was a sob-story, a fake name, and she allowed you to work in her jurisdiction.

and so began the first objective: names. You needed names.

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 4:33 P.M. Location: currently, a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

Karina had a home, of course, a large one— you had seen parts of the inside many a time. Of course, they also had some warehouses where they kept goods, where some of the members could crash for a night. You usually stayed with Karina, following her orders.

Some of the members used fake names. You had managed to catch onto one— Ning Yizhou, or NingNing. It was kind of stupid to put part of your real name in your fake name, but plenty of members didn’t use false names at all. You supposed it was just because they didn’t have much to hide.

The name was quietly recorded into your notebook— in code, of course, specifically pigpen-cipher, although you mixed it in with a few different things, referencing dice code as well to make it more confusing— the members of the organization sometimes forgot to call out their chosen names for each other, slipping up. You didn’t mind, though, it made your life easier.

The group had a whole network across Bogotá, planning to move into Medellín, which you felt was not a good idea, but had said nothing.

at one point, Karina brought you all out to eat at a very nice restaurant. You had become a favorite of sorts, for her. She didn’t suspect a thing, thank god.

They began to make small talk, conversations imbued with remarks about the ‘business’, people causing problems, supply and demand, and those annoying Americans.

the waiter came, and everyone quieted.

”Una cerveza, porfa,” Karina was first.

“Dame un refresco, por favor,” Giselle.

You felt something.. off. Obviously, Giselle wasn’t colombian. None of these four women were. But they all learned Spanish here. None of them really spoke Spanish beforehand. Giselle was speaking very.. correctly. Or, at-least, not using slang from colombia. Had she learned Spanish in Mexico? Castellano? Was she part of another gang?

you hadn’t noticed it was your turn to order with all the thoughts running through your mind. You looked at the waiter, glancing at Giselle.

“Si me haces el favor, una gaseosa,”

Giselle didn’t seem fazed by it. but something was off about her. Something was very, very off.

“Karina,” you called, walking into her office. She seemed to be writing something down. Most likely something about funds or money. She did have people in the banks to clean her money for her, but she didn’t like others running her finances. Too much of a chance for embezzlement. A part of you liked she was smart with her business.

“Winter told me you called for me?” You murmured, leaning against the side of her desk, tilting your head, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Ah, yes,” she affirmed, turning in her chair to you. “I have a job I need you to complete. You’ll be going with Winter,” she informed. “It’s nothing that difficult. You’ll both be going on some runs. It’ll just be delivering a few.. products, to a contact. It’ll be a long drive, maybe a few hours. She’ll come get you at four in the morning, exactly,”

Your face stayed carefully blank, but you plastered a content smile onto it. “Of course, I’m glad to be of any help. Speaking of help, Karina, you seem a little stressed..” you smiled wider, voice imbued with a sultry tone.

Karina was honestly a bit foolish. Smart with money, bad with people. Perfect for you.

She still suspected nothing, you thought, as she kissed you, hungrily.

the night ended with her paperwork left unfinished, and you asleep in her bed.

Winter was probably not going to be happy.

Winter was waiting outside the room for you, arms crossed and leaning on the wall. You had dressed into something casual— just jeans and a shirt. You glanced over at her with a blank expression. “What do we need to deliver?”

She seemed to be thinking, before pushing off the wall, and beginning to walk. You followed.

“Guerrilla wants some weapons. We’re just there to deliver,” she muttered, cigarette hanging half out of her mouth, unlit. You made your way to the car, getting in the passenger, the supplies in the back. “It’ll be a long drive up the mountain. Let’s try not to get stopped, yeah?” She muttered, starting the ignition.

You drove in silence, for a bit. The humidity of the air was starting to get to you. You hated the heat.

Winter didn’t talk to you, much. You didn’t think she liked you. You were pretty sure it was because she believed you weren’t worthy to be in the gang— you were just Karina’s plaything.

you didn’t really care what she thought, though. You had a job to do.

after a few hours, you had made it sufficiently up the mountain to the trade-off point. You stepped out of the car.

It was still foggy, from the rain and the altitude. You almost felt a bit lightheaded— but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. The plants and mosquitos were certainly bothersome, but you said nothing. Helping Winter lug up all the weapons was definitely hard— you weren’t very strong. Winter stared at you in annoyance, mumbling curses, most likely about you, under her breath.

the trade off was successful, but then, yet again, you had to make your way down the mountain with duffel bags of money. It was heavy. Putting it away in the trunk was simple enough. You collapsed back into the passenger, wiping the sweat from your forehead. You felt gross.

“Why was that so heavy?” You muttered, under your breath. Winter closed the door of the driver’s side.

“It’s not that heavy, you’re just weak,” she spat, annoyed. “You made us take an extra half hour. You’re not efficient,” she continued.

“It’s hardly my fault, Winter! This was my first job, I don’t-”

“I don’t know why Karina thought it’d be a good idea to let you help, you’re absolutely shit at it,” she retorted, acidly. “The only thing you’re good at is being her whore,” she cursed, as a snide closing remark.

You turned to her as she drove. You may be making sacrifices to get information, but Winter had no idea what you were working towards. It was an insult to your pride. Yet, you couldn’t think of a retort.

“I’ll work harder,” you muttered. “I want to be useful,”

she scoffed, but at least you said you’d try. She still didn’t like you, though. “Face it, sweetheart,” she began. “You’re not cut out for this life,”

When you arrived back to the warehouse, Ningning spotted Winter before you. You were taking some of the bags out, but could still here from the inside.

“Kim Minjeong! What took you so long?” She chided.

Winter rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Quiet down, Ning. Karina’s toy isn’t supposed to know our names until she proves herself. And anyway, she’s nearly useless. She’s the reason I took longer,”

you obviously pretended not to hear as you hauled money bags inside.

Two names down. Two to go.

Giselle and Karina were two harder to find out then the other two. You were sure with enough time, Karina would tell you her real name. She seemed on the verge of it, anyway, with how much she wanted to hear it fall from your lips.

Giselle, though.. you had no contact with her. She was always off, managing distribution or making sure people stayed in line. You never saw her around much.

but slowly, you began to become part of the group. You mostly helped on small runs, with either Winter or Ning. Ning didn’t really care what name you called her, writing it off as semantics that didn’t matter. Winter, of course, took herself very seriously, so you continued to have to address her formally. She was such a pain, but honestly, you didn’t mind much.

what you had to focus on now, most of all, was getting Karina to trust you.

that came in the form of another run. Although this time, it went so, so wrong.

You were meant to drop off a shipment near Medellín. You didn’t think anything would happen, really— the mountains were a bit far out from Bogotá, and it was closer to the border anyway.

You had been given a gun. It was handed to you by Ning a few weeks prior, under the orders of Karina. You knew how to use one, and no one asked why.

the drive there was mostly silent. Winter still wasn’t very warm to you, yet, she didn’t hate you. You had begun to earn your place, and she respected the effort, if anything.

You drove, and the closer you got to the warehouse, the more dread washed into your bones. “Winter,” you called, under your breath. “I think we’re being watched,”

“We’ve been down this route a million times, y/n. We’re fine, no one would-”

a gunshot rang out through the silence.

It missed Winter by a centimeter, hitting the windshield. You cursed the fact these jeeps didn’t have roofs or side-door windows. Minjeong sped up, of course— if she braked they’d fire again. It was all a blur, from there. You got out of the car, your back against the corrugated metal of the drop off point’s doors. You stared around you, pointing at an old building. “There, Winter- it’s a-”

“Snipers,” she finished, eyes wide with panic. “Hijueputa! I fucking knew we should’ve stayed away from Medellín-”

“No fucking time for that, Winter, get down-”

bullets cut through the air. You dragged Winter behind the Jeep’s metal body, looking over it and shooting wherever the bullets rained from.

there was maybe three people, four, even. Winter focused on the right, you focused on the left. You only had a pistol on you, but luckily you had enough rounds. You aimed straight at one man’s head— it was a straight shot, and you saw the blood spew out from his forehead. It was a mess of blood and bits of brain as far as you could see, his body slumping over the sandbags where he was hiding. They turned red, quickly.

You peeked over the jeep, again, about to shoot the second man on the left when—

a sharp pain was felt in your right shoulder. The force of it sent you nearly falling back, but you caught yourself. You looked straight ahead.

the sniper.

You were panicking and filled with adrenaline— you set the gun on the other man, watching him rise slowly, and—

straight into the neck, blood rushed out of the wound, and you heard a disgusting gargling noise. Blood, in some areas, was highly pressurized— it would shoot out like a fountain.

Winter had managed to shoot the sniper, finally, which was a miracle considering the distance. Right now, you didn’t care about the logistics of how, all you knew was that this was a trap. More people were coming. “Winter, we have to go,” you demanded, looking over at her.

She was bleeding from her thigh and side. Fucking hell.

you shoved her into the passenger seat, ignoring the warmth you could feel trickling down your shoulder, the way it hurt to move your arm. You started the car, and drove straight out of there. You drove as fast as you could, making it back in just around two hours and a half. You had tied your jacket around Winter’s leg, and her own around her side, the other girl groaning in pain throughout the ride. “Ya, Winter, cállate!” You spat, stressed and frazzled. “You’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be okay-” you continued, clenching your jaw to not scream from the burning in your shoulder.

When you made it back, you stumbled out of the car, glass shards all over the hood, opening the doors. “Ning,” you called, knowing she’d always be near, most likely cleaning some blood after an interrogation or packing some coke. “Ning, it was a trap- help, please, Winter got shot,” you continued, calling out desperately. Ning appeared a few seconds after, eyes wide, rushing to the car. She helped Winter inside, laying her on the couch. She had lost a bit of blood, but the bullet hadn’t hit a major artery. You knew the bullet shouldn’t have hit her heart, either. Ning looked at you, seriously. “Go get Karina. And Giselle,”

you did as told.

you rushed to Karina’s office, the older woman looking at you with a bored expression, gaze lingering on your shoulder.

She didn’t ask any questions, just raised an eyebrow. “It was a trap,” you replied, panting, ignoring your own bleeding shoulder. “Winter.. she needs- she needs a hospital,”

Karina looked unsurprised. “Oh, yes,” she replied, holding your gaze. “How unfortunate of an event,”

Her words were.. slow. Almost mocking or sarcastic— you didn’t have time to decipher what they meant. She brushed past you, making her way to Winter, calmly

“Ning, how bad is it?” She questioned, leaning over the other girl’s body. There was no hint of worry or concern on her face, just curiosity.

“Not fatal, but serious. It didn’t hit the femoral artery, but I suspect it either fracture or grazed her femur. For the side wound, I don’t think it hit anything major, maybe a rib, but no organs. Even so, she needs medical attention now, Karina— speaking of, where is Giselle?” She continued, exasperated and stressed.

“She should be on her way. She was coming back from a job, already. She should be here soon,” was Karina’s nonchalant reply.

you decided that she couldn’t really be waited on, and Karina was clearly unhelpful.

“Do you guys have an operating table? You know what— get me a table. Just get me a table,” you demanded, reaching for some surgical gloves.

They laid Winter on the table, turning on all the lights. You positioned a lamp right over her, and stared at the bullet wounds.

there were only 2. You could do this, you had been taught first aid. This couldn’t be that hard.

You began to clean the wounds with running alcohol and cotton balls, trying to wipe away the blood that wouldn’t stop, and clean the wounds. You had grabbed a pair of tweezers, planning on just yanking out the bullet yourself when Giselle slammed the doors open, staring at the scene in shock.

“What the fuck are you all doing?” She shrieked, rushing over and moving you away. “Do you have any surgical training at all? You could kill her!” She exclaimed.

“Well, you weren’t exactly coming very quickly,” you retorted, now insulted. “I’m sure it’s not that hard to remove a bullet, just take it out-”

“Are you an idiot?” She exclaimed, shocked. “Get out of the way, this is why I’m here. I’ll deal with this,”

she pushed you away, putting on her own pair of blue surgical gloves, and a mask. She moved the lamp to the wound on Winter’s chest, inspecting it. She took hold of the tweezers, cleaning the wound once again with an alcohol wipe— but there was no time for painkillers. She extracted the bullet carefully, holding Winter down so she wouldn’t squirm and hurt herself, followed by her stitching up the wound. It took around twenty minutes for the bullet hole to be stitched up.

she repeated the same process with the second, before cleaning the wounds, again, and beginning to wrap them with gauze. Winter looked pale, and in pain, but she tried to show no sign of it on her face. Once Giselle finished with her, she turned over to you.

“Sit,” she instructed, voice flat and providing no room for judgement.

Karina had shrugged, disappearing back to her office, while Ning had left to go help Winter, leaving you alone with Giselle. She removed your shirt, unclipping your bra with practiced ease, and inspecting the wound. It had started to really hurt, now, the adrenaline having worn off.

“Don’t you have painkillers?” You asked, petulantly.

“No,” she muttered back. “You can handle it. You’re part of a gang, now, there’s going to be pain,” she reminded, harshly.

She cleaned the wound with alcohol, a hiss leaving your mouth at the sting. Your breath hitched when the tweezers made their way into the wound on your shoulder, clenching your jaw in pain. Giselle looked at you, coldly. “Don’t scream,” were her final words before she removed the bullet, cleanly, in one piece.

you gasped in pain, breathing heavily as the wound began to bleed again. Giselle held your other shoulder, keeping you in place as she sewed it shut, cleaning it again, and wrapping it with gauze. “Fuck,” you hissed, wincing at the sting of alcohol.

“Stop squirming,” she growled, and it made you sit still, albeit breathing hard and cursing under your breath. She handed you two pills— painkillers— and a glass of water, after the fact.

“Don’t take baths, you’ll reopen the wound, make sure to shower. Someone will have to help you redress the wound and make sure it doesn’t get infected. Karina isn’t good with wounds, and Ning will handle Winter. I’ll keep an eye on you myself,” she muttered, and it felt more like a threat than anything.

you took the pills, drinking the water to wash them down.

you glanced over to her.

“What are you, a doctor?” You asked, curious albeit a bit sarcastic.

“Yes, technically, I am,” she responded back, flatly. “Worked in el campo for my residency, saw the Guerrilla, saw the way people were living— got into this business, just as it started. That’s all,” she finished, succinctly.

you felt like the story was too practiced. Too simple. You began to suspect that something was off with Giselle— something most definitely was. The way she was never with the rest of the group, her detachment, her strange accent— she was suspicious, and it occurred to you that if you could reveal whatever it was, you’d secure yourself a spot in the gang and officially cement your place, as well as weakening the structure and trust of the organization. It was perfect. This was a great chance, an amazing opportunity. You were sure to take it.

That is, of course, if everything went according to plan.

(It never did)

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Karina had something to do with this. She seemed so dismissive, so.. unimpressed. What was it? Why was she so cold?

You sat at the edge of Winter’s bed, the other girl listening to your ramblings and theories half-heartedly, dazed. Ning was leaning against the wall, the both of you speaking lowly, so as to not be heard.

“She was testing you,” Ningning informed, after mulling on it for a bit.

“What?” You blinked, the words like a shock to your system. “She sent one of her men— along with the newest recruit— into a trap, with only two pistols against a sniper and three other men, all to test.. no, why would she do that? She wouldn’t endanger her own members,” you dismissed, shaking your head.

“She would,” Ning informed, flatly. “Karina’s our boss, yes, we respect her. But she didn’t get to where she is by playing nice,” she reminded. “Karina will do whatever she has to do to ensure her business, first and foremost. That is what is the most important to her. Plus, the government has been far too close to us, lately,” Ning scoffed, shaking her head with her arms crossed. “She’s probably become more careful— which isn’t good if you’re new. You’re probably in for it,” The dark haired girl guessed, meeting your gaze. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we got dragged into it, too. We’re disposable. Just pawns in this game,” she continued, pushing off the wall and reaching the door, hand resting on the handle. “But I hope you make it out,” she added. “You’ve been helpful,” was her final compliment, before she exited.

You stared at your hands. You had thought— genuinely— that Karina was kind, maybe misunderstood. You really thought you were smarter than her.

you now realized that Karina was extremely intelligent. She didn’t care what sacrifices had to be made— she’d protect what was hers, what she’d built. Worst of all, she might even know you were an informant already, she might just be playing with you.

you had walked right into the lion’s den, without even knowing. All the while, you thought you were one step ahead, that you were in control.

your head fell to your hands, a choked sob leaving your body.

you were going to die here.

Every single one of you was going to die here.

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 6:25 P.M. Location: currently, a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

it had been a week since the incident. Winter had given you her real name— Kim Minjeong. Why? She said you had earned it, after saving her life.

Things had been tense, to say the least. Ning was considerably angry with Karina, which the older girl did not like. Giselle had been speaking to Karina more often, yet, she was also out the same amount of time.

Minjeong had told you that there had been talk of working more closely with the guerrilla, and that information worried you. The guerrilla was already enough trouble on its own— with the resources from the cartel, it’d be a horrible force for the government.

It was early November, already, and Giselle had seemed beyond tense, pacing whenever you caught a glimpse of her in her room, always thinking to herself, it seemed.

she was changing your bandages, now, a distant look on her face. The movements were practiced, almost like she was working on autopilot.

“Hey,” you called. “Giselle,”

“What?” She responded, flatly. “What is it?”

“Why do you seem so mad lately?” Was your question. She kept a blank, annoyed look on her face. She continued to clean your wound, but eventually responded. “Nothing. Just some negotiations that have been going in circles for days, now. Don’t worry about it,” she dismissed, stepping back once she had finished, moving to get some gauze.

“Really?” You hummed. “Anything to do with the guerrilla?”

Giselle stared, clenching her jaw. She began to bandage you, but spoke lowly. “Don’t talk about them. You have no idea what they’re like. You shouldn’t know any of this, anyway. I’m sure Karina wouldn’t like that,” she added, dangerously.

After the events that transpired on your last run, you had grown wary of Karina. You tried not to make it obvious, but everyone could tell, and the girl delighted in it. She loved the power and control, of course. Her smile was unsettling.

you quieted, after that comment. Giselle finished bandaging you, stepping away. “Stay out of things that don’t concern you,” she advised, but took a second to add something on. “Don’t worry too much. I don’t think she’ll kill you,” Giselle paused, a smile blooming on her face, “Yet,” she added, walking out.

Not very comforting in the slightest, but you should figure out what you could while you were here. You sighed, laying back on the bed.

Giselle was definitely lying about something— you just needed to find out what.

The guerrilla had led a siege on el Palacio de Justicia. It lasted two days, with many deaths. You saw the current news on it, even contacted your people in DAS about it— they had strictly warned you not to unless information was found, but those were your people. They could’ve died.

Giselle watched the news over your shoulder, or listened to it while she fixed your bandages. Minjeong had been getting better, too, her leg much better. Ning watched as well, her arms crossed.

Karina didn’t comment on it. Almost like she knew it would happen.

a suspicious amount of money was given to the guerilla by Karina a few weeks prior. You felt a shudder run through you, which Giselle responded to with a bark of “Stop squirming”.

later, Karina called you into her office.

“Y/n,” she smiled, tilting her head. “You seem.. on edge. May I ask why?” She was being overly formal, and it unsettled you.

“Ever since the attack, I keep feeling like it’ll happen again,” you began, rambling— it wasn’t a lie, per se, but it wasn’t the whole truth. The fear in your eyes and shakiness of your movement confirmed that, at least, it was partially true. “Im scared, that they’ll come here, and kill us. I don’t know what to do,”

Karina’s smile stayed in place, as she ushered you to sit down on the couch, there. “Don’t worry, corazón,” she assured, a hand running through your hair. You began to relax— maybe she wasn’t so scary, after all— It was understandable, maybe it wasn’t actually a test, maybe-

“As long as you’re loyal, nothing bad will happen to you,” she continued, hand tightening in your hair. “If you were to sell us out, then, you understand. I couldn’t promise your protection,” her hand strengthening its grip on your hair, speaking into your ear.

“Now, why don’t we get your mind off it?” She offered, looking into your eyes with a faux-sweet expression.

you complied, obviously. Despite the fear, there was a part of you that was drawn to her. She was threatening to kill you if you betrayed her, yet, you still kissed her, desperately.

she kissed back, of course, hungrily and heatedly.

That’s how most of the both of your talks ended, anyway.

1986, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 12:01 AM Location: una discoteca Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

It was 1986, now— had just turned into the new year. You were at a club, celebrating another year alive.

You had no idea where the other three girls went, thoroughly tipsy and entranced with Karina.

Karina was a bad person, you knew this. She was ruthless, and you should be scared of her.

but right now, with her hands on your hips, in the flashing lights of the club, you couldn’t quite remember that.

The two of you stumbled into the quieter, back parts of the club where there were rooms. Karina knew this place better than you, anyway.

it was still loud, and you could barely hear anything. She pressed you against the wall, tugging your hair, beginning to suck and bite at your neck.

she was most definitely drunk, you could tell by the flush to her face and how her words were looser than normal.

You knew you should’ve taken advantage of this, but you couldn’t. Your body felt hot, and instead of finding information, like you should have, you fell right back into Karina like a rat to a glue-trap.

you were pathetic.

and you knew it.

1986, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 2:23 AM Location: a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

Karina had called you into her office, except this time, Giselle was there.

You were beyond exhausted, but did not complain.

They were both intimidating. Giselle was staring at you, coldly, arms crossed, while Karina had an amused expression on her face, grinning, head tilted into her hand.

“Y/n, I have a job for you,” she called, in a cheery voice.

“It shouldn’t be too hard, but you’ll be working with Giselle from now on. It’ll be good for you,” she continued, standing up and walking towards you. “She’ll keep you safe— won’t you, Gigi?” She asked, almost mockingly, a saccharine expression in her face.

“You’ll have a body by the end of the day. That’s all you want her for, anyway,” Giselle retorted, irritated.

“How great! Come now, y/n, Giselle will explain,” Karina beckoned, quite happy today. Some expansion into the U.S. had gone well, you knew that much, but there was no reason she should be so.. animated.

Karina handed you a semiautomatic pistol, which you stared down at. She then smiled, handing you a small box of bullets. She still kept a smile on her face, remarking, “You know, these are special. They’re hollow point bullets— Ningning made them,”

“What? She made them?” You knew of hollow-point bullets, they weren’t a secret, just uncommon.

“Drill a hole into them, cut an X to make some petals, and there you have it— well, I’d ask Ningning, of course, I’m not a weapons specialist. It’s quite easy,”

“But why? They don’t-”

“Effectiveness. They leave a bigger exit wound, and leave shrapnel inside the body at times,” Giselle interrupted. “In other words, pain. They’re used to inflict pain,”

Karina smiled, sadistic as ever, as she watched Giselle load some rifles.

“Today, we have a few hits to get done,” Giselle informed. “You’ll be coming with me. You know how to shoot a rifle?” She asked, glancing over at your horrified expression.

“No, I-”

“What about a pistol?”

You nodded.

“Perfect!” Karina exclaimed. “You can help with the interrogation, then. Giselle, I’ll meet you at the location. Try not to dirty her too much, hm?” Karina advised, slinking away.

“That’s why she’s so happy?” You asked, in shock. “Because-”

“Because she gets to kill someone? Yeah, that’s why. She’s sick in the head. You knew what you were getting into,”

you stared at Giselle in silence. The other girl was grabbing some sniper-rifle that you had never seen before, and several rounds of ammunition.

she loaded it into the car, and you two began the drive.

you held the pistol in your hands shakily, silent for most of the ride.

once you got to the location, you watched Giselle pray. You had heard of hitmen praying before their job, and you still couldn’t understand. They prayed to God to protect them, yet, they were about to take a life.

“Why are you praying?” You asked, suddenly, acidly. “We’re about to kill people, God wouldn’t-”

“It’s my job,” she interrupted, which was a common occurrence with Giselle. “It’s my job, and I’m just asking Him to keep me alive until it’s over,” she spat, coolly. “You don’t know what I’ve had to do. But you will, soon. So just shut up, will you?” She got out of the car, slamming the door shut. You scrambled after her, and the both of you hauled the equipment up the boarded-up, run-down building, up several flights of stairs, finally beginning to set it up after a few stories, looking down at a busy road.

“Why are we killing him?” You murmured your question, watching as Giselle began to adjust the rifle.

“He owes Karina money, and he won’t pay it. He also stole some of our goods and has been cutting pure cocaine with some other shit, I didn’t really care enough to figure out what. His other friend is the one we’ll be interrogating. He’ll die no matter what he says,” Giselle shrugged, watching the empty street, the morning finally coming through the sky, although the dark, clouded sky blocked the bright sun.

“How long will we be here?”

“However long it takes,”

It turns out that “however long it takes” meant almost eight hours. You were bored to death, yet still terrified. You were about to kill someone. And you had been here, waiting on edge for it to happen, for almost eight hours. You felt like you were going to burst into tears.

“Giselle, how much longer is this gonna take?” You complained, although a bit shaky.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here either,” she drawled. “But he should be here, soon. He works near here,”

It took maybe another half hour before he appeared. Giselle saw him before you did, obviously— you didn’t even know what he looked like— but she didn’t immediately shoot. Her eyes stared down at him through the scope, her fingers brushing against the trigger. He was wide open, walking slowly without a car in the world. He stopped for a second, someone crossing in front of him—

click.

you heard the gun go off before you looked down.

Giselle had shot him perfectly in the side of the head. You couldn’t see a lot, obviously, you were pretty high up, but you saw enough.

his body crumpled to the ground, immediately, blood pooling around him. People screamed, cars stopped, and they all were looking around frantically trying to find the shooter. Giselle moved the gun and herself away from the window, to the side where they weren’t visible.

“Come on, hurry up— we gotta go,” she urged.

“Hold on, won’t they see us step out of the building? Isn’t this a bad idea?”

“They won’t catch us, there’s too much chaos going down there. Now come on, let’s go,”

The drive to the warehouse was relatively silent.

Giselle was tense, but that wasn’t new. She always was. But she seemed almost.. solemn. Quiet.

you both arrived, stepping out of the car, into the meeting point. Giselle had her own pistol, you also kept yours on hand.

when you entered, there was a man tied there. Giselle tensed when she saw him, but said nothing. You figured it was because of Karina, standing behind him with the same placid, content smile. It was eerie.

“Giselle, Y/n! You’ve made it,” she smiled. “I take it the job went well?”

“It was all fine,” Giselle replied. “Nothing out of the ordinary happened,”

“That’s great, really, it’s good! I’m quite happy today, Y/n, because we have a special guest. I know I said he owed me money— in a way he does— but this is something far more important. He works with the Americans! Isn’t that just amazing?” She continued, happily, waving her gun around in the air as she spoke. “I’m sure we’ll get some good information out of him,”

“So, the both of you, come! Let’s begin,” Karina gestured to the man, in the dim lights.

you figured, well— the show must go on.

The man was tied to a chair, that much was obvious. The floor was concrete, and there were boarded up windows and maybe one or two hanging lightbulbs. It was a bit dark.

the walls were steel, corrugated iron, and it gave a prison-like feel. the man was looking around, wildly, straining against his restraints.

“Hey,” Karina called, walking closer to him.

“You’re going to tell me everything there is to know about those Americans, okay? And then I’ll let you go. As long as you don’t lie,” she assured, pausing. “Now talk,” she demanded.

“They’ve noticed the supply into their country. They’re working on stopping it. They’ve already sent a few agents to infiltrate a few different parts of the cartel—”

“Which ones?” Was her sharp, quick reply.

“Medellín, primarily, but they’ve been looking to Bogotá. I don’t know much more than that, I don’t even know who the agents are, I-”

“Ning!” Karina barked, the dark haired girl appearing out of the dark. She held a pistol in her hand, jaw clenched, staring up at Karina.. defiantly, almost. “Won’t you be a dear and deal with him, for me?”

Ning glanced to the man. His eyes widened, and he began to thrash. “No! I don’t know anything, I swear, I don’t know any agents! I don’t know anything!” He pleaded, desperately. Ning looked away, aiming the gun.

You heard a whispered ‘I’m sorry’, and she made the shot.

Through the head, perfectly center. Ning placed a hand over her mouth, the smell of blood biting and metallic, letting out a choked sob.

Karina looked over at Ning. “Now, Ning-ie, there’s a bus waiting for you outside. You’ll take that back to our meeting point, won’t you? So you won’t get caught?”

Ning nodded, wiping her eyes of tears. She went over to Giselle, they exchanged some words, hugged— she came over to you.

“Y/n.. I’m sorry. There’s no way to get you out, now. Be careful, don’t.. don’t trust anyone, don’t- just.. be careful, okay?” she advised, lowly, hugging you, still crying faintly.

“Ning, what- I don’t understand, why’re you acting like this?”

“You’ll tell Minjeong I’ll miss her, right? I wanted to say goodbye, properly, but.. I didn’t have time. I left a note,” she added, slipping it into your pocket inconspicuously, pulling away from the hug. “Give it to her, for me. You were fun to be around, I’ll miss you too. Don’t lose yourself, stay focused. It was nice to know you, y/n,”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her- I’ll give it to her- Ning, why are you acting like this? What’s going on?”

Ning smiled, laughing wetly, still crying. “You’ll find out, later. You’ll find out..”

Karina walked Ning out of the warehouse. You and Giselle trailed behind, still a few paces away. The bus was parked right outside, filled with people.

Karina hugged Ning, whispered something to her which made Ning clench her fists and cry harder— you don’t know from what.

Ning got on the bus with a smile, crying— though you still didn’t know why— and waved goodbye.

You looked to Giselle, confused, watching the bus continue on, further down the street, already maybe a mile or two away from you. “What was that abou-”

your ears rang. You heard it before it registered.

the bus had exploded.

there was carnage, everywhere. Parts of it had been thrown into different buildings. There were body parts strewn across the street, a crater in the asphalt, fire, along the metal— cars had been crushed, it was now chaos in the streets. You had almost been pushed back from the force, nicking yourself with the small, sharp pieces of metal. Karina was still standing, her suit dusty and filled with ash.

“Karina, what- what did you do?” you cried, confused and distraught yet again, feeling the tears build in your eyes.

Karina cooed, crouching down over you, thumbing the skin under your eye. “Oh, mi amor, don’t cry,” she reassured. “Ning was working with the Americans. The man in the warehouse knew, and was helping her sneak information along our supply chain! Don’t worry, the traitor is gone,” she ran a hand through your now dirty hair, cleaning a cut on your face with her finger. She smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek, speaking lowly into your ear.

“I’m tired of these Americans trying to ruin my business. They keep putting themselves where they don’t belong. Don’t worry, mi cielo, you’ll be safe as long as you’re loyal to me, and as long as you listen. I know you will. Because you’re trustworthy, aren’t you?” She smiled, looking down at you.

you nodded, dazed. Karina had just killed Ning. Ning was dead. You had to get out of here. You figured hundreds were injured. You had to leave.

Giselle was even farther back, looking at Karina with contempt.

you didn’t notice, though. You were too busy watching the flames dance in the street.

1987, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 9:46 P.M Location: a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

it had been almost a year since the incident.

ever since Ning died, things had been different. Minjeong had been quieter, and angrier. Everything set her off, she came back covered in blood most of the time. You didn’t want to ask where she’d been— you’d just sit with her, quietly. Sometimes you heard her cry at night.

Giselle had been even more cagey, always out, defensive, on high-alert constantly.

and Karina.. well, you’d been spending a lot of time with Karina. You knew she was bad, you did, but there was something about her. It was just something about her, something that drew you in, and you hated yourself for it.

like right now. You were in her office, again, as she kissed you hungrily, hands gripping your hips in a bruising grasp.

your mind drifted. You reported back to DAS every so often, but you did inform them that you had to be very careful, that your reports would be sporadic. Truthfully, they didn’t event think you’d make it this far, do they were okay with waiting. They seemed to have several informants, anyway.

”y/n,” Karina growled, lowly, sucking and biting harshly at your neck. “You seem distracted. Focus on me, no? You promised you’d help me..” she murmured, almost a pleading sound to her voice. You weren’t stupid, though. Karina didn’t beg, she didn’t plead. This was mocking. You sucked it up, though.

you tried to focus on her, you did, but everything was beginning to get to you. DAS weighed heavily on your mind, and Minjeong’s grief did, too, and Giselle’s odd behavior, her accent, even the way she dressed— she didn’t seem like she was from here. She didn’t seem like she’d been her a long while.

“Y/n,” Karina snapped, annoyed. “Focus, will you? Or maybe you’ll end up like that bastard traitor,” she remarked, acidly, far too much emotion for the situation. Karina had been angrier lately, too. It must be the stress of the betrayal. Surely that’s why— it shook her to her core that there was a rat in her ranks. She had gotten paranoid.

the mention of Ning made you emotional, though. You felt tears prick at your eyes.

she looked down, and let out a laugh. “Oh, I love when you cry, baby,” she grinned, voice rough. “It makes you look so good. But not right now.. maybe in a bit. Stop being such a pussy,” she instructed, to which you nodded shakily.

and like that is how your work went, for a bit.

it wasn’t until late 1988 everything began to change.

Karina had been busy, lately. A lot of men came to her office, ones you didn't recognize and some you did, vaguely, from other meetings.

Karina had been overtly paranoid about informants— It was a miracle she hadn't discovered you, yet— or maybe she had. Maybe she was just waiting for the right time, playing with you, maybe-

"Y/n!" She called, in a sing-song tone.

You entered her office, quietly.

"I need your help for another job. A big one. If you do this, then it'll officially make you a part of us! Isn't that fantastic, baby?"

Karina had her hands on your hips, the same practiced smile she always wore on her face.

"Yes.. fantastic, it really is," you replied, in a murmur. "But what will I be doing?"

"You know the DAS building, here, in Bogotá? Well, amor, we'll be getting rid of it,"

"rid of it?" You tried to school your expression, but the shock and horror was plainly visible on your face. You felt sick.

"Rid of it. As in, you know— the building. I have a few ways to make sure it stays gone for quite a while. It’ll take nearly a year, I predict, but it’ll get done. You’ll be going to a few meetings with Giselle and me to make sure you can help. Is that okay, y/n?” She asked, in a faux-concerned tone. You both knew she wasn’t asking whether or not you’d do it, you had to. It was a rhetorical question. You would say yes, either way.

“Yes. It’s.. it’s fine,” you murmured.

“Good. Now, you can go. I’m sure there’s something for you to do to make yourself useful around here,”

MEETING ONE 1988, Medellín, Colombia Local time: 4:52 P.M. Location: a small town up in the mountains; el campo Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

Driving with Giselle was really not a good time. The songs on the radio were good, though.

the other girl was so frustrated, for some reason.

“Giselle,” you chanced. “I don’t mean to pry, but seriously— why are you so.. stressed?”

“We’re about to blow up Colombia’s national security headquarters, I think anyone would be stressed,”

You eyed her, not quite convinced.

“You know, anytime we carry out a job you’re so on edge,” you commented. she whipped her head around, knuckles turning white as she gripped the steering wheel.

“Are you accusing me of something, y/l/n?”

“No,” you replied, slowly. “Not at all,”

the meeting took place up in the mountains.

the negotiations were mostly handled by Giselle, but she looked nearly ready to scream.

“We’re paying you what you’ve asked, just give us the supply,” she repeated, voice low.

“I think it’s fair to ask for a little more, linda,”

Giselle was seething. Honestly, these men had rifles, machine guns— you weren’t about to fight them. you took out your pistol.

you pointed it right at the 500kg of dynamite.

“Take the money,” you instructed, eyes wide. You looked crazed, most likely.

they stared at you.

“I said take the FUCKING MONEY! You think I won’t do it? We can add on 130,000 more pesos, but that’s it.”

They agreed.

Giselle was silent, in the car drive. You stared at your hands.

“You would’ve done it,” she murmured.

“I would have,” you agreed, and it came with a sick sense of realization. You would have killed everyone in there, including yourself. You would have done it. Who were you? What had you become?

Giselle laughed, one of the only times you had ever seen her show a positive emotion.

“Oh, God,” she snickered. “You really didn’t think when you signed up for this, huh?” She commented. Your eyes widened, but you schooled them back into place.

no, she couldn’t mean what you thought. She couldn’t.

“Careful, baby,” she hummed. “You don’t wanna become something you can’t come back from,”

well, that’s fucking ominous.

Your next meeting was scheduled in the following weeks. You felt like Giselle was.. watching you. Her gaze never left you, but whenever you looked back, she was always just staring out a window, or at something on the wall. It was unnerving.

The second meeting went smoothly, but ended late. Giselle was driving once again, smoking.

“Do you have another?” You asked, suddenly, glancing at her against the dark backdrop of the night.

“Another what?” She questioned, looking over at you for only a moment, before focusing on the old, pot-hole filled road again.

“A cigarette. And a light,” you clarified, holding out a hand.

“I have a cigarette,” she confirmed, handing you one. “But no light. Sorry,” she shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

“Oh, fuck off Giselle. Just light it with yours,”

She rolled her eyes. “Why should I? Don’t you have a lighter?”

“I didn’t bring my lighter, I didn’t think I needed it,” you shot back.

She sighed, annoyed, but complying. She kept one hand on the wheel, barely glancing at the road, lit cigarette half in her mouth, being held in place by her hand. You kept your own firmly between your lips, not wanting it to fall.

she pressed the lit end to your own, eyes dark, and you couldn’t help but stare into them.

the end finally caught a spark, lighting up, and you both stared for a second more before breaking away.

You took a long drag, averting your eyes from her gaze, glad the dark of the night would hide your blush.

“Thanks,” you muttered, gazing out into the fields.

“Don’t mention it,”

MEETING THREE 1988, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 2:31 A.M. Location: Karina’s office Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

It happened so very late, and you struggled to stay awake. You felt your eyes closing, but Giselle would push you, and you’d spring back up.

Karina was arguing with a man about the price of the job. She was aggravated, he wasn’t taking the accepted offer.

The meeting had started off very casual— she even offered him some of their supply. You didn’t take any, neither did Giselle, but Karina and the man each did a line, snorting it off the table.

You watched the cross that hung from her neck dangle along the table, occasionally tapping the wood. The other man wore one as well, as did Giselle, as did you— you felt just a bit guilty about it. Hopefully, He’d forgive you for your wrongdoings. Hitmen prayed to God and so did drug lords— as did nuns, priests, politicians— all prayed, all believed. At least, most did. They claimed so.

You were shaken from your thoughts by a loud crash. Karina had pushed the man against the wall, yelling, now— “¡Me estás sacando la piedra!”

Giselle never said anything like that. Come to think of it, she cursed under her breath, you weren’t even sure what language it was. you shouldn’t be thinking of Giselle, though, not when this man seemed like he would die. That shook you out of your stationary position.

you jumped up, rushing towards her. “Karina! Karina, let him go!” You demanded, trying to pull her off. Giselle followed suit, prying her off him. Karina was panting, she looked crazed. Blood trickled out of her nose, and you wondered how much of her supply she was doing.

“You don’t understand,” she growled, clutching her desk. “Just take the money,” she began, again, and the man finally nodded. She practically threw the money at him, watching as he scrambled out. She let out a frustrated sound, slamming her hands on the desk.

“Giselle, get out. Y/n. Stay,” she demanded, not turning around.

Giselle hesitated, for a moment, it was barely noticeable.

but she left.

Karina turned to you, and like so many times before— you were truly, deeply scared. And yet..

you fell right back into her, letting her kiss you, use you, until she was fine again.

1989, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 3:13 A.M. Location: An old, unused road in the mountainside Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

The meetings happened in quick succession. They took place all throughout the rest of 1988, and into early 1989. It wasn’t until September that things really began to change.

Minjeong was always out. She avoided Karina, and only spoke with Giselle sparsely.

You and Giselle were in the car, currently. The final meeting had just occurred, and the both of you had gotten tired of driving.

you were both just sitting there, with the car off. Giselle spoke, suddenly.

“How do you do it?” She questioned. “How do you put up with her?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Karina. I just.. sometimes, she’s too much. Especially lately. She’s paranoid,”

“I don’t know, I just-” you couldn’t say it was because it was your job. You couldn’t say it was because a part of you wanted her. You weren’t sure how to even reply to that. “I just do,”

Giselle seemed like she wanted to say something, but she closed her mouth. It was silent till she spoke again. “I don’t understand you. I mean, you’re like me, but.. you’re just so.. different— naive,”

“I am not naive!” You protested, even though you knew very well you were.

“Yes you are! I know you’re- I-” she wasn’t being very coherent, aggravated, fingers flexing like she was antsy.

“I’m what? What am I? Just spit it out, Giselle! I’m tired of-”

She cut you off, kissing you. You were surprised, for a moment, but quickly reciprocated. Her fingers curled in your hair, pulling you closer. You braced yourself on the dash, trying not to touch the wheel or anything else that could move the car.

“You’re so fucking infuriating,” Giselle muttered, pulling you into the backseat with her. “You just have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

You panted, now slightly confused. “What?”

“Nevermind,” she groaned, pulling you closer once again.

She pulled you onto her lap, and you snaked your hands into her hair, tugging at it, blunt nails scratching at her scalp.

You didn’t really feel bad about it, is what you’d realize later, when you were driving back in silence.

You kind of wanted her to do it again.

You and Giselle didn’t talk about anything that had happened. Partly because you didn’t want to, and partly because you feared what Karina would do if she found out. The weeks leading up to what you found to be a tragedy were tense. Minjeong was out more often than not, as was Giselle. You couldn’t warn anyone, because Karina had such a close eye on you, lately. She just wouldn’t leave you alone.

December came quicker than you would wish.

It was night when you heard Minjeong speaking to Karina.

“Jimin, you can’t do this,” she murmured, lowly, voice laced with an unseen anger.

“Why are you so tense, Minjeong? I thought you always agreed with me..” she sighed, and you could hear her walking through the thin walls.

“I can’t let you kill so many people, it’s just- it’s insane! You’re being irrational— you’ve snorted half of your own fucking supply!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Karina— Jimin, you’ve learned— spat, and the unmistakable sound of a slap resounded through the warehouse, Karina breathing hard. You heard a struggle, and panting. “I’ll kill you, Minjeong, don’t think I won’t. I’ve kept you around out of pity— and of course, you’ve always been so obedient. Why are you so hellbent on rebelling now?” She whined, in a mocking manner.

“You killed Ningning— how am I supposed to be loyal to someone who kills her own men?” Minjeong replied, voice breathy, as if she couldn’t breathe.

There was silence.

“You’ll learn. Now, leave here. If you argue against me again, I’ll feed you to the wolves,” Jimin growled, and the sound of Minjeong hitting the floor was heard all throughout the warehouse. “Get out of my sight,”

1989, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 11:13 A.M. Location: a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

Karina was, and always will be, a mystery.

you had found out now that Karina’s name was Yu Jimin. You had asked Minjeong, shortly after what happened. You went to sleep, and awoke to the sound of the radio, blaring.

“El edificio del Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad ha sido bombardeado.”

you woke up with a start. You knew it’d happen. But there was a sense of true hatred, in that moment.

you walked out of your room.

you walked into Karina’s office.

“Yu Jimin,”

she whipped around, smile morphing into a frown in seconds.

“How do you know that name?”

“Minjeong,”

She saw the gun in your hand.

“Oh, won’t you put that down?”

You stared at her.

She smiled, then.

“You know, I knew you worked for them,” she began, nonchalantly.

“What?”

all that work, all that secrecy— it meant nothing, in the end? She knew, she always knew?

“I saw you searching for our names. You were just so.. you seemed like you’d work for the government. And then I found that little phone you had! It’s been disconnected for years. They haven’t received a single message,”

You stared, still, dumbfounded. Suddenly, this made it all the worse. She did this, forced you to help— knowing? You raised the pistol.

“Giselle,” Karina called, and the other girl appeared a few seconds later. She stared at the scene in front of her, looking between the two of you.

“Get rid of her for me, will you?” Karina dismissed, shrugging off the threat.

Giselle slowly took out her own gun. She pointed it at you, and yet—

“Yu Jimin, you’re under arrest for drug trafficking, terrorism, murder, smuggling, and-”

“What? What are you talking about?” Her eyes widened, as she shot up to her feet, gripping at her desk.

“My name is Aeri Uchinaga. I work for the FBI-”

“It was you!” She shrieked, nearly mad. “You were the mole? But you- you’ve killed in my name! Won’t you be implicit?”

“I’ll be pardoned by the state, most likely,” she informed.

it all made sense now. The strange accent, the tray she was so tense, constantly— you were a bit proud of yourself for noticing all the off things about her, but now was not the time.

you stared at Karina. You wanted to shoot her.

“She could leave,” you pointed out.

Giselle glanced over at you. “She could,”

you aimed at her leg. Just a bit off from the major artery in the thigh.

a click.

The aftermath was severe. The building was destroyed, most of your department had dissolved. Minjeong was working with the police, you had found out— although you hadn’t heard from her since the arresting.

you weren’t sure what to do, anymore. You had dedicated so much to this— and it was all for nothing. Essentially, you had failed.

You were currently living with Aeri, actually. You were a valuable witness— you had seen and done things that would hopefully be able to incriminate Karina, more than all the other records there was of her actions.

Aeri wasn’t as mean as she had been. She was actually quite quiet— but not mean. You two spoke about it. A lot had happened, and you both lived through it. You could relate to each other.

it would take time, though.

1993, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 11:13 A.M. Location: Washington, D.C. Objective: . . .

It had been 4 years since Yu Jimin had been arrested. She was facing many, many charges— although you tried not to keep up with the news. There was to much going on.

currently, you were with Aeri. You and Aeri had gotten much closer in the following years— how could you not? You spent almost every waking moment together.

Aeri had some work to do, so you were waiting. It was quite simple, really.

You had been offered a position, here— in D.C. You’d work on other jobs, similar to this, but far more investigative. It sounded.. good. You’d like to help people, thats alway’s something you’ve wanted.

You were shaken out of your thoughts by Aeri.

“Hey,” she called, to get your attention. “Let’s go, they’ve got some questions to ask you before you can get hired. You know how government jobs are,” she shrugged, leading you down a winding hallway.

“Yeah,” you replied, your hand in hers. “They kind of suck,”

“They do,” she agreed, with a sigh. “They kind of do,”

A/N: I HATE HOW THIS CAME OUT 😭😭 it took me so long but it’s done. I kind of just wanted to get it over with. I don’t have much to say, honestly I might delete this. I had a good idea for it but just couldn’t find the words to execute it. sorry </3 expect a better work soon. I’m hoping to finish up some less heavy ideas before returning to my cold war AU. In any case, asks are appreciated, and I’m open to requests! thank you for reading this mess </3 also aeri being endgame is payback for you (aettudae) making her married to a man in honeycomb. that should be ME.

EXTRA: when you read ‘mi amor’ keep in mind I’m imagining to pronounced like one word, so more like ‘mia-mor’. ‘mia’ kind of sounds like ‘mya’. this will make sense to spanish speakers.

#carpmasterlist #carps works #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #aespa imagines #gg x reader #girl group imagines #giselle x reader #giselle x fem reader #aeri x reader #aeri uchinaga x reader

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marymoha2020 · 1 month ago

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Stop and read this, it's really important!

Hello everyone, I hope you are all well.

Can I take a moment of your time?

I need you to hear me. These may be my last words. The occupation is brutal and violent, bombing is everywhere. I want to tell you that Israel killed many precious members of my family, and I don't want to lose the rest of my family .

This war destroyed my home , my parent’s and my brothers homes , i also lost my job , my car , and more and more loses .

I will share with you some pictures of the rubbles of my house, the house of my family and brothers, look what the occupation rockets did to our houses and how turned our efforts our money , our memories and our dreams In a blink of an eye to a rubble .

A 29 members of my family have been lived in this building until 7/10 , now all of them are homeless ! and living in a tent .

This is our last hope & chance to survive, and it is through you that we reach the goal so that we can protect ourselves and be able to leave Gaza.

‏Help us and donate us $20-$30 or as much as you can. 🙏

‏Every dollar makes a difference and saves our lives

‏Don't ignore the story and share and reblog the pinned post among your friends. @saint-oleander @isjssjsjshuuuuuuuuuuuuyyyyyyyyyy @winkwonkblog @allthisandtea @stupid-dumb-bitch @tibli @redtail-lol @heritageposts @brutaliakhoa @celadonwanderer @kirkothy @bisexualshakespeare @astronote @lovestruck-but-shy @fuckingayass @gurrenlagging @the-stray-liger @sugargoreguts @probably-da-notificationater @cantsayidont @autisticmudkip @kurtle @butchmagicalboi @lactoseintoleranticecreamfan @princebbu @gryficowa @allgremlinart @from-the-rivrr-to-the-sea @dragon-type-nuggetz @kennydied911 @celesnya @saywhat-studio @reagan-was-a-horrible-president @aforgottongirl @vampiricvenus @cmyk8 @leejihye-blog @bong-lobster @cheezbot-rip-off-blog @ceooflamp @acidic-vagabond @knightobreath @entguarde @raytoroinmybackpack @nyanchio @cosmicmantra-blog @izabella95 @daevolloqui @thenewplanets @kisaragihoney 🇵��🍉

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trashbin-nie · 3 months ago

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CHAPTER 3: Car Ride Home

Do NOT copy/translate my fics. Reblogs are always welcome!

TW: mild sibling violence (typical sibling things)

Summary: Rosa Winters NXT women's champion, cousin Trinity (aka Naomi), introduces her to Josh Fatu, her boyfriends brother, and they hit it off this is their story

Hehehehe, you guys commenting brings me joy! We gon’ pretend there wasn’t like a 3-week break in between here. Also, Spanish is NOT my first language. It’s also super rusty, so lmk if the grammar/sentence structure is off

Anyways, enjoy chapter 3. It's kinda short though apologies

Tags: @reignsboy19 @yana3sworld

Rosa fell asleep

Also, these two are my very first tags, so thanks, guys. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far 🥹

(Josh POV)

She fell asleep.

Damn near right after her story too.

She went to our school and had a crush on a guy who slammed her with a football during my senior year. I was on the football team, and, of course, what luck, she conveniently doesn’t remember the guy’s name!

This has to be some sick joke.

“Hey man, sorry,” Jon said glancing back at me. I guess Trin fell asleep too, didn’t have time to notice, all wrapped in my head and shit.

“Nah uce, it’s fine. She don’ know who it was,” I shrugged and continued glaring out the window with my arms crossed.

Jon sighed and shook his head. “Lil’ bro c’mon we both know it was you. You da only one on the team that damn near murdered a cheerleader our senior year!”

“Jon, ain’t neither one of us knows that for sure. Could’ve been anyone else she talked to afterwards might not have been me. I can’t even remember,” I said waving him off. I could feel him rolling his eyes.

“Boy- You gon tell me that you don’ remember us walkin’ home after that day you sent that poor tiny girl flying off that people tower and talkin’ ‘bout “bro that girl was fuckin’ hot as all hell” and a bunch of other things? I ain’ buying what chu sellin Uce,” he said.

“You both are real lucky that girl could sleep through a damn nuclear bomb cuz you ain’t quiet,” Trin said adjusting her position.

“Sorry Trin, but he trippin,” Jon said pointing at me.

“I ain’t trippin Jonathan,” I said shaking my head.

“You are Josh. I only brought it up cuz Jon was tellin me ‘bout it a while ago,” She said, unmoving. “I’m sorry she couldn’t remember your name, or whoever’s name if you’re insisting.” She raised her arms feeling my glare.

“Can you three musketeers shut the hell up? Some of us are trying to fuckin’ sleep in this damn car an I’m tellin you right now it’ll be all queen of hearts, hablando mal de la cabeza. Pendejas,” Rosie said groggly.

She angrily threw her pillow on my lap, ripped off her seatbelt, and slammed herself onto it on her side quickly going back to sleep.

We all froze.

“Trin… I thought you said she'd sleep through a hurricane?!” I whisper-yelled holding my arms up avoiding touching the girl suddenly sleeping in my lap

Trin stared in shock, “she's never woken up through talking before!” She yelled.

Thankfully the rest of the ride went smoothly, Trin fell asleep an hour after the fiasco, and I wasn't far behind. Jon woke us up when we arrived at the girls house.

It was a large two-story home painted white with stonework by the door and a black roof. The lights were still on when we pulled in, so someone was awake.

Jon shook Trin, waking her up.

“Oh good, the twins are still up,” she said, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She unbuckled and got out heading to the door, and before long two tall skinny men emerged from the house. Jon and I both slid out of the car, me more gently trying not to wake Rosie.

“Guys, this is David and Daniel, the Winters twins, and Rosie's older brothers,” Trin said.

“Sup, names Daniel, just call me Danny. I take it the ray of sunshine is passed out in the back seat as usual?” He asked, All of us nodded. “Well, David, its yo’ turn I woke her ass last time, and I'm still recovering from the black eye.”

“I never-” David started, but after a dark glare from his brother changed his mind “ugh fine!”

David slowly shuffled his way to the back seat on the passenger side and slowly, with a shaky hand patted his sister's shoulder lightly she adjusted a little but stayed asleep Danny rolled his eyes telling him he had to shake her harder. He looked at his twin with the nerves written on his face.

He shoved her a lot harder and we heard a groan.

“I thought I told you that I was trying to sleep!” She groggily yelled, her brother being met with a shoe to the forehead.

“Well, you ungrateful whelp. You're home now so go to yo’ damn bed,” David said.

“Just carry me,” she said. David rolled his eyes.

“Absolutely not, you can walk in after that nice black eye you just gave me,” He said.

Rosie gave him a stank face ripping her bag from the floor, slamming the car door, and stomping up to the door.

“Damn worse than usual what did y’all do?” Daniel asked holding a fist to his mouth.

“Woke her up in the car,” Trin said, laughing as we watched a big beefy Rottweiler jump on Rosies half asleep form. “Now Dexter is all riled up.”

Jon and I shared a look.

Ain’t no one told us there was a big ass Rottweiler here!

#wwe #jey uso #naomi wwe #jimmy uso #trinity fatu #wwe mitb #jey uso fanfic #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso imagine #jey uso x oc #jey uso x reader #jey uso fic #jey uso x mixed reader #josh fatu #jonathan fatu

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batmanlovesnirvana · 2 days ago

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Chapter ten | tick, tick, boom.

masterlist

pairing : bruce wayne x fem!oc (can be read as x reader)

words : +7k

A/N : New chapter is here!!! I hope you all enjoy it :) Apologies for the delay—university has been keeping me busy. Also, English isn’t my first language, so I appreciate your patience with any mistakes.

previous chapter | next

MARYAM WAS STILL DAZED, the world around her a cacophony of panic and motion that she could barely process.

The freezing air of the parking lot behind City Hall bit into her skin, sharp and unforgiving, as if trying to snap her back to reality. Grey, clunky cars lined up like faceless sentinels, their dull metallic sheen muted further by the overcast sky.

People flooded out of the building in a chaotic tide, their hurried footsteps echoing off the asphalt. Some were running, others briskly walking, heads down, jackets pulled tight against the cold, all desperate to escape.

Her family surrounded her, their voices a frenzied blur.

"Mar, are you okay?!"

"Have you lost your mind?!" "What happened in there?" "Was that Bruce Wayne?!" "That white boy is crazy!" "Maryam, answer me! Are you even listening?!"

The questions came like an onslaught, each one louder than the last, but Maryam couldn't register a single word.

She stood there, mute, her mind a foggy labyrinth of recent events, her body swaying slightly as if the world beneath her feet had shifted off its axis.

Warda, her sister, gnawed at her nails, her other hand protectively cradling her swollen belly. Alma gripped Maryam's arm so tightly it began to hurt, her phone pressed to her ear as she barked orders or pleaded with someone Maryam couldn't identify. Sherine's questions poured out relentlessly, her freckled face a storm of worry and frustration. Rania, pacing in small, frantic circles, muttered to herself, shaking her head as if to dispel her own disbelief.

Aunt Jamila, always the caretaker, tilted Maryam's head this way and that, examining her face with clinical precision. Her hands were warm but firm, her scolding muttered in Arabic, sharp and cutting: "Stupid girl. Careless like always. What were you thinking?"

"Ya Allah, what is happening?" Aunt Meysa's voice rose in the background, her phone glued to her ear. She was practically shouting into it, probably to Uncle Fawzi, rattling off a mix of Arabic and English in a flurry of panic.

The chaos was suffocating, but it was Ryan who finally broke through. His voice, usually calm and soothing, now carried an edge of command that silenced the crowd.

"Guys, we need to get out of here—now," he said, his arms wrapped protectively around his pregnant wife, dark eyes scanning the parking lot with the sharpness of a man used to anticipating danger.

Maryam blinked, her senses snapping back into focus like a camera lens sharpening its view. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "No," she said, her voice hoarse but determined. "I'm not going anywhere. I need—"

"Maryam!" Ryan interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now is not the time for this. There's a bomb in there. Do you hear me? A bomb! We need to leave—all of us."

His words hit her like a bucket of ice water, clarity piercing through the haze of her shock.

The DA was inside, a bomb strapped around his neck. A psychopath was loose in Gotham, playing games with riddles and lives. She wasn't the only one in danger. Her family—her family—was here, vulnerable. That realization settled into her chest like a weight, heavy and cold.

She nodded, swallowing hard. "You're right. Let's go. We'll head to Aunt Meysa's. If that bomb goes off, it could take out the whole block."

Warda protested immediately, her voice trembling. "No, you need to go to the hospital! Look at yourself!" Her hand gestured wildly at the gash on Maryam's forehead, where blood trickled down the side of her face in crimson streaks, stark against her pale skin.

"I'm fine," Maryam insisted, though the dizziness creeping into her vision said otherwise. She barely flinched when Aunt Meysa whacked her arm with a closed umbrella.

"Leh! You are not fine!" Meysa snapped, her accent thick and sharp, slicing through the cold air like a blade. Her voice trembled, caught between anger and worry. "Look at you! You're about to faint, bleeding out like this!"

"Khalas, Amti," Maryam said softly, forcing a tired smile. "I said I'm fine. It's just a cut. I'll clean it up and put some ice on it. Nothing to worry-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" Meysa interrupted, her eyes blazing with worry. "You think you're invincible? Wallahi, Maryam, I've had it with you acting like you don't need help!" She grabbed Maryam's chin, tilting her face toward the light. "You need stitches, not ice! Jamila tell her"

Aunt Jamila only shakes her head, a hand a gains her own cheek, too tired to even speak.

"Khalas, Amti," Maryam murmured, her voice soft but insistent. She gently pried her aunt's hands away and motioned toward the car. "We don't have time for this. Just get in. We need to leave before anything else happens."

"Before you collapse, you mean," Warda muttered, her hand resting protectively on her belly. "You're not convincing anyone, Maryam."

Maryam opened her mouth to argue, but Ryan stepped in, his voice low and commanding. "Everybody needs to calm down. We're wasting time. Meysa, she's stubborn—you won't win this one." He ushered Warda toward their car, his hand never leaving her back.

"I don't care about winning," Meysa huffed, still glaring at Maryam. "But mark my words—if she keels over, I won't be the one to pick her up. Let her explain herself to God!"

Maryam rolled her eyes, more out of habit than defiance, and turned to Sherine just as she grabbed her arm. "Listen," Sherine began, her voice calm but her eyes filled with concern, "Perry needs me. The team's waiting at the front of City Hall, and I've got to cover this. Don't worry—I'll be fine."

"Me too," Rania chimed in, barely pausing as she typed furiously on her phone. "Bella's expecting me, and it's important. I'll update you, okay?"

Maryam gave them both a weary nod, her chest tight with unease. "Just... be careful."

"Always am," Sherine said, blowing her a kiss before calling over her shoulder, "And I'll try not to get blown up!"

"La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah!" Aunt Meysa hissed, glaring at Sherine. "Don't joke about that!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" Sherine called back, her voice fading as she disappeared into the crowd.

Maryam climbed into the driver's seat, ignoring the relentless throbbing in her head and the sticky warmth of blood trickling down her temple. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white against the worn leather, as she stole a glance at her family in the rearview mirror.

Meysa sat rigid, her lips moving in whispered prayers, beads of worry etched deep into her brow. Beside her, Jamila leaned against the window, her face pale and drawn, tears threatening to spill over. Alma clutched her phone like a lifeline, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through what Maryam could only assume were frantic messages or news updates.

The doctor shifted her gaze to the empty parking spot outside her window, her chest tightening at the absence of Warda and Ryan's car. At least they were gone, safely on their way—she hoped. The hollow space where their car had been felt heavier than it should, a stark reminder of the chaos they were leaving behind.

"Everyone buckle up," Maryam said quietly, her voice cutting through the tense silence, steady despite the searing pain that made her vision swim. "We're getting out of here."

For a moment, no one moved, the weight of unspoken fears hanging thick in the air. Then, with a rustle of fabric and the soft click of seatbelts, her family obeyed.

Maryam exhaled slowly, her breath fogging up the windshield for a fleeting second. She turned the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering to life with a low growl. This wasn't over. Whatever horror was brewing back at City Hall would follow them in one way or another—she could feel it.

But for now, she had one job: get her family to safety.

For now, nothing else mattered but the people in her car and the faint hope that they'd be out of harm's way before the next storm hit.

They all arrived safely to the apartment.

Maryam perched on the armrest of the couch, her arms tightly crossed over her chest, hazel eyes fixed intently on the screen. She didn't blink, barely breathed, her focus riveted to the unfolding nightmare.

Aunt Jamila shuffled in quietly, a tray of hot tea in hand, the soothing aroma of mint curling into the warmth of the living room. She set the tray on the coffee table with care, though no one reached for a cup.

Without a word, she handed Maryam a cold pack wrapped in a towel.

"Here," she said softly.

Maryam murmured her thanks, pressing the ice to her cut. A sharp sting made her wince, but the pain was easy to ignore compared to the tension tightening in her chest.

Aunt Meysa sat nearby, fingers working over her prayer beads in a constant rhythm. Click. Click. Her lips moved soundlessly, prayers spilling forth like a lifeline. Across the room, Uncle Fawzi was hunched forward in an armchair, his leg bouncing with restless energy as he muttered under his breath, glancing repeatedly between Maryam and the TV.

On the couch, Alma gnawed at her bottom lip, her phone clutched in one hand like it might deliver answers. Beside her, Warda sat with Ryan, her hand protectively resting on her growing belly. Their attention, like everyone else's, was glued to the TV.

Sherine's face filled the screen, her windblown red hair flicking against her cheeks as she held the mic with a steady hand. The scene behind her was chaos—cops, military personnel, and reporters swarmed the City Hall steps, their movement a stark contrast to her composed demeanor.

Uncle Fawzi leaned forward, waving a hand at Alma. "Put the volume up, binti! We can't hear a thing."

Alma complied without a word, turning the volume dial until Sherine's steady voice filled the room, cutting through the heavy silence.

Ryan shifted uneasily, his arm a fortress around Warda's shoulders. Her fingers curled instinctively over her growing belly, as if shielding the life within from the horrors unfolding on the screen. Aunt Meysa's whispered prayers grew faster, the rhythm of her beads clicking frantically in her hands.

Maryam barely noticed the ice pack slipping in her grasp, the cold water trailing down her arm like phantom fingers. Her hazel eyes stayed glued to the screen, unblinking, as though the pixels might rearrange into answers she couldn't find herself.

"Yes, Olivia," Sherine said, her voice cutting through the crackle of the wind. It was calm, measured, but underpinned by urgency that sent a chill through the room. She pressed her finger against the earpiece, steadying herself against the chaos around her. "I can confirm that a bomb collar is involved, though the extent of its power is still unknown. Negotiations are ongoing, but so far, Gotham PD has not issued an official statement. There is—"

Sherine broke off, her gaze shifting off-camera, lips pressing into a thin line as she listened to something in her ear.

Maryam's grip on the melting ice pack tightened, the sting of cold and the ache in her temple a distant afterthought. Half an hour ago, she and her family had been there, caught in the thick of the storm. It felt surreal, like time had folded in on itself. They had escaped—but only just. And the threat hadn't gone anywhere.

No one moved toward the tea. The cups sat forgotten on the table, their heat spiraling into the air in thin, ghostly wisps. Comfort was there, within arm's reach, but the room was too tense, too brittle for anyone to take it.

"Allah yustur," Aunt Jamila murmured, breaking the stillness, her hands clasped tightly together.

Sherine's voice came back into focus, the microphone trembling slightly in the relentless wind. "As we speak, the situation remains volatile. Crowds have been evacuated to a safe perimeter, but tension is high, and..."

She hesitated, glancing behind her at the swarming police vehicles and barricades. Her composure faltered for a brief second, and in that fleeting moment, Maryam's chest tightened.

The room was silent, save for the low hum of the television and the faint clink of Meysa's beads. It felt as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for what would come next.

Maryam didn't speak. She couldn't. Her gaze stayed locked on the screen, unblinking, as if the sheer force of her focus could pull Sherine away from the chaos. The knot of dread in her stomach tightened, coiling into something almost unbearable.

The TV feed flickered, cutting from Sherine's wind-swept figure to shaky footage from a SWAT camera. The dark, unmistakable silhouette of Vengeance moved through the room, his cape rippling like a shadow given life. No, not Vengeance. Bruce.

"He actually came," Warda murmured, her voice low but sharp, the disbelief clear as she leaned forward. Her husband, Ryan, tightened his grip around her shoulders, his jaw set like he was bracing for something inevitable.

The entire room seemed to tilt forward as if gravity had shifted. Aunt Meysa shook her head slowly, her fingers flying over her prayer beads with rhythmic precision. "Ya Rabb," she whispered, "keep us safe from this madness, and guide us from what we don't understand..." Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn't stop.

Maryam's eyes never wavered. Her jaw tightened as the camera focused on Bruce—on the deliberate way he peeled the tape from Gil Colson's mouth. The prosecutor's face was a mask of terror, his every breath shallow and labored. The screen flickered again, splitting into two: Bruce on one side, and Colson on the other, with the distorted voice of the Riddler filling the room like a sinister melody.

"...You give me the answers, and I'll give you the code for the lock..." The Riddler's words were taunting, sing-song, and dripping with sadistic delight. It was a voice that seemed to revel in the chaos it caused, every syllable a dagger meant to twist.

Alma gasped, her face illuminated by the glow of her phone. "He's live—on Instagram!" she exclaimed, shoving the screen toward Maryam, as if she could do something about it. "Look at this!"

The chat scrolled in a blur, a storm of reactions:

@cclods : OMG, he's insane!!! @jakepplew : This guy's got no chill, fr. @dytmq : HE'S A LEGEND. @liabvjj : he's crazyyyyy @gfdyy : somebody stop him helloooo ??? why isn't anyone stepping in? @vcxz : He's literally speaking the truth; y'all can't handle it @heljooop : best live of the decade !!!

The stream had millions of viewers, every one of them watching the madness unfold like it was some sick, dystopian reality show.

Maryam blinked, her lips pressing into a thin line as the Riddler's livestream filled her vision. Her stomach churned at the thought of how many people were not just witnessing this but engaging with it, feeding the fire.

She finally exhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the tense silence. Standing, she moved with purpose toward the kitchen, the weight of everyone's eyes trailing her.

She grabbed a glass and filled it with water, the soft trickle of the faucet almost drowning in the thrum of her own pulse. Her hand tightened around the glass, but she didn't bring it to her lips. She just stood there, staring into the water, her reflection distorted by the ripples.

Her mind raced. She could still feel the familiar sting of cold nights, the adrenaline, the darkness of Gotham's streets. As The Wraith, she had always been in the thick of it—observing, planning, acting. But here she was, removed, confined to the safety of her family's warm apartment.

It was maddening. She felt disconnected, like a thread pulled too taut, on the verge of snapping. Watching Bruce—Vengeance—on that screen, risking everything, stirred something deep inside her. A part of her itched to act, to be out there again. Another part of her hated herself for even thinking it.

In the living room, the voices of her family rose and fell, mixing with the tension of the broadcast.

Meysa prayed louder now, her voice cracking as she begged for divine intervention. Alma's eyes darted between her phone and the TV, her fingers shaking slightly. Her thumb hovered over the screen, like she was about to type something, but the words never came. She just stared at the broadcast, as if it might hold the answers.

Warda was pressed against Ryan, her fingers digging into his arm as if she could anchor herself in his calm, but there was nothing calm about the way her eyes darted from the screen to the other family members. Her face was pale, her lips drawn tight, as if she were holding her breath in a room where the air was getting thinner by the second.

Aunt Jamila, ever the commentator, bit her nails down to the quick, her eyes glued to the screen as she muttered under her breath. She occasionally shot a glance at the others, shaking her head with disbelief at the riddles, the twisted game that Riddler was playing with them all.

Uncle Fawzi, ever the grumpy presence in their family, was now unmistakably restless. He waved his hand dismissively at the screen, the gesture slow and deliberate, but it spoke volumes. The man who usually sat back, unimpressed by anything, was now on edge, his patience fraying. He was no longer the man with the answers, the one who held everything together—he was just as uncertain as the rest of them.

But Maryam just stood there, gripping the glass tightly enough that her knuckles turned white. She couldn't shake the feeling that, despite the chaos they had fled, she hadn't truly escaped. She wasn't just watching this unfold. She was still in it, whether she liked it or not.

Aunt Meysa's voice rose again, trembling with disbelief as she stared at the countdown on the screen. "What kind of sick man enjoys this? Making puzzles out of people's lives?! Ya Allah, how have we come to this?" Her beads, clutched tightly in her hands, her knuckles white, as though holding onto them might ward off the ugliness of what they were witnessing.

Maryam's phone buzzed against the counter, jolting her attention. She glanced down, the glow of the screen revealing a message from Sherine: Riddler's insane, but he's not wrong about the corruption.... Are you seeing this???

Maryam clenched her jaw, swiping the message away without replying. Her focus snapped back to the screen just as the bomb detonated. The room went silent as the screen flashed white, followed by static crackling in an eerie aftermath.

"Astaghfirullah," Uncle Fawzi muttered, shaking his head, his hand hovering over his heart as if steadying himself. "When people lose their faith in justice, they start looking for it in the wrong places." His voice, usually a source of calm, carried an edge of unease that mirrored the expressions on the faces of everyone around her.

Riddler wasn't just playing games; he was dismantling lives.

But not just any lives—lives of power, privilege, and corruption. A small voice deep inside her stirred, a younger, angrier version of herself. That voice whispered congratulations, a twisted kind of gratitude for the reckoning he was forcing on people who had long escaped consequence. These were the same people who had thrived while others like her family had suffered, watching their hopes erode under the weight of the system's sins.

But now? Now, she wasn't so sure.

Maryam shifted uncomfortably, the conflicting emotions pressing against her chest. She wanted to feel satisfied, even justified. But the reality unfolding in front of her wasn't clean. It wasn't justice—it was chaos, and it left her feeling more hollow than vindicated.

She couldn't help but wonder—what if the Riddler was exposing a truth no one wanted to face? What if this was what justice looked like now, messy and terrifying?

Then she thought of the bomb. The flash. The deafening silence that followed.

It hit her like a wave she'd been bracing for but could never quite withstand. But most of all, It felt disgustingly familiar—like the echoes of wars she had tried so hard to bury. Wars that still crept into her dreams, twisting them into nightmares. The sound of crumbling buildings, the smell of ash, the sight of faces frozen in shock and fear—it all came rushing back, raw and relentless.

Her chest tightened, the weight of it almost unbearable. She clenched her fists at her sides, grounding herself against the rising tide of memories.

This wasn't justice. It was vengeance wearing a mask of righteousness, and it reeked of the same devastation she had spent her life trying to escape.

Aunt Meysa's prayer beads fell silent in her hands, their rhythmic clicking ceasing as if her whispered invocations had been tied to the bomb's ticking. Her lips moved soundlessly, her hands gripping the beads tightly.

The medical examiner didn't flinch, her hazel eyes glued to the television as the live feed resumed. The footage shifted to the chaos outside the city hall—SWAT officers rushing in, the scene a whirlwind of lights and movement.

Sherine's face appeared on the screen again, her voice steady despite the chaos. "We are live just outside the city hall. The bomb has just exploded—I repeat, the bomb has exploded. Authorities have cut all live feeds from inside. The Riddler's livestream has been taken down, along with all other feeds."

Maryam didn't hear the rest.

Her sister's voice faded into background noise as she absentmindedly touched the delicate pendant around her neck, her fingers tracing its outline. Her mind was elsewhere, consumed by a singular thought that made no sense, yet refused to leave her alone:

Bruce.

Was he okay? Was he hurt? ...Was he alive?

A shiver ran down her spine, a chill that no amount of logic could dispel. The man she barely understood, who had dragged her into his world of shadows, now consumed her thoughts. And for what reason? She didn't know.

Just as Maryam reached for her phone, intending to contact Gordon for any information, her screen lit up with a notification from him: MEET ME AT THE GCPD ASAP. URGENT.

Maryam's fingers moved quickly, typing a simple reply: Coming.

Without hesitation, she grabbed her long black coat draped over the back of a chair and slipped into her heels. She didn't have time to change out of her funeral clothes—her tailored, somber attire felt like a second skin now.

Aunt Meysa's voice broke the tense silence in the room, soft yet pleading. "Maryam... where are you going?"

Maryam froze momentarily at the door, her hand resting on the handle. She didn't turn around, her back to them, her shoulders stiff with the weight of the moment.

"Out," she replied, her tone firm but distant. Grabbing her bag, she added curtly, "Gordon needs me."

She didn't wait for a response. The door clicked shut behind her, cutting off their worried murmurs and the muffled sound of the TV still narrating Gotham's descent into chaos.

Outside, the cold night air hit her like a wave, sharp and unyielding.

Maryam descended the stairs quickly, her heels clicking against the pavement as she disappeared into the shadows, mind racing.

The city was unraveling, and she had no choice but to be in the thick of it.

Chaos pulsed like a living, breathing thing, and tonight it seemed to have found its epicenter inside the GCPD station.

Maryam felt it in her bones as she entered the station, her heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor. The air carried the sharp scent of tension, stale coffee, and a faint undercurrent of sweat.

Officer Martinez stood near the doors, his familiar mustache twitching slightly as he adjusted his belt. His stance was stiff, his usual lazy air replaced by a readiness that made Maryam's stomach tighten.

"Hey," she said, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

"Hey," Martinez replied faintly, giving her a once-over with raised eyebrows. "You were at the funeral?"

"Yep," she said, popping the p with forced nonchalance. "So, what's so urgent?"

"The freak's down here," he muttered, gesturing for her to follow.

Maryam froze mid-step, narrowing her eyes. "What do you mean, 'the freak'?" Her tone was sharp, though she already suspected the answer.

"You'll see for yourself." Martinez didn't elaborate, leading her down a flight of stairs into the precinct's basement. The air grew colder with each step, the sterile, fluorescent lighting casting long shadows against the walls.

As they approached the interrogation room, a low hum of voices filtered through the heavy steel door. Martinez opened it without a word, and the scene inside hit her like a brick.

A cluster of officers surrounded a long table, their postures varying between hostility and wariness. At the center of it all was the unmistakable figure of Vengeance.

He lay motionless, his armored frame still intimidating even under the harsh light. The bat ears of his cowl caught the glow of the overhead bulbs, but the mask was still intact, shrouding his identity.

The air in the room buzzed with tension, officers exchanging wary glances and hushed whispers that darted like shadows. A charged, uneasy energy filled the space, as if the very walls were holding their breath.

Maryam weaved through the sea of blue uniforms, her heels clicking against the linoleum as she approached Gordon, her pulse quickening with every step. Grabbing his arm, she hissed, "Gordon, what the hell is this?" Her voice was low, sharp, though her wide, searching eyes betrayed her unease.

Gordon turned to her, his expression grim, his eyes flicking toward the table where the Bat lay still, his imposing figure reduced to vulnerability. "Ah, good. You're finally here," he said, voice tinged with relief. "I need you to check on him."

Her gaze snapped to the unmoving form, then back to Gordon. "So... he's alive?" she asked, her voice a notch softer, almost tentative. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her bag, the chill from outside still clinging to her skin.

"I hope so," Gordon muttered, running a hand over his face. "That's why you're here, kid."

She hesitated, her throat tightening. "I'm not the right doctor for this."

"Maybe not," he admitted, leaning in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you're the only one I trust right now."

Behind them, the cluster of officers grew louder, their agitation bubbling into sharp-edged murmurs. Gordon's jaw tightened. "Come on," he said, gripping her arm as they pushed through the throng.

When they reached the table, Maryam stopped short, staring down at him—Bruce, she reminded herself, though his armor, his mask, everything about him screamed Vengeance. The blood smearing his cape, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, made the sight all the more jarring.

She glanced at Gordon, her hesitation dissolving under his steady gaze. There was no need for words. She nodded once, her determination settling like a weight in her chest.

From her bag, she pulled out a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and doused her hands, the smell sharp and sterile. She wasn't dressed for this, wasn't prepared for this, and yet here she was. For him. For Bruce.

"Give her space!" Gordon barked, his voice slicing through the tension in the room like a knife. The officers reluctantly stepped back, their muttering fading to a low hum.

Maryam took a breath, the cool air of the basement chilling her lungs. Her hands hovered over him for a moment before she pressed her fingers to his clothed neck, searching for a pulse. As she worked, the room seemed to blur around her.

All that mattered now was this man.

Her brain worked in overdrive.

Hours ago, she'd learned the truth behind the mask. Now, she was the one keeping him tethered to life.

The tension in the room was suffocating as Maryam slung her bag over her shoulder, her sharp eyes taking in the scene. His suit was scuffed and torn, battle-worn, but it wasn't the visible injuries that worried her—it was the ones she couldn't see, hidden beneath the armor and the stoic stillness of his body.

The officers circled like restless wolves, their collective hostility thick in the air. One of them, a burly man with a permanent scowl etched into his face, folded his arms and muttered, "Why're we letting her handle this? We should just take off the damn mask and be done with it."

Maryam didn't flinch, didn't even look up. She stepped closer to Bruce's still form, her movements deliberate. With a click, the flashlight on her phone flared to life, casting a cold, white glow over his battered face. She leaned in, checking his pupils, her hand steady despite the crackling tension around her.

The officers craned their necks, peering over her shoulder. "Who do you think is under there?" one of them asked, his curiosity thinly veiled under a layer of skepticism.

Maryam kept her focus razor-sharp, her voice cool and detached as she said, "Take it easy." Beside her, Gordon cut in with a firmer, "Back off, all of you."

"I wanna see," the burly officer scoffed, his impatience flaring. He stepped forward, reaching for the mask, but Gordon intercepted him with a sharp shove. "Don't even think about it," the lieutenant warned, his tone like steel.

Maryam sighed, her breath misting in the cold basement air. "He's breathing steadily. No signs of a concussion so far," she murmured, her words measured but firm. "But I need more time to—"

"Time?" The burly officer's voice cut through hers like a blade. "This is a waste of it. He's just some vigilante. Not a hero. Take off the mask—what's he gonna do, stop us?"

That was it.

Maryam snapped.

Without looking up from her task, she spat, her tone ice-cold, "Touch him, and I'll break your filthy fingers."

The room froze. The burly officer's face flushed with anger, his mouth opening for a retort, but another voice cut in before he could speak. "What's he got on his eyes?" someone asked, his curiosity tinged with suspicion.

"Who cares?" another younger officer hissed. "I wanna see his face."

Maryam ignored the growing noise, her world narrowing to the flashlight beam and the faint movement of Bruce's chest. His pupils responded sluggishly to the light, their gray-blue depths striking even in their dulled state. She frowned, her mind calculating the possibilities—shock, exhaustion, blood loss—but her face remained impassive.

She could feel the hostility swirling around her, but she didn't let it touch her. She worked with the precision of someone used to chaos, her hands steady as the storm of egos and suspicions raged behind her.

This wasn't about them. It wasn't even about her. It was about him.

In this moment, the man under the mask was hers to protect, and she'd be damned if she let anyone compromise that.

The room was a powder keg, and the burly officer struck the match.

"What are we even doing here?" the officer grumbled, his impatience evident as he leaned over the unconscious Batman. "Let's just take it off."

Before anyone could stop him, his hand reached for the edge of the mask, fingers brushing the cowl.

Maryam stiffened, her hand halting mid-motion. Gordon's voice cut through the air like a crack of thunder. "Don't—"

But it was already too late.

In a heartbeat, the Bat came alive, shooting up from the table like a coiled spring. His eyes snapped open—sharp, wild, electric with fury. The room erupted into chaos.

With an almost inhuman fluidity, he was off the table and on his feet, dropping instinctively into a fighting stance.

Maryam's heart jolted as her phone slipped from her hand in the commotion, the sharp crack of its screen shattering against the linoleum floor barely registering over the chaos around her.

"HEY—RELAX, GODDAMMIT!" Gordon bellowed, rushing to position himself between the towering vigilante and the startled officers. The burly man stumbled back, his bravado giving way to wide-eyed panic.

"You're protecting this guy, Jim?" Chief Mackenzie spat, his tone laced with disdain. "This freak interfered in a hostage situation. Colson's blood is on his hands."

Maryam rose from her crouched position, retrieving her fractured phone, her unease growing as the verbal sparring escalated.

"Maybe it's on yours," the Bat growled, his voice low and lethal, a rasp that cut through the air like the scrape of a blade.

"What'd you say?" the chief snapped, stepping forward, his voice dripping with challenge.

The Bat didn't even blink, his steely gaze drilling into the cop. "He'd rather die than talk," Batman said, his voice cold and steady, every word dripping with accusation. "What was he so afraid of? You?"

The tension was electric, unspoken threats coiling in the silence. Chief Mackenzie stepped forward until their faces were inches apart, his voice low and venomous. "You son of a bitch. Do you know the kind of trouble you're in? You could be an accessory to murder."

Before the charge could detonate further, the same burly officer made another attempt at the mask, lunging from behind. Batman moved like a shadow given form, twisting effortlessly and shoving the officer back with a force that sent him crashing into the wall with a heavy thud.

Another officer surged forward, but Batman sidestepped him with a precision born of instinct, flipping him onto the table with a resounding crash. Papers and coffee cups scattered, the room descending into bedlam once more. Maryam was jostled in the melee, but she planted her feet, refusing to be pushed aside.

"BACK OFF! BACK OFF!" Gordon shouted, his voice commanding but desperate as he wrestled two officers away from the towering vigilante.

Mackenzie glared at Batman, his anger boiling over. "Right now, I've got you on assaulting an officer."

Batman's voice dropped into a growl, the barest hint of a smirk in his tone. "You've got me on assaulting three." He took a deliberate step forward, his presence oppressive, as if the room itself was bending to accommodate him.

But Gordon had had enough. He surged forward, slamming Batman back against the wall with a force that echoed through the room.

"HEY!" Gordon's finger jabbed toward the Bat's chest, his voice sharp and biting. "What's the matter with you huh?! This isn't the way to do this!"

The two men stared each other down, the chaos around them momentarily stilled. Maryam, clutching her broken phone, watched with bated breath, her pulse pounding in her ears. The night was unraveling faster than anyone could catch it.

The Bat's piercing gaze locked onto Gordon, cold and detached. His voice came low and measured, a blade wrapped in shadow. "You too now?"

Gordon didn't flinch, his finger still poised, the weight of his frustration clear in his stance. He kept his eyes trained on Batman, his tone clipped but resolute. "Let me handle this, Chief."

Chief Mackenzie crossed his arms, his sneer practically audible. "You're seriously gonna put yourself on the line for this scumbag, Jim?"

"I'll get him to cooperate," Gordon replied, unyielding. "Just give me a minute."

The room fell into a tense silence, every officer waiting for the Chief's call.

Finally, with a begrudging grunt, Mackenzie relented. "Ok. One minute. Clear the room."

A wave of discontent rippled through the officers as they exchanged glances and grumbled their protests, but none dared challenge the order.

Slowly, the room began to empty.

Gordon eased his elbow off the Bat's chest, stepping back. His voice dropped, steady but firm, as he spoke over his shoulder. "Doc, you stay. Keep checking him for injuries."

Maryam, who had instinctively moved toward the door with the others, paused mid-step. She turned, nodding silently, her lips pressed into a thin line. She clutched her bag tightly as she moved back toward the table, nerves coiled tight.

The last officer shut the door with a heavy click, leaving just the three of them in the room. Through the glass, every officer who had been forced to leave now stood watching, their eyes glued to the scene like vultures circling prey.

Maryam stole a quick glance at the throng beyond the glass, their scrutiny suffocating, then turned her focus back to the towering figure of the Bat.

His broad frame loomed like a statue carved from fury, yet his breathing was shallow, controlled. He hadn't moved a muscle, his presence filling the room as if he were still the only one in it.

Inside, the room felt oppressively still, the hum of the fluorescent lights amplifying the tension.

The medical examiner set her bag on the table, the crack on her phone screen glinting under the harsh glare. Gordon adjusted his coat with a sigh, the sound heavy with frustration and resolve.

"Alright," he said, his tone measured but commanding. "We need to talk. Maryam, keep going." He gestured toward Batman.

The Bat stirred slightly. "I don't need—"

"Shut up and let me work," Maryam interjected, her voice sharp as a scalpel. She placed her phone carefully on the table beside them and pulled on a pair of gloves.

The silent onlookers behind the glass loomed like an audience in a theater. Gordon, sensing the need for a show, suddenly slammed his hand on the table. The sound cracked through the air, startling even Maryam.

"Now you listen to me!" Gordon snapped, stepping closer to Batman with a pointed finger. But his voice dipped lower as he leaned in. "We need to get you out of here."

Maryam huffed, her breath fogging slightly in the cold air. She grasped Batman's gloved hand, turning it over with clinical precision. "If you don't stay still, this'll take longer," she muttered, her fingers brushing over the armor.

The suit made it almost impossible to see any real damage, but she kept her hands busy for the sake of appearances.

Batman's voice was quiet, yet it carried a weight that filled the room. "They'll put a lot of heat on you."

"Punch me," Gordon whispered, shaking his head slightly. "Make it look real."

Batman tilted his head, a flicker of dry amusement breaking through his stoicism. "Huh."

Maryam snorted softly, pressing her fingers near his ribs as if she could feel for injuries through the thick armor. "You two are ridiculous."

Gordon discreetly pressed a small key into Batman's hand, leaning close enough that it seemed like a continuation of his supposed reprimand. "Take this. Go through that door, head for the stairs to the roof."

Batman's gaze shifted subtly to the door, narrowing when he spotted a familiar figure in the crowd of officers behind the glass. "Who's the mustache?" he murmured, barely moving his lips.

Gordon followed his line of sight. "Kenzie, narcotics."

"He's one of the guys I got into it with at the Iceberg Lounge," Batman said evenly.

Gordon frowned. "What are you saying? Kenzie moonlights for Penguin?"

"Wouldn't be surprising," Maryam added, crossing her arms as she stepped back.

"Or," Batman said with a sharp edge to his voice, "he moonlights as a cop."

Kenzie's face shifted when he noticed Batman staring, his discomfort visible even through the glass. Maryam tensed as she saw the realization click in Batman's eyes.

Without warning, Batman turned, his fist connecting with Gordon's jaw. The lieutenant went down hard, groaning in exaggerated pain.

"Oh my—" Maryam yelped, stumbling back as chaos erupted around her.

Batman bolted for the stairwell, his cape swirling behind him like a shadow swallowing the light.

"Stop him!" one of the officers shouted, and the hallway filled with the sound of pounding boots as the cops surged after him.

Maryam crouched to help Gordon up, her hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Gordon winced but gave a faint smirk. "He didn't pull that punch, did he?"

She shook her head, raising an arched brow. "You said to make it look real."

Night had fallen by the time Maryam returned home after bidding Gordon goodbye.

Vengeance—or rather, Bruce—had vanished, according to Martinez. Apparently, he had leapt off the roof with his wings.

The doctor didn't press for more details; she was too drained to even try to make sense of it. Her feet throbbed from the unforgiving high heels she'd been trapped in since the early hours of the morning.

Every step sent a fresh wave of discomfort shooting up her legs, but she forced herself to keep moving. Tomorrow would bring another relentless day of work, another endless stretch of tasks to bury herself in.

She needed sleep. Or at least she needed to try.

But the weight of the day, of everything still pressing on her mind, made even the thought of rest seem out of reach.

All she knew right now was that Gotham was a crucible of madness, where reason bent and fractured under its weight. She didn't want to waste energy unraveling the absurdity.

Her thoughts were a tangle of fog, heavy with the strain of Gotham's relentless turmoil. It was as if her mind was drowning in the city's madness, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't rise above it.

But then, as she stepped through the door of her apartment building, the familiar scent of sandalwood and aged wood greeted her. It was a sharp contrast to the chaos outside, cutting through the haze that had clouded her mind. For a fleeting moment, Maryam allowed herself to breathe, to exist outside the suffocating grip of the madness that had defined her day.

She barely had to glance around before spotting a familiar figure—one that was anything but unwelcome. No, this presence was a balm for her frayed nerves, a quiet anchor in the storm. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, one that had already begun to form without her even realizing.

Ahmed's presence was like the steady hum of a lullaby, a soothing melody that softened the sharp edges of the world. His skin, kissed by the sun of Senegal, had deepened over the years, carrying the warmth of distant shores. His once-full Afro had long since faded to a gentle silver, now framed by the quiet wisdom of age. His face, etched with time, spoke of stories he'd lived and places he'd seen, yet his eyes—soft and kind—held an unspoken peace, a warmth that wrapped itself around her, like a familiar embrace.

Dressed in a flowing khamis, the fabric rippling as he moved, he was the kind of man who felt like home, like an old song sung in a language only the heart understands. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he caught sight of her, and in that moment, she was transported back to the days when life felt simpler, when the world outside her doorstep wasn't quite as heavy.

He was a familiar sight, reminding her of Uncle Fawzi on his way to the mosque, of family, of home, of the kind of love that is rooted in tradition and unconditional care.

Being near him was like stepping back into the warmth of her childhood, a warmth that, no matter how far she traveled, would always call her home.

He stood by the mailbox, moving through his mail with the deliberate calm of someone who understood that the weight of life wasn't always found in its grand moments, but in the quiet ones that slipped by unnoticed. The soft scent of sandalwood clung to him, blending with the musty, weathered air of the old building—a strange pairing, yet one that somehow fit perfectly.

Ahmed lived just a few floors above, and his family had always been a part of her life in ways that felt like second nature. His daughters, Khair and Fatima, were like cousins growing up, always running around her aunt's house, causing their own kind of chaos. His wife's bakery—those warm, golden loaves of bread—had been a quiet staple in the neighborhood, the scent of it drifting down the street on crisp mornings. People would line up at the door, drawn in by the comfort of something simple and real.

He looked up from his mail as she approached, his face softening into a smile that always seemed to make the day feel a little lighter. "Salaam," she said softly, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a little.

"Wa alaikum as-salam, my dear." He answered with that same steady warmth. His voice was full, rich—like someone who truly cared about how you were doing. "How's life treating you today?" he asked, pausing as if whatever was in that letter didn't matter much at all in comparison.

"I'm managing," she admitted, her heart tugged by his gentle concern. "Just a bit tired." She offered a small smile, letting herself rest in the comfort of his presence. "Are you off to the mosque?"

He nodded, a thoughtful light in his eyes. "Yes, it's time for prayer. There's peace there, you know," he said, tucking his mail away, leaving his hands open, unburdened.

She sighed, juggling her grocery bag as she sifted through the contents of her own mailbox, her fingers brushing against a pile of bills and junk. "I could definitely use some of that peace," she murmured, more to herself than him.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, his touch warm and steady. "You don't come around much anymore," he said softly, his voice carrying no judgment—just a quiet, familiar observation. "I remember when you were just a little one, barely speaking English. You were always there, every day. Running around the mosque with your siblings and cousins. You were so proud of having memorized the whole Quran." He smiled at the memory, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.

A half-hearted smile tugged at her lips. "I know... I just can't seem to find the time these days."

The excuse sounded hollow, even to her.

Back in her hardest days—when she was juggling school and work under Fish's shadow—she'd still made time. Now, though, it felt like that part of her life had slipped away, leaving only an ache she didn't know how to fill.

Faith had always held a place in her heart, as natural as breathing.

It had woven through her childhood like a cherished thread, linking her to her roots, her family, and her people. She remembered her father's quiet prayers, his rhythmic voice soothing her even as a child, her own giggles mixing with her siblings' as they climbed over him while he prayed, the Quran playing in the background, filling their home with a warmth as familiar as the worn rugs beneath her feet.

She missed hearing the call to prayer echo through the streets, that gentle reminder floating through the neighborhood and settling into the spaces of their lives, drawing everyone close in spirit.

Those echoes were now only memories, softened and blurred, reminders of a time when faith had been woven through her life so seamlessly, so effortlessly.

But as she grew, the gentle simplicity of those days unraveled. Life had a way of twisting memories into something both treasured and lost. Tragedy followed her like a shadow, stealing the laughter and replacing it with silence, the kind that seeped into her heart and stayed.

The world outside chipped away at her faith, each hardship a blow to the comfort that had once been unshakeable. Her people's suffering, the losses she witnessed, carved themselves into her very soul.

The songs of hope she'd once heard as a child had been drowned by cries of despair, leaving only an echo of something she once knew.

It wasn't the faith that had changed. It was her.

Her belief still stirred quietly within her, a flickering light. She hadn't let go completely; she still found herself murmuring familiar prayers, reading verses from the Quran. But it was different now, tinged with doubt and a longing she couldn't fully explain. She missed the purity of her younger days, the untested faith that hadn't yet known hardship.

Ahmed's hand stayed on her shoulder, grounding her, as if sensing the depths she'd fallen into. "Maryam," he said, pulling her back, his eyes soft with understanding. "Faith isn't about never doubting. It's about turning back, even when it's hard. Even when we feel lost."

His words reached into her, breaking through the walls she'd built. "Sometimes... it feels like I can't go back. Like I've drifted too far."

Ahmed nodded, his face softening. "It isn't a straight line. There's no shame in feeling lost. Even when you feel far away, you're closer than you think."

Something in his voice eased the ache in her chest, as if granting her permission to take her time, to not have all the answers. To accept that finding her way back didn't have to be perfect; it just had to be hers.

"You're always welcome," he said, his voice as warm as the hand on her shoulder. "The mosque doors are always open. And remember, no matter how far you feel, Allah is closer than you know."

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

It had been so long since she'd let herself feel this vulnerable, and something in Ahmed's kindness broke through her defenses.

"Thank you," she whispered, her hand briefly brushing his, grounding her for just a moment.

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his smile steady and comforting. "Sometimes, we all need a reminder. The path back is always open. Fi amanillah," he added softly, leaving her with a blessing that felt like a gentle shield.

She watched him walk away, his words hanging in the air, like a soft light cutting through the shadows. She stood there for a moment, letting the weight of them settle.

Then, taking a deep breath, she locked her mailbox and climbed the stairs, each step feeling a little lighter.

That night, as she stepped into her apartment, she went straight to the corner beneath her bed where a pink velvet box lay hidden—her secret treasure chest of memories. Inside were the fragile remnants of her past: photographs that carried echoes of generations long gone, some from her mother's side, dating back centuries, and others from her father's, still fresh yet too precious to be displayed in the open air of her small living room. These were the pieces of her family she wanted to keep shielded from the harshness of the world, tucked away from the prying eyes of reality.

She carefully laid her family’s brooch back into its place in one of the smaller boxes. Her delicate fingers lingered, tracing the edges of the old trinkets. Then, as if led by some quiet instinct, she sifted through the memories, her heart quickening until she found it—the knight figurine that Bruce had left behind two decades ago. It was small, worn by time but still familiar, a relic of a past neither of them could escape.

She held it in her hands, watching the dim light cast soft shadows across its intricate details. For a moment, the world outside seemed to vanish as she gazed at it, lost in a memory she wasn’t quite ready to let go of.

She took a deep breath, closed the box, and slid it back into its hiding place beneath the bed. After a quick shower and slipping into her pyjamas, she crawled into bed, the cool sheets wrapping around her. Maryam placed the knight figurine on the small table beside her, where it stood quietly in the dim light, watching over her.

Its presence was both a comfort and a silent reminder of the past—everything she couldn’t seem to forget, no matter how hard she tried.

And Bruce, with all his shadows and unspoken words, was the constant echo of it all. The memories tied to him lingered, never fading, always just out of reach but never truly gone.

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taglist : @faeryki, @gaypoetsblog …

A/N : new chapter !!!! currently writing the next. Sorry for the delay :) If you’d like to be added to the taglist, lmk!!! I’ve only tagged those with who I interacted with on my previous chapters.

[ TRANSLATIONS ] • "Leh" : no

• "Wallahi" : I swear to God [It is an Arabic expression often used to emphasize the truthfulness of a statement, convey sincerity, or make a solemn promise. it can range from serious to casual, even playful, in daily conversations.]

• "La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah!" : There is no power and no strength except through Allah [ Meysa is using it as a mix of exasperation and resignation ]

• "Fi amanillah" : In the protection of Allah [ heartfelt phrase often used as a way to bid someone farewell, wishing them safety and divine care. It carries a sense of trust and reliance on God to watch over the person as they depart.]

• "Astaghfirullah" : I seek forgiveness from Allah. [ someone wants to repent for something wrong they did, or even when they hear or see something upsetting, inappropriate, or shocking. Casually, it can also be an automatic reaction, like saying, "Oh no!" or "I can't believe that happened!"]

#tu’burni #bruce wayne #batman #the batman #dc comics #the batman 2022 #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne headcanon #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x oc #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x oc #dc movies

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smoothestkriminal · 5 months ago

Text

It’s just a party.

Hii everybody!!!

I’m so happy to share this fic with you guys :D

It’s based on the “10 things I hate about you” party scene.

I did a poll on who you’d rather have as a male lead and you guys chose: GOJO•*.

I tried my best on this so enjoy!!!

I'm not going satoru.

Famous last words of mine being taken back at this very moment. Here I am; out on a Friday night at some football wide receiver's house in a fancy neighborhood who's parents are out of town. Probably at boca or something too, get away.

Typically, this means a party till the neighbours call the cops and it gets shut down. I'm not one to go out at all. Not even often. I'’d rather stay home with latest novel and Friday night special of my favourite show. But nooo~ Mr. "My Friends Place will be fun" decided to drag me along since his latest fling decided to leave him for some artist since he's more in "depth" and "considerate." Trust me when I had to listen to his hour long rant about how it was, "wack" she left him, a quaterback, 6’4, phat, who was da bomb." For a "lowlife, artist wannabe, scrub." That's about it I presume.

Quit buggin. You never go out, you know girls who don't come out and party get cheated on?

His tone hinted teasing, he knows no man can live up to my standards.

Well luckily I don't have a boyfriend.

| shoot him a quick cheeky grin and immediately drop it. As we pull up to the house in his, can you believe, Honda. Satoru knew his car was better, and expensive, so he made sure to flaunt whenever he could. I step out the car and walk up the steps to hear big boom blasting a song which I partially recall from somewhere. My eye catches the residence sign; "Geto residence. 411." Of course it's suguru geto. He's not notorious for throwing ragers, although he has quite a reputation for getting the cops and neighborhood watch called on his house...

Screaming and loud yelling coming from the beginning of the hallways as we step into the house. Immediately suguru joins us with shoko beside him smoking a cig. Sator dabs up suguru back and greets him. My hand is pulled out my jeans pocket and motioned a wave to suguru, he just smiles back warmly and takes gojo with him somewhere while shoko links her arms with me and sits me down between some stoners and heavy drinkers while she mingles along them lighting a blunt in her hand simultaneously. I just stare into the abyss as I don't have a clue what to do nor say. l've never been to these parties. The only party l've been to recently is my uncle's 40th birthday party with him going on and on about his new landline and how it's "wireless.” But that's a story for another time.

Do I know you?

Some random guy sits next to me with a giant bottle of booze in his hand, clearly reeks of alcohol which I can tell he's wasted. He takes another sip of the bottle before he says to me:

Hey aren't you the chick in my math class? The like, super smart one? Dude your like such a ner-.

The music takes over my train of thought and whatever he said trailed off. The next thing I know is he shoves a shot of some type of liquid in my face and ushers me to drink it.

No thanks, I don't drink.

C’mon, don’t be a buzz kli. You want everyone to think you are one? Just take it-

Honestly I'm good-

I don't have a clue whether it was the loud blasted music speaker in the right corner of my ear telling me or the urge to, but I took that shot out his hand and smacked it down. The hard liquor going down my throat felt hot and strong. The taste was bitter with a hint of caramel. Judging by the feel of it, it was a hard and heavy concentration of alcohol. Maybe I'm a flyweight or just can't hold my liquor, but everything was a flash from there on out.

I'm walking down a dimmed hallways between screaming teens and bottles surround the floor, limping sort of mindlessly going, somewhere? Music changes from hard loud rap to something groovy and mellow. And I find, eventually, satoru surrounded by girls and suguru on his side with a drink in his hand.

Satoru notices me coming towards him and focuses on me moving to him like a zombie with me rubbing my head from spinning.

Hey sweet thing, where've you been?

Hmm?

All I could get out is a grunt and lean against his side as he puts his arm around me continuously talking to his friends. He notices how I'm sort of out of it and ask me if I'm okay?

Am-goothhss (I'm good.)

You sure? You drank something weird? Maybe I shouldn't have left you with shoko.

What you mean? Quit buggin-

I'm buggin? You know what lets dip I can't let anything bad happen to you, your dad'll freak if he sees me dropping his daughter off wasted at this late. Suguru I’m gonna bounce-

Nooo~. Im gonna dance!

He can tell my words are slurring and realizes my full drunk. Wondering how in the world that happened, dancing music starts to boom through speakers and I leave satorus side and head towards the dance circle formed in the middle of the house.

Wait- y/n! Don't go there- c'mon man! I gotta take you home..

This shirts too hot and I feel so suffocated. I take my Full sleeve tee off and luckily I'm wearing a tank underneath it so l'm not completely naked. I throw the shirt on the floor and satoru picks it up still coming after me, he grabs me by the wrist and jerks me back to come with him. I jut my arm down for him to let go and suddenly l'm dancing with some randos moving to the beat. Sator just stands there in disbelief with my top in his hand, his eyes staring at my arms flail up and side to side as my hips do the same. Suddenly I'm pulled up by my arms and onto a table in the middle of the corridor. All eyes are on me and I get sort of shy thinking for a moment what am I doing? I make an impulse and grab a shot out some guys hand who doesn't seem to mind and gulp it down. I put that shot glass down and Continue moving to the beat as others around me as well. The party's going on as more people join the dance circle and start to move as well.

Satorus eyes widen with shock as suguru comes up to him and smirks while whispering to him:

That's your lady right there entertaining other guys, you gonna do something?

As he's told that he looks around to see almost every guy staring at you dancing with a perverted look in their eyes, some trying to skim through the crowd and approach you- he feels a sort of rage and jealousy brush over him and leaves suguru side who's still smirking as he watches. Satoru forcefully pushing others aside, grabs you by the waist and puts you over his shoulder while heading towards the door. You too drunk to even register what was happening look up and realise your being taken. You don't worry although as you understand it's satoru.

What are you doing satoruuu~ I wanteh to danceuh...

You’re drunk y/n. We're leaving right now.

Who are you, my father? Stop worrying and let's partayuh-!

My words keep on slurring which cause gojo to smirk and sigh with exasperation.

Maybe I shouldn't have urged you to come out tonight. Especially since all those guys have the nerve to stare at you like what, imagine what they were thinking...

Whut???

Nothing. Just next time, don't be putting on a show for guys.

He opens the car door and places you in it. As he gets in he makes sure your all right- to only see you passed out slouching against the window. He brushes back your hair that's in your mouth as you snore away. He thinks to himself why he's seething with jealousy right now? He's never looked at you in this type of light before. You?! His best friend. You weren't the type of girls he wasn't into at all. You stayed home all day unless it was school or the library. You rarely wore dresses unless it was a special occasion, you had more pairs of jeans that the average person and read for fun. Fun! He's seen you as if you were a Brother.

So why was he so tempted to kiss you right now?.

I regain my consciousness to see it's still dark out and I'm pulling up in front of my house.

Satoru what time is it?

W-what?

What's the time???

That was weird..

Uhh- it's about.. 2:00 in the morning.

What?! No way my dad'll kill me!

Wait- y/n

He stops my hand from opening the door and I look back at him. His blue eyes lock on mine as he stutters to say something.

I-I. do gosh why am I stuttering?! Do you remember tonight?!

No, not really. Gosh my heads pounding.

Satoru looks conflicted on whether or not he should say what he feels like or let you peacefully go to bed. Heavy breaths, eye contact locked on with raw emotion piercing through them, just wanting to tell you something- anything!

Nevermind, Sleep tight.

..Tonight was fun, bye.

He watched her open the cars door and slump out walking to the door. Glancing at him for a second before unlocking the door and stepping in closing the door behind her.

Maybe next time..

Tch- dammit satoru.

#jjk #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #geto suguru #gojo fluff #gojo saturo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk leaks #jujutsu gojo

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phen397 · 1 month ago

Text

Sonic Adventure 2 but told as notes I took while playing

OK here we go

Big game for the series

Not sure if this game has multiple story modes like in sonic adventure

But let's get into this

It has the same like 15 seconds of live and learn looped for the title and select screens

And OK

2 stories hero and dark

Let's start on the hero side

Above the capital

Sigma alpha

Captured hedgehog secured

WHAT IN THE WORLD

No food or movies gotta dip

I am sure that part of the helicopter isn't important

Skydiving now

With a snowboard

First stage city escape time to board down the city streets

Sick tricks off ramps

Fuck dem cars

Escape from the city indeed

Also got the song playing too*chef's kiss*

Done with boarding time to run

Oh God it's Omochao

Burn him

Break the boxes

Weird pipe?

Whistle

Oh hello raccoon friend

Jump scare robot

Got coloured tubes

Can use them to raise Chao

Run down the streets this time

Chao box

Got Chao key

U mean to tell me you are gonna hide secrets from me

Oh oh

You got me

Rabbit was hiding in corner

Got so much stuff it is falling off the screen

Is that bad?

Is it gone?

Where does it go?

Song still going hard af

Only now get told how to do a homing attack

Oh God Oh shit

Gun got a whole truck after me

BIG NO!

Big got crushed!

I will get you gun I will avenge you cat man

End of level

Def missed some stuff

E rank OOF

one sonic thing

Chao world

Welcome

Is this in space?

Who made this(lore)?

Ah yes the gate to Chao space

Spit out all the tubes

Next level

Boring game of tag

Boss time

F-6t Big Foot

What did I do?

Why all this effort for little old me

Avoid the flying shooter

Hit em when he lands

Boss done

"Hey guy take care"

What?

Oh hi shadow

Ultimate power jewel

Chaos emerald

What he want with it

Fake hedgehog

Chaos controll

Fast boi

Uses the emerald to warp

Ultimate life form has no time for games

Not again

Ah yes desert area

Rouge and knuckles at it again

Don't know when to give up

Master emerald is mine got it?

Can neutralize the emeralds

Eggman gets grabby

Knuckles shatters that thing

Look what you did

Can restore the pieces so all good

He says "bat girl" so aggressively

Find 3 pieces

Super chill music

Kinda nice just to explore and fly around

Lots of animals here

Big winds

First piece get

Another pipe to whistle at

Lonely statue looks Lonely

Thanks omachao

I got a dragon from the Chao box

Got a bomb

Got the last one and got squished at the same time

Chao time

Egg

Shake da egg

Rise my child

They steal traits from the animals

Oh they stack

Time to make an abomination

Waterfall cave

Chao cult?

Races

Enter the abomination

Crab pool sure

Level 1

Cheer them on

They are babies

Ah there are the crabs

These other Chao can swim

Got wrecked

OK maybe later

Prison island time

MY BOI

Tails time baby

Secret military base

Sonic would never rob a bank

Oh hi Amy

Amy needs help

Transformers (more than meets the eye)

Long load screen got me scared

Mech fight

Egg dead

Won't be so lucky this time

Ba ba ba bya byyyaaa

Amy here for sonic too

Tails got this shit

Tails needs no lady

Lots of robros

Lots of tubes

Big is trapped In a cell

What did he do

Free my man

Get him his frog

Sneaky bots

Level done

Gonna stop for now

See ya for the next one

#sonic #tails the fox #knuckles the echidna #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic adventure 2 #bit #text post #time for another one #part1/?#omachao shall burn #chao #idk what i am doing

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illuminopseudonymous · 3 months ago

Text

The Radio Demon is Dead

Alastor: Ya-da-ya-da

Alastor: It is a good day to be not dead!

Vox (firing a pistol): Pow! You are dead!

Alastor: I am dead!

(Vox chuckles.)

(Vaggie approaches the scene)

Vox: Oh shit (throws away the gun)

Vaggie: The radio demon is dead!

Alastor: Yes (Jambalaya)! I am dead!

Vaggie: Why is the radio demon dead?

Vox: I dunno.

Alastor: I think it was...

Both: Shush! You are dead!

Alastor: Okay! (dies)

Velvette: What's up, you buggers? Who's up for a... What the bloody hell just happened?

Vaggie: The radio demon is dead!

Velvette: The radio demon is dead?

Vaggie: Correct!

("Correct" jingle plays)

Vaggie: So, did you see the murderer?

Vees: Nope. Sorry, mate.

Vaggie: (pounds spear on ground) I will find him, I will capture him, and no one will ever die again!

(applause)

Velvette: Well, that's nice

Vox: I am damn proud of you.

Sir Pentious, surrounded by Egg Boiz: ATTENTION!

(rushes over)

Sir Pentious: The radio demon is dead!

Vaggie: We know!

Sir Pentious: Who killed him?

Vaggie: We don't know.

Sir Pentious: I will find clues!

(Slithers around the ground, finds a tommy gun)

Sir Pentious: What's that? (picks it up) A weapon? (points it at the group) That thing is why the radio demon is dead!

Others: The radio demon is dead?

Sir Pentious: Yes! (slaps table) He died!

shock.jpg

Rosie (from afar): Incoming!

(Carriage tramples Sir Pentious, Rosie emerges)

Rosie: Move! Now!

(Rosie pushes the others to the side and kisses Alastor)

Alastor (rising into the air): AHAHAHA (explodes)

Rosie: In my medical opinion, the radio demon is dead!

Velvette: Well, what happened?

Rosie: My professional opinion? The radio demon was killed!

panic.jpg

Rosie: I don't think it's anything to worry about.

Vaggie: Well, what now?

Valentino: Clippity-clop, motherfuckers! Boom!

Vaggie: Mierda

Valentino: Look at this! The fuckin' radio demon is dead!

(beat)

Valentino: What do you think of that?

(beat)

Vaggie: (clears throat) Yes, yes. Val?

Valentino: Yes?

Vaggie: Go home!

(Travis waves from a nearby car)

Valentino: Oh, come on! Pfft. Fucking unbelievable. No seriously, fuck all of you!

(The car crashes with Val in it)

Vaggie: All right, let's get back to the point. (spins spear)

Alastor (poking his body with his staff): I think the radio demon is dead.

Others: The radio demon is dead?

Rosie (turning around): Val, I will heal you! (car explodes with Rosie nearby)

Alastor: Seriously, who killed Alastor?

Cherri Bomb (chugging booze): It was me!

shock.jpg

Cherri: Yes! (shoots coke) I did it like this! (throws a bomb at Velvette)

Velvette: (fucking dies)

Cherri: Whoop dee doo!

(everyone is terrified)

Cherri: That was a joke, lads.

Everyone: canned laughter

Cherri: (slurp) It was y- (belch, points at Vox) Him!

Vox: How did you know?

Cherri: I didn't! (belch) That was a joke too!

Cherri Bomb: (fucking dies) Oh, I'm dead.

Vox: (maniacal laughter) That's right! It was me!

Vaggie: (insults in Spanish)

Alastor: But why?

Vox: Because you're spooky, boy. And another thing, you're ugly.

Alastor: Vox, stop!

(argument noises)

Vaggie: (shrugs. It's tradition)

Alastor: Vox!

Vox: Damn it, Alastor, fuck off! You are dead!

Alastor: No, you! Ha!

(A big gaping pit of ominous tentacles swallows Vox)

Alastor: You are dead! Not a big surprise)

Vaggie: Well, that was idiotic. Off to find brain bleach! (leaves by jumping off a cliff)

Alastor: I am alive! Feels good.

Alastor: Yes, this is stupid.

#shitpost #high effort shitpost #heavy is dead #hazbin hotel #alastor #the radio demon #hazbin hotel vox #vaggie #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel rosie #valentino #the vees #cherri bomb #sir pentious #humor #why did i make this

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allthebrazilianpolitics · 15 days ago

Text

Explosions and one person dead show extremism is still a looming threat in Brazil

One man died after trying to bomb Brazil's Supreme Court building

Congresswoman Erika Hilton was giving a press conference on the latest developments regarding a proposal that could reduce working hours for Brazilians, at the Planalto Palace hall, the presidential working building, when two explosions were heard on November 13, around 7:30 pm. Only 500 meters away, one person lay dead in front of the Supreme Court building in Brasília, Brazil's federal capital.

The first explosion came from a car parked next to the Lower Chamber that had been loaded with fireworks, bricks, and explosives. Around 20 seconds afterward, a second explosion was set off in front of the Supreme Court, leaving one man dead. The justices were finishing a session and were led to exit the building as a security measure.

The deceased was identified as Francisco Wanderley Luiz, 59. Civil police have named him as the car's registered owner. He was dressed in clothes with images of playing card suits — likely a reference to the comic book character Batman's archenemy, the Joker.

For many in Brasília, the incident was reminiscent of when crowds invaded and vandalized the Supreme Court building less than two years ago, on January 8, 2023, attempting to force a coup d'état only one week after Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva was inaugurated for a third term as Brazil's president.

#brazil #brazilian politics #politics #supreme federal court #francisco wanderley luiz #image description in alt #mod nise da silveira

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gazsluckyhat · 2 months ago

Text

Sarah's House

Ten - Frozen Waffles

Masterlist

Sorry it's took a while. I'm having some health issues and struggling to understand them. So I'm really sorry it's taking me a little bit.

Price knew he shouldn't take the mission. The outcome seemed obvious, or so he thought. Until he wasn't anymore.

Like calls to like. Or something of the sort.

Simon breaks at least six laws on his way back to Price's. Five at the minimum. He couldn't hear Soap or Gaz over the blood rushing in his ears. He vaguely remembers Soap screaming at him to slow down, or maybe it was Gaz? He doesn't know. Price's words echoing in his brain.

"She's unresponsive, Simon. We were eating ice cream and she asked about her team, then she just went blank. Sarah, baby can you hear me?" Simon felt the cold of terror encase his bones. The phone falling from his hold and into Gaz's hands. His hands shook so bad Soap had to start the car, his accent blurring his words together as he spoke. He doesn't even think he put his seatbelt on. Ran every red light he spotted, swerved around cars, maybe nicked a mail truck. He just knew he had to get there, his girl needed him.

Price has been in some of the worst situations you could imagine. He's been held at gunpoint, had to diffuse a bomb, and even infiltrate an old Russian compound dressed in a ghillie suit. To say he never panicked and could handle anything was a understatement. Or was a understatement until he found a wounded raven. Who was currently staring at him without looking at him. Her once bright green eyes had glassed over and she was frozen.

"Sarah? Hey, come back." He took her hand, gave it a tiny squeeze and spoke again. "Lovie, can you hear me?" No response. He felt a new feeling bloom in his chest. Something sharp and alarming. "Sarah, I need you to come back, okay?" He could feel the eyes on them. The feeling was radiating down his legs now, reaching to his toes and making its home. "Fuck." He reached for the phone in his pocket, his fingers dialing the number.

"Simon, it's Sarah. She's unresponsive, Simon. We were eating ice cream and she asked about her team, then she just went blank. Sarah, baby can you hear me?" He lent forward and placed a chaste kiss to her chapped lips, the jolt he felt ignored. "Please, Sarah, you're scaring me." A blink, slow but still. He reached his hand out to cup her cheek and felt her nuzzle into it. "She's coming back, meet me at the house." He hung the phone and reached to pull her into his arms, lifting her easily. Her face tucked into his chest and a kiss placed to her head.

Soap wasn't sure what to expect when they got back to the house. He hadn't really got a full explanation from Simon or Gaz about what was happening. He just knew it had something to do with Sarah and that was enough to send his heart racing. The car had barely stopped when Simon had jerked the door open and ran inside, taking the steps two at a time. Both him and Gaz were right behind. They were greeted with Price, pacing the floor and a glass in his hand. Soap could see that his hands were shaking immediantly.

"Where is she?" Price shook his head, swallowing whatever amber liquid was left in the glass before speaking.

"Went straight to 'er room." He wiped his hand down his face. "I checked on her but she just asked me to leave, I- I don’t know what to do." Tears started pouring down his cheeks, his chest heaving. Soap caught him as his knees gave out. His captain's head pressed close to his chest. Simon quickly headed towards their girl, his feet stomping up the stairs. Gaz knelt down beside the pair, hand on Price's back.

"She's gonna be fine Cap. It's gonna be okay."

"Lass just needs time." And so they sat there, Price shaking in his sergeants' arms. The panic ebbing away into sadness.

Sarah felt numb. Her body felt wrong, like she wasn't supposed to be in it. Her mind kept replaying the memories from earlier, she had somehow forgotten them. It was all she could think about the first couple days but she thinks that maybe her mind hid them to protect her? That's what she'd read somewhere years ago. Back when she had wanted to study psychology. But now they were at the forefront of her brain. Replaying over and over again. Her failure so evident now. Her fingers ran over the gunshot scar. The skin raised and rough. Dirty. The voices were so loud. The shadow in the corner was laughing at her. Creeping closer. It was whispering to her. Forgotten. Worthless. Whore. Scum. It was right. She was all those things and more. Years of training and practice had done nothing. She'd failed. Her team could have been slaughtered and it would have been her fault. They looked for you. But gave up, clearly. A lost cause. Just another forgotten soldier. Her eyes screwed shut. Should end it. She took in a shaky breath. You were supposed to die anyway. And maybe she was. She'd tried to. Had broken a glass and aimed to slit her throat but was caught before she could finish. She'd been stripped of everything after that. Clothes and the mattress they'd given her. They'd laughed at her. Spit on her and called her a coward. They were right. Don't deserve the name Raven. Tears gathered in her eyes. Your mom would be ashamed. She let them fall down her cheeks as she held in a sob. Her hands held the blanket tight, knuckles white. She'd joined the service to make her family proud. To follow in her moms footsteps. But she'd fucked that up. Brought shame instead.

"Raven?" She didn't move. It was Simon. Simon who'd done nothing but try and comfort here and make her feel safe. Slut. And she'd pushed him and used him for her own pleasure. Used all of them. She felt the bed dip, the blanket pushed away. Her body seized up, skin prickling. She was no better than the Russians. Traitor.

"Flower, hey." His hand pulled some hair away from her face. But he didn’t touch her. Could see the signs. The fear radiating off her in waves. "Talk to me." She shook her head. Eyes still shut. He'd been there before. The past clutching him by the throat and drowning him. Had felt the blanket of fear and shame for years. Until he met her. She'd given him the strength to face it. To heal from it. And now here she was. In the same hold, body coiled tightly. He had to help her, hands itched to hold her.

"Where'd ya' go?" She trembled. A shaky sob releasing from her throat. More tears falling. He laid beside her. "Can I hold you?" After a beat she nodded and so he wound his arm over her hip and pulled her close. He could slowly feel her relaxing agaisnt him. "It's gonna be okay." She let out the cries she'd been holding. And he held her, an anchor in the storm.

Gaz's mind raced with feelings he'd spent years swallowing and hiding. But now, alone and not needed, he could feel them crawling back up his throat until he could vomit them out. The sink was cold in his fiery touch, even with the liquid hitting his skin. Tears, he was crying. He chuckled angrily at himself. Here he was the mighty SAS officer. Seargent actually. His knuckles turned white as embarrassment and anxiety took hold in his chest. Carving themselves a cave and invading his brain. He scowled at himself.

"Useless again Garrick." Always useless. Never needed. He'd spent the past years moving up and proving himself even if it made him sick. Spent his first Christmas in service with a high fever and near delirious. Pushed himself until he bled most times. But when he joined the 141 he found a home. And though he wasn't as charming as Soap or as bearish as Simon he assumed he had a place. Price was the leader, something no one challenged. He was the intel, could slip in undetected easily. Thought he was needed. But if today had proved anything it'd proved he wasn't. Soap had Price and Sarah had Simon. He felt jealous of them. Simon had wormed his way into a special place in her soul. And Gaz thought he had too, she'd pulled him into the mix. Touched him and lit his skin aflame. Now he had no place. Nothing. No hands that reached out to comfort or care for. He had no task. Usually when the feelings threatened to exist he'd busy himself at work. There was always something that needed to be done. Some paperwork that had to be filed or a gun that needed to be cleaned. He always had something. His fingers twitched. He needed to do something. Knew he'd go insane just sitting here dwelling. So he crept out, tried to hide the sheen to his dark skin. He still had his handgun that he kept on him, it was in the jacket pocket and he'd left it on a chair back.

"Kyle." He froze, back straightening. He turned slightly to see it was Simon. Mask off and he could see the stress and fear on his face. The exhaustion the most clear. He had a glass in his hand. They watched each other for a minute. "It's not true." He headed towards the kitchen. Glass refilled with apple juice and hands grabbing something from the freezer to pop in the toaster. Kyle followed.

"What?" He hadn’t said anything. Had he? Simon leaned agaisnt the counter, hand rubbing his face.

"Whatever your brain is telling you, it's a lie." He made eye contact. "I've seen it in you since we met. You have no need to prove yourself, you are part of this. We want you here, Gaz. Have since the beginning." Red crept up his neck and flowered across his cheeks.

"I'm so-sorry-" Hand waving in the air he cut him off.

"Stop. She's picked you, just like she did us. Whatever this is, it's good for us all." He put the frozen waffles on the plate. Pouring maple syrup all over them and grabing a fork. "Grab Soap, ya? I'll get Price. Flower wants to talk." And then he turned around and walked away. Gaz felt the emotions creeping out of their cave and he forced them back down. Maybe Simon was right? Maybe this was what they all needed to actually heal.

After Soap had comforted him Price had hid himself away in his study, his giant oak desk littered in paperwork and intel. His eyes had started to ache from the strain of reading for so long. His brain kept creeping back to the new emotion he'd felt earlier. He'd finally figured out it's name while pacing the floor. Panic. Panic. God it was new and raw and terrifying. It lingered on the back of his tonuge. Taste staticky and loud. He couldn't get the image of those lifeless eyes out of his head. Even when they'd first found her, her eyes never looked like that. Fear had burned its way into his fingertips. Too scared to touch her for fear of losing her. He'd been so good. Practiced such self control. She'd ripped it apart. Taken his control from his hands and smothered it with her mouth. And he'd let her. Let her make her home in his hands and ride him. Some part of it felt nice to not have to be in charge. It was freeing. To be controlled. Her hands guiding his mouth or his hands. God, she was good. So good. And he'd almost lost it. Had seen what could've happened if they'd never found her. A shell. A empty carcass that would be dumped. And it had terrified him. Made his hands shake and his brain swirl. He'd spent years practicing resilient's. And in a instant it had been forgotten. He felt like a child again. Lost and confused.

"Cap?" Simon was holding a plate and glass in his big hands. Brown eyes soft but tired. "Flower wants to talk to us, come up?" Price nodded and flicked the side lamp off. Stilling her shaky hands as he followed his friend.

Sarah was cradled in the comforter. The deep blue covering pale flesh. Her eyes flicked towards the open door when she spotted blue and brown eyes. Her boys. Her boys? Not sure when they became hers but they were. Gaz's eyes were glassy, a faraway look on his angelic features. He hesitated at the edge of the mattress, Soap taking hold of her the second he could. His blue eyes relived as his kissed her lips. Hands circling his arms and holding her to him.

"Scared me lass, afraid we lost ya'" She sniffled and nuzzled agaisnt his neck. Eyes finding Gaz's and giving him a small smile while her hand reached out. He slipped his into her hold and she pulled him the rest of the way. His legs touched Soaps and his head found her neck. Eyes closing and just breathing. Soap's hand found his back and rubbed. Upspoken words finding all of them. Simon spotted the trio and put his hand up for Price to pause. His own eyes catching sight.

"She didn't remember that night in Russia. When they took her." He met Simons. "It's what she was blanking for. I guess talking about her old team brought the memories back up. Said she felt guilty for scaring ya'" Price stared. She'd felt guilty for remembering? Now he felt guilty. Not once had they discussed the night she was took. They'd just assumed she didn't wanna mention it. Not that she'd forgotten.

"Her waffle is gonna get cold and I'm afraid she'll attack over it." Sarah had moved to sit between both boys, hands playing with the tiny curls atop Gaz's head. Her hands had immediantly reached for the cup and plate. A smile sent Simons way. Simon took a spot on one of the chairs to the left of the bed.

"Sit with us?" She looked tired. Worn out. There was a scar on her bottom lip, where it'd been split and healed badly.

"Of course lovie." She took a bite of the frozen delight and sipped her drink. Soap was playing with her hair, braiding and un-braiding it. Gaz was touching her, a hand drawing on her back. His team felt more human. More grounded here.

"I knew something was wrong right off the bat. The base was empty from what I could see with my scope. Deserted. I'd-I'd tried to reach Ryan." She swallowed. "I didn’t even get static back. I tried again and nothing. I found them through my scope and watched them, everything seemed to be going right. De-dean, his group was maybe a click father than Ryan's. But that was it. I assumed maybe the spot they were in had bad reception, and ignored my gut. I followed them for about five more minutes until something happened and the next thing I know I saw stars. The sky was so dark but the stars were bright that night. And so pretty. I don't know how long I laid there until I felt this pounding in my head. When I looked around my gun was gone and there was blood in the snow. I reached and felt my head and I'd been hit with something." Price grabbed her hand, squeezes it for comfort. Simon stayed where he was, letting his team hear the memory. The same one she'd cried to him earlier.

"There were five soldiers around me. One of them hand my gun in his hands. He was looking down the scope and fiddling with the carvings. They'd assumed I was passed out and were smoking." She chuckled. "Were talking about letting their general have me. Some gift. I knew they'd kill me either way so I wanted to go out with a fight. I hid knives all over my uniform, Dean used to buy me new ones every holiday." There was a sad look in her eyes. "I found one and attacked the soldier with my gun, killed him easily. He was loud and one of the others shot at me but missed so I threw the knife and it lodged in his throat. Chocked on his own blood. Someone grabbed me from behind and I couldn't focus because my vision was swimming. I headbutted him and he dropped me. Saw a gun and grabbed it, but missed when I shot. My balance was failing. I couldn't see straight. I ended up tackling him and beating his face in. I didn't even register the gunshot until after. Then pain. So much pain. I touched the spot and my hand was red. It was everywhere. The adrenaline was fading and all I could think was how I was gonna die. I was gonna die and I didn’t say goodbye to my dad." Tears were cascading down her cheeks. Soap wiping them away and holding her. His own cheeks damp with tears. I fell back into the snow. Stared at the stars until I passed out. When I woke up I was in a cell."

"Sarah, I'm so sorry." Gaz kissed her cheek.

"They never mentioned my team, I asked and they ignored me. Every time. I gave us asking. Just like I gave up hoping to be rescued." Price kissed her. Put his own feelings and gratefulness into it to make her feel just how happy they were to find her. To feel her under their skin. To have made this home with her. To be hers.

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