#Bulletproof cars in Middle east

[thoughtfulenemyking]

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[peonycats]

AH DAMN A NISSAN I wasn't even close lmao. Re: the Toyota cult in Africa. I know that you can find a toyota hilux pretty much anywhere in Africa. The Hilux is very popular because it's tough as hell, can carry just about anything, cuts through any damn terrain, can easily be fixed and spare parts are often compatible. And it almost never breaks down, something that can mean life or death. Very sturdy and reliable, like an old Nokia. Toyota doesn't give a shit so they sell them to whoever's willing to pay (including militant/mercenary organizations) and when those guys disband or are defeated the population just keeps the cars to themselves LMAO. But you can find them on Facebook Marketplace as well. That's kind of how the business works and spreads around. Toyota's even begun to produce cars in Kenya I think. I swear there's another model that's almost just as popular and is bulletproof, but I've no idea what it's called rn

DAMN THATS WACK.......... the toyota facebook marketplace...

and yeah that info seems to shake out from what I've heard abt toyotas and their recent usage, they're great for your average fighting force without a decent govt budget- It's prbly for the same reason that its also been found in Middle East conflict zones as well

AND WAIT THEY MADE A BULLETPROOF CAR???

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

“SHOULD I TRY?”

Gilly Lopez x Reader

Serie Index. Chapter 5.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: NSFW 'cause maybe has a little of explicit violence.

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author Comments: I hope you all enjoy. The gif isn’t mine.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @losolvidad0s ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Something unexpected hits your nape hard, making you fall to the floor bumping it with your head. All you feel is pain shaking your body with your eyes filled with tears. You want to fight, you want to get up, but the coup have get you knock out. Your eyelids are falling till the darkness envelops you and the last face you can see is Gilly's. 

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Your breath is calmed, starting to feel somewhat awake with the throat dried and a metallic taste between your teeth. You cough moving your head slight, opening your eyes slowly. The grief is back shaking your body with little lashes. Everything is blurred, trying to focus your gaze and find out where you are. But everything you can know is that your hands are tied, finding it when you're about to rub your forehead. You look at both wrist, with black esparto ropes wrapping them on a rusted headboard. Wooden walls around you, furniture full of cobwebs. There's also a skylight at the end of the room, on the ceiling, almost covered by a dirty blanket. You don't have to be so smart to know that you're in an attic. But, where?

Your pulse accelerates when you're able to hear some heavy steps going upstairs, opening the door with a screeching sound too annoying for your ears. Then, you see him. Carrying on his lips the same smile that one day made you fall in love loudly. You can't believe this is truly happening. Every single inch of your body contracts in tension, feeling the rage running through your veins when he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. You want to hit him, but then you also figure out that your ankles are tied too.

“This is the part when you beg for your life”. He says with a jocular tone in his voice.

And when he thinks you're about to reply something, you spit his face. Bad move. The man slaps you with the back of his hand, breaking your lower lip by the left side because of the impact his ring makes on it.

“My brother will cut you into pieces to feed his dogs”. You chuckles, 'cause even if you're terrified, you're not going to show him.

“My back is well covered, mi amor”. He laughs loud, shaking his head for a second. “And you're gonna pay for betraying me”.

His right fist goes straight to your temple, provoking you an incessant and painful buzz till you finally lose the conscience again.

(Meanwhile at Mayans Clubhouse)

“We will find her”. Marcos says full of anger, narrowing Gilly's shoulder trying to stay calm.

“Is there any place he could go?”

“We asked to the cops of Tijuana. That son of a bitch has a property close to the east border, between the mountains”. José runs to the crew, with a record on his hand with all the information he received from Mexico.

“Let's fuck up that cabrón”. Angel says throwing away his cigar to get ready to ride his bike.

Gilly went this morning to bring you some breakfast and spend your day off together, but when he came to your house Alex told him that you went to throw the trash and she never came back. Your house-mates thought that you went to Gilly's house. Of course, he suspected that something was wrong, walking next to the trash cubes, finding there your keys. The first thing he did was call Bishop.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

Mayans and Coyotes aren't stupid. The play smart leaving the bikes almost half a kilometer away, to not call the attention with the roar of his engines. They're all carrying different weapons. Shotguns, smalls hand guns, knives, even an AK-47 Marcus gave them. Dressing with dark clothes and bulletproofs vests, the bikers are more than ready to storm the house. Their steps become slow, hiding between the woods to have a look of the rustic house in the middle of nowhere, with a sport car parking next to the porch. Bishop looks at Marcos, who is rolling his eyes 'cause he knows how foreseeable he can be. That's why they never accepted in Los Coyotes de Tijuana.

Gilly wants to take the first step, but Coco stops him. If he goes inside first, everything could go wrong. Miguel walks bent over towards the windows having a quick look, to indicate that no one's on the first floor. Everything clean. 

“Jorge, Tano, back yard” Marcos whispers then. “Mayans, with me”.

“Gilly and Tranq, you stay here, watching if someone else is coming”. Bishop indicates.

“You're gonna have to put a bullet between my eyebro', if you want me to stay here, man”. Gilly says pushing his chest, before getting up to walk outside the woods following his brother-in-law.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

“Despierta, mi amor”. 

A cascade of cold water falls into your face and your mouth, making you drown for a while coughing with some difficulties, shaking your head and stirring your whole body. Your temple still hurting, as your wrists and ankles with the ties pressing and burning slightly your skin with every move, trying to get free. You can see Antonio leaving the empty glass of water on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking your chin with two fingers.

“I know you still love me, but your dear Marquitos turned you against me”.

“He did nothen' and I don' love you anymore, you fuckin' bastard”. You spit him again, without worrying about the fact the he can hit you another time. But he laughs, so loud that terrifies you more than the silence.

“You just had to learn how to love me properly”.

“How? Ah? Punching me till almost kill me? You're fuckin' sick, Antonio. And you're gonna pay for all of this”. 

“When your new friends find this place, we will be so, so, so far away, mi amor”. He says then, caressing your swollen cheek with the back of his fingers. “And you will also carrying my child”.

“The fuc' are you talking 'bout?” You try hard to not show the tremble that shakes your voice.

“Sh... Relax, mi niña. You're gonna enjoy, for the old times”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

“House clean!” Coco yells, being reunited with both crews at the hall.

“Shit!” Alejandro curses exhausted.

“Where the fuck he can be?” Taza asks facing Marcos with somewhat calm.

“I don' know... Did you register the car?”

“It's clean too, presidente”. José says shrugging with a gun in his hand.

“Another house, another property?” Bishop asks then desperate, trying to figure it out.

“I think... (Y/N) said something about... a cabin close to Mexico, the night at the hospital”. Jaime is trying to remember your words, not knowing of who could be the owner. 

“What about Sancho?” Alejandro turns to Marcos.

“Who's Sancho?” Gilly takes another step closer to the mexican charter.

“His boss. That perro has somewhat like a house in surroundings Mexico DF”.

“How much time?”

“Two and a half. Maybe two hours if we're fast enough”.

“Then run for her fuckin' life!” Gilly shouts, keeping his gun behind his back.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

The tears are falling down running your cheeks and your neck. You can feel the stabbing pain in your low belly because of his bites, dragging his teeth over your skin wetting it. He didn't touch you yet, he's enjoying torturing you and laughing at your terrified gestures and your begs to him for stop. You claimed for help, believing that someone could hear you, but nobody came. 

Antonio pulls down your pajama shorts, licking his lips with burning lust inside his orbs. He's ready to enjoy your body, even if you're praying him to not hurt you, trying to gain some time with the hope you can break free somehow as your brother taught you, when you were younger. Maybe dislocating your thumb, so you can strain a hand by the tie. Painful, but successful.

“I could never get tired of your body, mi amor”. 

He sighs placing himself between your legs, arching your back when he surrounds your waist with both arms. You can feel how hard is he, turning your stomach, making you want to vomit. You can't understand why you fell in love so loud with him, or why the hell you felt so lost without him the first months in Santo Padre. Now you see it. You were blind. He made you think you never could be good enough for anyone. Neither your family, nor your friends. He absorbed you in a toxic loop, romanticizing every punch, every hit, every drop of spilled blood, every bruise. But then, you met Gilly. You met the love, the self-care, the laughs for nothing, the warm his hugs bring you, the hours in silence looking at each other, the dearly smiles, how good it's feels smell your shirt and find his scent. 

And you know it's time to fight. For him. For your family. For your friends. For new life. For you.

For him, it's an unexpected scream full of pain. It hurt much more than you expected, feeling the agony running through your forearm up your elbow, flowing into your neck. But before he can reacts, your fist goes to his nose, with a soft crunch behind your knuckles. You have broken it. You know it's one of his weak points, after take so much cocaine that it made him a hole inside the bridge. That gives you some seconds, enough to take the empty glass of water to broke it against the floor and use a piece to cut the tie wrapping the other wrist. He gets up with the shirt soaked in blood as his lips and neck, and you can see he's furious, but you're not gonna give up pointing him with the glass.

“Cuando el coyote predica, no están seguras las gallinas”. (When the coyote preaches, the chicken aren't safe). You say, spitting every word, listening a high-pitch howl coming closer. You know it well, so he does. “Run, chicken, run”.

As he did two years ago, challenging your gaze with the difference that you're not drowning in your own blood but in pain and tears, he runs away. Antonio knows well what Marcos will do to him. But he doesn't know how much you have changed, and that your brother will be the less important problem. You hear him going downstair, giving him some seconds of advantage. Cutting the other ties, and placing on well your thumb with a crack and a growl, you stretch your numb legs and your arms. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” You can hear your brother's voice breaking the wooden front door, before some shoots and screams of pain.

The prey has been hunted after all this time hiding.

“(Y/N)! Where are you?!” Then you hear Bishop's.

You're trying to go down every stair step, supporting your weight over your palms in the railing. You find yourself crying. But you're not sure why. Pain, horror, sadness, but also happiness, relief, alleviation, run through your veins and your mind making you feel confused.

“Baby! Say something! Where are you?” Gilly is there. Your shaky legs fail, falling apart over the stairs, having a sit whilst your cry gets louder, enough to listen a lot of heavy steps coming to you. “(Y/N)!”

He runs towards you going upstairs, kneeling in front of you before hugging your body between his strongs and warm arms. And the world get paralyzed. You're at home, even if it's not your house, nor even your town. But it's him. It's all about Gilly. 

“The kid is here! We foun’ he’!” Coco shouts to the rest, from the beginning of the stairs.

“Give them a moment, now she's safe”. Alejandro says, pushing him away to the living room where they caught Antonio.

You need your time to wrap his back, feeling that your arms doesn't reply to any move tired of being in the same position for more than eighteen hours. He's trying to comfort you with gently caresses all over your head and back, sinking your face on his neck. You know he's blaming himself about what you said, about that you were scared that he could find you if the Coyotes traveled to Santo Padre. But at least, you caught him and he's gonna pay for all the pain he provoked you.

“Are you hurt?” He asks almost in a whisper, pulling you some inches away inspecting your face, with the desperation consuming his soul.

“I love you”. You answers, still drowning in your own salty tears, licking your lips. He laughs bittersweet, before helping you to get up, raising you on his arms. 

“You’re safe now, baby”. He mutter in your ear, resting your face on his chest.

“She will do it”. Marcos talks whilst Alejandro is nodding drawing a silver dagger, when the Mayan comes to the living room supporting you.

No one says nothing, while Gilly is helping you to put yourself on your feet. They’re kinda sleepy, but without letting go one of his hands, you raise the free one to the knife with a cross engraved on it. The both prospect of the charters are holding Antonio’s arms, kneeling above the wooden floor with his gaze filled by wrath. 

“Listen, if you don’t wanna do’et…” Bishop walks towards you, twisting his face, so only you can hear him.

“This is my job”. You deny with a scratchy tone in your voice. “This is what I used to do, and this is what I’m gonna do”.

Setting yourself free, you bend next to the man who tried to ruin your life and almost killed you. There’s no expression on your countenance, but he’s starting to look scared. Ripping off his shirt, pulling away both apertures and gently sticking the tip of the sharp knife into his chest, enough to draw a shallow slit to write the name of your charter on it. Yes, maybe you’re enjoying every shout wrapped in grief, while Antonio stirs under the grip. Mayans must be freaking out behind you, because your family have seen you so many times dealing with this kind of situations that they don’t even get surprised. 

“You wi—”

“I will nothen’!” You yell at him, hitting his mouth with your left elbow to make him shut up. “I told you that night, when the blood collected in my throat. One day I would find you and I would make you pay for every tear, for every bruise, for every time you raped me, for every time you hit me for no reason. And now, here comes judgment day, pinche perro”.

You’re feeling strong than never, maybe because of the adrenaline invading every inch of your anatomy, dragging every word you spit above your tongue. And his blood splashes your face, your neck and your shirt, when the dagger blade pierces his skin ripping it completely. A guttural growl comes out from his throat when your hand falls down holding the knife, cutting his chest till you reach the belt on his jeans. The blood bathes the carpet, taking away his last breaths while the prospect letting him go, making Antonio drop half dead. 

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Your back is against the wall, sitting on one of the bed of the Mayans clubhouse, in the last room. You have been alone for the past three hours, after convincing your brother to come back to Tijuana. He wasn’t in accordance with your decision, but the fault wasn’t theirs. And you were calm because of that man was already dead. Although your mind was remembering everything that happened once and again, you knew that night you could finally sleep peaceful.

Bishop comes to the room, closing the door after his steps, sitting on the edge of the bed with some distance between both. He isn’t the Rey de los Mayas because of his age, but because of his intelligence. And you played smart when you told him you never were an active member. But you don’t need it, if you're somekind of nomad or hired assassin. 

“You ok?”

You nod slightly, raising your eyes at him.

“So… That was your job, rai’?”

You nod again. No words needed.

“Was it one of the reasons why he did all that to you?”

“He did it ‘cause my brother never wanted him to be part of Los Coyotes. Taking me to hell and teaching me that it was the only life I could have, it was the way to be close to them”.

Bishop puts his gaze away, having a deep breath by his nose, to let go the air by his lips.

“Gilly blames himself”.

“I know, but it’s not his fault, nor yours, nor anyone. I allowed Antonio to do it, it’s only because of me”.

“He wanna see ya’”. 

You nod a third time, in silence, letting know that you want to see him too. The president gets up of his seat, walking towards the door to let him cross it, leaving you two alone. He doesn’t know what say to make you feel better, or to make you feel safe. Without knowing, that you are already feeling this way. This was like another job, with the difference that you killed the man who pushed you to the limit of your capacities. Your knees are placed against your chest, surrounding them with both arms, when he takes the same seat Bishop had. His head down, his forearms supported on his lap and both hands on his nape. Gilly sets free a heavy snort with closed eyes, without moving an inch when you hug him laying your chest on his back, surrounding his neck.

“I’m so sorry ‘you have to see me doin’et”. You whisper leaving some kisses on his head. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened in the last weeks. I just… turned your world upside down”.

“You stabilized it”. He replies shaking his chin, turning to look at you. “I should listened you, and I di—”.

“Take me home, Gilly”. You ask him, making the reference to his house and the safe-place you two built there.

[yoongi-sugaglider]

Daegu Quarantine

Jungkook x reader

Gang/ zombie apocalypse au

Warnings:

Gore, violence, zombies, mention of drugs and drug dealing, weapons discharge in self defense, main character death, zombies, course language, zombies, drinking, did I mention zombies?

Summary:

They were the top of their game, known throughout the city as the smartest and most dangerous crew to ever hit the Daegu streets. But what’s going to happen when this group of young men encounter something right out of a horror film?

Word count:2282

Part 11===Part 12===Part 13

“There’s no way we’re making it there on time.” Namjoon grumbled as those of us that’d volunteered to go suited up.

“I mean you’re welcome to stay behind.” Having tucked the last of my ammunition clips into my belt loop I glanced up at him, a bit of challenge in my eyes as I looked him up and down.

“Now, now children, no arguing. We haven’t got time for this. Joon if you don’t want to go, stay here with the others and hold down the fort.” Despite his words Jungkook’s voice left no room for argument.

Namjoon grunted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his weight into the door frame. “I’d rather we all went. It’s not safe Boss.”

“I’m well aware, Namjoon. But one of our own needs us. Family doesn’t leave family hanging. No matter what.” The finality in Jungkook’s voice rang through the room, instantly sobering all of us and causing us to subconsciously straighten our spines with pride.

Jeanette walked into the room at that moment, eyes going wide at the tactical vests and weaponry being distributed between us by Seokjin.

“Uh...I was going to ask if there was anything I could do to help but…”

Jungkook shook his head, giving her a soft smile. He smacked a fully loaded clip into his gun and after ensuring the safety was on he tucked it into the holster attached to his bulletproof vest. “No, Tae’s gonna hang back here with you and Jimin and Namjoon are gonna be here to watch the place. Unfortunately you’d just be a liability if you came along.”

“Yeah...I figured. I’ll uh...do laundry or something.” She shrugged, brows creased with worry as she turned to Yoongi who was finished loading up and was now approaching her silently.

I turned from them, giving the quiet assassin a moment to speak with her in private.

“Hobi, you’re sure you’re ready to go out there?” I tried hard to keep the uncertainty out of my voice but I could tell a bit of it leaked through. The inflection alone seemed to hurt his pride as he scowled in my direction.

“I’ll be fine.” His curt words were cut short by Jungkook striding towards the front door.

“Let’s get this done.”

***

It didn’t take us long to get to the main street that ran through the middle of town. Thanks to our last excursion we’d learned to scale the roofs of buildings as often as possible to avoid the chatterers wandering in loose packs throughout the city. When it came down to it, they were the least of our worries with what we were about to walk into.

“Building coming up at 9 o'clock Boss.” Taehyung’s voice crackled to life in our ears, slightly startling us but not enough to throw off our concentration as we lined up in the alleyway across from the massive hotel.

The street was filled with motion from what I could see over Jungkook’s wide frame. Flames licked at the cars and bodies littering the road from the explosion we’d heard through the video call. Small clusters of the chattering monsters ambled about, having been drawn by the noise but without motivation to do more than move about like cattle without a purpose.

“Rose says the bottom three floors were pretty heavily booby trapped since the place emptied out the other day during all the chaos. The people that were left alive are huddled up in the floors above and below her but nobody’s on her floor….yet.”

I sighed, acknowledging Tae’s information through the tiny hidden speaker in my earpiece. I knew Jungkook had heard him but he was too busy formulating a plan to get us in and out safely to answer at the moment.

“Is there a backdoor in?” Yoongi’s voice was clipped, evidence of either his nerves at being down on the ground and exposed or at the situation in general. I wasn’t sure which and was too busy watching our surroundings to ask.

“Yeah but it’s a single entrance exit situation. No roof access either...but it looks like the building next door might just be close enough for you to window hope to the fire escape. It’ll be a floor below Rose’s but it’ll get you in without having to worry about any East side surprises.”

Hoseok groaned. He hadn’t had any issues keeping up so far, but jumping from a window to a fire escape, let alone one that was 8 stories above street level seemed like it would end up being a struggle for him.

“You’re welcome to stay behind if you think it’s going to end up being an issue.” Jungkook glanced back to Hoseok, having read the man’s frustration before he could even speak a single word.

“Nah, you’re gonna need all the fire power you can get. I’ll manage, gimp leg be damned.” Hoseok grinned, a strangely maniacal expression that did not suit his usual sunshine demeanor in the least.

Seokjin, who’d been quiet through most of this, shifted the massive bag on his shoulder and cleared his throat. “If we’re gonna do this we need to move now. That woman isn’t gonna have too much longer if we keep pissing around like this.”

Jungkook nodded, shouldering the shotgun he’d taken with him and nodding towards the building beside the hotel.

“Y/n take point. Hoseok and Jin, I want you two center and Yoongi and I will take up the rear. We move fast, no hesitation. We don’t have much for obstacles and Tae’s got his eyes on us from the sky so we should be able to get there pretty quick.”

We nodded our affirmation at the orders and after taking a last moment to check that our safeties were off we moved.

A rush of adrenaline flooded my body as I darted out into the open, dodging a burning pile of clothes and taking down two moving figures that’d spotted my movement. I tried not to think of what the burning mounds could be as I pushed past an overturned car and moved towards the middle of the four lane street. That was something I would have to unpack later, once I was safe.

My mind barely registered the shots being fired behind me, knowing that the bodies dropping before me that I wasn’t taking down were being handled by the boys behind me. 

I made my way into the second set of lanes, grimacing when a body stumbled in my direction. I could barely resist the urge to throw up. It’s entire left arm was missing, nothing but a tangle of flesh left behind though the creature still seemed determined to swing that side of its body around as if the limb was still there.

I fired at it, growling when my own forward momentum caused the bullet to go off target and hit it in the one good shoulder it had instead of the glistening gore covered expanse of its forehead.

“Mother f…” I swore, finger squeezing the trigger twice more and missing once again. It continued to come towards me unabated. It afforded me a moment to take in its glazed , almost milky eyes that seemed manic despite being empty and void of any semblance of a soul.

Instinct took over as the creature came too close for me to safely fire my weapon and not get covered in gore. I couldn’t risk catching the infection. I raised my foot to chest level, using every ounce of my forward motion to thrust my leg into the creature’s chest. It stumbled backwards, uttering a series of what could have been described as very desperate chitters and clicks before falling into one of the questionable piles of clothing and fire.

The thing set on fire almost immediately. It would have been very satisfying and cathartic to watch one of those things be consumed by the fire. But I had other things to focus on, namely surviving this.

Moving past it I rushed to cross the last of the wide road, sweat pouring down my arms in waves of stress as I shot two more creatures making their way towards me.

The second shot didn’t come though and I cursed once again. “I’m out, cover me while I reload!” I shouted behind me. A shadow crossed over me, blocking out the sun as I released my clip and fumbled with my vest for a second round of ammunition while still rushing towards the office building beside the hotel.

The shadow eased some of my panic, stilling the shaking in my hands as I heard Seokjin’s windshield wiper of a laugh cascade over me from between the shadows wide shoulders.

“Come on Boss Lady, we got this.” He chirped, sending me a reassuring grin when I glanced over my shoulder at him.

Finally the clip clicked home just as I ducked beneath the overhang of the office building. I breathed a sigh of relief as the shade cooled the panic glistening on my skin. Though the feeling didn’t last very long. 

The building’s expansive lobby was empty of living souls. Shattered glass and flickering shadows filled it, lending it a foreboding aura as I crunched over debris. My head was on a swivel, darting here and there as my eyes followed the barrel of my weapon in search of threats.

“Clear!” I tried to keep the volume of my voice controlled, not wanting to alert anything hiding around any corners. I turned back to the front door, breathing a sigh of relief when I counted all of my boys filing into the building safely.

“Tae? We got schematics on this place?” Seokjin moved ahead of me as he spoke, weapon forever at the ready as Hoseok switched with me to take point.

I couldn’t help but eye Hoseok, noticing that his limp was slowly getting more noticeable from the amount of moving we’d been doing. He paused at the escalator that took up the center of the lobby, leaning forward in an attempt to catch a better view of the second floor.

“You should have an escalator ahead of you. Non operational due to power loss but still effective.” Came Tae’s reply after a moment of silence on his end.

“So...you’re saying we’ve got stairs right?” Seokjin chuckled at his own joke, ever at the ready for a pun or two. Even if the situation didn’t call for one.

“Yes hyung...you’ve got stairs.” Tae’s voice came out exasperated, clearly the stress of having his friend in enemy hands was getting to him. “Up the...stairs and down the hall to the left should have a line of offices. About half way down there’s a set of emergency stairs that’ll take you to the right floor.”

Jungkook nodded, signalling me to take point once more. We pushed on, never breaking formation as we headed up the stalled escalator and onto the next floor. It was relatively plain. Some of the office doors were open, peeking in revealing that they were filled to some extent with paper covered floors and chairs and sometimes whole desks that’d been overturned in the officer worker’s haste to get out during the initial wave of panic.

At the fire door that led to the emergency stairs I paused, ears trained to the expanse of metal in the hopes that there would be no sound coming from the stairwell.

“There’s no point, door’s too thick babe. Just get it over with.” Jungkook had ended up behind me, a reassuring presence as I steeled myself to open the door.

“The alarm should be disabled, but I can’t guarantee it. Just be careful.” Tae’s voice crackled over the ear piece, though it sounded far off due to the signal being partially blocked in the building we were in.

After taking a few calming breaths I raised my weapon, bringing my free hand up to press the door open. There was no alarm, though there wasn’t any light either so the entire stairwell was cast in some pretty serious shadows.

Our steps were quick as we made our way up and up and up. Landing after landing flew by in a blur, each thankfully empty so we could move with relative safety. At the 8th landing we all paused, catching our breath and taking time to rest our legs.

Seokjin pressed forward from the group, shooting me a bright grin as he handed off his massive back and hefted his favorite weapon into position. 

“Jin...really?” My jaw had dropped as I recognized the bright pink wrapped automatic rifle in his hands.

He snickered, slapping a banana clip into place and posing with the AK on his shoulder like some sort of Columbian drug lord. “Baby girl needed some breathing time so I thought I’d take her for a walk. Better to get her out now than to have to struggle around with the bag once we’re in the hotel.”

Jungkook shook his head, a quiet chuckle forming on his lips as he took the weapon’s bag from me and slung it over his shoulder. After reloading his shotgun he glanced around at us.

“We’re gonna have to move fast. Once we’re in the hotel we’ve got to push with everything we’ve got. Rose will be waiting for us at the elevators so once we’ve got her we get down and out as quickly as possible.” He looked to Hoseok, glancing down at his leg for only a moment before motioning for Jin to open the door.

The stairwell flooded with light.

For only a moment there was silence. And then Seokjin started firing.

[keanureevesisbae]

“Never out of practice” - Chapter 4

Summary: When Darcie’s father loses an important case, a killer seeks revenge, by kidnapping the entire Angel family. Though John thought that he was officially retired, he has to save his Darcie and her family, because he can’t lose her.

John Wick x OFC Darcie

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of guns

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next Chapter 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, John thinks to himself. He picks up Darcie’s phone from the cafe floor, the screen cracked. The screen lights up and he stares at her background for brief moment.

He remembered when this picture was taken. They were in Central Park and she had wrapped her arm around his broad shoulder. She wanted to make a picture of them, but when she was about to make a picture, he kissed her cheek, causing a fit of giggles.

He looks at her bright smile. She can’t be gone. Darcie is the love of his life and he has yet to propose to her. He can’t lose her before he tells her about his true feelings. They were talking about having kids earlier today, damn it. She liked the name Livia. Livia Wick. John wanted to ask Darcie if she had a middle name, so maybe they could pass that on. He never asked and now he might never know. This all can’t be taken away from him.

From what he heard over the phone, Pete Stanford and some other guys were going after revenge. That included every person that meant something to Christian and his wife and daughter are indeed the most important in his life.

John walks out of the cafe, locks the door behind him and rushes to his car. While he drives off to his next address, he somehow managed to call both Raye and Jennie at the same time.

‘Mister Mustang, you better have some important to tell me, because I’m about to have hot and steamy sex.’

‘Darcie and her parents have been kidnapped by that idiot Pete Stanford and some of his friends.’

‘Holy shit, what?’ Jennie exclaims.

John quickly tells the girls what happened. ‘Now I need one of you in our apartment, to watch the dogs, since I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Jennie asks.

‘That’s the dumbest question one could ask, Jen. What do you think? He is going to get his girl back and save her family. He wants to marry her, so he is not letting that son of a bitch get in the way of that. Okay, I’m getting dressed. Jennie, I’ll pick you up. We’re staying at their apartment together.’

‘Are we going to see you there, John?’ Jennie asks.

‘No,’ he says. ‘Give the dogs a kiss from me.’

And then he hangs up.

⟢⟡⟣

John went to Aurelio’s place, since he can’t waste time driving to his place in Mill Neck. When he parks his car in front of the chop shop, the guys that work there, all send him a look. John hasn’t seen Aurelio in years and normally he wouldn’t just burst into his chop shop like that, but he doesn’t care really. He has no time to waste.

‘John?’ Aurelio asks, looking up from a car. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I need some guns.’

Aurelio frowns. ‘Thought you were out.’

‘I am,’ John says. ‘But my girlfriend is missing.’

Every guy at the chop shop stops working. Everyone knows that John got out again for Darcie Angel.

‘The lady from the cafe?’ Aurelio asks with a raised eyebrow. ‘She’s missing?’

‘I need some stuff.’

Aurelio ushers John with him, tells the other guys they need to go back to work again and they walk to his office. ‘What happened?’

‘Darcie and her parents are missing. They were taken by Pete Stanford.’

‘Pete Stanford?’ He sighs deeply, as he opens his own safe. ‘That lunatic that killed that his girlfriend and dumped her in Central Park?’

‘Long story,’ John says, getting himself a bulletproof vest and checking the guns that Aurelio has. ‘Sorry to bother you.’

‘No, man, I understand. I mean, you got out again for someone really special, I believe.’ Aurelio’s phone rings and he picks up. ‘Uhu… Yeah… Right… I’ll tell him.’

‘Let me guess,’ John mumbles. ‘Winston.’

‘I have to tell you a few things. One, whatever you do now, won’t have consequences. Pete Stanford and his men are not associated with the Continental and all.’

Even if they were, John would kill them and do whatever it takes to get out for the third time.

‘Two, your girlfriend is in the warehouse behind the Red Circle.’

For a second Iosev Tarasov flashes through his mind when hearing the words the Red Circle, but that was then. That was the past.

‘Right.’

‘And last thing.’ Aurelio fishes out a card. ‘You’ll need this.’

John takes it and rushes out of the shop, to get in his car, with the ammunition he needs. He starts his car and with squealing tires he rushes to the warehouse.

What if he’s too late, he keeps thinking to himself. What if he’s not on time? What if his newly found family dies?

John was really nervous to meet her family. He had seen their faces around Times Square and he knew a thing or two about them and a quick search on the internet told him that they were one of the best attorneys of the east coast. The fact that they were only about ten years older than he was, made him even more anxious. What if they didn’t allow Darcie to date him? What if they thought he was bad news for her?

Growing up, he always wanted a family. He found that when he met Helen, but that got torn away from him. When he met Darcie, he had more than just her. He gained two friends Jennie and Raye, he fell in love with Tiki and Oreo and he was welcomed with open arms by both of her parents. He finally thought that he could experience that feeling of having a family. People that you spend time with during the holidays. People that you buy a present for, just because you saw something you thought they’d like.

And fuck, he keeps thinking about their talk earlier this morning. Darcie, his Darcie, told him about her daydreams and wishes, despite her tendency to not share those sorts of feelings.

He sort of parks his car, but he takes a deep breath. It has been some time since he did this and he feels a painful throb in his leg, but he needs to focus. Though this is about Darcie, though a lot is at stake here, he can’t lose his focus now. He needs to be calm, like he used to be.

John sighs and takes out his phone. He looks at his background, a picture of Darcie, while they were out for dinner at this beach house, the first picture he posted of her on his Instagram account.

He unlocks his phone and as a habit, he wants to click on the video he has of him and Helen, but he doesn’t do that now, though it brought him much in the past. He clicks on the short video he has of Darcie.

‘And though I love you very much,’ her voice fills the car, ‘I really think you need to Darcie proof your car. If I forget a jacket or my pillows, I can’t see the road.’ She sits up straight in his car, her chest nearly against the wheel. ‘Maybe we should buy another car, one that’s tiny. Not everyone has gorgeous long legs like you, John and not— Oh my God, why are you filming me?’ She reaches out to smack the phone out of his hand, followed by her laughter.

He can’t lose her.

Taglist: @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @flhorah​ @allie1804-fan @cynic-spirit​ @raven-black102

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[cannibalisticskittles]

an act of kindness, ch. 14

pairing: unknown/reader notes: [14/16?]. part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven., part twelve, part thirteen, ao3 link.

Misun is the first to say what you’re all thinking:

“...there’s nothing here.”

And unfortunately, she seems to be right.

Tracking down Saeran’s coordinates has led you miles past city limits, giving you hours of tense silence and ample time to contemplate all the ways this could go wrong — and now, here you are, seeing at long last the culmination of your searching, the supposed pot of gold at the end of your rainbow, and it is… pine trees as far as the eye can see, broken up only by a poorly-maintained dirt road that forks and winds out of sight behind more trees.

Vanderwood had pulled up an aerial map of the area on the way, in between monitoring Mint Eye’s mass exodus — and sure, it looked unremarkable then, too, but surely there had to be a reason why Saeran sent you here of all places? Surely he would be here?

But he isn’t.

To your left, Misun leans forward to squint out the windshield. “Are we sure we’re in the right place?” she asks.

“This is where the coordinates led,” Vanderwood answers.

Misun worries her lower lip between her teeth before she speaks. “Then — could the coordinates be a little bit… off? They were coded, weren’t they? So could they be meant to lead up the road somewhere, or a few miles away, or… just have been decoded wrong somehow?”

“They’re not wrong.” Vanderwood’s words are firm. “Not on my end, anyway. Maybe you should be asking if your brother-in-law coded them right, or if he even sent them at all, instead of doubting me.”

“I know that’s a possibility, I’m just saying we should double-check things on our end since we can’t do anything about potential problems on his end,” Misun says.

As Misun and Vanderwood continue to bicker, Seven, who has been silent thus far, reaches to the center console for your phone — sort of a communal phone by now, you muse, watching Seven snap a picture through the windshield. He navigates to the messenger app.

“...you have a plan?” you ask.

Seven opens the once-more purged chatlog with Saeran before answering. “A thought,” he says, and sends the picture. “We’re right where he said to be. If he did send those coordinates… if it was him…” Seven hesitates. “...it would be smart to wait until he knows we’re following. To make sure Mint Eye can’t find him first.”

You nod slowly. “So… we’ve got to prove that we’re on the right track?”

Unaware of your discussion, Misun and Vanderwood are still going at it.

“Look, I’m sure you’re very good at what you do, but can you really say there’s no margin for error here?”

“Not with this there’s not!”

Seven ignores their argument. “If I’m right. I… might not be. But—” And he shrugs helplessly. “It’s what I would do in his shoes.”

“And now we just wait here until he tells us where to go from here? Or… until…” You don’t want to think about the possibility that Saeran won’t reply.

And that, at least, seems to get Vanderwood’s attention.

“How long are we waiting out here in the open?” they ask. You can’t tell if the touch of irritation in their voice is from the idea of waiting or just a lingering side-effect of arguing with Misun.

“As long as it takes,” Seven says. “So keep watching the cameras to see if anything changes there and we’ll keep watch here.”

Vanderwood clicks their tongue. “Sounds like a good way to get ambushed,” they mutter. “We still can’t confirm who sent the message.”

“No,” says Seven, “but even if it is an ambush, we can handle it. This car is bulletproof.”

“Bulletproof,” Vanderwood repeats.

“Uh-huh! So if anyone comes — we stay in the car,” Seven says, “and as long as no one opens the doors, we’ll be fine.” There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Vanderwood hisses out a breath between their teeth. “You won’t catch me opening doors for cultists,” they mutter. Still, their expression relaxes minutely.

For a moment after, there is silence.

Misun is the first to break it. “So...” She begins, “if Saeran doesn’t reply, or doesn’t show up, then… what do we do, eventually? I mean, obviously, if Mint Eye bursts out of the woods and rushes the car—” Your fingers clench against your thighs at the image. “—then yeah, it’s an ambush, but if nothing happens, then… do we assume they... caught him? And then, if they have — what do we do? Do we go to Mint Eye directly?”

“There’s no guarantee he’d be there,” Vanderwood adds. “Nobody’s seen him on the cameras yet.”

The reminder is sobering. If he’s not here, and if he’s not there… if Mint Eye really is a step ahead of you… where do you go then?

“I think,” you start, and then your phone blips.

You and Seven both scrabble for your phone before you realize that he’ll actually know what to do with whatever message has popped up and you concede it to him. He unlocks it, opens it, and scans the screen.

And then he tosses it to Vanderwood. “—more coordinates.”

Relief washes over you like a wave. You and Misun both lean forward to peer at the screen over Vanderwood’s shoulder, nearly knocking heads in your haste.

It looks like a jumbled mishmash of letters and numbers, same as before, but Vanderwood stares and stares and stares until they finally say, “got it.”

They set the phone aside and switch tabs on Seven’s laptop. Mint Eye’s camera feed disappears, replaced by the aerial map they’d used to navigate to the first coordinates. They begin to type something in, looking back occasionally at the phone.

“Oh, now was it really necessary to fight me on that for so long if decoding it is that quick?” Misun complains. Vanderwood ignores her.

When they finish entering in the decoded coordinates, the view on the screen shifts slightly. “Here,” they say. “North, and… a little west.” They glance through the windshield. “Take the left path.”

And Seven does. The car goes into motion so fast that this time, you really do knock heads with Misun. There’s little time to nurse your wounds; you’re too busy feeling anxious over what’s going to happen next.

‘North and a little west’ turns out to be just a few short minutes up the path, and looks much the same as where you’d been, with the exception of a slightly denser thicket of trees lining the road. Still, Seven takes and sends another picture.

The response comes much quicker this time. Again, Vanderwood scans the mess of a message and then plugs in the resulting coordinates, making sense out of chaos.

“North, then east this time,” they say.

And off you go again.

These coordinates lead you farther away, and you are brought to another branching path — three forks instead of two.

Another picture.

A minute passes in silence, then two, then three.

“I bet the next one will take us up the left path,” Misun says. Though her words are light, her expression is grim.

“...middle,” you guess, and she gives you a thin but genuine smile for indulging in her game, as though for a moment you could pretend the stakes weren’t quite so impossibly high.

It’s not too long before the next message comes in, though of course, worry makes it feel like it takes much longer.

You and Misun were both wrong: “East,” Vanderwood says. “Take the right path.”

As you watch the trees around you grow taller, blocking out more and more sunlight, you wonder how many times one road can possibly fork.

Not many more, it turns out, as the next coordinates take you off-road. You suppose you can see why Saeran chose this area to hide out in. As the trees become denser, and the trail grows thinner, it becomes nigh on impossible to see the road from the aerial map. You’re forced to slow to a crawl, each occupant of the car scanning the path ahead from out of the windows for some break in the trees, some sign of a road that has long fallen into disrepair, obscured by years of leaves and bits of detritus.

Your current location blips away on the map, moving through the canopy of trees. Vanderwood can point out the general area where the coordinates lead, but other than the slight thinning of the forest near the location, it’s unremarkable — and without being able to see the road, there’s no way to know how, exactly, you’re going to get there. Besides, it’s unclear how much longer you can even rely on the map; Seven’s phone is starting to die. Acting as a powerful enough hotspot to keep his laptop connected to Mint Eye’s cameras is really taking a toll on it, and it’s only through a stroke of luck that it’s lasted this long.

And with the difficulties you’re having navigating into the forest, you have to assume you’ll have more or less the same amount of difficulty navigating out of it — which will complicate matters in the event that this turns out to be a trap.

Which it might be. After those first messages, there hasn’t been anything that seems distinctly Saeran. Just coordinates, plain and simple. But then, is there anyone back at Mint Eye who comes even close to Saeran’s level? Anyone who can replicate even a smidgen of his talents? And on the other, other hand, how complicated would it really be to send slightly-coded coordinates and clear out old messages?

You flex your fingers to keep from digging your nails into the soft flesh of your palms, and it’s a relief when Vanderwood finally says, “we’re getting close. Be on the lookout.”

You refocus your attention on your window, watching diligently for a break in the trees.

On and on and on you go until Misun gasps. “Oh! There, there! To the right!”

It’s a sharp turn, and the car struggles over an exposed tree root, but you watch as your blip nears the area Vanderwood marked on the map, you watch as the trees thin out ever so slightly, you watch as the light up ahead grows brighter, and then —

And then.

And then there is a cabin, small and low and nestled tightly amongst the trees that obscure it from above.

The car slows to a stop at the treeline. Within, all is still and silent.

Seven is the first to move, releasing his white-knuckled grip from the steering wheel to raise your phone in a shaky hand, snap a picture, and send it. Then he just… stares. His breath, when he lets it out, shudders.

“...that’s it, right?” Misun asks eventually. You’ll have to thank her for asking, once you remember how to speak.

“Yeah,” says Seven, so soft you have to strain to hear him. “I think so.”

He sets your phone down. Four sets of eyes turn to it. The minutes crawl by, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. You can’t bring yourself to look at the cabin, unable to bear the anticipation.

And then Seven straightens. From the mirror, you catch the look of grim determination that crosses his face.

“I’m going up to the door.”

“You’re going to leave the bulletproof car,” Vanderwood says flatly.

Seven just nods, looking resolute.

“Seven…” Misun reaches out as she exchanges a searching look with him. You miss whatever silent exchange is going on between them, but her expression is rife with unspoken emotion.

He clasps her hand between both of his. “I have to know. I have to try,” he murmurs. And then he releases her hand and leans back. “Keep the car on,” he says. “Just in case.” The rest is implied: in case it’s Mint Eye in there. In case you need to make a break for it.

He steps out of the car.

But he only gets a few steps away before the door to the cabin opens, and there, there, there is Saeran.

Standing in the doorway, unmistakably himself.

He looks not to Seven, but to the car. You freeze, unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to think. He has you pinned under the weight of his gaze.

“I—” you start, then falter. Instead, you reach for the passenger door.

“Hey—” Misun grabs at your sleeve.

You slip easily from her grasp, clutching your arm to your chest to prevent her from trying again. What could you say to explain it to her, to impress upon her the absolute urgency you feel when you look at him, the need to be there, to know that he’s real?

“Please,” is all you can manage.

Her hand drops. She says nothing, but she doesn’t try to stop you when you reach once more for the door.

You dimly register Seven, still standing right where he was when Saeran opened the door as you stumble out of the car, but then Saeran is looking at you and when he sees you — his expression softens and he smiles.

The emotion you feel at that is indescribable.

You move toward him, steps unsteady at first, then stronger until you’re fairly running to him. He opens his arms somewhere along the way and you crash into him, are swept up in him, feel his arms encircle you as he draws you to him, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

“Saeran,” you breathe. He murmurs your name into your hair and you feel tears prick at your eyes.

You throw yourself into him, winding your arms around his waist. He smells like something acrid, something bitter, something… elixir-like. You pull away with some effort so you can look at him closely. Saeran resists this change, but you’re able to pull away enough to place your hands on his face.

His eyes are bloodshot, ringed with dark circles, and his posture, never great even the best of times, leaves him slouched against you in a way that conveys absolute exhaustion — but he is steady on his feet, and as he looks at you, there is affection in his gaze, a warmth that makes your breath catch.

“...hey boss,” you say, “good to have you back.” He snorts, but the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Hey, you,” he whispers.

From behind you comes the crunch of gravel under hesitant feet. “...Saeran.”

Saeran stiffens at the sound of Seven’s voice. “Don’t,” he says softly, grip on you tightening.

Seven enters your peripheral vision. “Saeran, there are so many things I want to ask, to say… I…”

“Don’t. Don’t say that name. I don’t want to hear it from your lying mouth.”

Seven stills. You try to turn to see him better, and Saeran crushes you to his chest. “I’m not — I didn’t lie to you. When we were kids—” You feel more than see the way Saeran’s breath stutters, the way his chest heaves. “—I meant everything I said to you. I meant it when I said I’d protect you, that I’d get us out of there together, I swear. Saeran, I thought—”

“That’s enough.” Saeran’s voice is harsh.

Seven carries on regardless. “I thought you were safe,” he pleads. “I changed my name and became a secret agent to help you. I never wanted to abandon you, but I thought that the only way we could escape our father’s reach was if we separated.”

Their father?

Saeran flinches back at Seven’s words, but then he scoffs. “Who thought of that insane idea…?”

More footsteps. Misun?

“V did,” Seven stresses. “And V promised that he and Rika would take good care of you if I left! I trusted him, but it was still so, so hard to leave you Saeran.” Seven’s voice is soft, his words pleading.

Saeran is unmoved. “That’s fairly convincing… I almost believe you. A lot of people would.” His grip on you tightens. “But I know the truth. And I won’t be fooled again.”

“I never forgot you,” Seven insists. “I never stopped thinking about you. I wasn’t supposed to find out anything about you while I was in the agency, and it was better not to know where you were in case our father… found me in spite of the agency. Or if the agency learned that I was still trying to hear about you. But I couldn’t go on without knowing you were safe, that you were happy, so… I would ask Rika how you were doing.”

Seven takes a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Two years ago, Rika secretly sent me a floppy disk, and inside were pictures of you, of your smile, and a letter she wrote me. When she told me you were doing well, that you were happy, I believed her.”

Saeran scoffs again, but he’s begun to tremble and his grip on you loosens.

“Look, I—” Seven fumbles with his jacket, eventually pulling something out of his pocket. A floppy disk. He holds it out to Saeran. “I know this doesn’t mean anything to you right now, but I swear, it’s all on there, just like I said.”

“...no,” Saeran says. “I don’t believe it.”

Misun — you can tell it’s her now — takes a step forward. “Saeran, it’s true. I’ve seen it.”

Saeran shakes his head tightly. “No. Maybe there’s something on there, but even if there is, you’ve just made it up. You’re only trying to hurt me again.” The trembling is worse now.

There is frustration in Seven’s voice. “Saeran, please, if you would just listen—”

Saeran finally lets you go, and you can see his jaw clench and his hands curl into fists as he works out what to say. He fairly bristles with anger, with indignation, with hurt.

— and then he turns away.

“I’m going inside.”

And in he goes, pushing his way into the cabin. You are left standing there, staring after the spot he occupied.

“That, ah… could have gone better,” Misun murmurs.

“And it could have gone a lot worse,” you say, remembering his occasional fits of rage at the mere mention of Seven back at Mint Eye — and at the motel, and after seeing him at the apartment.

Seven looks downright devastated. “Saeran… what happened to you…?”

You look between him and the cabin.

You can’t wait for Saeran to cool down; Mint Eye may not know where you are now, but the longer you stick around, the more likely it becomes that they’ll figure it out, and who knows how long it’ll take for him to come out on his own? But you can not let Seven keep trying to talk to him when Saeran is this riled up.

...the cabin door is ajar. There’s nothing stopping you from following Saeran.

So… you do.

“Let me try to talk to him,” you murmur, though you don’t check to see if anyone heard you before you step cautiously inside, peering through the dim light afforded through the moth-eaten curtains and the open door behind you.

There’s no need to search; it’s a small cabin, one room, a sitting area with a little kitchenette off to the side. Saeran is leaning against the wall by the far window, fingers tangled in his hair. He does not look up when you enter.

You pad across the room. He remains still, staring blankly down at the floor even when you’re right in front of him. You spend a moment in consideration.

The likelihood of him being at peace with Seven’s presence after just a few minutes to cool down is… low. The likelihood of him being at peace with Seven’s presence if you talk to him about it is also extremely low, but, well. Maybe you can at least persuade him to make it back to the car with you without any bloodshed.

Never let it be said that you cannot, on occasion, be a halfway-decent optimist.

So you shuffle over until you’re standing beside him, then gently bump your shoulder against him. “Saeran?”

It takes a long, long moment before he reacts, but finally he raises his head and looks at you. “Has he been filling your head with lies, too?”

You’d thought he was handling things rather well, all considering, but the look in his eyes now is… less than tranquil.

Rather than address the explicit question, you lean into him. “Hey,” you say, “nobody’s said anything to change my mind on you, or on anything else. I still think what I thought before, just… stronger, maybe.” Though it helps that you’d never actually held any ill will towards Seven. Perhaps you can simply gloss over that part for now. “I’m still with you. Alright?”

This seems to mollify him, and the feverish look in his eyes cools. Still, you wouldn’t exactly say he’s relaxed. He flexes his fingers at his side, eyes cast down as if he’s thinking of something to say. You bite your tongue to keep from filling the silence, and after a moment, he speaks.

“The floppy disk...” He trails off.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “He never showed me anything like what he says is on it, but I was there for less than a day. Could be real, could be not.” Based on everything you’ve seen, though, you’d put your money on real. If Rika’s running Mint Eye, she’s been around Saeran for however long he’s been there, at least, so why wouldn’t she have been able to send Seven a few pictures?

Saeran shakes his head. “It’s not real. It might look like it, but he’s good at forging believable fake information.”

“And you’d be good at identifying it as fake information,” you point out. “You could look it over anyway.”

His brow furrows.

You hold up your hands, palms up. “Hey, I said could, not should.” Though perhaps it would help. God knows the animosity he holds towards his brother isn’t going to go away without chipping away at it with anything less than a sledgehammer.

Saeran’s gaze sharpens. “Could be bugged. Likely to be bugged. And it’s fake anyway. Humoring him by taking it would just be giving him what he wants.” His hands clench into fists. “Another chance to hurt me,” he mutters.

Oh. His mood is darkening. Deflect.

So, you adopt a cavalier tone and say, “eh, it wouldn’t work though, right? You could just buy a hunk of junk computer, haul it out to somewhere remote, put in the floppy disk, and if it’s a virus or whatever, you can leave it and run without caring that the location’s been compromised, no big deal.” He snorts, and you give an exaggerated shrug. “And if the pictures are fake, you’ll figure that out, and then you’ll have the peace of mind of knowing he doesn’t have any ammo against you. You can’t buy that kind of relief. ...but yeah, I see your point.”

You lapse into silence again.

You wonder how much time you have, whether you even really have the luxury of waiting at all. Maybe Mint Eye’s been figuring out where you are all this time and they’re gaining on you. Maybe you should be urging Saeran to rush to the car right now, speeding off into the horizon. Or maybe Seven finally finished tracking Mint Eye and he’s about to come in and say he’s pinpointed the exact evacuation point and he’s already got plans to storm the place and put an end to Mint Eye all drawn up and ready.

Maybe it’s all going to be okay after all.

And then Saeran shifts. “Wait.” He’s looking towards the doorway, where you catch a flicker of movement. “That person…”

You peer closer until you make out what the movement is — Vanderwood, walking towards Seven, where he is standing in front of the cabin. Huh.

“Vanderwood,” you say. “They worked with Seven at the agency. They helped us find you. I wonder what they’re doing…?” Trying to see what’s taking so long, maybe?

For a moment, he simply watches them near, and then he pushes off from the wall and walks closer to the door, remaining just out of sight. You follow after him, curious.

“Not thrilled to be leaving the relative safety of the bulletproof car like the rest of you,” Vanderwood says when they’re within earshot of Seven, “but something’s going on with the agency.”

“What?” Seven’s voice is sharp, alert. “Have they found us?”

“Could be,” they say, somehow managing to not sound panicked. “But… it seems like something else is going on. Hell if I know what. It’s big enough to get everyone worked into a tizzy. Based on the messages—”

“Messages?” Seven asks.

They wave a hand. “Same ones I always get: threats of what will happen if I don’t get you to do your work on time. More than I usually get, though. A lot more. I’d chalk it up to the boss realizing we’re deserters, but these messages are different. The boss seems—” And they pause, as if mulling over how to describe it. “—desperate. Panicked.”

“Shit,” Seven mutters. “Can you access anything currently, other than the messages?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Right. Okay," Seven mutters. “That’s not good, but we don’t know that they’ve managed to track us down. When Saeran — when he’s back with us — you drive, and I’ll send Jumin the coordinates to the evacuation point and hack into the agency’s mainframe, see what’s going on while we put some distance between us and Mint Eye. I don’t like how close we are now.”

You hear Saeran huff beside you, and then he pushes past, stepping into the doorway. “I didn’t leave Mint Eye just to get snatched up by your secret agency,” he snaps.

Seven startles a little, whirling to face Saeran. After another moment, you step out awkwardly behind Saeran.

“If there’s a chance that someone followed you, fix it now,” Saeran says.

“I second that,” Vanderwood says. “It’s not going to be good if the agency catches us.” And then they give Saeran a once-over. “...it’s uncanny how similar you look. I can’t believe that Seven’s had a twin all this time.”

Saeran’s mouth twists. “I knew it. I knew Luciel would never mention me. He just forgot all about me to have those grand parties.”

“Saeran, that’s not—”

Saeran cuts off Seven’s protests. “Shut up. I don’t care about whatever you have to say.” His lip curls into a sneer. “I’ve already been unfortunate enough to need your help, but that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me, and it doesn’t mean I’m going to clean up your mess.”

“Saeran, we can't stay here, it’s too visible. We can fix this on the way to somewhere safe,” Seven pleads.

“Then you can fix it here just as easily,” Saeran snaps.

Seven falters. “My phone — I don’t know if there’s enough battery left to learn anything before it dies.”

“All the more reason to stay and finish the job,” Saeran says. “There’s an outlet inside.”

“There’s power here?”

“There’s a generator,” he snaps. “Make use of it, or don’t, just fix this mess you caused.” His posture is stiff, his gaze imperious. But after a moment, he relents. “Then… when it’s safe… then I’ll go with you.”

Relief flashes across Seven’s face, and he opens his mouth to reply.

“But that still doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to talk to me,” Saeran is quick to add.

Seven’s mouth closes. Vanderwood looks between the two of them and quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“Now… let’s go.” Saeran looks back at you, then begins to walk.

Seven blinks in surprise and raises a hand as if to reach out to Saeran — and then he lets it drop. “Where are you going?”

“Out for a walk,” Saeran says without turning back. “Like I said, this is your mess, not mine, and since you can’t seem to shut your damn mouth, I’m moving out of earshot.”

Misun speaks up. “But wouldn’t that make you too visible? If someone’s looking for you...”

“I’ll stick to the woods,” he says. “The trees are dense, and I won’t be seen.” There is, you note, no hint of the irritation that plagued his voice when he spoke to Seven; his response to Misun is entirely polite. Interesting. Then he calls your name, and finally looks behind him. “Come on. I’m not leaving you with him.”

You stare at him, feeling a little like a deer in headlights. Do you… follow him? Just leave Seven and Misun and Vanderwood in the lurch? But then, you can’t just leave Saeran to wander alone. Part of you feels like you ought to call him back, try to get him and Seven to hash out their problems here and now. Like if he goes now, with things left unsaid, he’ll stay gone; slip away and disappear forever, off to somewhere he never has to see Seven again. The rest of you recognizes what a terrible, terrible idea that is, and of course, how can you expect years of hurt to be wiped clean all at once?

And yet there’s still a lingering touch of guilt when you take a hesitant step in Saeran’s direction.

“Um,” you say to the three pairs of eyes currently on you. “...we’ll be back? Good luck with — the agency, and all that.”

You can hear Vanderwood beginning to berate Seven as you scurry after Saeran. “Seven, you’d better tell me what the hell is going on here. This isn’t the reunion I was expecting.” Their voice fades with each step you take.

Saeran’s strides are long and purposeful, and it takes until the group and the cabin have disappeared from view for you to be able to keep pace with him.

You’re not sure if there’s any rhyme or reason to his wandering, but even so, you walk in silence for several minutes, following his lead. There’s no path to guide you — not that you’d really expected there would be, given the state of the ‘road’ leading up to the cabin — so he ducks under branches and steps over tree roots, and you shadow him, waiting for him to run out of steam.

The moment comes eventually.

His strides begin to slow, his steps lose some of that stiff purposefulness, and at last, he sighs, leans against a tree, and tips his head back against the trunk as his eyes slide shut. There’s a weariness to him that your short walk cannot account for. Whatever happened in your absence, he seems to be carrying it with him even now. God, they really did a number on him.

You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, unsure if he’s up for conversation right now or if he intends to just wait out Seven’s investigation of the agency in silence. Even if he does want to talk, he might not want to talk now, and you doubt he’d be thrilled if you immediately launched into an interrogation of what happened to him when he was back in Mint Eye. Not as a starter, anyway.

...off guard. He keeps catching you off guard. In Mint Eye, it was easier. You knew where you stood. You knew where he stood. Now… well, he’s dodging Mint Eye, and he still wants you near, and he still wants Seven to disappear, but beyond that? Hard to say.

Eventually, the silence and the wondering grows too much for you.

“A generator, huh?” You ask. “Got a pretty decent set-up going here.”

It takes him a moment to respond, but respond he does. “Someone used to live here once,” Saeran says, eyes still closed. “Why wouldn’t they make it livable?” His tone is even. Good. That’s a good sign.

“I suppose,” you say. “I guess I was just expecting something a little more rustic. Seems like anyone wanting to live so far out here would want the authentic experience.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Maybe not. They didn’t build it too off grid. It’s less than a mile off a main road and there’s a campground nearby, too.”

“Huh,” you say. You contemplate this, then ask, “how’d you know there’d be somewhere safe out here, anyway? Can’t imagine you just stumbled upon it.”

“I knew it was here,” he says. “It’s one of Mint Eye’s peripheral properties, gifted by a disciple when they came to Paradise.”

A chill runs down your spine. “So they know where this is?” You ask. “They could find us here?” Oh god, oh god, if they know you’re here, they’re coming—

But he finally looks at you and shakes his head. “The exodus is more important than reclaiming old territory, particular when it couldn’t even fit a third of Mint Eye’s believers. Later down the line, when things are settled, finding a use for it may become a higher priority, but for now, no.”

“But — won’t they come looking for you? I mean, they probably already are looking for you. And wouldn’t they start with places they know about?” You can hear the edge of panic creeping into your voice, but you can’t stop it.

He tilts his head at you. “You didn’t tell anyone about the cabin, did you?”

“We sent those pictures so you’d know when we’d reached your coordinates.” Oh, god, you sent them photo evidence of where you were.

“But in the group chat?” Saeran’s voice is firm, pulling you back to Earth.

You shake your head. “Not a word.”

“Good. Then there’s no reason for them to know.” Noting your puzzled look, he adds, “I didn’t have time to disconnect the main computer from most of the app, but my own, private messages should still be secure.”

“But — how can you know?” You protest. “What if not all their energy is going towards evacuating? What if they managed to get into your messages? What if—”

“Hey,” he says, “come here.” He beckons you to him with a sweeping wave of his arm. Your steps are wooden but you still comply, and when you’re near enough, he slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in close. “We’re safe,” he says. “Okay?”

You hesitate, mind swirling with thoughts of Mint Eye bursting out from the bushes.

“Okay?” he presses.

“...okay,” you say at last. “Okay.” Safe. What an odd concept.

“I’m here,” he says. “I won’t ever let anything happen to you. I swear.”

The tenseness doesn’t leave you entirely, but your shoulders relax as he rests his chin on your head. Funny how you always end up here, like this. Entangled. Using touch as an anchor point. Funny how much it comforts you. And it is kind of peaceful out here, when you let yourself soak in your surroundings. The birds chirping, the light filtering through the leaves, Saeran’s arms around you…

The moment is ruined by his phone beeping. Saeran makes a face, but reaches into his pocket anyway.

“I can’t believe you have service out here,” you remark as he scans the screen. He scowls at whatever he sees.

“‘Rescuing me…’” His lip curls.

You glance over his shoulder at the screen and, sure enough, there’s a message from Seven in the main chat, a bare-bones explanation that they are safe at the moment, still in the process of rescuing Saeran, and asking that the RFA refrains from attempting to find them. No mention of the agency.

You can see why Seven would want to update the RFA, reassure them that everything is still okay for now. You can also see how his choice of words might strike a chord with Saeran.

“Hey, c’mon,” you say, trying to avoid the old, familiar ‘Seven is the worst’ spiral. “You don’t think I look dashing enough to stage a daring rescue?” You strike a pose, as ridiculous as you can manage while kept in his embrace.

He snorts, but the look in his eyes is fond. “He isn’t. But you, yes.” And then he tilts his head. “...hmm.”

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Not yet.” Saeran’s smile widens, and then he dips his head and presses a kiss to your neck. You hear the telltale, shutter-like click of a picture being taken, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because in the next moment, he nips at your skin.

“Hey!” You squirm in his arms, but he holds fast. He smiles against you, and draws back just enough to lean his head against yours. There’s another shutter click. He nuzzles against you for a moment — too short, too brief, the warmth of him comforting — and there is yet another click.

“Cute,” he says as he finally loosens his grip and pulls away to look at his phone.

“Oh — well,” you say, feeling your face heat up, “not that I’m not flattered, I guess, but what was that for?” You attempt to peer at his screen but he dodges you, holding his phone to his chest. You huff.

Saeran does not relent. He squints at you, then at his screen. “Hmmm.” He fiddles with his phone, gives you another long look, then fiddles with it again.

“Saeran.” Your impatience is palpable.

Finally, though, he is satisfied with... whatever he was doing. “Here,” he says, and holds out his phone to show you—

...he’s made one of the pictures his lock screen. The pair of you, beaming on his screen, the moment of fondness now immortalized for all to see. There you are, face flushed, mouth half-open in protest, while his eyes are locked on you, obvious affection in his gaze. Your breath hitches to see such naked admiration.

It’s so… mundane, taking a picture of — and you grow bashful despite yourself — someone you care about for your wallpaper, that the last of the tension finally leaves you. Here, here is something free of Mint Eye, a sign that there will be many more Mint Eye-free moments in the coming days, and for a moment, you cannot speak, overwhelmed with relief over such a small and simple thing.

“God, I missed you,” you manage eventually.

And he chuckles. “Did you, now?” The low timbre of his voice draws a shiver from you, but you still make a face at him for the words themselves.

He’s teasing. He, who latches onto you at every opportunity like a barnacle against a ship hull — you’ll ignore the fact that you’re latching onto him just the same — feigns confusion in the face of your emotional vulnerability? The nerve.

Still, your sardonic response dies on your tongue. Why shouldn’t you be honest? There’s no point in pretending you didn’t miss him. Something simple, after all this confusion. Haven’t you earned that? Hasn’t he? And so:

“Yes,” you say. “I really, really did. I was — scared,” you admit. “Scared that maybe we wouldn’t get here in time, or that Mint Eye would find you first. I was scared that maybe it wasn’t even you sending these texts at all, that maybe Mint Eye had gotten ahold of your phone and someone was pretending to be you, or that—” You swallow back the lump in your throat and admit to the thing you had feared the most, the possibility you tried to set aside but that had instead hooked its claws deep into your belly and lingered, hanging heavy on you. “—that maybe you hadn’t wanted to go with me after all and it was you sending those messages, but you were just… luring me back in, I guess. Tying up loose ends.”

He wraps both arms around you. “You’re not a loose end.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Tears threaten to spring forth when you manage to loose it. “Yeah? Well. I’m glad to hear it. I’m — I’m glad you’re here. Part of me just can’t believe you’re here right now. Like you’re going to disappear if I take my eyes off you for too long.”

He gives a soft laugh. “I’m here. I’m real. And I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

After all the running and hiding and waiting and hoping… he’s here. Now you’ve just got to take care of the… substantial threats that could change that. You shake your head against him as you remember. “I can’t believe,” you say, more than a little rueful, “that on top of everything else, on top of Mint Eye and Seven’s agency — which would be bad enough on its own — there’s someone else after you that we’ll have to look out for? How could I not worry?”

He pulls away slightly, and when you look at him, his brow is furrowed. “Someone else?”

“Seven said—” you begin, by way of explanation.

Saeran’s eyes darken. “I imagine he said a lot of things.”

“—that there was someone who wanted to hurt you and then you also said — damn it, Saeran, you know—” You hesitate, but… oh, just go for it. “You know, if you want me to hear the truth of everything that happened not through Seven’s framing, you could tell me yourself.”

He draws in a sharp breath.

You try again, as gently as you can. “I’m not trying to dredge up old, bad memories, but… y’know. I’m here and ready to listen, if you wanna talk about it.”

Saeran watches you, considering. “No,” he says. You wince. He pulls you closer, holding you to his chest. “But I do want you to know.” He rubs his thumb idly against your arm as he thinks. “First… tell me what he told you.”

“Oh. Okay,” you say, “simple enough. Let’s see…” You rack your brain. “Well. To start with, he didn’t tell me this, exactly, I figured it out on my own, but… you and Seven are brothers. Twins.” Even now, you speak carefully, hesitant to bring to light their connection when any connection to Seven is something to loathe in Saeran’s eyes. “That’s why you didn’t let me look at any of his pictures, isn’t it?”

A terse nod. That’s as good of a reaction as you could hope for. You keep going.

“So then… Seven said that before the, ah, incident at the apartment, it’d been eight years since he saw you. That you and he had… a less-than-ideal childhood—” Saeran snorts derisively, but lets you continue. “—and that you’ve known V since before you parted. And way back then, V told him that if he joined the agency, that would keep him safe, but they wouldn’t allow him to keep in contact with his family. So V promised Seven that he would keep you safe. Ah, and I guess Rika did too, and she told him you were doing well a few years ago, but you heard that. That was the first I’d heard about any letter or pictures, though he did say he had something he thought might convince you he was telling the truth. He might’ve meant that. Seven also talked about V maybe being involved with Mint Eye—”

“He isn’t,” Saeran says.

“Well, Seven figured he was, based on finding Mint Eye blueprints in Rika’s apartment,” you say. “Though, then I saw a picture of her and recognized her as the Savior, so… that could explain it. Still seems like V knew something about Mint Eye, given how insistent he was that no one look at anything in the drawers, so… maybe he just knows Mint Eye exists and Rika was involved somehow and he’s covering that up? I wonder if Rika supposedly being dead has anything to do with that…”

“He’s always been a liar,” Saeran says mildly, though the frown is back. “Does anyone else know?”

“Besides me, Seven, and Misun? Ah, and Vanderwood, who doesn’t really care. The rest of the RFA knows we found something to do with Mint Eye, so they know V was trying to hide that, but… not about Rika. No one else knows about her yet. We thought… Seven thought… it would be too much for them right now.”

Saeran nods. “That may be the case.” He casts his eyes upward. “Betrayal is not easy to recover from.”

You peer at him closely as you mull over your next question, then ask, “So… it really is Rika, right? The same Rika who looked after you as a kid decided that keeping you safe meant dragging you to Mint Eye…?” Was that why he looked up to her so much? He’d already thought of her as someone who cared for him when she — proposed Mint Eye to him, or brought him there, or however it happened?

But Saeran just shakes his head. “Tell me what else Seven said.”

“Ah. Right. Okay.” Much as it pains you to leave the subject unexplored. “...safety. Seven told me that being safe, and taking drastic measures to make sure that was the case, mattered because someone wanted you dead. Guessing that’s… your dad, based on what you said at the cabin.” He nods. “According to Seven, that may be an ongoing problem. Seven thinks he’s still looking for you. Said we’d have to be careful, whatever else we did, because if word about you got out, it would… end badly.”

“...he is,” Saeran says. “He’s still looking for me. For us.” The disgusted curl of his lip does nothing to quell the way your stomach lurches with sympathetic horror.

You suck in a breath through your teeth. “I—” What can you say? You can’t even imagine what that would be like. “I…” You look down and he pets your hair reassuringly. How in the world did he end up comforting you?

“Well,” you say eventually. “There’s… not much else, actually. That’s about all he said. I still don’t know why your dad wants to kill you, or what we’re going to do about that, or how you or Seven know V, or why V knew about the agency, or why he thought that would help, or why Seven went through with it if he thought V could keep you safe without it, although obviously V failed at that, the lying bastard—” Your breath escapes you in a shaky burst. Focus. Calm yourself. “But, um, that’s what I know, little though it is.”

When you finish, he is silent. You want to prompt him, remind him of what he said, but… if he’s going to talk, it shouldn’t be because he feels like he needs to. Your curiosity shouldn’t take precedence when it comes to his trauma.

“The truth,” Saeran whispers at last, “is so much more than that. Seven... Luciel… only sounds sympathetic because he leaves out what he did. The rest of the truth.”

Saeran takes a deep breath. “The word wrong doesn’t even begin to describe what he did. He abandoned his little brother who absolutely trusted him and ran away to save himself.” And then his eyes go slightly hazy as a smile creeps up his face. “Oh, no, I said it wrong. It’d be more exact to say that he comfortably used his brother who absolutely trusted him to run away on his own.”

The things he’s said before ring in your ears, full of words like betrayal and shithole and nowhere else I belong.

“He said he left me with V, to be safe…?” Saeran scoffs. “He didn’t care whether or not V took care of me. He didn’t care if anyone did. He never bothered to check. And he has said... so many things he didn’t mean. Back then, he told me—” He cuts himself off with a bitter laugh. “He told me his plan was to work and work and work until he had enough money to escape with me. And I…” Saeran’s voice grows quiet. “When I was young... I thought that I would probably die before I become an adult. In that hellish house… I couldn’t imagine any other end for me. But when he said that… I started to believe in hope. I started to believe that maybe I wouldn’t die before that day after all, and I would escape that place with him.”

And though you know how this story must go, you feel a stubborn, senseless flicker of hope. As though the tale will suddenly change, and he’ll tell you that he was right and they got out and he was safe and he was happy, or — that there was some bright spot in his dismal past, something better than the nightmare he’s lived. Nonsensical as the thought is, it makes his next words hurt all the more.

“But I was naïve. It was all lies. The whole time, I know exactly what he was thinking.” Saeran adopts a singsong voice. “‘Oh,’ he thought, ‘I can use weak Saeran as bait and escape that monster of a mother!’” You jolt. Monster of a mother? “‘For now, I’ll take care of him because I feel bad for him... and when I see him suffer because of how weak he is, I feel like I’m living a better life. But one day I’ll leave this place, team up with V to create the RFA, have parties, chat online, and have fun! Saeran is just a burden… Yeah! I’ll feel much better if I just disappear without a word~!”

You wince at the excited flourish in his voice as he ends his imagining.

“And one day, he went out… and he didn’t come back. At first, I looked for him… the sun came up and morning came in that hell, but he wasn’t there. I was so worried. I worried that he might be dead, that our father got to him… I cried for days. No matter how many times that woman strangled me—” You stiffen in shock. “—hit me, threatened me for being noisy, that weak, naïve me cried for days missing him. And all the while, I asked myself, ‘did he leave because he was sick of me? Was he mad at me? Still, he’ll come back. Yes, he’s got to come back, he’s my brother… my brother… my brother…!’”

His hands clench into fists. “I thought he was dead. But… once I found out that he was alive, the shock…” A breathy laugh. “I can’t put it into words. I thought he was hurt. Dead. That he would never abandon me, knowing what it would do to me. But he did. He used his own brother to escape that hellish house, he left me there to be—” His hand flutters up to his neck. Your heart aches for him. “Without the Savior...” He hesitates. “Without Rika, I would have lived a miserable life with that woman and starved to death with shackles on my ankles.”

“That woman… your mother…” Your voice shakes. “Your mother was the cause of so much of your pain? Not your father…?”

“Oh, he wants me dead. I’m a stain on his reputation, and it would be better for him if I never existed at all. And since that’s not true, the next best thing is to make sure I stop existing.” So easily he says it, as though it’s just a simple fact of life. And… for him, it must be. “But it was that woman that made life a living hell. Nothing was ever good enough. I was never good enough. She…” He looks down. “I couldn’t bear it. But I had to bear it. Each and every day. So there,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Now you know. Now you know the truth.”

The truth…

Truth is a funny thing. You believe Seven when he says he left because he wanted to protect Saeran. In fact, you’re inclined to believe Seven in most everything he says; he may not have been entirely upfront with you, given that he didn’t tell you it was his father that was pursuing the both of them, but he was honest about not being able to tell you that.

But you also believe Saeran when he speaks of the pain he’s endured, that Seven has caused him. And regardless of Seven’s intent, or anyone else’s… that pain is there. It exists.

And to have so many sources of pain… his father, his mother, his brother, a cult …

“Saeran…” Tears spring to your eyes. Once again, you are speechless. You can do nothing to soothe the old wounds, nothing but wrap your arms around him and try not to sob into his chest.

“I’m… glad you know now.” He’s getting teary now. He sniffles, then says, “I’m not that weak little Saeran he used to know. I’m not.” His voice cracks on the last syllable.

You cup his face. “No,” you say, “no, you’re not weak.” You tremble. “I don’t think you ever were.”

A noise escapes him, soft and wounded but somehow grateful. He presses his forehead to yours.

And so you stand, trembling against each other, both nearly weeping and awash with the terrible and wonderful sensation of understanding.

“Please,” you say when the tears have dried and you are able to find your voice once more. “Let’s go. Let go together. I’m ready to close out this chapter of running and looking over my shoulder. I want to leave that behind and just… be safe. And I am,” you say, “so ready for you to be happy.” He is so, so close to being free from the first of his tormentors, and your heart thrills to think of it.

Still red-eyed, he takes your hand in his and just holds it for a moment. “...alright,” he says. “Together.”

And you begin the journey back.

As you wind through the trees hand-in-hand, hoping you remember the way back, you speak. “Hey…are you going to be okay? We’ve still gotta… work together. We’re not out of the woods yet.” And then you realize yourself. “I mean—”

“Obviously.” But there’s a faint smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, smart aleck.” It’s said with the utmost affection, glad that he’s of a mind to tease after… everything. “I just mean, are you going to be okay? With having Seven near?”

His face twists and he grunts in response. “No other option. I don’t want anything to do with him,” Saeran mutters. “But you… I’ll endure it. For you. As long as he doesn’t try to talk to me again.”

“Mmh.” He probably will. Well, he definitely will at some point; there is no future you can imagine in which Seven is at all okay with just letting Saeran slip through his fingers now that he’s found him again. But maybe he won’t try until after you’ve gotten somewhere safe.

“...we’ll have Misun as a barrier,” you say at last. If Seven is tempted to repeat his earlier attempts at conversation, Misun may be able to dissuade him, or at least redirect the flow of it. “Ah, and you’re… fine around her, right?”

“Misun?” He tilts his head at you. “Besides her terrible taste in partners, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Nothing to say about the bite?” There are still faint pink marks on his skin from the mostly-healed bite gained during their last encounter. You run your thumb along these, feeling the slightly-puckered skin.

“Her reaction was… understandable.” He flexes the fingers of his previously-bitten hand against yours as if remembering. “If not unfortunate.”

“You’re very forgiving.”

“I try to be,” he says. “To those who deserve it.”

Charitable.

You walk in silence for a while longer until you notice his pace slow. When you glance at him, he’s checking his phone. “Any word?”

There’s a moment before he responds, distracted by whatever he’s looking at. “...no. Not yet.”

“Huh,” you say. “Well, hopefully it’s all taken care of and they just haven’t wanted to bother you.”

He shrugs and slides his phone back into his jacket pocket. Before it disappears, you catch sight of his lockscreen again.

“...I wanna see those other pictures you took later,” you say.

“They were blurry.” He gives you a look, pointed but amused. “Someone wouldn’t stop squirming.”

“Hey, that is not my fault,” you complain. “You try staying still when someone’s biting your neck.”

His eyes light up and a wicked grin grows on his face.

“Not an invitation,” you groan. “They’ll come looking for us if we stay out too long, and I have no desire to be caught in flagrante delicto.” But all it takes is the barest hint of a pout to get you to relent. “...next time, maybe. When we take a pic for my phone.”

He hums a contented note and swings your linked hands. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Yeah, I bet you will.” But you can’t help the fondness in your voice.

As you get closer to the cabin, you come to be aware of something else, something past the sound of leaves crunching underfoot. There is noise up ahead. A car engine? They must be waiting for you. You hope they haven’t been waiting too long. If they’re already back in the car, though, that’s a good sign that they’ve figured out whatever’s happening with the agency.

“Sounds like they’re ready to go,” you say. “Good. I’d hate to wait out here in the open. I’ll feel better once we’re somewhere I know no one can... follow…”

You think, at first, that you’re imagining it, your worst fears realized before your eyes, and so your feet carry you forward numbly while your voice stalls out, noise without meaning.

Cars, black and shiny and not supposed to be here. Disciples in robes.

Found, found, found.

“Saeran.” His name comes out strained, strangled. You begin to regain control of your body, coming off autopilot and digging in your heels. “We have to go,” you whisper. “We have to run, now, before they see—”

But his hand, still in yours, pulls you forward.

You can hear voices now, stern commands amidst shouts of protest. Vanderwood is being led out of the cabin, arms held behind their back by two disciples guiding them to one of the cars. From the voices coming from inside the cabin, you can assume that there are yet more of Mint Eye’s believers within.

Surrounded. You are surrounded.

“S-Saeran...?”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “you’re okay. You’re with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

“Saeran…” Your throat is dry. Your feet are lead. The sound of your heartbeat is deafening. “Why...?”

“Why would you be safe? Why would I ever not want you to be safe?” There’s a touch of amusement in the way he smiles. It fades when you do not play along and remain aghast. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I wanted to be honest with you from the start, but I knew you’d never listen if I did. This was the only way to fix everything. But you are safe with me. I would never lie to you about that. I’ll never lie to you again.”

“You—”

A disciple turns, hearing your approach, maybe, and makes as if to move toward you — but despite your heart leaping into your throat, they do naught but bow their head in deference to Saeran.

And that’s what really clinches it — that of course, of course, of course they wouldn’t see him as a threat, of course they wouldn’t restrain him like the others. That though your stomach hollows out, you are not surprised. That this is only confirmation of what you’d already suspected — maybe already known on some level.

And if you have been promised honesty, then you may as well take it.

“You called them.” Your voice leaves you in a breathless whisper. “And back at the motel, you called them then, too. You were never going to leave Mint Eye behind.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. There is grief in his eyes, in the set of his brow, the twist of his lip. “I know this must be hard for you.” He does not dispute it. It is as a dagger in your heart.

He stops walking now, paused at the edge of the clearing, bidding you to wait with him as well. To observe? To give you time to absorb this information? As though it helps. Watching more disciples lead a struggling Misun from the cabin only makes the sting of this betrayal — because that’s what it is, isn’t it? — even keener.

“You c-c-called them.” You stutter out the words with effort, bitter as they are in your mouth. “You brought them here.” All those things you feared back at the motel, when you saw Mint Eye there, turning out to be true. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you blink them furiously back.

“I thought—” And a laugh escapes you because it’s so absurd now. Didn’t you know? Couldn’t you see? “I thought I — I — got through to you, I thought—” That he wanted to be with you enough to forsake Mint Eye. That you managed to undo their programming all at once.

“You did,” he assures you. You have to bite back another laugh. Clearly, you didn’t. “You showed me how much you care, how far you were willing to go for me.” His eyes shine with emotion. “You just didn’t see how good Magenta could be. And that’s my fault. You came at such a momentous time, and I was so focused on preparing for the endless party... it had to be done, of course, but to you, unfamiliar with Magenta, I understand how such devotion could seem… a burden.”

“A burden—?” As if that’s all it was. As if months, years, of sequestering himself to better invite others into a drug-happy cult warranted nothing more than a footnote, merely a minor inconvenience, easily overlooked.

“I know, I know,” Saeran soothes. “I know how it could seem that way. The long hours spent in service to paradise, the isolation that provided focus for the many tasks to complete that left so little time to bask in the Savior’s presence and learn from her sermons, having to watch over those who hurt me…" His jaw clenches momentarily, but then he relaxes and chuckles softly, reaching up to cup your cheek again. “You thought that was all it was. You thought the Savior was using me.” He makes it sound as though the idea is absurd, and not the absolute truth you know it is. “I understood the necessity. I knew the rewards that such diligence would bring us all, the peace that awaited those meant to join us at the endless party. But you… how could you know, when you were so new, so uninformed? How could you know without ever being shown?”

You feel numb. Or, no — you feel sick. Would he cut his explanation short if you vomited on his shoes? You think you understand the gist of it anyway.

“You have not yet seen the bliss that Paradise brings to those who were lost, the relief they feel to finally cast aside their painful lives and belong somewhere, to feel the endless love of the Savior. But you will. And once you see that we only want what’s best for everyone, then you’ll understand that it is safe there, and you’ll be happy. I’ll be with you, we’ll be together, and everything will be fine. Nothing will ever come between us again. And the savior—”

“Rika,” you say. A dead woman pulling the strings of a cult.

“The savior —” he persists.

“But that is who she is.” You can be just as stubborn. And if you’re going to be facing hell again, you can face it with answers. “The founder of the RFA. She knew you years ago, she looked after you, and she dragged you there with her. And because she made the RFA, now she has you targeting them, too.”

A sigh, and then he says, “She knows their pain better than anyone. She knows they need to be saved. And she knew I needed to be saved.”

“So why not just extend the invitation personally? She knows them, they know her, what’s stopping her from just asking them to join herself without all the secrecy?” Besides the greatly-exaggerated rumors of her death.

“Seven.” His lip curls. “He would pull them away with his lies.” And then he shakes his head, his anger fading. “Regardless of what you call her, she will understand your lapse of faith. She knows that you just needed more time to allow Mint Eye into your heart. And we’ll have all the time in the world now. She will forgive you for your mistake and welcome you back into Paradise.” And then he frowns. “She should be here by now… perhaps inside…?” He starts forward, toward the cabin.

While he’s distracted you could — make a break for it. Tear your hand from his grasp and run back into the woods. Sure, you’d be lost, but you could outrun them for a while. A good long while, most likely. He’d never catch you with those string bean legs of his, though one of the disciples might be able to. But… you do not.

You just trail behind him.

And then Seven emerges from the cabin, flanked by a pair of disciples, defeated. Saeran stops in his tracks, eyes alight with satisfaction.

“At last,” he murmurs. He sounds almost awed.

Seven is stiff in their grasp, but he resists still, in a way, scanning the area around him desperately — and when he catches sight of Saeran, his eyes go wide with surprise, then dismay, then outright panic. “Saeran!” he cries.

Saeran bristles, and he grimaces when Seven lurches toward him.

“Saeran, V—”

One of the disciples escorting him hisses a command to be silent and jerks Seven’s arm, pulling him away from Saeran.

Saeran is no longer delighted. “Shut up,” he hisses. And then his eyes narrow. “Did you say—” He follow Seven’s gaze, now directed at the other, silent disciple, and stiffens. “...you. Remove your hood.” His voice is low. Wary. Dangerous.

A moment of hesitation, and then the disciple complies, revealing—

Mint hair. Mint eyes.

V.

“—you.” Surprised. Stunned. Then enraged. “Where is the Savior? Why are you here?!”

V is silent. Whether he has nothing to say or just cannot find the words doesn’t really matter, you suppose, because, either way, Saeran doesn’t give him much time before he speaks again, demanding answers.

“What did you do to the Savior?!” Saeran takes a step towards V, hands clenching into fists at his side.

“...the Savior sent me to lead them to Magenta.” V’s voice is soft when he finally speaks. “I’ve received orders to bring you all to Mint Eye.”

“Orders—?!”

“Saeran, you didn’t know?” Seven sounds plaintive.

“Shut up!” Saeran snarls, then jabs a finger at V. “And you shut up, too! Why are you here instead of the Savior?” He doesn’t seem to see the contradiction in his commands.

V is uncowed in the face of Saeran’s aggression. “Because the savior chose me… she said I had to be the one to send the message.” That last part is almost whispered.

Saeran seems to be processing this statement.

“I don’t like this,” he mumbles at last. There’s a ragged edge to the words. “But we’ll return to Magenta first.” He straightens, and it’s like he’s shrugged on that aura of authority again. “…disciples.” With that one little word, the robed disciples stand at attention. “They’ve been checked? All of them?” He very pointedly directs his question beyond V.

The disciple at Seven’s left nods. “We have checked them for weapons and any contraband that could be used against Magenta.”

“Their phones?”

Another nod. “Yes, we’ve cleared them of anything they could use to communicate. He was trying to send out coordinates.”

You feel a slight spark of hope at those words, but this is dashed when Seven shakes his head. No success. No help coming.

“Give his to me.”

The disciple complies, pulling it from the folds of his robes.

Saeran looks at it in his hands, turning it over. He squeezes it tightly, still staring. And then he drops it to the ground and crushes it underfoot. It makes a final-sounding crunch. He looks back up. “Take him,” he says. “Prepare to depart.”

You jolt as a hand closes around your arm from behind. You didn’t even know there was someone behind you.

But Saeran pulls you to him protectively, tucking you into his side. “No,” he says. “Not them. I will escort them. But the others — ensure they are prepared for the journey.”

When V starts to move, making as though he’s going to continue escorting Seven, Saeran stops him. “Don’t think of doing anything else, V.” His voice is sharp.

“He does not trust you,” says the disciple behind you. “We will take care of the nonbelievers without you.”

And V bows his head, conceding. Only then do the believers force Seven forward, into the car.

Saeran mutters as he pulls you along, away from Seven, away from V. “I don’t care what orders he has. V is in charge of nothing. V is worth nothing. A traitor has no place in the Savior’s eyes. He’ll know that soon.”

He speaks of betrayal when he has done this to you. When he has lied to you, given you hope only to snatch it away. Numbness stills your tongue, prevents you from giving voice to this irony. It wouldn’t matter anyway.

You toss one last look over your shoulder at V as Saeran pulls you away. What do you feel as you look at this man? A man who knew Saeran — and Seven — as children, a man who proclaimed the death of a still-living woman, a man who is standing before you in cult colors now, sending a message to those he’d once sworn to protect?

There is — sorrow on his face, but from what? He’s one of Mint Eye’s believers. And how long has he believed? All this time? Was this his plan? Their plan, his and Rika’s? Why does he look sad, then? And what right does he have to feel like that when he’s here, dragging you all to paradise?

What right when Saeran’s voice wavers so and his hand trembles in yours?

The second car starts. The door lies open. Your turn now.

A believer bids Saeran take his place at the front, and you prepare to climb into the cage-like back of the car alone. As you do, though, he slides in beside you, and there he stays as the car begins its journey to bring you back into the belly of the beast — by your side, hand gripping yours so tight it’s painful.

Despite everything, you don’t pull away.

[credibleauomotive]

Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Market Size 2022 by Top Key Players, Types, Applications, Regional Demand and Forecast to 2030

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Global Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Market 2022 by Company, Regions, Type and Application, Forecast to 2030

1 Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Introduction and Market Overview

2 Industry Chain Analysis

3 Global Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Market, by Type

4 Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Market, by Application

5 Global Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Consumption, Revenue ($) by Region (2016-2021)

6 Global Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Production by Top Regions (2016-2021)

7 Global Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Consumption by Regions (2016-2021)

8 Competitive Landscape

9 Global Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Market Analysis and Forecast by Type and Application

10 Bulletproof Armored Vehicle Market Supply and Demand Forecast by Region

11 New Project Feasibility Analysis

12 Expert Interview Record

13 Research Finding and Conclusion

14 Appendix 

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[inkasarmoredservicesorg]

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Have you thought why Pick-Up Trucks are picked to do armoring and bulletproofing to use for got transportation in perilous spots? Because of specific realities Pick-Up Truck is picked as the best possibility for armoring over other Armored Vehicle Types.

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[theradical-outlook]

UAE orders large batch of Aurus luxury cars, most likely bulletproof, says minister

UAE orders large batch of Aurus luxury cars, most likely bulletproof, says minister

Aurus Chief Executive Officer Adil Shirinov said earlier that the Emirati holding Tawazun would start supplies of the Aurus Senat to the Middle East in 2022 TATARSTAN, RUSSIA – MAY 30, 2021: An Aurus Senat car in the assembly shop at the Ford Sollers car factory in the town of Yelabuga, Tatarstan, Russia. Aurus has started mass production of Aurus Senat luxury cars developed by NAMI (Central…

[raygoodwinmajournal]

201 - Epochal Territories - 9/11/2021 Shoot #4

Sometimes, a lull can be a difficult thing to get out of. You’re stuck in a rut and there is seemingly now way out. I felt like this since the last two rolls for this project, as they were horrendous and I felt embarrassed that I had even created such poor work at this stage. But, sometimes, a gap in the rut comes along and you’re out of it. Thankfully, this happened. 

Over the past 2 weeks (as of 9/11/2021), I have started a new job at Plymouth College of Art as a Central Stores Technician, which means that I work in the Equipment Resource Centre, booking out and maintaining equipment in addition to the studios. I am usually surrounded by camera equipment all day and it is bliss. Some of the equipment is archived because it is either surplus to requirements or completely broken and beyond economical repair. Some of this equipment either stays in a box, or placed upon a display cabinet across the campus. One such piece of equipment was my holy grail 35mm camera: the Nikon F3. I inquired about purchasing it, thinking it was a bit of a tall order and it wouldn’t be possible. To my surprise, it was possible!

The Nikon F3, on location.

A quick paragraph as to why this is my holy grail film camera. The Nikon F3 is possibly Nikon’s crown jewel, due to it’s Italian design, bulletproof construction and 21 year production run. The F3 was built to last, and built to be used as a camera for professional photographers. This is the standard version of the F3, but features the DE-3 prism or HP (High Eye Point), which is better suited for glasses wearers because of the magnification. Other F3 flavours are available such as the F3P (Press) and F3T (Titanium). The F3P and F3T are related, as they share the same features such as weather sealing, no self timer/multiple exposure levers and solid shutter button. The only difference is that the F3T is made from titanium instead of brass. This Nikon also features a completely modular build, with the photographer being able to swap out the prism, focusing screen, film back and motor drive. This example was placed in a shelf for many years, and after a fresh set of new batteries and a quick clean, it was ready to shoot!

I loaded up the F3 with Ilford Delta 400, mounted the Nikkor-S 35mm F2.8 and went towards the South East of Plymouth. I walked through Cattedown, East End, Prince Rock and St Judes, collecting around 5 miles before getting back to Plymouth College of Art to develop and scan. The film was developed in ID-11 at 1+1 for 14 minutes, and scanned with the Hasselblad Flextight X1 at 3000PPI.

The shoot started out on Bretsonside, looking towards Martins Gate Gardens and the small turning circle. In the corner is a cherry picker which as been sat there for days, and a very leafy road. The first thing I noticed on the scan was the strange line hear the middle-left of the frame. This wasn’t on any other image, so I am not entirely sure what would have caused this. Secondly, Delta 400 is a really nice film stock. It seems to be incredibly sharp, and not overly full of contrast and with a good dynamic range. 

Walking further afield around Sutton Harbour, and to Marrowbone Slip. This area features a car park and large area of overgrown nothing-land where buildings once stood, but has been bordered off for a long as I can remember. You can see the buddleia growing wherever it likes due to the plant being incredibly invasive. It can often be found in edgelands, railways, car parks and people’s gardens. It is native to China and Japan, but was introduced at some point in the 1890′s and quickly took over any unkempt land or pruned garden.

Two of my highlights for the roll, at the Avis car rental car park on Commercial/Clovelly Road. The stars aligned for me in terms of composition, light and subject matter. The quietness is deafening, and the landscape in front of the viewer is incredibly bleak and withdrawn from any human interaction - just straight lines and industrial buildings surround you as nobody else does. Even the 35mm focal length was perfect for these shots, as anything wider or narrower wouldn’t have created the same effect. There is also something about photographing gates and entrances to places which often seem forbidden. They are (obviously) a gateway to another place, often a place where general admittance is not permitted, whether it is for workmen or that place is a hazard to the public. It is also the ability to apply Schrodinger's Cat to the space, and leads one to question what is the reality behind the wall and beyond the gate. Perhaps it is better left unknown. But it is also being on the edge of a periphery or just out of bounds within the space which I find interesting, almost going back to the intrigue of the edgeland and non-place as a whole. These are spaces often found by drifting or passing through, yet spending time in them seems unnatural to the extent that they become wholly liminal and in a state of limbo. Have I just arrived, or am I going?

St Johns Bridge Road over looking Sims Metal; a scrap metal merchant dealing in all things metallic and scrap. Piles of metal towers over the average man, all left overs and remnants of our society: cars, skips, pipes, sheet metal, roofing, gates, barriers etc. What this reminds me is that - as a whole - we are a wasteful and throw away society, which is mainly in the name of consumerism and materialism. Why have the same phone for years when a shiny new one is released every 12 months with no real reason to upgrade? Although the mentality now is a lot better than it used to be, we are still polluting the planet with waste which has to be disposed of, one way or another. Lots of our waste is recycled, but a lot of it is also placed into landfill or ends up in the sea. We surround ourselves with gadgets, gizmos and doodahs because we have money and feel the need to spend it. Or failing that, we take out loans to spend and not pay it back.

Brunswick Road, looking towards PC Maritime; a company specialising in maritime software development. The fulfilment of the building doesn’t interest me, what does however is the architecture styling. There is something municipal and authoritative about it. This is just a standard office block design, but it is out of place and surrounded by typical industrial estate buildings which are often no taller than two storeys but long enough to resemble a warehouse. Perhaps it is the likeness to the Tyrell Building from Blade Runner, or the extremely banal styling.

South Milton Street, and Four Elements catering. This Ford Transit has sat for a long time, as it has started to rot and decay and has been there since at least August 2018 (according to Google Maps, and may have been a part of M.A.S Recovery, which has its sign missing). The door just behind the back of the Transit was open ajar, and behind the door was a few ice cream vans, strangely enough the same generation as this Transit. Perhaps this was a project that never went off the ground?

The bottom end of Desborough Road. Every time I see a house of this architectural styling, it reminds me of Stanley Donwood’s ‘Such a Pretty House’ image, which was also used for Radiohead’s No Surprises EP (below). This styling is always more grandiose than the typical terraced Edwardian era houses. I think that these are only slightly later and built around circa 1930′s. What originally drew me in here was the mixture of architectural styling, and the lone trailer parked to the side of the house. But, it is also the mentality of wanting to own a certain type of house and live a certain way - kind of leaning towards societal expectations of getting a good job and a nice house, which No Surprises is about, featuring ‘a heart that’s filled up like a landfill’ and ‘such a pretty house, and such a pretty garden’. This is also shown in the video for No Surprises, as Thom Yorke is encapsulated in a glass helmet and as the song progresses, the helmet slowly fills with water (to the extent that he almost drowns), and suddenly empties towards the end of the song.

Such a Pretty House - Stanley Donwood

Perhaps my most personal image I have taken. An unassuming end terrace house on Desborough Road, in the fairly quite area of St Judes. This, is where I first moved to Plymouth in 2007, and where I lived when I started secondary school. This is the place where I first felt the feeling of alienation and being estranged from the people around me. It was here that I suddenly realised that I am not like the typical adolescent. I didn’t enjoy my time here, as I hated where I went to school, I hated the people at my school and I couldn’t understand why I felt to different to my contemporaries . Whilst everyone was more interested in boy bands, Blackberry phones and Helly Hansen jackets: I was concerned about the Financial Crisis and climate change. Behind the house is a train track, which many years ago used to run to Friary Station, but it now home to Friary Retail Park. When I lived here, it was used for shunting freight, and most days I would see and hear a British Rail Class 09 (known as a Gronk). You could hear it further down the line towards Prince Rock and would get louder and louder as it got closer to the end of the track. This area is a place where I very rarely visit, and only photographed it because I was around. I tend to avoid it mostly as it brings back that whole period of time, which I would mostly like to forget about. I hated that part of my life, and for that matter, most of my teenage years have been forcibly eradicated from my mind.

A coda. The Nikon F3 is the best 35mm camera I have used, and people who say gear doesn’t matter are kidding themselves. There is nothing better than using a camera that you feel entirely comfortable with, and want to take out and use. The F3 is made for using, and made for professional use, and for the photographer to have an easy and enjoyable experience. It has made me realise that (for the most part), I have been using crappy equipment in comparison: Why would I go back when I already have the best? Using this camera made all of the difference, and I feel that I am back on track to making some good work. Ilford Delta 400 is also a lovely emulsion, with a good level of contrast and grain for Ilford’s core shell crystal technology, utilising a tabular grain structure instead of the typical cubic grain found in other film stocks. The subject matters were also a hit, as I walked in areas that I am familiar with, but went down streets and roads that I haven’t been too in a long time, or never have been before. This would mean that I would wander down a street, look across a junction and think ‘lets go there’, instead of having a set route planned in my mind. This utilises ‘dérive’ as much as I can, as I drift from one urban area to another. I enjoy this as I can get to locations at random, and the thoughts and feelings I get from them are always a surprise. I never go into a space expecting to feel a certain way, so having to ability to decide entirely where to go is a luxury - perhaps this is why I feel the need to document gates that you can’t open? All in all, I am extremely happy with this shoot, and if they are all like this from now on, I shall feel optimistic about this leg of Epochal Territories. 

Bibliography

Such A Pretty House (no date). [Online]. Available at https://www.artcollectorz.com/artworks/artwork-detail?artwork_id=6466&edition_id=8191. [Accessed on 10/11/2021]

[vvvveta]

Rumsfeld pushed for the Iraq War

As is often the case with deaths of political figures, the memories of their injustices are quickly whitewashed in the name of mourning the deceased and respecting the grieving families. Former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, who died Tuesday at the age of 88, has been no exception. The true tragedy of his passing is that he never faced justice.

Following his death, many obituaries have instead sung his praises. His former colleague Condoleezza Rice referred to her “good friend” as a “remarkable and committed public servant.” Similarly, Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, R-Ky., called Rumsfeld one of the nation’s “fiercest defenders.”

The lives we should be grieving, however, are those of the hundreds of thousands of innocent Iraqis and Afghans who died as a consequence of the push for war that Rumsfeld, aided by many fellow officials in President George W. Bush's administration, made following Al Qaeda’s attacks on Sept. 11, 2001. As an Iraqi, these deaths, several of them friends and family members, continue to haunt me. Without Rumsfeld’s war, many of them would still be with us.

Rumsfeld’s relationship with Iraq began as President Ronald Reagan’s Middle East envoy, famously beaming as he shook then-Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein’s hand. On behalf of the United States, he vowed to support the dictator in stymieing Iran while overlooking human rights abuses. Years later, Rumsfeld turned his back on this partnership as he became one of the main architects of both the Iraq and Afghanistan wars.

Within six hours of the twin towers attacks, Rumsfeld set his sights on Iraq.Rumsfeld’s orders that day were described in notes as telling his aide to get the "best info fast" and then "judge whether good enough hit S.H. [Saddam Hussein] at same time. Not only U.B.L. [Osama bin Laden]." Then, "Go massive. Sweep it all up. Things related and not."

Without sufficient public support, however, the Bush administration wouldn’t have been able to get congressional approval for an attack on Iraq. Rumsfeld, beloved by many in the media at the time for his belligerent grin and assertive authority, began making the case for an Iraq invasion.

In September 2002, Rumsfeld announced the U.S. had “bulletproof” evidence that a Saddam Hussein and Al Qaeda alliance existed. It didn’t. We are also now all aware Iraq didn’t possess weapons of mass destruction. Rumsfeld, in contrast, not only claimed they did exist, but declared he even knew their location.

When Baghdad fell to U.S. troops, the United States protected the Ministry of Oil while widespread looting of Iraq’s national treasures took place. When probed about this looting, Rumsfeld’s response highlighted his lack of empathy: “Stuff happens.”

To this day, Iraqis are suffering from the costs of the war. It’s estimated that some 200,000 Iraqi civilians have died as a consequence of the Iraq invasion, with their families yet to see justice. My own extended family is now dispersed around the globe, from the U.S. to Australia, as part of 9.2 million Iraqis displaced internally or abroad, with the number still growing.

After my grandfather’s house in Baghdad was damaged by an explosion, the constant fear led to many family members fleeing the country. I myself witnessed a horrifying car bomb in Baghdad, killing scores of civilians, on a visit to Iraq.

Rumsfeld was also one of the main engineers behind the U.S. government’s global torture programs, euphemistically dubbed “enhanced interrogation techniques.” This is a man who once complained that forcing prisoners to stand for four hours should be more like “8-10 hours.”

History will remember Rumsfeld for the destruction he caused and the lives he ruined. It is a shame justice was never served while he lived. Before it’s too late, Bush, former Vice President Dick Cheney and other architects of the devastating and unproductive wars that followed 9/11 must be held to account rather than allowed to peacefully see out their remaining years, a privilege not afforded to many Iraqis.

[bisexualdanavidan]

In universe NSP anything?

so this is maybe not what you meant by “in universe” but MAN i am a sucker for assassins/hit men and that’s what this turned into

cn: assassin AU, murder, violence, discussion of all of the above; it’s shippy but that isn’t really the focus 

he's not actually a mute.

it's one of danny's favorite misconceptions about them - the mute and his idiot savant friend, exuberant and charismatic and lucky enough to pair up with somebody that knows what the fuck he's doing so he didn't get killed years ago on a small-time hit gone sideways.  there's this perverse, pervasive idea in their community (whatever that is - but it's there) that brian's the one in charge.  

danny doesn't do much to discourage it, even when brian buys into it.  so maybe this is his fault.

brian's not actually a mute, although sometimes - like right now - danny really, really fucking wishes he were.  they've been on top of a pittsburg apartment complex (too close, he thinks; brian goes on solo jobs to philly) for three hours and fifty-six minutes, just waiting.

(that's one more thing.  how do you get anything done with that asshole around?  jesus, man, he'd be my next hit if i had to work with him.  ha, ha, ha.)

still, and quiet, and controlled.  he was in dance as a kid, and martial arts, too, a lifetime ago, a thousand years ago: breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth, and count with me: five in, hold for seven, nine out.  feel the way your heart slows down?  you're calming down your nervous system.  now you can focus.

brian's the one that fidgets, funnily enough.  he's full of energy this close to a hit; he's been in the same spot the entire time they've been up here, but he keeps drumming his fingers against his thighs, curling his toes inside his boots.  it's a miracle he's not up and pacing.  if everything wasn't almost in place, danny would blow him just to chill him out a little bit.  

in his defense, it's a big hit.  danny doesn't know the details, and doesn't really care to; an ambassador, a diplomat, a foreign businessman, something.  he knows the rifle in brian's hands is a russian dragunov for a reason.  he knows they each got paid a hundred and twenty-five grand just to set this up, and that there's the same amount waiting when they get back.  

they're looking into a private apartment complex.  no one lives there - half of the apartments are rented out, but nobody in the building has an internet connection or an electricity bill or a car that moves more than once a week, so whoever arranged this either got sloppy or thought they covered their trail well enough that they wouldn't have to worry about it - which is the same thing as sloppy, as far as danny is concerned.  

it's a private apartment complex, gated, and the doormen - two of them, in well-cut navy suits - are packing underneath their pressed jackets.  very well-paid doormen, danny thinks, amused.  they didn't make them like that in jersey.

two doormen, six security guards, and their target.  nobody else in the building.  

their target is an olive-skinned heavyset man in his mid-to-late forties, and he looks like he used to be handsome, once, but a lifetime of excess has taken its toll in his squashed ruddy face and the spare tire around his middle that his expertly-tailored suit tries vainly to disguise.  it's a really fucking nice suit, danny thinks.  it sucks that they're going to get brains all over it.  

their target is also a smoker.  he's been outside twice in the last hour with a pack of bastos, puffing away and angrily waving his security detail back like they're flies circling around shit.  the apartment he's in has a fire escape and a balcony that both face their direction.

"remember all those PSAs about cigarettes," danny says quietly, "back in the nineties?  about how smoking kills?"

brian hums.

"i'm just saying - maybe this guy shoulda paid attention."

--

it's another hour before they can make the shot.

the deal is: someone will be by the apartment.  the doormen will let them in.  between ten and fifteen minutes later, after the doormen verify that they haven't been followed, they will leave.  danny wasn't told if it would be a man or a woman, but when it happens, it's a tall, handsome brunette in a suit skirt and a tight bun much like his own.  

he doesn't know if she's giving or receiving.  all he knows is that they are, under no circumstances, to make their move until she's gone.  as far as he's concerned, it's one of the simpler contracts they've been given recently.  

(no more fucking saudis, he'd told brian months ago.  i want at least two years before we go back to the middle east.  and what had brian done not even three days later?  danny doesn't know why he'd bothered being surprised.)

but - she leaves, and she leaves alive, and they even give it another fifteen minutes after her tahoe leaves, just to make sure.  

the hiccup, though - the hitch in the giddyup, as danny's temporary panhandle partner had said, a long time ago - is unexpected.  when their target comes back out to smoke, strides angry and short, he's got two of his guards with him.  the others are in the room just behind, just visible through the three big, expensive windows - all but one, who danny's sure is manning the front door.  

brian swings the rifle an inch and a half to the left, takes careful, precise aim at the back of one bald head.

danny blocks the barrel, sidesteps neatly in front of it, feels the hot metal press into his skin through his jacket-shirt-armor.  stomach-level, he thinks.  not where kids think the stomach is, lower-center, under the ribs; brian nudges forward, presses harder, left-upper-abdomen (wrong side, his mind helpfully supplies, hit the liver in-and-up and they'll bleed out twice as fast).  

"they're not part of the contract."

"they're in the way."  brian's voice is doing the thing danny hates.  he gets flat when he's angry, his face and voice and eyes, flat and dead.  "that makes them part of the fucking contract by default."

"they're not the target," danny says, and keeps his voice perfectly, purposefully level.  brian latches onto emotion - weakness - as fast as he can, gets it in his teeth like a terrier gets a rat and rips it the fuck apart.  "and there are too many of them.  it'll take too long to hit him and his detail."

(it’s not true.  he knows it’s not true.  that doesn’t stop him from trying.)

"leaving them alive is a stupid risk," brian says.  "do we take stupid risks?"

danny grits his teeth and sees a flash of triumph in brian's eyes as soon as he does.  brian saw the muscle in his jaw clench.  saw him, for just a second, frustrated.  

"no."

"that's right," brian says.  he has the decency, at least, not to sound overtly smug.  "move."

danny doesn't.  "i'll take it."

"we don't have time for this."

"i'll take the fucking shot," danny says.  brian looks up from his scope and danny won't look away, makes eye contact for much longer than he's usually willing to.  brian has shark eyes.  it's not the first time danny's had that thought.  "you play with your fucking food.  like you said: we don't have time."

brian gets up, slowly, and eases to the side.  danny, for just a moment, expects him to reach for one of the tactical knives he keeps on him - shin-belt-shoulder-forearm, underneath all that hot black clothing.  

"have at it," brian says instead.  his voice is so calm that it's almost cheerful.  "there are six guards and i guarantee there are at least six more on the street.  i give them forty-five seconds before they're headed up here after you take that shot."

danny doesn't reply, settles into the position brian had just been in.  he's taller, and he has to adjust the scope a little, has to give his longer fingers more room to work.  

in movies, the target is always last.  there's always thirty to sixty seconds of pants-pissing terror when he sees all of his hired muscle die around him.  he gets to know that death is coming, grapple with that, maybe beg, maybe cry.

this isn't a movie.  one second, their target is sucking his cigarette down to its filter and getting ready to toss the butt over the railing; the next, the back of his head is splattered all over the expensive brownstone behind him.  

the two guards outside hit the deck, and he's got to hand it to them - that's smart, at least.  the ones inside aren't as well-prepared; two the trunk each, six altogether, because glass (and this glass, he thinks, was probably marketed as bulletproof, which means that whoever installed it has some explaining to do) makes headshots harder than he'd like to admit.  the two outside are army-crawling back into the building, but they're slower than they think.  he manages a headshot on one and lights the other up, three in the back.  

"good boy," brian says, and when danny looks up, he almost looks proud.

"yeah," he says, "fuck you," and doesn't mean it.

[leonfrancisblog]

Europe Bullet Proof Glass Market is growing at 17.2% in the Forecasted Period of 2020-2027| Saint-Gobain, PPG Industries, Inc., AGC Inc., Schott AG, and Taiwan Glass IND. CORP

Bullet proof glass market is expected to gain market growth in the forecast period of 2020 to 2027. Data Bridge Market Research analyses that the market is growing with highest a CAGR of 17.2% in the forecast period of 2020 to 2027 and expected to reach USD 5,176.01 million by 2027. Increasing concern about pollution and depleting fossil fuel sources are the factors for the market growth. Bullet proof glasses are special safety product used in the construction of various important monuments and government buildings ensuring proper safety and security to the people inhibiting the building. Usage of bullet proof glass in armoured vehicles is also increasing its demand in the Europe bulletproof glass market.

Increased in the demand for security and safety in the government buildings and banks with the developing bulletproof glass technologies to make it affordable are also expected to enhance the market growth. Government incentive scheme will further create new opportunities that impact this bulletproof glass market growth in the forecast period to 2027. For instance, German government announced that they will provide USD 4,430.02 incentive for consumer who purchases car with bullet proof glasses fitting for plug-in hybrids consumers.

Europe Bullet Proof Glass Market By Type (Acrylic, Traditional Laminated Glass, Polycarbonate, Glass-Clad Polycarbonate, Ballistic Insulated Glass, Others), Security Level (Security Level, Standard Security Level), Car Make (Luxury, SUV, Sedan, Truck, Minivan, Convertible, Coupe, Hatchback, Others), End-User (Building & Construction, Banking & Finance, Automotive, Military, Others), Country (Germany, Italy, France, U.K., Spain, Russia, Netherlands, Switzerland, Belgium, Turkey, and rest of Europe) Bullet proof glass market is becoming more competitive every year with companies like Saint-Gobain, Ppg Industries, INC., AGC are the market leaders for bullet proof glass. The Data bridge market research new reports highlight the major growth factors and opportunities in the bullet proof glass market. This bulletproof glass market report provides details of market share, new developments, and product pipeline analysis, impact of domestic and localised market players, analyses opportunities in terms of emerging revenue pockets, changes in market regulations, product approvals, strategic decisions, product launches, geographic expansions, and technological innovations in the market. To understand the analysis and the market scenario contact us for an Analyst Brief, our team will help you create a revenue impact solution to achieve your desired goal.

Get Sample PDF of Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Report (including COVID19 Impact Analysis) @ https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/request-a-sample/?dbmr=europe-bulletproof-glass-market

Scope of the Bullet Proof Glass Market:

Bullet proof glass market is segmented on the basis of countries into U.S., Canada, Mexico, Brazil, Rest of South America, Germany, France, U.K., Italy, Spain, Netherlands, Belgium, Russia, Turkey, Israel, Switzerland, Rest of Europe, China, Japan, India, Australia, Singapore Thailand, Malaysia, Taiwan, Indonesia, Philippines, Rest of Asia Pacific (APAC), U.A.E, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, South Africa Rest of middle East and Africa (MEA).

All country based analysis of the bullet proof glass market is further analyzed based on maximum granularity into further segmentation. On the basis of type, the market is segmented into acrylic, traditional laminated glass, polycarbonate, glass-clad polycarbonate, ballistic insulated glass and others. Based on security level, the market is segmented into security levels and standard security level. On the basis of car make, the market is segmented into luxury, SUV, sedan, truck, minivan, convertible, coupe, hatchback and others. On the basis of end-user, the market is segmented into building & construction, banking & finance, automotive, military and others.

Key Market Competitors Covered in the report:

The major players covered in the report are Saint-Gobain, PPG Industries, Inc., AGC Inc., Schott AG, Taiwan Glass IND. CORP., Nippon Sheet Glass Co., Ltd, Armortex,  Total Security Solutions (TSS), Apogee Enterprises, Inc., Binswanger Glass, Protective Structures, Centigon Security Group (A subsidiary of Carat Duchatelet Holdings), Armassglass, Stec Armour Glass (M) SDN BHD and among other players domestic and global. DBMR analysts understand competitive strengths and provide competitive analysis for each competitor separately.

MAJOR TOC OF THE REPORT:

Chapter One: Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Market Overview

Chapter Two: Manufacturers Profiles

Chapter Three: Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Market Competition, by Players

Chapter Four: Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Market Size by Regions

Chapter Five: Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Market Revenue by Countries

Chapter Six: Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Market Revenue by Type

Chapter Seven: Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Market Revenue by Application

Chapter Eight: Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Market Revenue by Industries

Chapter Nine: Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Market Revenue by Deployment Model

Chapter Ten: Middle East and Africa Discharge Inks Market Revenue by End User

Get Detail TOC@ https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/toc/?dbmr=europe-bulletproof-glass-market  

Key Report Highlights:

Comprehensive pricing analysis based on different product types and regional segments

Market size data in terms of revenue and sales volume

Deep insights about regulatory and investment scenarios of the global Information Rights Management Market

Analysis of market effect factors and their impact on the forecast and outlook of the global Information Rights Management Market

The detailed assessment of the vendor landscape and leading companies to help understand the level of competition in the global Information Rights Management Market

A roadmap of growth opportunities available in the Global Information Rights Management Market with the identification of key factors

The exhaustive analysis of various trends of the Global Information Rights Management Market to help identify market developments

Key Questions Answered in Report:

What is the key to the Information Rights Management Market?

What will the Information Rights Management Market Demand and what will be Growth?

What are the latest opportunities for Information Rights Management Market in the future?

What are the strengths of the key players?

Access Full Report @ https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/reports/europe-bulletproof-glass-market

Browse Related Reports@

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About Us:

Data Bridge Market Research set forth itself as an unconventional and neoteric Market research and consulting firm with unparalleled level of resilience and integrated approaches. We are determined to unearth the best market opportunities and foster efficient information for your business to thrive in the market

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[researchtrendingnews]

Bullet Proof Glass Market Shows Strong Growth with Leading Players | Binswanger Glass, Protective Structures, Centigon Security Group.

Bullet Proof Glass Market comprises of various layers of thermoplastics and laminated glasses which are layered together to form a thick bulletproof glass. On the strike of a bullet, such glasses can handle the pressure very easily pertaining to the pressure the bullet creates on the glass. Due to such advanced features, these bullet proof glasses are considered as the preferred choice in military bases and other armoured vehicles in huge numbers.

Bullet proof glass market is expected to gain market growth in the forecast period of 2020 to 2027. Data Bridge Market Research analyses that the market is growing with a CAGR of 16.1% in the forecast period of 2020 to 2027 and expected to reach USD 19,792.79 million by 2027. Government taking initiatives to promote the usage of bullet proof glasses and providing strong investment to the bullet proof glass manufacturer are the factors for the market growth.

 Get Sample Report at :

https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/request-a-sample/?dbmr=global-bulletproof-glass-market

Competitive Analysis: Global Bullet Proof Glass Market

Few of the major competitors currently working in Global Bullet Proof Glass Market are Saint-Gobain, PPG Industries, Inc., AGC Inc., Schott AG, Taiwan Glass Ind. Corp., Nippon Sheet Glass Co., Ltd, Armortex, Total Security Solutions (TSS), Apogee Enterprises, Inc., Binswanger Glass, Protective Structures, Centigon Security Group (A subsidiary of Carat Duchatelet Holdings), Armassglass, Stec Armour Glass (M) SDN BHD and many others players in the domestic and global regions. Bullet proof glass market share data is available for Global, North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, Middle East and Africa and South America separately. DBMR analysts understand competitive strengths and provide competitive analysis for each competitor separately.

 Key Pointers Covered in the Global Bullet Proof Glass Market Trends and Forecast to 2026

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market New Sales Volumes

Global   Bullet Proof Glass  Market Replacement Sales Volumes

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Installed Base

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market By Brands

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Size

Global   Bullet Proof Glass  Market Procedure Volumes

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Product Price Analysis

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Healthcare Outcomes

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Cost of Care Analysis

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Regulatory Framework and Changes

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Prices and Reimbursement Analysis

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Shares in Different Regions

Recent Developments for Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Competitors

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Upcoming Applications

Global   Bullet Proof Glass Market Innovators Study

Get Detailed TOC:

https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/toc/?dbmr=global-bulletproof-glass-market

Bullet Proof Glass Market Scope and Market Size

Bullet proof glass market is segmented on the basis of type is segmented into acrylic, traditional laminated glass, polycarbonate, glass-clad polycarbonate, ballistic insulated glass and others. Acrylic segment had accounted for the maximum share as they are most common raw material used in the manufacturing of any type of glass and also they are easily available.

On the basis of security level, the market is segmented into security level and standard security level. The security level accounted for the largest market share as the consumption of bullet proof glasses are high in China. They are majorly sold to the commercial as well as the residential building officials, as it follows all the ballistic bullet proof standards.

On the basis of car make, the market is segmented into luxury, SUV, sedan, truck, minivan, convertible, coupe, hatchback and others. Luxury cars are dominating the market as major customers prefer to charge their vehicle at home when it is an ideal model available in every country and region with bulletproof glasses.

On the basis of end-user, the market is segmented into building & construction, banking & finance, automotive, military, others. Building & construction is dominating in the Asia-Pacific region since the country has a high GDP growth rate due to which the construction industry is growing at a rapid rate. For instance, Guardian Glass LLC. Led to the expansion of its manufacturing of coated glass and additional float with the installation of a new plant at their Czestochowa facility in Poland which led to the increasing demand for fabricated, coated and float glass products across Europe.

 Inquire Before Buying:

https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/inquire-before-buying/?dbmr=global-bulletproof-glass-market

Research Methodology: Global Industrial Services Market

Data collection and base year analysis is done using data collection modules with large sample sizes. The market data is analyzed and forecasted using market statistical and coherent models. Also market share analysis and key trend analysis are the major success factors in the market report. To know more please request an analyst call or can drop down your enquiry.

The key research methodology used by DBMR research team is data triangulation which involves data mining, analysis of the impact of data variables on the market, and primary (industry expert) validation.

Apart from this, other data models include Vendor Positioning Grid, Market Time Line Analysis, Market Overview and Guide, Company Positioning Grid, Company Market Share Analysis, Standards of Measurement, Top to Bottom Analysis and Vendor Share Analysis. To know more about the research methodology, drop in an inquiry to speak to our industry experts.

Key insights in the report:

Complete and distinct analysis of the market drivers and restraints

Key Market players involved in this industry

Detailed analysis of the Market Segmentation

Competitive analysis of the key players involved

About Us:

Data Bridge Market Research set forth itself as an unconventional and neoteric Market research and consulting firm with unparalleled level of resilience and integrated approaches. We are determined to unearth the best market opportunities and foster efficient information for your business to thrive in the market.

Contact:

Data Bridge Market Research

Tel: +1-888-387-2818

Email: Sopan.gedam@databridgemarketresearch.com

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