#Complex Warfare

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much

[butchvamp]

it is really wild how much they ignore about the crows & the fact we know that one of their main training methods is just straight up torture, supposedly to build endurance and strengthen crows to ensure they don't leak secrets/names/etc. and then you literally have a crow character that is imprisoned and tortured for an entire year and somehow he has Nothing to say about how either experiences may have overlapped and if the crows' training really mattered (it didn't, that's not how torture works) or if he just suffered for a year because there was nothing else to do-- there was no name to give up or secret to spill. he was just wrong and spite came out wrong and there was no way to get it to stop, nothing to do but endure. how would that experience change his perception of the crows, of Caterina, of himself? clearly he feels that he's failed her, that he fell short of the expectations placed on him as Caterina's favorite-- god knows what she did to him to make him feel this way. god knows what she did to Illario to make him think killing Lucanis was the only way out. and sure maybe it's just because Lucanis got caught in the first place and then what happened at the Ossuary, becoming joined with Spite... but then he only survives because of Spite. not because of Caterina, not because she "prepared" him with her abuse. and so he's failed her, so much so that he'd rather lock himself back up than face her or Illario again. and then when he does finally come home, expecting punishment, to feel Caterina's cane again, he's met with the humiliation of Illario in his place, with "my sweet boy" and the role of First Talon-- a role he has never wanted to play.

[verdantcreek]

a wandering mind 🖊️

[kiddokori]

the beauty of no home is that, as a reader, eunyung is soo funny and silly and entertaining to watch that you end up rooting for him a lot and really enjoying when hes around. but as a human being you see him leave his trash out in shared spaces for so long it attracts bugs and go holy shit what the hell. this guy sucks fuck this guy. which i think is exactly what knowing him in real life would be like

[god-complex-12]

Atychiphobia II

— Paring; Cpt. John Price x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II

Atychiphobia: (n.) fear of failure; fear of not being good enough

Quote; “When you repent, you make a promise to turn away from the sin… abandon it. But, Jonathan… you are my sin, and I am incapable of abandoning my love for you.”

Disclaimer; Mention of religion. Reader is an Angel. Religious based. Christianity. Talks of sinning. Reader is a fallen Angel. Descriptions of pain and blood. Not an accurate representation of Christianity. God is referred to as “father” and is depicted as slightly cruel. Kissing. Crying. Praying. Begging for forgiveness. Religious trauma. Tending to wounds. Reader is in the bath. John helps Y/N in the bath.

Word Count: 1.0k

Masterlist; part I

A/N: Please note that I do not believe this is how God truly is, this is for the sake of entertainment purposes only.

John is speechless as he stares at the torn and bloodied skin of his comrade. It’s revolting. Though this is nowhere near the worst John has ever seen, what brings him to a shake is what used to be in its place. Wings? No, that couldn’t be possible. Y/N had never had wings. Heaven and hell existed? John isn’t sure if that was something he wished was confirmed. He’s damned. But so is Y/N. Damned because of him, perhaps.

John gently poured the disinfectant onto the massive wounds. Y/N shuddered and sobbed. He wasn’t used to pain. Suddenly he felt unmeasurably weak. He’s mortal. This wasn’t fair. Since when was love a sin? And why was the punishment so cruel? Y/N’s fists balled, and his jaw clenched.

“Relax.” John whispered in the softest voice his gruff voice could manage. “It’ll pass.” He gently washed the dry blood from Y/N’s back. The warm water stung horribly, making Y/N tremble more. He sobbed silently into his hands. John was overwhelmed, but he didn’t let that stop him from taking care of the now man in front of him.

John dried his hands off on the towel next to him. He heard Y/N begin to whisper as he opened the box of medical supplies next to him. He knew what he was doing. “Y/N, stop.” He said sternly. However, Y/N did not stop. He continued to whisper to himself like a mad man. Whispering what, both of them knew, was a prayer that would fall on deaf ears. “Shh,” John shushed, “please.” He ran his hand over Y/N’s bare shoulder, he gently pushed the fallen angel a bit forward to gain better access to his wounds.

Padding the area with a cloth, Y/N made a pained noise and began praying more vigorously. John dried the area, and he wrapped Y/N’s torso in plaster. “He forgives all,” John whispered, “but why not you?” He pulled the sobbing soldier back towards him.

“Because I can’t seem to make a change.” He wiped his useless tears, getting a handful of water and drawing his flushed face. His voice trembles, as does his body. “When you repent, you make a promise to turn away from the sin… abandon it. But, Jonathan… you are my sin, and I am incapable of abandoning my love for you.”

“Your holy position is more important than man’s attention, is it not?”

“No.” Y/N said firmly. “Not when that man is you. I am a disgrace for committing the blasphemous act of loving one more than my creator. Not only have I chosen man over God, but I have committed a sacrilege act in allowing lust to cloud my faith.”

“Lust?” John questioned. “Do you mean this is all just lust?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and he spun around, water sloshing over the side of the tub. His wet hands grab John’s knee in an act of desperation. “No, no. This is love. I love you more than anything, and that is a problem. I am referring to the time we’ve gone farther than just touching hands. That was lust.”

“Was it?” John asked, his hand gently trailing up the side of the Fallen Angel’s neck, pushing around the wet strands of hair that clung to Y/N’s skin. “Because I didn’t sleep with you for the sake of your body.” He leaned closer. “I did it for the sake of love. The passion. I hold myself back, so when it happens, it feels even better.”

“That is why we are supposed to wait till marriage bonds us, though even then, Father would not be accepting of devious acts unless it is to reproduce… which I am unable to do either with man or woman.”

“This isn’t about his rules. This is about you and me. I don’t care about his incorrect judgment, and neither should you. His judgment only brought you immense pain. Should you still speak highly of a God who causes you only suffering?”

Y/N was stunned for a moment, stumbling to find the right words, but the pain, overwhelming reality, the closeness of their lips, it made his mind bug out. “I- He did not only cause me suffering. He has also given me life!” He sat on his knees. “If not for his orders, we would have never met!”

“Then why does he punish you when he was the one who caused us to love?” A silence engulfs them. Y/N is speechless, and he feels his breath quicken with each passing second. It’s all too much. His chest feels heavy, and he feels as though someone had covered his face with a pillow and watched him squirm around for a pocket of air. “Let us love without him, Y/N. Let me love you.”

“Okay,” Y/N whispered, almost inaudibly.

Suddenly, John’s lips find Y/N’s, leaning down in his seat as he kisses Y/N with a tenderness he’s never held before. John can help but keep leaning forward, if not for his own gear, he would just go ahead and get in the bath as well.

[pochapal]

with every progressive life is strange iteration they keep making max caulfield more and more cisgender and neurotypical....somebody needs to do something about this immediately

[gxlden-angels]

I love getting my silly little dose of validation whenever I explain something as small to my childhood as "yea they taught us to be prepared to be soldiers in spiritual warfare between angels and demons from a young age" and having my therapist or a friend respond like

[bayeis]

Behold

[ghouldtime]

COD Camp AU Part Two

Follow up to this post

Just assorted characters who I have ideas for in it. And before anyone comes at me like "oh but but Graves tried killing them" or "König is apart of KorTac and they're enemies with SpecGru" I'm aware. This is an AU for a reason :D That doesn't happen here, I'm pretending like they're all not trying to kill one another and haven't because I can

Kate Laswell (Camp Advisor)

She's one of the few who doesn't go by her callsign. Instead she goes by Larkspur, her wife's favorite flower. She figured it was a little less creepy sounding to kids over "Watcher"

Kate can usually be found near Price or simply checking around camp herself. She's usually the one responsible for safety inspections and reporting anything that needs to be fixed officially

While she's not fond of it, she usually is the one handling all the paperwork and "official" boring things. It's not the most exciting job but someone needs to do it

That being said, she can make quick work of it. She's handled more complicated things in her life than the headache that is dealing with legal documents

She'd rather be out and actually active than stuck behind a desk all day. Which is why she does try to get around to all parts of camp. She's jumping in where she can and is quick to lend a hand where ever she is needed

All the campers love her. What's not to love? Sure she's a little bit intimidating at first but she's simply so used to having to put on a stern face to convey how serious she is and to please listen to her (dealing with stubborn operators and military personnel alike will do that to you) that by now, it's a habit. But she's understanding, empathetic, and proactive - she's trying to fix problems and prevent things from going south before they can

Since she's often popping in on activities, lending a hand, helping where she can - many campers easily recognize her and are usually quite excited to see her. Especially when it comes to things like team events (Listen to her, she WILL give you pointers to beat the other team) or crafts. Kate has a variety of skills up her sleeves and she's got a knack for showing them off

Usually though, she's far more involved with the counselors than the campers. She's the one making sure that everyone is working as well as they can together and things are being done properly. If not, they're being reassigned. She's checking in to help maintain the natural flow - and making sure there's no extreme drama or any other things going on

Adjusting to camp life and living in closer quarters isn't something that many can easily adapt to and she knows it. Plus, sometimes campers can be a handful and a half and it can be exhausting mentally and physically. It's important for her to make sure the counselors are okay because EVERYONE needs someone looking out for them. They might be looking out for the kids but she's looking out for them and has their backs

Especially when it comes to interpersonal counselor relationships. That stuff is no joke. Resentment and drama can easily build and divides can form and the last thing she wants to have to deal with is that headache - plus, she does care about everyone's well being. Everyone can't be well if there's quarrels happening, especially behind the scenes.

If anything happens, she's the woman you can rely on and SHOULD. Go to her first. She'll always be the one to lend a listening ear and will do her best to solve it or at least put something towards it

Or just go to her if you want someone to easily hang out with and chat to. Especially if you'd like a moment of peace and quiet. The world can be loud and chaotic out there but her office is usually much less of a shit show. You'll get bonus points if you're bringing her extra cookies from the cafeteria (even more if you remember some for her wife)

She's the voice of reason, sensibility, and a whole lot of calm compared to all of the craziness going on. And she's super cool, how does anyone not like her. She's got SO many cool stories, she's great, I love Laswell <3

Bonus: Her wife is the camp photographer. She IS getting all those cute pictures and it IS going to be an album and it IS glorious

Nikolai (Camp Supplier)

Technically he's not apart of the staff that you'll find constantly at camp, but that doesn't make him any less important. In fact, he's the main reason WHY they can keep running and functioning as they do

He's Price's absolute go-to and is the one who is bringing things in. Whether that be dealing with the food shipments, the general equipment and maintenance things they need stocked, or really anything they need brought in - he's the guy

Usually he's in around very early mornings or very late at night, it's a rarity for him to turn up when it's normal waking hours, which is very much on purpose

Partially because unloading/loading is easier when not dealing with campers - partially because just sometimes Price has things that prooooobably wouldn't be Laswell approved and shouldn't exactly be around at camp. And partially because Price loves shooting the shit with his old buddy, having a smoke and a light drink before he has to bid Nikolai farewell as he gets back on the road

Also because if Nikolai is left to interact with any of the campers, he IS pulling the cool/fun uncle move and giving them things that he deems as child appropriate (like a knife) and teaching them how to use it

"It's good they learn now! When I was their age I could already name all the types of blades and knew how to work them too. Will come in handy one day, no?"

Not Laswell approved in the slightest. And as much as Price agrees, and as much as the campers think Nikolai is awesome (he is), Price really does NOT want to deal with being chewed out by Laswell.... again. Rightfully so but he's begrudgingly accepted that his and Nikolai's ideas of what kids these days should know aren't exactly the same as theirs

Nikolai is still very much one of the coolest guys to meet at the camp, though. While he's been politely told by Laswell to maybe back off from the campers and giving them "Fun ideas", she never said anything about the counselors

Unsurprisingly, Nikolai is incredibly popular with the counselors. You'll have to compete to get picked to help unload trucks and unpack on the days when he's coming in because EVERYONE wants to see him

He's got a great sense of humor that strays a bit more on the almost-dirty side and will instantly treat you like he's known you for your whole life. He's already got a hand clapped on your back and is asking about how school or... whatever it is you're doing is going

He'll happily give you advice and what you should do - or more correctly what he would do if he were in your shoes, but you know, that's just him. He'll likely end up talking about some story of his childhood which honestly is starting to seem like its own movie franchise with the amount of things that have happened

Overall, for the short time he's around, he's always a welcome face and you're probably going to be one of the people going "WOOO NIKOLAI!" whenever you see that semi truck. He's got a fanclub at this point

König (Maintenance)

A guy as big as him is perfect for maintenance. He already knew how to work with his hands from childhood where he grew up on a farm - his parents taught him. It's an important skill to be able to fix things, so he learned how to do it well

He can very easily pick up whatever needs to be moved or reach the tallest of places. Carrying planks of wood and fixing that one leaky pipe in the ceiling is easy as can be for him. He only really needs assistance if it's an area too small for him to fit

Which isn't very often. Usually it's things like "Billy tried doing a cartwheel but ended up face first in the wall. Anyways can you come fix it-"

It's easy enough for him. The campers usually have to vacate the area anyways when he's doing work due to potential hazards anyhow, so he works all on his own, as happy as can be

He's working on his own and is usually all alone 9/10 times. He's not very social and would rather keep to himself. Plus, kids have little filter. He'd rather take his space from them because usually if he's around them, the things THEY end up saying make him self conscious more. Even if he knows he shouldn't be, kids can be brutal

If you want to get in contact with him, usually walkie talkie is the best way. Cell service is as good as gone around most of the camp. Its that or try to look for him in areas where people wouldn't be

He's on top of things and keeps the camp in working order, luckily. Being as organized as he is and on-top of repairs means he can often be left with a fair bit of free time

Which he happily uses to go on hikes or to spend some time out in mother nature, enjoying the outdoors without pressure from anyone or anything

He's very much his normally quite socially awkward self which is why he'd prefer to stay away from others, but you can occasionally catch him mid-job. Please, don't bother him while he's working - unless he specifically volunteers you as tribute to help him (it happens when he needs someone to hold things)

Don't tell him what to do while he's doing it, though. He knows how to do his job and knows it well, which is ALSO why he doesn't like usually working with others. His own self-assurance can be misinterpreted as arrogance but he knows he's good at what he does, thank you very much

You're really not going to find him around others, except maybe the counselors and the older groups of campers who know how to actually treat others with respect. That's on rare occasions and usually it's only when he's practically made to be social

Still, you can absolutely get in his good graces and try to befriend him. Offer to help him out, get to talking to him about himself, and maybe politely steer any campers away who stare at him because he's a moose of a man - and maybe bribe him with snacks, you'll eventually get closer

He'll still not be the most chatty but you'll find he has a sense of humor (as dry and as terrible as it might be at times.. and maybe a bit snarky), and just maybe you'll find yourself hanging out with him at the art pavilion late at night, working on your own projects

He loves to carve, it keeps his hand and his mind occupied. And for being such a big guy, he's quite dexterous and has a lot of skill manipulating a knife. Maybe a worrying bit, but look! He's made you a carving of your favorite animal, maybe don't focus on the knife but rather the work that he's done (and is proud of)

Keep that as a token and you'll surely have good luck for the rest of the year. Maybe even better with him if you make him one in return

Bonus: He's unofficially banned from campfire stories. Not that he particularly wants to be there to tell him, he just might if some kids seem distressed or are begging. It's just like how his mom did for him when he was little, so surely he can do it! Except they're uh... they're the German kind. The ones that usually end with someone dying, tortured, suffering - the ones supposed to teach lessons and morals. He loved them so surely they must too - wait why are the kids crying? Oh god, he made it worse. (Banned for a reason, he's just confused and a bit baffled, he thought it was a happy one :( why are they sad?)

Phillip Graves (Equestrian Director/Barn Manager)

Sorry not sorry, I'm never UNseeing him as anything less than the utter cowboy energy he puts out. Granted, he's not from the rural countryside or a poor family. He's from an affluent family who happened to have a home in the countryside, there's a difference

He just goes by Graves because being called "Shadow" ended up with too many "oh, like the hedgehog?" 's for his liking

You're on one of three teams when it comes to him. You either love him, hate him, or love to hate him. There's absolutely no in between. He's an incredibly polarizing person with how strong his personality is

Most of the counselors simply do not like him because he's absolutely a snake in the grass and will do what he can for his benefit. It's himself and his interests first, others second. Usually that just means any and everything to do with the barn, he sees it as his priority

He's really only kept around because of how damn popular he is with the campers and parents alike - and the fact he really has money and brings a fair bit in for the camp. A lot of other staff don't like him, but you can't deny his charm or that he's actually good at what he does. He butts heads with many because he's.... himself, but he's easy enough to avoid on a general basis

Phillip is many things but lazy? Hell no. He's opportunistic. If there's an easier way to do something, he'll do it. But he'll still be working his ass off for it. He's someone where if he sees something he wants, he's going to take it. He keeps things running and his ambition keeps them two steps ahead

He's got wit, he's got charm, he's got a smile that can disarm - seriously, the man can lay it on thick like molasses and it works. He's ended up with so many campers having the innocent crush on him BECAUSE of how suave he is. Doesn't matter if you hate him, can't deny the initial strong vibe he has - even if he is a bit of a douchebag later down the line, especially if you're against him

He really doesn't care for all too many of the counselors outside of those who work directly with him. If you're working under him as apart of the barn staff, congratulations, you're apart of his crew - he's looking out for you (at least on a surface level), and he'll happily sink his teeth into anyone who comes after you with a smile on his face

His group can certainly be a bit cliquey, as in you're not sitting with them or eating with them UNLESS you're apart of the crew. But to be fair, they're usually eating breakfast significantly earlier than everyone else and eating dinner later due to the horses - and that's also a biiiit of an excuse for it

He runs a tight ship and keeps everything moving. There's no room for error or for skipping past the times on carefully laid out schedule when you have as many animals there as he does. He's got a game plan and has everything down to a T, it's fast paced, but it's how everything keeps functioning like a well oiled machine

Graves isn't lazy, no, he puts in his work. He leads best by example and knows no one will respect him if he can't show that he's WORTH that. Plus, it helps build comradery if he keeps himself involved. Not to mention, he's a firm believer in "if you want something done right, do it yourself"

Usually there's other instructors and counselors who help teach campers and manage that, he's usually doing more so day to day important barn duties and working with the advanced equestrians. He knows his stuff, but he's very "my way or the highway". He's not a lenient instructor but he'll get results. And if you know what you're doing, great, he won't be over your shoulder at every given second and will even compliment you if you do well

He's a douchebag, he's full of himself, and he's got quite the attitude and arrogance but that's not all he is. Just work hard and be in his good graces, or avoid him at all costs, and you'll live. The Phillip hating team is quite strong so you have allies if you do the latter option

At least he's usually rather nice to his own counselors and is looking out for them. You can absolutely get closer to him if you work under him and work hard. He notices talent when he sees it, as well as hard work. He's not above appreciating it or at least rewarding his team and making them feel valued enough to keep supporting him instead of flaking to others

You can hate him all you want but you cannot deny how much he loves his horse. She's a dapple gray quarter horse named Carolina and she's probably his biggest weakness. She gets the fanciest and best of EVERYTHING, he keeps her pristine and proper. He's got a whole stash of purple shampoos and hoof and hair oils alike for her. Even their tack is blinged out, her halter has actual gems set in them. Yes, it's overkill, but so is all he does

[muirmarie]

i do think one of the funniest things people do is, sometimes when we have a group of friends, you just know that someone doesn't like you. i don't mean they hate your guts or anything, but they just Do Not Like You. but you're in the same group of friends, so it's whatever, you're both nice and polite to each other, and if you ever told another of your friends, they'd be like nooo, don't be silly, so-and-so absolutely likes you! so you just don't mention it, and they don't mention it, and sometimes you end up in situations with just the two of you, and it feels vaguely like you're making polite small talk with your worst coworker, and the two of you never admit what you're both absolutely aware of, and this can easily go on for years. i just think that's a funny thing we do.

[reds-skull]

Revenant Side Stories

Story VI: Farah

[Konchar] [Graves] [Gaz] [Price] [Novikov] [AO3]

This was originally going to be a retelling of the entirety of Farah's story in MW 2019, but I underestimated how long that would be, so these are more of snapshots of her life, up until 2019.

Farah is going to be a central character in part two because it will revolve around Urzikstan, so I was very excited to get into her character in depth. This was probably the hardest side story to write because I think the original story was already good (it's easier to write for something that had a lot of flaws in it rather than something good... maybe that's why I like cod after all these months lmao)

Anyway, I also decided I'm actually not done with the side stories, and the last actual one will be of... Roba, of all people. I know I made the comic for Ghost's origin story, but I never got to show what he did to Roba.

Alright That's enough rambling let's get to Farah's story

She doesn’t remember the first time she has heard of revenants. Humans who are saved from death, only to come back with abilities from worlds beyond their own. Of how they are revered, looked up to. And yet, misunderstood.

They don’t look up to revenants in Urzikstan.

The once-dead are not heroes among her people. They’re something to be pitied; people who chose to stay on earth and suffer, instead of move on to a better, calmer existence in the place after death. Take on the burden of the Reapers, dust off the dirt of their graves, and continue the endless fight for freedom.

In Urzikstan, revenants are called “those who sacrifice”.

Her baba taught her and her brother the different names of Reapers, told them tales of those who sacrifice as bedtime stories. She always found them fascinating, as opposed to her brother. They were often grim, their ending tragic and unsatisfying, but they felt more real like that. Felt more like her day-to-day life than any other fairy tale could.

She wouldn’t know how much her story would be like those, before it was too late.

The day she died is muddy, in her memory. Yet another thing she sacrificed, in order to stay in this world. A deafening whistle, followed by walls collapsing around her. Streaks of ash on the bloodless face of her mama. Pain, unlike anything she could imagine. The voices of her baba and brother and uncle, searching. The sickening shifting of concrete above her, whispers praying for mercy, the walls closing in on her-

And she dies.

At seven, before she knew how to write the alphabet, buried beneath the earth with only the pale face of her mother as comfort, Farah Ahmed Karim died. Yet, she did not move on.

The memory of the first time she saw her Reaper was clear. She may have forgotten her mother’s lullabies, or her father’s laughter. She has not been given the privilege to forget her Reaping.

The first thing she noticed was the clean air, an odd odor to it but blessedly lacking the dust she has been inhaling for what felt like hours. The lack of pain was the second - her legs no longer crushed under thick concrete walls.

The monster, was the third. A being made of sharp shapes, glistening metal melting and hardening, flowing through cracks in the stone face of the Reaper.

As the stone face moved, grinding against itself, Farah got up to her feet. Her legs screamed at her to run, but the memory of her baba’s stories calmed her. 

“The ones who take do not mean harm to the ones who sacrifice, Farah.” he told her, whispering as to not wake her brother, “they need each other. They need our sacrifice.”

“What for, baba? Why would the ones who take need to give humans their powers?”

Baba sighs, a small smile on his lips as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear, “we don’t know for sure, but we must have something they don’t. Some say we humans were chosen by chance.”

“What do you think?” she asks, her endless craving to know more yet satiated.

“I think we and the ones who take are connected, somehow. I think we are the only ones that can sacrifice.”

Instead of running, instead of listening to all of her senses, Farah stepped forward, and with a small voice asked, “w-who are you?”

The stone face turns to stare at her.

“I AM MIGHT. THE STONE, THE BLADE, THE BULLET.”

The Reaper tilts its head, metal rivers splashing into an endless void.

“DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?”

Farah blinks away the tears that have gathered in her eyes, tries to speak louder, “I’m… I’m Farah? I’m a human, I’m-”

“YOU ARE NOT HUMAN, FARAH. YOU ARE DEAD, BURIED, CRUSHED.”

Her lips turn downwards, and she can’t stop the tears any longer, “w-why are you asking if you know?”

The rocks grind in an almost rhythmic way, and somehow Farah knows it is laughing. It makes her avert her eyes.

“Can… can you save my mama?” she asks, and the sound stops.

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

“S-she… I think she also died, can you-”

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

She grasps at the torn edges of her dress, sniffing her runny nose, “it’s not… it’s not fair…” her face scrunches as she sobs.

The Reaper leans forward, the light surrounding it reflecting with dazzling colors off of its body. Farah closes her eyes, not because she is afraid of it, but because she is afraid for her mama.

“I CANNOT SAVE HER, BUT I CAN SAVE YOU.”

Farah opens her eyes. Baba said he thinks only humans can sacrifice, but maybe not all humans can. Maybe mama wasn’t able to sacrifice, but…

She lifts her hands to wipe roughly at her face, tears and snot smearing on her skin. Her eyes trail up the falling liquid metal, beating heart deafening her ears.

Her voice is steady when she says, “I want to see baba and Hadir. I don’t want to leave them!”

The stones grind once more, a sort of excitement shaking the very ground.

“YOU WANT TO LIVE, FARAH.”

She nods and repeats, “I-I want to live!”

The Reaper tilts closer, its face level with hers.

“I WILL GIVE YOU THE MIGHT, THE STRENGTH, THE POWER TO LIVE, FARAH. AND I WILL TAKE YOUR SOUL.”

The metal drips near her feet, heat emanating from them. It reminds her of home.

“I choose to sacrifice. For you, for baba, for Hadir. For… for mama.” Farah whispers.

The stones shift, circling her. Her breath picks up at the thoughts of crushing walls, but it is not dark here. No one is shouting. She doesn’t smell death.

 Metal singes her clothes, and she wants to jump back, but the stones stop her. It burns. It hurts.

It is not dark, but the bright colors blind her all the same.

“I ACCEPT YOUR SACRIFICE, FARAH.”

“MY MIGHT IS YOURS.”

When she wakes again, Farah doesn’t feel pain. She’s still under ruin, somewhere different from where she was before. All she sees of her mama is a hand, and she holds it. She notices the skin of her own hand glistening in the meager light filtering through dust and ash, like colorful metal. Like her Reaper.

It felt like hours pass before baba found her. She feels hunger and thirst, but the weight of the building doesn’t pain her anymore. Baba is crying when he finds her, pulls her out of the wreckage carefully, asking if she’s hurt.

She tells him nothing hurts. He pulls back from their embrace, his brows scrunched in confusion until he notices.

“I chose sacrifice, baba.”

Baba closes his eyes and hugs her harder, and she knows it would’ve hurt if she could feel it. He tells her everything will be alright. She wanted to believe it. She couldn’t.

They find mama. Hadir tries to wake her up, but Farah pulls his hands away. She tells him mama is in another place now, somewhere better than here. Hadir’s hands shake in hers, but he nods and pulls away.

Uncle and baba rush them home. Farah wants to cover her ears, the sirens don’t stop sounding, the noise pitching up and down along with her heart. Loud explosions make her flinch, so Hadir grabs her hand. It makes her feel safer, for a moment.

They run through the market. There’s a truck stopping in their way.

The Russians.

Baba lifts her in his arms, Uncle taking Hadir. They tell them to cover their mouth, when the Russians throw weird gas at them. It smells like the liquid mama used to clean their house, and it made her eyes itch and burn.

They enter their home, but baba doesn’t stop moving. He gives Hadir a gas mask. He will have to share his with Farah. Uncle leaves, telling baba he’ll meet them later.

“W-where are we going?” Hadir asks, clutching the mask.

Baba grabs a backpack, hidden behind the kitchen cabinets, “we’re going to the bridge, then to the mountains. There will be no sirens there.”

Farah hurries to follow him, wiping blood on her dress. Her skin isn’t bruised, but it feels weird.

“I don’t want to go…” Hadir says with a frown. Baba turns to look at him. He crouches and pets his shoulder.

“I know, dearest. I know. We will return, I promise.” his tone changed, stern like when he taught her not to touch the hot pan, “you need to be strong for your sister now, alright?”

Baba points to Hadir’s heart, “you keep mama here,” his hand moves to his head, “and you keep this clear. That’s how we survive, you understand?”

“Yes, baba.”

Baba shoulders the backpack, and begins walking towards the door, “when we get outside, you stay with me, okay?”

As he goes to open it, the handle moves, and the whole frame shakes. Someone is trying to get in.

“Stay behind me!”

The door slams open, a large man with a gas mask walking in. Farah takes a step back. The man meets her eyes and closes the door, and she stares at his gun.

Baba pleads with the man. He does not listen.

Baba throws his backpack at him, the man shooting a couple of bullets into the floor. They miss Farah’s feet by a few centimeters, and she freezes, breath held in her lungs. Hadir throws himself against the man, but gets shoved back.

The man pulls out a knife, baba manages to take it, stab the man. But it doesn’t change a thing.

It doesn’t save him, when the man pushes him to the floor, and shoots one, two, three, four bullets.

Only then do her feet unstick, and she mutters to herself, “hide!”

She runs back to her and Hadir’s room, crawling under the bed. The man shouts angrily and she hears something break.

Hadir. She needs to help Hadir!

As the man talks to someone on his phone, Farah crawls towards the kitchen, finding a knife. Mama always warned her not to play with them, but if the man catches Hadir…

In her heart, she asks for forgiveness from mama.

When she finds the man, he’s leaning against a wall, his hand clutching his side. Before she can think it over, Farah lowers and slashes at his legs. The man screams in pain, shooting a few bullets at the ground, and turns around to slap her.

It doesn’t hurt, but she drops the knife, so she runs away again.

One of baba’s tools is on the ground, must’ve fallen from his backpack. She grabs it and continues running, the man on her tail now.

The man says mean words to her, in Arabic, but her ears are pounding, her own heavy breaths the only thing she can hear. Her grip on the tool tightens.

“I’m going to kill you!”

Farah watches the man stumble in the hallway, searching.

“You’re going to see father soon, you piece of shit child!”

He trips on the rug. She sneaks closer.

“You’re dead, you hear me?! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!”

Farah runs forward, aiming for his other leg, but he turns around and grabs her hand before she can stab him.

“There you are!” he grabs her by the neck, slamming her to the floor, “got you!”

She can feel his hand wrap around her, crushing her windpipe, but it doesn’t hurt. The man grunts, before he freezes.

“You’re- you’re one of them?!”

Hadir jumps on the man’s shoulders, screaming, “get off her!!!”. He uses the knife she dropped to stab him in the neck, “get him, Farah, now!”

Farah grabs the tool, and uses all her strength to stab it into the man’s chest. He screams as flesh gives under the metal.

“It’s working! Again, sister!”

She pulls it out, and repeats.

“Good, Farah!”

And again.

Four times, until the man stops moving and making any sound. Farah takes his mask, the gun too heavy and tool buried in his gut.

Farah and Hadir return to baba. Hadir tries to help him up, but baba stops him.

“I can’t… I can’t go with you.”

Tears well in her eyes. Baba is leaving as well.

Hadir wraps his hands around baba’s, “what do we do?”

“You survive. Whatever it takes.” he turns to look at Farah, “even… even your sacrifice. Never give…up…”

Baba’s head drops. He’s gone.

Hadir stares at him for a moment longer. He gets up, “let’s go.”

They weave through the town, a murky green tinting the air. People are gasping and coughing around them, until a gunshot silences them. Hadir says it’s not fair. Farah knows.

It’s not fair, that they pass by people who get shot, and don’t get back up. It’s not fair, that she has to kill twice more, just for them to get a chance at freedom.

It’s not fair, when a man drags both of them away from it, a cruel smile on his lips as he inspects her.

It’s not fair, that she knows to recognize the malice in his eyes.

The soldiers take them to a prison. They find out she is one of those who sacrificed.

It’s not fair, she tells to the Reaper in her heart, that her sacrifice was not enough to save anyone.

She learns very quickly to hate Barkov. He learns, quicker, that his usual torture methods don’t work on her. He finds her weakness not in her own flesh, but in the flesh of the others. Hadir, in most cases. They keep the men and women separated, only allowing her to see him once every few weeks, and every time she gives them trouble, he takes the punishment. He tries to hide it, but he can’t hide his limp, or his bloodshot eyes, or the scars that keep multiplying upon his skin.

Contrasted with her flawless arms, glistening oddly in the light.

She gets into fights with her Reaper, in the earlier days. Demanding answers, for the simple question of “why?”.

Why her? Why this power, that only protects her? Why taunt her, tell her she’s under the Reaper of Might, yet show her every day how weak she is?

There are whispers among the guards, of a person by the name of “Karim”. A Commander, aiding the prisoners, attempting to contact foreign forces by transmitting messages from the inside. Barkov spends hours torturing her and the others, trying to find them. After a while, Farah notices a glint of playfulness in the wretched man’s eyes.

He knows who Karim is. He just wants to break them, annihilate the sense of fragile hope Karim gives the prisoners.

Barkov wants their spirit broken. Farah knows he will fail, because as long as any of them stand, they will not give up. For those who can't fight any longer, for those who are still with them in this hell, for Urzikstan.

They think one can uproot it from them. What they don’t know, will never understand, is that you can’t kill an idea. You can’t torture the memory of freedom out of them.

The soldiers seem on edge, mumbling in Russian about rumors of enemy forces invading Urzikstan. One of them slaps the back of her head when she stares too long.

The cycle continues - Barkov interrogates her, always keeping another prisoner in the room to torture in her place. Today it is Azadeh, younger than her by two years. Azadeh doesn’t flinch at the glint of a knife, but she screams as Barkov buries it in her thigh.

Farah’s guts burn at her wailing, at Barkov’s cocksure grin, his hand easily yanking the knife out of spasming muscles.

She breaks. Tells him she is Karim. It feels like an end.

Barkov freezes, before he pounces. Knocking her out of the chair, he covers her mouth, pinches her nose, deprives her of air.

Not many things can hurt her, but Farah still needs oxygen to live. Her wrists twitch roughly against the bindings tying her to the chair, Azadeh calls for her. Barkov snarls.

“I will not let terrorists like you ruin my country.”

My country… My country?

Urzikstan will never kneel to the likes of you.

As the edges of her vision darken, a soldier bursts into the room, his movements rushed as he informs Barkov the prison is under attack.

Barkov, always needing to have the last laugh, tells her she hasn’t saved anyone, that Karim’s role was only to doom her people, and orders his soldiers to the warehouse, to kill everyone.

Air fills her lungs as she inhales for the first time in over a minute. Barkov tells the man to take Azadeh to the warehouse, and her to solitary confinement. She gives Azadeh an encouraging nod, before they’re separated.

Karim hasn’t failed yet. As long as they’re still alive, she hasn’t failed.

Solitary is part of the older section of the building. Farah has been here enough times to know the rebar in the far corner of the cell is loose, and she herself have made sure, should the need arise, it will be easy to extract from the cracked concrete floor.

The moment the soldiers leave, she gets to work, pulling the metal with a grunt. With a few well-placed hits, Farah breaks the lock, and opens the door.

It is silent outside, in the way a graveyard is. Something sick spreads on her tongue, as she sneaks out of solitary. A few soldiers are making their way to the main cell block, to take the remaining prisoners to the warehouse, Farah assumes. The rebar feels lighter in her hands.

The first soldier she hits over the head screams as he goes down. The rest instinctively start shooting her. It doesn’t do much to stop her from caving their skulls in, besides ripping a few new holes into her clothes.

Searching the bodies yields her a key and an extra mag for one of the rifles. All of them were either empty or jammed, the frantic soldiers not recognizing her.

For them, all Urzik are the same.

Her sisters are relieved to see her approach. The gunshots scared them, fearing it was anyone but her. She opens the cell, freeing them. She uses the key to open a gun locker, and orders them to take up arms. No hesitation is visible on their faces. They all know this is an end.

Of the soldiers or theirs, it is yet to be seen.

“Our brothers have been taken to the warehouse to be executed. We are not going to let that happen.” Farah snarls, fingers aching as she grips the rifle, “are we?”

“No, Commander!” her sisters yell in unison.

Farah feels pride bubble up within her. They haven’t broken their spirit.

A series of far away explosions makes their little group flinch. Ayah asks, “who is attacking us, Commander? Are they on our side?”

“I don’t know. And as long as they distract Barkov and his dogs, it doesn’t matter. We need to move before it’s too late.”

They slam open the doors, Russian soldiers already ready at the other side. Her sisters’ aim is wobbly, the recoil more than they’ve experienced, but they have one thing the Russians don’t.

They don’t fear death anymore.

Nadia was injured in the firefight against a sniper. Ghalia has been limping since an explosion knocked her down. Darine and Azadeh are tired, they’ve been in solitary for days with little to no food or water.

They manage to hole up in the warehouse, but there’s no one there. Farah shouts for Hadir, her echo the only answer.

“Commander!” Azadeh calls, “there’s a way through here, this is must be where they are!”

Farah kicks the door open, turning right to clear the hallway, when a body slams into her from the left. She falls to the ground heavily, teeth bared as a barrel lines with her forehead. The other two soldiers aim at her sisters, Azadeh screaming in horror, “please don’t shoot!”

For a moment, Farah loses hope. Her mind supplies her with Barkov’s words.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

In the next, the skylights shatter. Precise bullets take out the three soldiers, not a single wasted shot. Ropes are thrown through the broken windows, and men wearing gas masks repel down. One of them looks at her, “Whose Commander Karim?”

Farah huffs as she pushes a dead body off of her, “I’m Karim.”

The soldier swings his weapon to the side, “we got your message” he lifts the mask up, revealing a pale face, “Lieutenant John Price. Where are the others?”

The Lieutenant offers her a hand, and Farah grunts as he lifts her, “in there. Straight ahead.”

Price looks at the dark hallway, before turning back and lowering his mask, “stay close!”

Azadeh’s expression is uncertain when Farah stops her from following them. Wordlessly, she nods and returns to her wounded sisters’ side. They both know the path ahead is meant only for trained soldiers.

Trained soldiers, and those who cannot die to a bullet.

Farah keeps her rifle up as the soldiers and her scan the hall. Tanks with warning signs plastered on their exterior line the narrow passage way, and she doesn’t need to know Russian to know what’s inside.

“Got two!” Price warns, and takes out one of the guards. The other doesn’t waste time watching his partner go down, and before one of Price’s soldiers puts a bullet in his head, he aims and shoots Farah.

Straight shot to her heart. These guards are more skilled than the ones she fought through to get here.

Two hands clamp onto her shoulders, and Price’s wide eyes stare at her through the gas mask, “you’re not wearing armor- Karim, sit the fuck down, I saw the bullet hit you-!”

Farah frowns, following his line of sight to the hole in her shirt.

“Lieutenant-”

He holds her as if she’s about to collapse, muttering, “why are you not bleeding…”

Farah grabs his hands, and the Lieutenant’s brows shoot up.

“You’re a revenant.” his hands loosen, and drop to his side.

Farah nods, “no bullet or blade can hurt me.”

Something odd passes by Price’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything to indicate what.

“Lieutenant, the prisoners are here! We need the breacher for the door!”

They run towards the back, and Farah slides to a stop at the scene.

In a room with large bullet-proof windows, where fire wars with the Russian’s sickly green gas, her brothers pound on the glass, their screams muffled.

They were going to watch them suffocate and burn.

She shakes out of her stupor when she notices Hadir. Slumped in the corner by a door, unmoving.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

Farah runs to the other side of the door, where Price and his men are attempting to pry open it. They don’t have time for this.

“Stand back!” she grunts, and Price barely pulls the other soldier away before she shoots 4 bullets into the lock.

She barely manages to catch Hadir when the door slams open, her brothers running out towards fresh air. She should feel happiness, that they were fast enough to save them.

But in her arms is the still body of her brother, the one who has been through this hell with her from the beginning. The one with their mama’s eyes, and their baba’s kindness. Farah feels tears run down her face as she presses two fingers to his pulse. Nothing.

There are voices around her, speaking to her. She doesn’t hear a thing. No sound is worth hearing when her brother’s heart does not beat.

Price crouches in front of her, his mask off despite the gas filtering in from the room. His voice is gentle when he speaks, “Karim… we need to move.”

She shakes her head. It reminds her of how Hadir didn’t want to leave their house, when baba knew they had no choice. She has no choice but to leave him.

Oh, how could she leave him like this?

As the Lieutenant urges her again, as her brothers and sisters start to realize what happened, as Farah’s fingers stay on a paling wrist, she feels it.

A heartbeat.

Hadir gasps, his hands shoot up to claw at his neck frantically, and he jumps away from Farah. Everyone is watching him carefully as he catches his breath, silent and knowing.

Farah clenches her fists, failing to quell the shaking, “...why…?”

Why did you choose this over seeing mama and baba again?

Hadir turns to face her, but his eyes don’t meet hers. They’re not the blue-gray they were before, she notices. Green, like the gas that killed him.

“You survive, whatever it takes. Never give up.” Hadir repeats their baba’s last words. “Not even death will come between us, sister. Not anymore.”

“May your soul find rest.” she says, and her brothers and sisters murmur it with her. Hadir then lifts his gaze, and he gives her a sad smile.

Price and his soldiers stand back, looking properly shaken by seeing a dead man return. For them it is an anomaly.

In Urzikstan, they all know what a sacrifice looks like.

Farah gives herself a moment more to mourn Hadir, mourn the peace he refused to receive in death.

She gets up, grips her rifle, and orders her people, “collect survivors and supplies. We’re leaving.”

“Sister.”

She stops cleaning her knife for a moment, acknowledging Hadir’s presence with a nod, before continuing, “any sign of Barkov?”

Hadir drags a chair to sit in front of her, “no, we’re secure here. The Lieutenant cleared the area well.” he watches her hands work on the sharpening metal, “I… I wanted to tell you about my powers.”

Her hand freezes. “Immunity to the gas. I know.”

“No.”

Farah opens her mouth to question him, but when she looks up at Hadir…

Mist flows from his eyes and nose, pouring down his features. Green, toxic, smells of chemicals and death.

When he speaks, more gas flows from his mouth, “I’m not only immune, sister. I can create it.” fear paints his words.

“Enough.” she orders, though to her ears it sounds more like begging. Hadir stops using his power all the same, and it is with shame that he looks at the thin level of gas coating the floor of the run-down room.

Farah puts the knife and whetstone away, and hugs Hadir. He presses closer, and she feels his body tremble with silent sobs.

“You will not use this power. We do not need weapons of the enemy to win this war.” Her brother may be doomed, cursed forever to bear the gas within him, but it does not mean he needs to continue Barkov’s legacy.

Hadir doesn’t respond for a while, but when he pulls back, he nods. “Yes, Commander Karim.” he says, pride in the title. “What are your orders to our brothers and sisters?”

Farah sheaths the knife, her voice strong and clear, “Barkov must’ve had more prisons. It’s time we find more hands to help our cause.”

Alex Keller is… odd.

He had a surface level knowledge of the situation in Urzikstan when he arrived. Not from a tactical standpoint - CIA doesn’t let details like those escape them, of course. But from a human’s, and perhaps a revenant’s, it was clear Alex was not used to seeing such disgusting levels of violence unhidden for all to see. Barkov doesn’t need to hide it. America already knows.

The world already knows.

Keller’s abilities as a revenant proved advantageous from the very first mission they had. Infiltrating has never been easier, with a man able to become invisible to the naked eye. Later on he has told her of his weaknesses, that his form is still corporal even when see-through, and that electronic optics are able to catch traces of him. His honesty doesn’t go unnoticed, and Farah appreciates the trust he puts in her.

Hadir didn’t trust him at first. Despite his relation to Captain Price, he was wary of the American. It didn’t matter much to Farah, as long as they were amicable enough to work together, but seeing Hadir slowly let his guard down over the weeks was a moment of happiness in her days.

It helps most in days when Hadir seems distant, when a fog she can only call a thirst for revenge clouds his eyes. It feels like the times she has to fight against his violent suggestions double every new mission.

Something is brewing in his mind, she can tell. Hadir doesn’t want to share it with her.

At least Alex doesn’t push back against her orders with no good reason…

They’re on ground now, Alex using Hadir’s Sniper to scope the Highway of Death, and Farah spotting for him. They’re waiting for forces of Al-Mudahiyn, The Sacrificers, to pass through.

Al-Mudahiyn and the ULF used to be one and the same, until they weren’t. They share the goal of liberation, but where the ULF chooses to prioritize the safety of the people of Urzikstan, The Sacrificers choose the retribution on the Russians to be theirs.

Liberation will not be achieved peacefully, Farah knows that. But revenge won’t bring it either, and as much as she would hate it if it were to happen, if she had the choice to free her country but let her oppressors walk away unharmed, she would. She is sick of seeing her brothers and sisters die, and sacrifice, and bow their heads to men who see them as lesser.

In that, Al-Mudahiyn and her disagree. The militia focuses its powers on creating chaos among the Russian’s ranks, within Russia itself, and anywhere where its sympathizers live. And while they both deal in violence, Farah cannot agree to it being the objective.

It is a tool. One she will wield only as long as her enemy does. 

The SAS and CIA have begun to retaliate against Al-Mudahiyn, as has Barkov, their actions too flashy to ignore. Stealing several containers of Russian experimental gas was the last nail in the coffin.

The ULF along with Captain Price’s team decided to work together to stop them.

“One vehicle approaching from the east!”

On her mark, Alex takes down the two snipers that attempted to set up on the roof. Killing them is a calculated risk; it could alert their target and cause them to change course, but leaving them alive could’ve risked Hadir and his team, who are nearer to the road.

Two fighters from Hadir’s team take the truck and park it in the middle of the highway as a makeshift blockade. She watches as they rig it up with explosives, and orders them to wait for her signal.

Their target, as do many in The Sacrificers’ ranks, is a revenant. According to Alex’s sources in the CIA, they’re just a Revenant of Flesh. Their healing powers could save them from some injuries, but an explosion should kill them.

And if the explosion doesn’t do them in, bullets will.

They were ready for an ambush. Armored trucks, snipers, mortar teams.

“We need help! Where is Captain Price?!” Farah shouts as she fires on a few fighters making their way through the ruined house they’ve taken cover in. Alex pops up to shoot as well, but she pushes him behind her when a few bullets hit too close for comfort.

Her clothes are riddled with holes.

Hadir shouts from the rooftop beside theirs, “we cannot wait! I’ve got more firepower in the truck!” an explosion shakes the foundations of the house, “Alex! Follow me!”

Alex looks back at her, and she nods. Hadir’s intuition never failed them, his habit of preparing for the worst saved operations more than once. He’s not her second-in-command just because of their blood relation, she trusts him more than anyone else.

That is why, when green, toxic gas started covering the abandoned village rapidly, Farah didn’t dare think it was him. Hadir wouldn’t do that, he promised her.

She hears him shout to Alex that there are gas masks in the bunker. It should’ve tipped her off. It didn’t.

Coughing horribly, she ran towards the bunker, her steps unsteady as the gas coats her lungs. She has never forgotten the way it claws down her throat, burning, seizing her muscles.

Alex comes into view just as Farah’s vision begins to fade, and the last words she hears singe worse than any chemical could.

“H-Hadir… You’re… a revenant?”

When she comes to, it’s to the smell of dust. Her throat still burns, but as she coughs, she feels clean air filter through her nose. Farah blinks her eyes open, to see Hadir equip a gas mask on Alex’s face. He notices her eyes following his movements.

“Sister…” Hadir leaves Alex to approach her, his arms open. Before, she would’ve taken comfort to see he is not injured.

Now, all she sees is anger. Green, sickly, violent anger.

Farah pushes him away, but she is weakened, so his arms don’t leave hers, “how could you do this?!”

He tries to placate her. It makes her shake with exertion to get away. “I had no choice, Farah! I-”

“No. Not like this.” her eyes roll back, and before she loses consciousness again, she mumbles, “you promised…”

“-Farah!… Alex!”

She grunts. Her arms feel weighted when she pushes the dusty gas mask up and off her face. Alex does the same, trying to get up on his feet and failing.

Price’s voice invades her mind, and she winces. It is an unfamiliar feeling, still. “You’re alright, Farah. You’re alright.”

Still unused to the powers, she chooses to speak, “where is he…? Where is he?!”

Price finally reaches them, helping Farah get up, only for her to push off to rush out the crooked door, “he’s gone, Farah…”

She snarls. How dare he run, how could he leave- “no… Hadir… HADIR!!!”

“Farah!” Price follows her, catching her when she stumbles on the steps outdoors, “Farah, stop! Stop, he’s gone!”

Her fists clench on dry earth and she screams. Coward, liar, monster. No curse is bad enough to describe that fucking dog.

She feels Price wrap an arm around her, not to support, but to comfort. It reminds her why they’re here in the first place.

“There is no thief.” she tilts her head up, staring at Price’s blue-gray eyes. His brows knit in confusion, and she continues, “he created the gas. I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t know, I didn’t know…”

She feels Price pull images from her memories. She lets him.

The Captain looks through her interactions with Hadir for the past few weeks. At first, Farah thinks he doesn’t believe her word, but Price relays to her that he’s not doing it for himself.

He’s proving her she’s not at fault.

“There’s no way you could’ve known, Farah.” he says out loud.

Alex joins him behind them, leaning on another soldier, “it’s okay, Farah. We’ll get him.”

She wants to bristle at those almost meaningless comforting gestures, but the look in Alex’s eyes is pleading her to let it go, for now.

Price helps her up again, shouting to Alex, “we need to un-ass this target- NOW!”

As they board the helicopter, Farah looks down.

Corpses line the desolate streets, no bird dares to sing at the sight. Both Al-Mudahiyn and ULF fighters lay still, eyes bulging and throat scratched raw. She grits her teeth, but her eyes don’t stray from the sight, even as the aircraft rises to the air.

Alex places a hand on her shoulder after a while, a questioning hum following.

She shakes her head, and with it his hand.

A voice that has haunted her for the last two decades drifts closer to her, whispering into her ears a sentence she hates to acknowledge has never been wrong.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

At twenty-seven, Farah Ahmed Karim has lost the last remaining blood relative she had. There was no one left to mourn, except her.

In a dusty helicopter, with the smell of noxious gas still in her every breath, Farah promised to find him, the walking corpse of her brother, and stop him before he drags more of them down.

And unlike the man who once was her brother, Farah keeps her promises.

[whispermask]

this is exactly how it happened

[toomanywordsnllines]

heyyyy~ poses on the floor sexly.

Do you ever think about how Roach didn't immediately die from his wounds back in the original mw.

Do you ever sit down and think about Roach, laying down on the floor bleeding out, helpless, having to watch his soulmate (his other half, the love of his life (so much more than romantic love, so much farter from platonic love, so much them), his Ghost) die instantly by the gun shot wound.

Do you stare at the wall and imagine Roach still having time to feel agony and grief, even while in pain, even if short, even as he bleeds out himself, even as he gets drenched in gasoline and consumed by fire.

Maybe he had time to caress Ghost's unmovable cheek one more time. Maybe he took his glasses and closed his eyes for his own peace of mind and for the deep respect he felt for the man. Maybe he cried his final tears not because of his own pain or for his own death but because Ghost went first.

He left first.

Because I sit down sometimes and I think about how Roach didn't die right away. And it seemed like the universe looked at him and laughed because Ghost died instantly. Like a cruel joke.

A final fuck you to him.

Roach didn't die immediately. He could've maybe tried to get away, maybe get a knife and kill Shepperd. Get revenge. Proceed with the mission. Use Ghost's radio and warn the others- But no, he stayed, watched tiredly, that sick fuck turn away after taking everything from him, watched Ghost's lifeless body singe, watched as the flames consumed his own flesh and tried to burn him before he succumbed to his own wounds.

Him and Ghost became, together, the ashes that later fed the land and grew the greanest grass.

Price and Soap probably didn't even have enough of them bodies to put on a casket.

They, together, will be on that field forever.

[stone-cold-groove]

You wanted steel windows but the Army needed tanks! Republic Steel Company ad - 1942.

[god-complex-12]

Atychiphobia

— Paring; Capt. John Price x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II

Atychiphobia: (n.) fear of failure; fear of not being good enough

Quote; “You’re perfect.” “Not anymore.”

Description; An Angel falling in love with a human is sinful is the face of judgment, and is to be dissipated. Disclaimer; Reader is an Angel. Religious based. Christianity. Talks of sinning. Reader is a fallen Angel. Descriptions of pain. Not an accurate representation of the religion. God is referred to as “Father”. Kissing. Tears. Praying. Begging for forgiveness. More of the reader’s relationship with God rather than the reader’s relationship with John. Religious trauma.

Word Count: 0.6k

Masterlist

Over the hundreds and hundreds of years Y/N has lived, he has never once thought he would find himself here. Y/N loved being a Guardian Angel. He found a passion for protecting those who deserve it, and that feeling of joy he got when his Father assigned him to a human was indescribable. It was no different when he was assigned Jonathan Price.

As the Angel slowly worked his way into the man’s life, over years of working with him. He found an attachment to the man, but brushed it off because he does that with every human. He finds himself in Task Force 141, second in command to Captain John Price. Though it wasn’t hard for the Angel to work himself up to that status and he could even surpass Jonathan, but he doesn’t need a high status. All Y/N needs is to watch over this man.

“Jonathan, you shouldn’t smoke so much.” Y/N said, placing a warm cup of tea onto his desk.

John’s eyes flickered to meet Y/N’s. “Why do you call me that?” He asked suddenly, putting out the cigar in the ashtray. “You’re the only person I know that calls me by my full name.”

Y/N smiled warmly and shrugged. “I’ve just grown accustomed to it.”

Then there was a brief silence. They stared at each other, almost longingly. John breaks away first with a deep breath. He straightens himself in his seat and grabs the cup. “Thank you, Y/N. For the tea.”

Y/N nodded. “Do you need any help?”

John paused, looking over at the paperwork. He knew he could finish it within an hour, but he wanted Y/N to stay.

It seemed with every passing second they grew closer. Accidental touches turned into purposeful ones. A tension growing with each glance stolen, begging to be snapped. Those late night meetings, turning into late night talks, turning into something more intimate.

Y/N’s hand holds the side of John’s neck as they kiss. The other kept him propped up on the desk. John is standing between Y/N’s legs, his hands on the Angel’s thighs. John pulls back only to whisper, “You’re perfect.”

Y/N hopes his Father will forgive him for this. He shook his head. “Not anymore..” He whispered back, but before John could respond, Y/N’s lips found his.

But in the face of judgment, his Father had no mercy. Y/N was dissipated from heaven the minute he got to report back. The Angel finds himself kneeled in his room with an unfathomable pain shooting from his back as his wings are ripped from his body completely. Even if it can’t be seen, it can be felt. He’s biting his own hand to muffle his screams as he writhes in pain. Blood soaks into his shirt and he finds himself clawing desperately to get off.

Y/N shakily pulls himself to his knees, resting his head on the side of his bed. He puts his hands together and whispers a prayer through his pained sob. He failed to notice his barrack door open.

“Y/N?” John asked, terrified by the bloodied sight before him. He rushed to Y/N’s side. “Y/N what happened?”

Y/N doesn’t respond as he continues to beg for forgiveness from a God who is doubtful to listen.

————

Part II

[suffarustuffaru]

garfiel may also be otto and subaru’s new little brother but you know what he also is to them?

child in the middle of a custody battle