#Landebahn

[animefreak1145]

Church Bells(Adler x Bell!Reader x Woods)

Previous Intel

Eighth Intel | Before

Description:

The world ended for Bell after Cuba.

The whole world followed soon after.

Zombies AU | Drabble Format

Warnings/Tags: Mature Rating, Graphic Violence, Dark Themes, Trauma, Body Horror, Gore, Major Character Death, Brainwashing, Post!Cuba, Pre!Solovetsky, No Solovetsky, Female Bell, Older Man/Younger Woman, Toxic Relationship, Obsession, Menticide

Words: 4k (What's a drabble again?)

▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▛ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▟ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚

 ■ ▞ ■ ▚ ■  “Bell” ■ ▞ ■ ▚ ■ 

Day After Ukraine Mission

16:07 | February 28th, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN” 

“You do that a lot.”

You start from what you were staring at, the codes that are so tricky and you feel so close. The intel from what you have in your hands adding a piece to the puzzle that you’re enamored with—the complexities satisfying a carnal part of you that you can’t name. Your head turns to find Lazar’s curious yet amused smile, close to the television they used sometimes for the news not at your usual spot at the too small desk with the too large computer; at the center table instead is where you chose to haunt. 

“What?” you reply dumbly, too out of your element to say a more snarky reply. The transition from focused on the task to this interruption from the man that is more of an Eema than an Abba due to how hearty he looks and feels and making sure everyone felt the same by also stuffing their face. 

“That.” You were met with Lazar’s finger in your face. You resisted the urge to stare cross eyed and instead gave him a more inquisitive look, eyes searching. Which only humored him more, releasing a chuckle. “You have quite an intimidating stare.”

You push the hand away, scoffing,

“What? At my work? Isn’t that like everyone else?”

Lazar hummed, his eyes glittering at a joke you can’t understand.

“No. You have that type of stare that will freeze lesser men. Or get slapped by someone who thinks you’re looking for a fight. Or get you put into an asylum. Only, when you decode, you have an insane smile on your face. It’d be creepy if we didn’t know you.”

“Uh huh.” You dismissed, eyes glancing at the medical office. “You should work better on your compliments if you want Park to have a drink with you.”

If Park wasn’t in the medical office room along with Adler, you’re sure Lazar would throw his old cup noodle at you. Alas, he only gave you a dry “Ha. Ha.” with a neutral expression but still didn’t leave. He wants an answer. 

You turn to him fully, elbows leaning back against the desk, petulant.

“I doubt I smile like how you describe…” Lazar snorted while you frowned at him, before shifting your gaze back to your papers. “I don’t know. I just…love puzzles. They’re fun to solve.”

“Is that what makes you stare so intently?” Lazar leaned against the television, the stand slightly creaking at the movement, his intrigue seeming sincere. Another question hidden, two subjects being asked for one answer. A wall. “The thrill?”

Is that what love is to you?

You tapped at the papers, biting your lip in thought. 

“Maybe a part…I just have this need to figure things out. To open it up—to find the numbers, the letters, the riddles. In an order that is random but it’s not. It’s just a trick. A shadow on the wall. A reason for each piece. Each hint. Every piece of the puzzle has its purpose. It’s reason for being.” You didn’t notice when you started smiling, the topic consuming you like books and pictures do. But you just kept going as you grabbed your pen and fiddled with it, miming writing numbers or letters. “Like Sims with mechanics, I think. Or you with bomb wiring. You find the hardy wires or broken pieces—and I untangle it all. I even love how difficult it could be if I find a cipher intellectual. It’s fun.”

“Sounds maddening,” Lazar replied simply, brow raising. “And painful. Maybe even obsessive.”

You shrug, staring deeply at your own pen, tone far away. As if you were speaking about another topic than this. Something other. Like a secret.

“That’s love, isn’t it? Pain and obsession?”

“Your books tell you that? Or you come to that conclusion yourself?” You pressed your lips, silent. Only glancing at Lazar(are you easy to read?) who only smiled gently before switching gears and letting out a booming laugh. “With that description of love—you very much implied Adler is in love with our friendly neighborhood Perseus.”

Your jaw dropped, a gasp being released as you sat up rigid in your chair. A defense for Adler and a denial ready only for a startling guffaw to join in.

“What the shit are you talking about, Lazar?” Woods comes from his previous spot practicing with the boxing bag, Mason side by side with his own amused gaze as they come close to the center table. Woods snorted as he leaned back against the table near you instead of taking a proper seat. “Can you imagine our own Robert Redford switching spit with a commie? Ha!”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Mason quips to his friend with a nudge while Woods expression quickly changed to offended with no heat as he pushes Mason back with a disbelieving snort. “What? Sorry I’m airing out your fantasies.”

It was strange watching them. The easy back and forth quips and teases. Lazar felt like a warm hearth and home cooked meals compared to Mason’s steady kindness of a worn animal despite its past and Woods…

You briefly think of the night prior, how charged he felt out in the field. Not eager for it yet…willing to take everything and anything out his way. But his friendly taunts and words to you too. The arcade. The room where you got the intel and the knowledge he had of you, knowing you would’ve loved to play around more with the tech and computers there if the both of you had time and not world ending doom.

You weren’t impressed by his skills. Skills are to be expected in this line of work. People can call you cocky all they want.

But how personable he is? That was different.

It was unexpected.

(Why did it feel like he’s more close to you than Sims right now? Why has everyone been so disconnected from you? Even—blue fire for eyes hidden by the shaded wall, wheat dancing in the wind, artful cracks across a canvas—)

A hand waved in front of your face, your eyes broken from its lost look as you blinked back to the present.

“Hello? Earth to Bell?” Woods was still next to you and you couldn’t help but notice that Mason moved away with Lazar to where Lazar’s station is. Still talking with friendly smiles and easy atmosphere. You blinked again before turning towards Woods, who looked at you with a mix of amusement and concern. “What happened there? Did you even listen to a word I said?”

You didn’t. You’ve been doing this a lot. Getting lost in your head. Your brain foggy and mind distant. Not as quick as you usually are. You thankfully haven’t had this happen in the field. You hope it stays that way.

Instead of giving a straight answer, your lips only rose in a dry smile.

“Sorry, was thinking just how you got the guts to punch Hudson of all people.”

Woods huffed, crossing his arms and leaning back, brushing your shoulders as he did. 

“Doesn’t take guts to punch a prick.”

“No,” your smile turns up a tad, more mischief. “Takes some balls instead. Can’t have balls without a prick nearby or there’ll be trouble.”

Woods made a choked sound, as he stared at you dumbly before slapping the table and releasing a loud boom of a laugh. You wonder how he does that. So loud. So free. 

“You got more spunk than I thought, Bell. Guess you need it to even get the idea to escape in a Ruskie tank.”

You huff out your nose, but your chest still lightened at the praise. Your smile coming easy now and tension completely fallen away. You hid it though as you turned back to your work, picking up a stray picture of the Ukraine base you took.

“Did it for you. I figured you would want to run some commie’s over.”

“Oh, I’ve dreamed of it. I would say top five of my favorite wet dreams.”

You couldn’t help it. You snorted, it bursted through your chest and it didn’t stop, only turned to a laugh. You put a hand over your mouth to try to contain it but Woods satisfied expression only made you laugh more.

“Why—why did you say that?!” You try to collect yourself but you couldn’t. Not when Woods waggled his brows as if in answer. “Pfft—should I even ask what’s top one?”

Woods shrugged. 

“No can do. Gotta protect your innocence somewhere. My mind is a crazy place. Don’t wanna scare you off.” You snort again, shaking your head at him and tried to get back to work. Woods didn’t move as you stared around at the different pictures you took with Intel. “Say, where’s the random pics you took of me?”

“Don’t worry, Woods. I didn’t take out a camera with you over the mannequin—“ You stopped when he shook your shoulder, a warning gaze that only made you bite back another smile and only glare at him with no heat as you pushed his hand off. “Calm down,” you say quietly. “I haven’t said anything. Scout’s Honor.” You raise a hand as if to show.

Woods rose a brow dubiously.

“Were you even a Girl Scout?”

“Doubtful. Looks like you just gotta hope I don’t open my mouth about it.”

Woods grunted. Yet still didn’t leave. 

“Do you normally take pics of everything and everyone? Even on missions like that?”

“I like it. I like taking pictures. Did I make you uncomfortable?” You did take a few of him before you took a picture of the base. It was nice lightning and he looked good. “I can give you the pictures I took to you, if you want. They were good shots.”

“I suppose I can add it to my scrapbook.” Woods joked before shaking his head, his eyes turning more curious as the conversation went on. Gaze more assessing as he stared down at you. “Nah, it’s fine.  Don’t mind you keeping them. After I take a look of course. I guess I’m just asking…what’s the obsession with the camera? Film is precious right?” At your shoulder tensing, you starting to get defensive, he quickly changed tactics as he rose a hand in calming manner. “I ain’t judging. Just curious. Couldn’t help but overhear Park talk to you that Adler doesn’t like wasting resources. Or some shit like that. I don’t get the big deal. But it must be if you keep doing it despite them having a stick up their asses about some film of all things.”

Your brows pinched together, gazing intently at Woods eyes. You don’t see a reprimand. Or exasperation. Or even amused exasperation, like you were just being cute while doing something disobedient—like a pet jumping at their owners even as they tell them no with an amused smile. (“Always the one who never listens. Huh, Bell? Didn’t I tell you before about the pictures?”) He’s being sincere in his interest. It was his expression that did it.

You looked away, eyes taking in the safehouse around them. 

“Ever feel like a ghost in your own body?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Woods answered roughly. You nodded next to you, him taking that as permission that he can finally properly sit next to you. You didn’t mind thighs or shoulders brushing. Comrades now. Both of you throwing your lives on the line. Getting shot  by a common enemy brings people together no other way can. 

“Well, the coma did a number on me. I don’t remember much. I can’t put a story to scars on my body. My life, my memories—it’s only Vietnam.”

“Fucked up thing to remember. That whole war was a shit show,” Woods provided. “You must’ve been young.”

You only hummed, distant. Eyes straying in the direction of the red room. Your skin prickled in goosebumps, ears falsely hearing shots and napalm strikes. You shuddered but hid it by clenching your fists on the table, eyes on your jumbled words of your work. 

“Yeah…Hue City was just the start of everything going downhill…But I guess my point is…” You don’t know how to properly say it, you can’t find the English word for this. Esurient for memories erased. The feeling of not quite fitting in everyone’s circle, even with Sims. Monachopsis. (Are you even here at all? It’s like they stare past you.) “Life is memories. I don’t have any. What’s a person if not memories? So…I don’t feel…like it. A person.” You shrug casually, mutely. Hand wandering to a picture, thumbing it. “Ghosts don’t seem to remember stuff besides a deep motive. That’s what others believe. But…with pictures…pictures are for memories. If I take pictures, I’m actually taking memories. And if take enough memories…” You struggled once more how to explain but Woods was sharp despite his looks.

“You’ll be a person again.” Your eyes darted towards him, giving him a minute nod as he seemed to consider your words with a tilt of his head. The silence between the two of you wasn’t stifling, just…there.

You felt like something was released from you. 

Unlocked. 

The key was just for someone to ask. 

“Hey, listen—“ you turned at the soft touch to your shoulder, and you noticed Woods looked uncomfortable about the atmosphere you created. Not used to sharing open emotions like this no doubt but still had what appeared like care in his eyes. “You should really talk to Mason, he—“

Your ears honed in on the medical office opening, your eyes quick to follow as your head swiveled. Everything turned silent as your eyes settled upon the body you can recognize even in the thickest of jungles or deepest of wet rice paddies. And as your eyes settled, your thoughts of ruminating toska and the sense of lacuna dissipated.

You were so busy trying to catch what Adler was saying to Park beside him, you temporarily forgotten Woods next to you. You could hear him talking. Some form of advise. 

You turned back to your work and absently nodded with a quick smile to match at him. Your lips moved to say thanks. You think you did.

You didn’t see Woods throw another look of concern towards you, of suspicion. Turning something over his head.

You forced your ears to stretch, as if with force you can have super hearing. With brute force you can have the arcane man with valleys upon his visage, with liquid nectar that bounces with voluminous silk, voice of gravel that leads to the path of victory and makes your mind hazy. 

You still had a pen in your hand, tight as you looked down with a frown at the papers. Your leg beginning to bounce under the table. Impatient. Restless. Athirst.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Adler called out(Beckoned, Signaled, Enticed—trinket waved like a treat. Your nepenthe.) clearly, more loudly than how he was talking to Park. You didn’t turn your head as he walked out the door near the garage door, too obvious. But you did sneak a look when he exited, stealing gaze right when you saw his back before the door closed.

Except it didn’t. A small rock held it ajar.

A secret.

“What the hell?” Woods was bewildered, staring after Adler while you tried to hide the fact. Waiting a beat. Or two. Your leg bounced under the table, growing more insistent. “Doesn’t he get his fix in here anyways?”

You heard Lazar answer for Woods, something about Adler needing a change of scenery sometimes. You can see in your peripheral his glance. You ignored it as you stood up to head back to your computer desk.

“I’m taking a break too,” you say, quickly picking a book from your pile in the corner after a brief deliberation.

“Uh…” Woods face would’ve made you laugh from how scrunched up it was as he stared as you quickly fixed your work papers back in the center table, book under your arm. “Isn’t that what you were doing? Like fuckin’ a second ago?”

“No,” you answer, organizing the pictures and quickly scanning them before you do so. “Lazar interrupted me from my work. And then you did. It was an interruption. Not a break.”

“You sure turned prickly,” Woods said in answer.

You pause, seeing Woods was somehow offended. He just doesn’t get it.

“Says the cactus,” you quip with a quick smile, twitching up more at Woods huff out his nose. “I…like taking my break the same time as Adler,” You decide to answer the question in his eyes. He did listen. “It’s what we’ve always done. I read. He smokes. And right back to work we go. It works better this way.”

You didn’t wait for his reply. 

You didn’t even bother to see if he was about to.

You have the book in your hand, and you have your tether(Your eyes looks for the sun tanned gold even though it should blind you, but you never cared for your wellbeing. Protect the quiet monster like a demon enraged. Demon for monster. Monster for demon. The coin. You keep it in your pocket, whelve it—the whispered confession—the gravity of your ustulation and agastopia can burn through your pockets and skin all it wish. You keep it in. Like the pain killers Adler gave you earlier for your migraine after their meeting with Hudson about Ukraine.) outside. 

You open the door and without looking, you went to the left side of the door that’s by some unused pallets. Sitting on them and opening your book to your last point, as if you were ignoring him. (How could you?) He was smoking as he leaned against the wall beside the door. You always left of it, him always right. (▞ He’s always right. ▞ He ▙ never ▞ lies. Not to ▖ ▞ ▗ you.)

It was silent. Only the turning of your pages as you focused on reading, and the occasional exhale you hear now and then if you strain your ears. A puff of grey smoke above the two as your audience.

You don’t mind the quiet moments. You take what you can get. The two of you have too long a history for you to be uncomfortable at silence. Or needing something more. 

You don’t.

(The secret coin in your pocket burns, and you try not to flinch nor whine. You must stay sated, ▚ демон ▚ ▛ ▖ ▖.) 

A shot went through the front of your skull, your hand darting up as it seemed to go to the back of your head, a hiss to your lips. You almost dropping the book with your other hand.

“Another migraine?” He was close. You opened your eyes you didn’t realize were closed as you were hunched over your knees, spotting his shoes. 

You only offered a small nod before closing your eyes again, jaw tight. 

“I don’t…” you stop, speaking more quietly to help with the pounding. The sunlight was too much already, you don’t want to add your own voice to your own misery. “Dont know why it’s getting worse. Is this…normal?”

“It can be.” He replied simply, to the point. “Here. Take this.”

You blinked your eyes open and lifted your head to spot he took out some more medicine from his leather jacket, holding it out to the pills in the palm of his hand. At the sight, your stomach curdled.

You felt yourself pale and you don’t know why.

Adler must’ve noticed your hesitation. Tilting his head and lips twitching to a frown around his cigarette. He lifted a hand, taking one deep inhale, embers subtly lighting his face before he threw it off. He exhaled out his nose, smoke flowing smoothly. 

Your throat tightened as you stared. But not in want. It felt more heavy. More heady. Your mouth open more in a wince than for anything else.

“You know this will help. We gotta make sure you’re in shape for this, Bell.” You bowed your head in shame, book now beside you on the pallet as you clenched your hands on your knees. You heard him sigh. And now you see him, closer—he’s kneeling in front of you. One knee down, the other having his elbow leaning against it. “I don’t have to explain to you the stakes currently. You know how serious this is since you and Woods found out Hudson’s dirty little secret about Perseus and the nuke he has. You know it. We can’t fuck around anymore.”

You hunched your shoulders, as if that can hide you from your guilt. Because you spotted his glance towards your book. You can guess what else he’s hinting.

Stay a ghost or try to be a person? A part of your mind asked. You tried to not let your heart crack of no more pictures.

“I know…” you say, eyes down and to the side. Yet… “It’s just…it wasn’t that long ago you gave me them…I don’t—I mean—“ Your tongue is tied again. Like always near him. You didn’t mean to sound accusing or hinting. Adler is trained for medical issues on the field. You tried to take a breath. “I just don’t want to be a burden with all this. Slow you guys down. I don’t want to disappoint you.” You did a tight squeeze of your knees, practically white knuckled grip, a mix of uncaring at your honesty and hating yourself for it.

You felt your chin be lifted up, Adler’s forefinger doing so you can be face to face. He assessed you seriously.

“You won’t, kid.” He’s so close. Breath to your face. So calm too. Your anchor. He believes in you. If you or him leaned just an inch or two forward—he took his hand away from your face before bringing his palm with the medicine again. “Taking these will help. I’ll watch over you. Just like the good ‘ol days.” He tilted his head, a quirk of the mouth up. And you think he couldn’t be more charming. 

You ignored your past nerves, quickly taking the medicine in a dry swallow, gloved hands brushing his bare ones(Damn it all.). 

He nodded at you, the barest thing of it before he stood up. Glancing at your book again with pressed lips before facing you once more with a raised brow.

“Oscar Wilde? Here I thought you only read Dostoevsky and Nietzsche.”

“It’s a collection of some of his poem’s. And a break from existentialism and nihilism is good for the mind. But you’ve always been more of a stoic,” you shoot him a teasing look, an attempt to get your bravado back. “Our very own Prince Andrei Bolkonsky.”

Adler did a small huff out his nose.

“Just don’t start bowing.” Adler did a quick motion of his to the door. “Come on. Back to work, Tolstoy.”

You nod, marking where you were in the book before following Adler back in, your hold on the book tight. Who knows when you’ll get to read again.

Stay a ghost or try to be a person? 

(It doesn’t matter. Adler made the choice for you.)

You tell yourself it’s fine. You instead let yourself be a book for Adler—willing to be read. You imagine how he would do it, a book of you in his hands. Read through your pages, open up your spine and let his fingers run through your creases—how easily can he finish you? How many times could he, until you’re worn and wrinkled from use? Will his touch trace the abuse of a loved book?

The place where he put his finger on your chin burns.

…

The page you marked on the page reads: “Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight, For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light."

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A/N: Bell is a SIMP. Poor girl. The best way to tell if Bell is in love, is if she suddenly starts thinking in poetry. Bell stares intensely you say? Bell loves intensely too.

I’m also confusing myself with Dark!Adler and Soft!Adler. But again he’s both so 🤷‍♀️ Man so toxic and a red flag, he’s even confusing the author.

Also, I’m planning to write really quickly to finish up For Whom the Bell Tolls. Didn’t want to but I really want to go ahead and write for BO6. Then again, that fic was NEVER supposed to be that long or longer. Sorry if I speed through some stuff, I just want to finish it and move on then torture you all further.

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121 @pyxis-stellae @makeyourpeacenow @obsessedgremlin

You have to tell me if you want me to tag you for each update or else I won't know. Or if you wish to be removed.

[ghosts-cant-sleep]

you told me love is to pray (i'm sorry, i dont pray that way)

russell adler x male! reader warnings: average mlm soviet era situationship, a wittle sexual but not straight smut, age gap, toxic yaoi, not proof read lolz notes: posted in honor of bo6 coming out!!! i love the bo series sosososo much and cw was def a favorite. lowkey rlly hoping this years cod will have the same effects as mw22 because jesus christ the men in the black ops series r SO fine and it's criminal that they dont get the attention they deserve. give me bo requests rn. like rn.

fem dni

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, "DIE LANDEBAHN"

[Name][L.Name], CIA

52.6200 N. 13.4050 E. West Berlin

March 8th, 1981

The dank musk of the safehouse had long since grown stuffy and suffocating, a damp draft they could never quite figure out. The stench of tobacco was seldom better, but it was everywhere, clinging to the walls.

Adler sat at the edge of his thin, stiff matress. The sheets pulled from the corners and tangled around him, tugged over his lap in an attempt to preserve whatever dignity he thought he still had.

He keeps his elder on his knees and his eyes glued to the floor, concrete cold bent his bare feet. He tried to ignore the sleeping body behind him. A sleeping body who had no place with him, yet there he was all the same. He wasn't sure what to do with all this.

It was hardly four in the morning, but Adler had long since given up his fight for rest. His hands instead found his zippo, the weight in his hand, an old, comforting friend. He fiddles with the cap, calloused thumb rubbing against the cold metal surface, flicking the cap up, then shutting it with a 'click.'

Christ, how far he's fallen. Where did his resolve go, his self-control, his dignity? How had he made himself so easy to beckon into the hands of another man, nearly half his age, no less. He was better than this. He had to be.

He'd liked to believe his hands only ever yearned for [Name]'s skin when his brain was at its slowest, in the midst of a drunken stupor, but he'd be lying through his teeth. Even now, he fights to keep his gaze off of him, imagining how [Name]'s body looks stretched across the matress, sheets thrown askew over his bare body, the scars carved into his skin that seemed to age him decades.

With a tired sigh, Adler's hands find his coat, thrown haphazardly on the nightstand. He fiddles with the fabric, leather squeaking and rustling as his fingers search through pockets, plucking out a pack of cigarettes.

The cardboard box is wrinkled and hardly intact, falling apart in his hands. There's only a couple left, and the thought makes him nervous.

He slides one one out, and not a moment later, it's held between his lips, pack tossed aside, and his lighters flame igniting the end. The stench of smoke is quickly to fill the room, pungent. The immediate buzz brings a soothing lul to his mind, quieting his worries.

He knows the relief is temporary, it always is, but the moment he lets himself pretend he doesn't realize.

Behind him, [Name] stirs awake, mused up by the smell of tobacco. The matress shifts with his weight, the springs screach, the blankets pull.

Adler sneaks a glance over his shoulderx watching as the young man behind him turns to lay in his back inside, eyes still screwed shut. He stretches out like a cat, back arching against the matress, sheets bending within the dips of his legs as they bustle beneath the bedding. His skin is littered with evidence of Adler.

Who, in turn, is quick to avert his eyes back to the cigarette burning away in his fingers, pinched almost too tightly between his thumb and index. With a shakey hand, he lifts it back to his mouth, taking a greedy huff.

[Name]'s eyes blink in the darkness that still shrouds the room, pale moonlight filtering in through the dirtied windows, and the slight glow from Adler's cigarette.

His gaze finds purchase on Adler's back. Even in the fuzzy, dim light, he still feels like he can make out every detail. He traces up the length of his spine, brain filling in where every freckle, mole, and scar would lay. He doesn't miss how the muscles of his back roll under the weight of his eyes.

"It's rude to stare," Adler huffs out, voice abrupt and bearish as he cuts through the stillness. Smoke rolls off his tounge with every breath, disapating into the room.

"What's rude is not offering a hit," [Name] retorts, unbothered by the calloused tone of Adler's voice. He was always like this the morning after, the asshole. [Name] grown used to it quickly-- he always came back around.

The scratchy material of the matress bends under his weight as he moves to his knees, settling behind Adler. He leans in close, letting the warmth of Adler's back soothe the cold skin of his chest, pressing their bodies close.

Despite whatever naivety Adler saw in [Name], he wasn't some idiot kid. Adler was far from a good, nobel man, and anyone with half a functioning brain could see that clear as day. He saw that dark charm, that relentless ambitious, with what ease it took for his words to bend the minds of the people around him-- and maybe he's fooled himself into thinking he's ammune to it.

He wished Adler could make up his mind. There was a constant push and pull, hot and cold, soft and doting one second, then cold and dry the next. It was tiresome. He was sure Adler felt... troubled in regards to the situation they'd gotten themselves wrapped up in.

What he wasn't sure about was exactly how he fared in Adler's thoughts, what the man makes of him. Was he an asset, a tool, a teammate, a liability, a lover, something better, something worse?

There was a certainty in the back of his mind that he tried to ignore. If it came down to it, him or Adler, he doesn't think it'd take much for Adler to make that decision.

There wasn't a single word out of Adler's mouth he could trust wholeheartedly. Nonsense stories about whatever scar [Name] had proded at, every word of support, every promise, every notion of praise muttered against [Name]'s sweat soaked skin.

All the same, [Name] let's his chin rest against the junction of Adler's neck and shoulder, leaning his weight onto the older man. With a sluggish groan, his arms, still heavy with sleep, wrap around Adler's torso.

"You're a fiend," Adler huffs, sneaking a sidelong glance at the toung man drapped against him, only able to make out the blured lines of his hair from the corner of his eye. "I cut the checks around here-- I know you make enough to quit bumming off me."

All the same, he steals a quick breath before raising the cigarette up to [Name]'s lips. He feels the warmth of his breath and can imagine with ease the way his lips part just to wrap around the filter.

He takes a long, slow hit, the burning paper sizzling, burning brighter. He lets the toxicity fill his mouth, burn his throat, flood into his lungs, warm his blood. He can't help but smile around the butt.

He takes a moment to savor the flavor before letting the smoke drift from his lips, eyeing the ribbons, noting the shape it takes.

"They taste better from your packs."

"Bastard."

"Hm." He sounds far too pleased with himself.

A moment of affection breaches past Adler's will. His free hand finds a place on [Name]'s own, resting gently, pliant fingers wrapping loosely around him. His thumb finds the curve of his wrist, rubbing against the thin skin shrouding the bone.

The small gesture pulls a soft sigh from [Name]. He focuses on the feeling, letting it silent the rampant hum of his thoughts.

He leans his head against Adler's, eyelids relenting to the heft that pulled them close. He relaxes into whatever faux comfort Adler provides. It was a tricky little thing to resist, giving into this simple desire, the brief beats of calm. What was the harm in playing pretend a little while longer? They were both good at it.

"You're cold," Adler complains, despite how he leans back into [Name]'s skin, even if just slightly. Regardless, he makes half an effort to rid [Name] off his shoulders.

"It's not me, it's the room," [Name] rebuttals back with a defensive scoff, sinking deeper into the heat of Adler's body, feeling the scratch of his stubble against his cheek. He speaks low, "You're just really warm," he mutters, hot breath hitting Adler's skin.

His hands spread flat against Adler's skin, fingers sprawled, greedy for more purchase on his flesh. One hand follows the line between his abs up towards the dip in his chest, touch firm, and certain. The other is lighter, softer, teasing the nails of his fingers trace instable patterns between Adler's hipbones, brushing against the hem of the sheet.

Adler nearly allows himself to once again fall back into [Name]'s hands, giving into his touch. The smooth skin of the young man's hands gliding over the bumbs and ridges of scars carved into his skin.

But, just as he'd be trained to, he pushes through the temptation, the desire, the buzz [Name] brought to the pit in his lower stomach.

His hold on [Name]'s wrist turns firm and almost cruel, pulling a slight hiss from the youger man, hand stilling against Adler's body.

He pulls out of Adler's constraint, leaning back away from him, the air around them suddenly feeling much too frigid.

Adler finally spares a glance over his shoulder, staring straight on into [Name], breath mingling, noses brushing together.

Adler looks older than he is. The crows feet at the outer corners of his eyes are deep and only seem wose at this early of an hour. A scowl personality ghosts his features, lips pursed, a perpetual frown even when all seems good. His eyes are a hollow blue as they bore back into [Name]. They narrow just a twitch-- observing, scrutinizing.

The gaze Adler meets is like a cruel parody of his own. His gaze is tight and narrowed, but still too soft. Boyish. All that ages him are his eyes-- the dark bags heavy beneath them, and although his wide-eyed look may be green and childish, that idleness is unmistakably one in the same with his own.

Turning away, Adler shrugs him off his shoulders-- with less laze this time.

"We're both up," he states, clearing his throat as he lets his cigarette rest on the overflowing ashtray sitting on the bedside table. He bends over, bed creaking, sorting his own clothes from [Name]'s. "Might as well get a headstart."

[Name] sits back, arms fully leaving their place around Adler, resting them in his own lap. His hands come together, fingertips tobacco stained, much like Adler's own. He fiddles with his fingers, pressing one nail into the other, noting how it feels when it bends.

He watches with a vague, tired interest as Adler stands from the bed, tugging on his clothes. The sound of rustling fabric, a few popping joints, and the jingle of his belt is what fills the silence before [Name]'s voice takes its place.

"Work can wait for a few more hours, can't it?" His head cranes up, tilting to the side, lips parted and dry. "It's hardly past four."

The request wasn't even inherently lewd. He'd be lying if he said he wouldn't take whatever Adler gave him, but for once, he admitted to himself that he wasn't hoping for sex. There was a tenderness he searched for-- a glowing warmth as opposed to raging heat. Innocent touch without the assumed promise of something more.

Adler's brows pinch together, crows feet further crinkling as he looks back towards [Name]. He regards him with a strange look of disinterest-- one of the many faces of Adler that left [Name]'s mind running itself in circles all day long.

He wishes his could crack open Adler's head, look around inside, poke and prod. He imagines seeing tangible thoughts sliding along the ridges of his brain, telling him what Adler's thinking how he feels, what makes him happy, sad, angry.

Oblivious to the thoughts in [Name]'s head, Adler approaches the edge of the bed, smoothing out the wrinkes in his shirt. His lips press into a pensive purse as his knees reach the edge of the bed.

After a beat, he raises his hand to curn around the contors of [Name]'s jaw, giving it a tentative squeeze. The gesture lays halfway between affection and mocking, unsure of where it leans.

Adler mouth falls open, then closes once more. A soft sigh is shared between the too men.

Adler allows himself just a beat to feel the weight of the younger man's jaw resting in his palm. His fingers press into the flesh of his cheeks, letting it dip under the pressure of his firm touch.

Just as quickly, his hand falls back towards his side. Finally, he offers his version of an answer;

Then, just as quickly, his hand falls, then he finally answers.

"Get dressed. We've got a job to do."

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Unknown Soldier

Fandom: Call of Duty Word Count: 5985 (sorry) Summary:  Jodie Hall, callsign Bell, is faced with the revelation that she is not who she's been made to believe she is. Feeling betrayed, with memories rushing back, all she wants is a little bit of air.

A/N: Hello! This is a rewrite of the cutscene where Bell finds out they're brainwashed but written for my version of Bell! Hope you enjoy, pls let me know what you think :) Slight implied woods/bell, but at this point in the story they're not really a thing yet

Read on!

CIA SAFE HOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN” Jodie "Bell" Hall, MI6 52.5200 N, 13.4050 E, West Berlin March 14, 1981

As Bell worked to open her eyes, the lights above left sparking spots dancing across her vision. She attempted to block out that sickly light with her right hand, but found resistance against her limbs. Sluggishly, she moved her head to the side, eyes pained to focus on the leather straps that restricted her movement, that pinned her to the gurney beneath her back. Her mind was fogged, encased in a painful ache that even the tiniest movement made her stomach lurch and her body wishing it could anywhere but there. 

Beside the gurney was Sims, his arms folded over his chest and eyes watching her so very intently, scrutinising her, judging her. Bell may be feeling like her mind was a million miles away from her physical body, but she was not stupid; he was regarding her with a deep seated hatred and it burned her skin. 

He muttered, calling out to someone, “she’s coming to.” 

In an instant, Adler was in their presence, leaning over her as he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. The grip was tight, edging towards being painful, and Bell winced against the pain. He did not care, instead, his voice loomed over her, deep and assertive, “Bell, no more fucking around. What did Perseus say? Where is he?” 

Her eyes met his, though her sight was blurred, fighting incredibly hard to focus. There was a brief thought that danced across her mind, as the fog started to rise and her brain began to settle down from whatever heights it had been at before. Her head shifted back, an attempt to put more space between her and Adler, only for the gurney to keep her rigidly in place; the thoughts became clearer, incessant, and she found that the voice in her head grew louder than the voice of the man before her. It screamed that she was clueless, lost, and everything was a lie. 

Her voice was small, as her sweat slicked brow furrowed, “who am I?” 

There was a flicker of derision on Adler’s scarred features, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, soon replaced by a concern that did not sit right with Bell. His voice grew soft, levelled with a sense of urgency, “you’re disoriented, Bell. We’ll explain everything later. Right now, we need to help each other.” 

Her dark eyes remained on him for a moment longer, growing darker as clarity finally came about her. Memories flashed across her mind’s eye, so quickly that the course of events overlapped and flitted in a slurry of blurred images, headache inducing and raw. The drugs that had pumped through her system burned inside her veins, the ingenuity of her captors seared across her skin as their eyes bore straight through her. These people wouldn’t help her, they had her tied down to a damn gurney. 

“Bullshit,” she spat, lurching against the restraints. 

“Bullshit is what your whole life will amount to if you don’t come clean.” Adler leant closer, a sneer on his features as a low growl roughened the edges of his vocals, “tell us where Perseus is.” 

While Adler and Sims were settled by the left of the gurney, Park stepped into the light by the right and her hands came to rest on Bell’s forearm - it was a calmer sensation, gentle in some way, a reminder that Bell might still have someone. But there was the instinctual desire to tear herself away, denied the right by the restraints. 

Park spoke, as softly and calmly as her touch attempted to coerce Bell to feel, “you were one of Perseus’ agents, Bell, and his associate, Arash Kadivar, turned on you at the airstrip in Turkey. He left you for dead.” 

She was partly right. Bell could feel it, knew it, deep down, that there was a truthful essence to those words; but they had it completely wrong, too. At the edges of the very recesses of her conscious mind, after all the drugs, the conditioning, there were glimpses of memories that belonged to the woman that Bell once was. After a second of reaching for them, desperately clinging to that consciousness, she found that those memories came forward, rushing at her in a cold wash of dread. 

In her fingerless gloved hands, a thick file, filled to the brim with bountiful knowledge that, in the right hands, could end Perseus in his steps and see him rot in Hell. Her eyes settled over the Russian text, reading it over and over, as a reluctance to hand it over to her counterpart weighed heavy in her chest. 

This is the information that she had been asked to collect, to give to Agent Wells when they next met, and yet she could not find an ample opportunity to stash it away. Eyes were on her, ever present and lingering, as though they knew exactly what part she was playing. 

The hand of Arash Kadivar is out to her from her right, waiting expectantly, urged to hand over the files with the slight wiggle of his index and middle fingers. Forcing herself not to hesitate, Nadežda placed the files in his hand, the mask over her face hiding the reluctant grimace that flashed across it. 

Arash opened the file, flicked through the pages, nodding as though something had been confirmed to him. He looked at her, offered her a cocky smile, then spoke, “when the plane leaves Trabzon, it stops in Duga. This you know.” 

Nadežda nodded, brows twitching into a short lived furrow, as her heart skipped a few beats - the palpitations did not last long, willed away by the strength of her resolve to complete her mission. She had come so far and she was not about to lose sight of the end goal now. 

“Here’s what you don’t know,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, as though gauging her reaction, “Perseus won’t be there.” 

Now this was new information, a dash in the plans that she had not foreseen coming. Perhaps, she thought, these differences were ironed out in a meeting that she was not able to be present for, and could only hope for that to be the truth. But, Nadežda knew that the entire faction played with the semantics of the word truth, she played with it, and so found herself unable to commit to that notion. 

She was singled out for a reason and her palms grew sweaty, as she tried her best to hide the nervous anticipation of Arash’s next words. 

In turn, Arash waved his hand out to gesture at the collection of men and women working along the airstrip, the sight coming into view as they began to arrive. They were loading weapons into the plane that sat patiently on the airstrip, “none of these hired guns are going to leave Duga alive. We’ll dump their bodies in the forest. Then we will move the weapons to Volkov in Berlin.” 

He handed the file back to Nadežda, though did not let go of it for a second. He was attempting to shake her confidence, to cause a fracture in her well designed facade, and he was met with failure. 

“From there, we fly to Solovetsky,” the truck growled and spluttered, wheels screeching as the driver pushed his foot flat against the brake. The three bodies lurched forward with the ending motion. Nadežda hovered in her seat for a moment longer, as Arash stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door. The window had been set down, which now had Arash leaning over the lip of it. He ducked his head down, his shoulders bouncing in low-levelled laughter, before the chuckle grew into something mocking and scornful.  

Arash spoke, words laced with disappointment and contempt, “Perseus has other plans for you, though. He thought so highly of you. Then it turns out you’re nothing but a traitorous dog.” 

The dread had grown exponentially in her stomach, heavy and cool, driving ice through her veins and urging her body to react to the man drawing his pistol on her. However, she was taken off guard and though her reactions were fast, they were not enough to stop the event that was in motion. 

As she began to aim her pistol at Arash, the bullet fired from his own and shredded straight through her upper left chest. It threw her body heavily against the door, blood splattering from the open wound and onto the frame. Nadežda knew she should feel pain, but instead she felt nothing, as adrenaline dulled it down to such an impossibly low level. It was screaming at her to use its masking to get away, to run, but all she could do was slump forward and try to protect the file she still had in her hands. 

Arash then shot the driver, before he opened up the door and snatched the files from her hands. 

“You can bleed out,” Arash snarled, “and while you die, know that everything you tried to do has amounted to fucking nothing.” 

Desperately, sluggishly, she tried to reach for the files, but he pushed her away, leaving her to slowly fade into unconsciousness. 

A voice broke through her reverie, booming, agonising, “we were there, Bell, we found you after everything went down.” 

That’s right. She remembered the blistering heat of explosions, gunfire, screams, agonising screams- 

Her door was pulled open, violently, and the stale air that clung to her dying form was sucked away as though caught in a vacuum. Hands were on her. Searching. Hands were on every inch on her but they found nothing but her blood. Gasping breath wracked her lungs, inflating them weakly as her own hands began their own blind search. They sought after the person next to her, fingers feebly clutching at unknown fabric. 

End it. 

You’ve come back to finish the job. 

Do it. 

“Over here! We’ve got a live one!” 

American? 

He’s American. 

One name was present on her chapped lips, but her eyes could not focus on the blurred figure that pulled her up from her slouched position. 

“Wells?” 

No- No, it hadn’t been Wells, had it? It had been the bastard that had the nerve to stand beside her now, right? She couldn’t remember everything, no matter how much she fought to cling to the nuances; they were always just out of reach, just beyond her, and her instincts, again, screamed ‘don’t fucking trust anything. It's all lies. Lies.’ 

Through gritted teeth, tortured vocals hounded, “you’re lying- you put this shit in my head. You’re fucking lying-” 

Impatience grew thick around Adler and his hands were back on Bell’s shoulders, shaking them, as he barked, “the CIA reinvented you, Bell. You fought against us every interrogation. You left us no choice. We gave you a new identity to replace the old.” 

Flashes of those interrogations seared across her mind, burning holes and leaving scars. She’d never said a word and if she did, it was only ever to utter Agent Wells’ name. He’d told her not to trust any other agent, that the CIA had been compromised by a mole. She couldn’t have risked the information she had getting into the wrong hands, even if she was already destined for a destructive path. The last thing she would do in the face of her betrayal to Perseus was to make sure the information she had either reached Wells or died with her. 

Adler continued, a hollow laugh filling the air, “it was Park’s idea to make you MI6. She wanted that bond with you. You even picked up a bit of her accent.” 

Park tried her best to offer the woman before her a genuinely concerned, reassuring smile, but she was never able to tell whether Bell appreciated the effort. Her light eyes then focused on her colleague, brows furrowing as he continued, guilt beginning to sow seeds in her chest. His voice was quieter now, “we were able to utilise your language, your cryptography skills, they were an added bonus. The bigger challenge was your memory.” 

Park interjected, hoping that her softer tones might be more palatable, begging that Bell could read between the lines and see that they did only what they thought was right, “the CIA’s MK-Ultra program used Adler’s missions in Vietnam as a template. We needed you to have that shared experience. A lifelong bond. We needed you to trust us, Bell.” 

Bell hated that she could feel tears threaten to fall, as her throat clenched, sharp pains coursing down and into her chest, “you people are sick.” 

Adler moved away, pointing in her direction with a judgemental glare, “are your hands clean, Bell?” 

Again, she moved to rise, her anger flaring in the pit of her stomach, only for her dive for the other to be restricted, “fuck this- fuck you.” 

His voice was ravaged by disgust, cold and menacing, “I don’t think so. You’re still holding back on us, and we are going to get it out of you.” 

She felt sick. 

She wanted to throw up. 

To cave in on herself. 

To fade. 

Bell felt a whimper form in her throat, but would rather die than allow anyone to see her give in to her fear. 

Then, he muttered, “we have a job to do.” 

Her brain felt like it had just had a thousand volts of electrical current run through every synapse, crackling and stunning every inch of her being. It was like her emotions were torn from her, a factory reset taking over and forcing her into a baseline. Whatever she had been thinking about before, whatever memories from the past she had fought to hold onto, they were snatched within an instant and everything became a blinding white. 

On the gurney, she convulsed, writhing and screaming in pain, as part of her battled against the conditioning. 

In the end, she lost. 

That white light scorched her sight, overtaking her vision, until flashes of a red door were all she could see. It was to her left. Then her right. Behind her. In front. It was all consuming, following her, unrelenting and torturous. 

“The trigger phrase kept you in line, but it didn’t get us everything we needed,” Adler informed, now too invested in this reveal to give a damn about what this would mean for his subject. Did he even care to begin with? 

The red door was now in front of her, the force of it dropping from above driving its base deep into a greyed concrete floor. Wherever she was, it was vague enough that she couldn’t place it in the real world. She was everywhere and nowhere, all at once. 

“Your innermost secrets were always locked behind a door.” He added, then a sigh heaved through his nose, a tired look on his features as he came to stand by her left. His hands were on the gurney, taking the weight of his upper body as he leant forward, contemplative, “Bell, I realise you probably hate us right now.” 

“Fucking understatement,” she spat. 

“I need you to fully understand the stakes here. What you do right now is not about me, it’s not about you. It’s about millions of other fucking people. It’s about stopping someone who, in the end, has no true allegiance to anyone other than himself.” Adler clearly felt proud with that speech, and he removed his sunglasses to aid in gauging Bell’s thoughts. He kept his eyes locked with hers, intently searching the brown hues for any nuances, any flickers, something he could recognise as winning. He spoke impossibly soft, “tell me, Bell.” 

A beat. 

“Where is Perseus?” 

Before her stood the man that had been with her since she was a child. Eyes that had once regarded her warmly, fatherly, now did so with cold synergy. She did not know what went on behind those eyes, she could never read his thoughts, nor could she even begin to understand the complexity that was him, Perseus, and so had given up trying years since. That had been until she had come across a wayward file, written words never intended for her own eyes to see and it had been the first glimpse into the kind of man that he was, the kind of man that shaped a child into a soldier and promised her everything, but gave her nothing. 

For years she had known what he had done, that those eyes were filled to the brim with fallacies and delusions, contorted into orders and manipulation. Those were the years that she had spent sick to her stomach, playing a game of chess with the man that held all the cards. All the lies she had told, the lies she had lived, the lies she would continue to tell would all amount to nothing if she did not stick with it at this moment. She had to continue, to persevere. 

His hands rested on her shoulders, as he offered her a warm smile that did not reach his eyes. In their native tongue, he spoke, addressing her tenderly, as a father would a daughter, “once we control the Greenlight arsenal, Nadežda, we will detonate them all from the safety of Solovetsky.” 

The word ‘safety’ rang in her ears and she was reminded again why she was finally breaking free from his hold. 

He had promised safety to her brother and he shattered it himself. 

“Yes, from the safety of Solovetsky,” she had echoed. 

“This is your chance to define who you really are, Bell. Tell us, where is Perseus?” Adler let the desperation slip through into his tone and Bell closed her eyes. They stung from the tears that wanted to form, that threatened to fall, but she wouldn’t let them. Eventually, when she opened up her eyes, she forced her gaze to stare at the ceiling. She could hear Perseus’ voice echoing against the inside of her skull and her rage began to build again.

 Bell had been betrayed by Perseus her entire life, fed his lies over and over; then, agent Wells who had made her believe that she couldn’t have trusted those that now currently stand around her, he had betrayed her, too. 

But whether she trusted Adler, Park and the rest now, or not, did not matter. 

This was it, everything she could remember doing, everything she had fought for, what she had been destroyed for, it all came down to her next words.

Quietly, she murmured, “Solovetsky… It’s Solovetsky Monastery.” 

He echoed her, then turned to Sims, “Sims, get Washington on the line. Everyone else, gear up, we’re leaving now.” 

As Sims left the room, Bell was released from the restraints by Adler, “you made the right choice, Bell, come on, you’re still one of us.”

He moved to help her sit up, but she shrugged him off, pushing him away and seething, “don’t fucking touch me.” 

“Bell,” Park started, then switched up, “Jodie-” 

“Shut the fuck up-” Bell fought to get off the gurney as quickly as she could. Beside Park was a metal tray nestled atop a table, the contents being the copious amounts of drugs and the used needles that had kept Bell compliant throughout the session. Bell stumbled, knocking into this table, the tray clattering as her hand caught the lip of it in an attempt to steady herself. Adler and Park motioned to help, but Bell swatted them away and shot to the entryway of the room. 

Leaning against the doorframe, she felt her stomach flip, empty of contents, but bile sloshing uncomfortably against the lining. It wanted to rise up her throat, burning the flesh raw. But, she ignored that feeling, willed it away, and pushed herself onward until she was in the open, stale air of the safe house. Her heart was pounding painfully against her ribcage, to a point where she believed that, if it beat hard enough, it would burst through the bone as though it was nothing but brittle china. 

Eyes were on her. One set was hidden behind darkened glasses, steadily trailing her form and remaining stoic in the face of the situation; it was to be expected, the man was like ice. Hudson stood, leant at an angle against what he had claimed as his desk, arms folded over his chest as he kept a hawklike watch on her actions. 

The other two sets were nestled by the van and their owners moved their sight to her, warily concerned, as they rose from their seated positions. Mason began to walk towards hers, hand out to help steady her, but she quickly stepped back. He hovered in place, then withdrew his hand and retreated from her. His tones were laced with a cold sensation, torn at the edges, and his eyes glowered at the direction of the room she had just come from. Mason could feel a heat burning in his chest, spreading like a wildfire until the anger singed at his fingertips and lapped at the edges of his mind. Sharply, he asked, “Is Adler finished with you?” 

His question did not reach her. All she wanted was air, cool and refreshing and free of anyone else. 

Bell needed to be outside. She needed to be out of the damn safe house, out of their company. 

She wanted out. 

“I need some air,” was all she could breathe, taking brisk steps past the man before her. Mason turned his body to follow after her, but froze himself to the spot, as he shot Woods a look. He was speaking volumes without having to use his voice and Woods knew better than anyone that Mason was pissed. 

There was part of him that asked when does this kind of thing end? It should have ended with him. Yet, here he was, staring after a woman who had been put through the same horrendous agony. Maybe, deep down, he knew that this is what had become of that woman from the airstrip, but to have it confirmed… it caused a rage he’d not felt in years to boil up. 

He supposed this was just another thing Hudson had kept from him, from Woods. Perhaps it’s because they would have shot it down, the idea of destroying someone completely and utterly. Who knows? And in that moment, Mason quite frankly couldn’t have given less of a fuck about the reasons. 

At the exit of the safehouse, Bell was slumped headfirst against the door, hands fumbling about the face of it in search of the handle. She felt as though she was drunk, body battling the effect of the drugs that had been pumped through her veins. Her ears were ringing, pulsating, and with each throb she felt her heart ache more intensely than it had seconds before. As she focused on steadying her breathing, she didn’t acknowledge the sounds of voices behind her, gaining on her position. 

“Bell, do not go through that door,” it was Adler. He was firm, cold, and his footsteps were frantic as they approached. Her hand finally grasped the cold doorknob, twisting it in a stubborn response to his order, but before she could escape into the cool air outside, his hands were on her. 

The second she felt his touch on her, she turned on him like a wild animal. Her sight was entirely consumed by pounding red, like fire scorching her skin and lighting a fury in her core. The rage coiling within her chest burned so violently, blindly, that she was acting before her mind could quell it. Instinct was in control now, leading the charge against the threat it perceived in Adler. In one quick thrust, her enclosed fist flew out to strike his face. Her knuckles collided with his chin, rocking him backwards. 

He took a few stumbling steps, but ultimately he remained standing, a hand cupping the area that she had made contact with. His glasses were gone, the force of the hit throwing them from his features, leaving behind the unobstructed thinning glare he sent her way. 

“I said, don’t fucking touch me,” she seethed, as their team came to stand between them. Woods was by her side, hands hovering over her; he didn’t want to touch her, less he received the same treatment Adler had. One thing he noted, however, was that she didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Bell acknowledged no-one, other than Adler, and her searing glare burned right through him and to the man behind. 

“Take a walk, Bell,” Woods uttered, shooting a daring glance over his shoulder, wishing someone would just try and say that she couldn’t. If he had to, he’d stand and guard the damn door. 

“She’s not going outside alone,” Adler muttered, as Park tugged him back further into the safe house.

“You goin’ to stop her,” Woods snapped, turning away from the woman that was still at his side. He could still feel that glare, hear the steadying deep breaths fill her lungs as she fought the rage within her. He then snapped at her, “I said take a walk.” 

He accentuated his words with a firm point to the door, his arm hovering just over her right shoulder. It was then that she broke her eye contact with Adler, sending that hateful gaze towards Woods; the heat faltered when it was faced with this new person, lessening considerably. It was then that he saw it, the slight crack of a facade he hadn’t even realised she’d been wearing. There was the slight ghost of tears welling in her waterline, but Woods didn’t have the opportunity to see if they came to fruition, as she was turning and throwing herself through the door like her very life depending on escaping. 

It slammed, leaving behind the team in silence. 

As most moved back into the safe house, Woods remained by the door, head ducked down as he thought, his thumb running circles over his forefinger. If she hadn’t done it, he would have probably hit Adler himself, as similar rage was settling in the pit of his stomach. Part of him wondered if he should be angry, whether he had a right, and the questions left a bitter taste in his mouth. He took a deep breath, followed by biting his lower lip to fight against the grimace of bitterness on his face. 

He didn’t want to admit that he had gotten too attached, too close, and now he was left adrift in a million questions with no sail to guide him through. Bell was on their side, she had fought alongside them, saved Park’s life and now he was supposed to believe that she had been one of Perseus’ most trusted? It didn’t fit. 

“If she runs,” Adler had called out to him as Woods fought his internal monologue, “it’s on you.” 

Woods settled his gaze on him, cold, icy, and he wondered if it was worth telling him to go fuck himself. He settled, for once, on ignoring that impulse and moved to go through the door, the same one that Bell had used to escape into the outside. 

As he moved into the night evening air, he felt the slight chill in the wind cling to his body, begging to break past the leather of his body warmer. Initially, Woods couldn’t spot where the woman had disappeared to. He hated to admit it, but for a second he wondered if she had taken the opportunity to run. Who could blame her, though, in the face of what had just happened within the walls of the safehouse. Woods had never seen her so emotive, so unstable, and her professional facade had shattered right there in front of their eyes. But, if he knew her as well as he thought he did she wouldn’t have gone far. Bell wouldn’t run, not from this, not from anything. 

Taking a few steps forward, Woods squinted against the harsh sickly lights that shone from the sides of the safehouse wall. They illuminated the surrounding area, until the light slowly faded to the depths of shadows a couple metres out. His gaze focused there, in that dark evening ambiance and hope that she hadn’t wandered that way out. 

“I see Adler sent a guard dog after me.” There was bitterness to the stressed tones, a slight waver, that usually was absent, wracking the vocals. He swung his head to the left, following those indignant tones until he was met with the image of Bell leaning against the wall. There were a few discarded pallets, stacked high next to her and they created a small shaded spot for her to hide in. The only show that anyone was there was the gentle silhouette and the occasional glow of red as a cigarette burned. As he stepped, cautiously, closer, Bell's sight remained steadfast in its forward gaze, darkened eyes refusing to acknowledge the company she now had. 

She brought the cigarette to her lips, drawing in a long, deep inhale of smoke. It remained, pooling in her lungs until a rush of short lived relaxation washed over her and then she exhaled. 

“He hasn’t sent anyone,” Woods retorted, gruffly, frowning as he came to a stop next to the pallets, “I came out here ‘cause I wanted to.” 

Her eyes moved, downcast, as she flicked away ashes that clung to the end of her cigarette. 

“Listen, Jodie-” His tones were considerably soft, something not many had the privilege of being the subject of. 

“Don’t call me that.” She snapped, instantly, growing rigid at the name. 

“But that’s who you are-” He urged, annoyance clinging to his throat. 

“You haven’t got the slightest clue who I am,” she seethed, voice wavering once again.  

He crossed his arms over his chest, gloved hands tensing as he stared at her incredulously, “are you kiddin’ me?” 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” 

A beat.

“What are you even doing out here, Woods? I don’t remember asking you to follow me. I don’t want you here.” She moved to spare a fleeting glance his way, as she shifted uncomfortably against the wall. 

“Well tough shit, cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Was all he said in response, trying his best to stunt the feeling of growing annoyance at the way she spoke to him; he had to understand that she had every right to be angry, to be belligerent and aggressive and seething. Damn, he’d be worse if the roles were reversed. 

Silence fell over the two, as Woods pulled out his own packet of cigarettes. He pulled one for himself, then offered her one. 

She did not take it. 

As he lit his, the glow of red fading over his face with each attempt to get the lighter to work, he was posed a question. If he didn’t know any better, he might have flown off the handle, but right now he supposed Bell was reevaluating those around her. 

“Did you know?” 

“What-” 

“Did you know?” She cut him off, lips thin and tight over the snarl that erupted along with those repeated words. She didn’t have time to play games and she was tired of the constant mental chess she had been forced to play with the others. 

“No.” 

The unconvinced scoff that formed in her chest was heavy and she shook her head as she muttered, “really? You expect me to believe that.” 

“Yeah, actually, I do,” he griped, “you really think I’d have let them brainwash you?” 

Pushing herself from the wall, she yelled, “I don’t know what to think, Frank, because ten minutes ago I was Jodie Hall, MI6, and now I’m some brainwashed terrorist.”

Wiping a hand over her mouth, there were waves upon waves of distress and anxiety that were almost tangibly rolling over her body. If she hadn’t covered her mouth, she feared that she would have said much more than she was willing to admit. There was part of her that was relishing in being free, letting her emotions escape and ransack the outside world; then the other part hated being so vulnerable. 

Silence fell over the two and though it was tense, rigid, Woods didn’t want to leave her. There was nothing he could say, or do, that could make this revelation any easier on her and he wasn’t entirely sure why he decided to stick around. But he did and he didn’t plan on leaving any time soon. 

He eventually found himself looking at his feet, then at anywhere but her, only for his attention to be pulled back to her when she let out a scoff, something akin to a vindictive chuckle. He silently waited for her to speak, as it seemed that there was something on her mind and Woods worried that if he interjected, she might close up.

“You know what’s funny?” 

A beat. 

“I thought about lying.” She said, her features haunted by a vacant, ghostly reverie, “I thought about sending the lot of you to Duga, to chase after nothing.” 

She stubbed out the cigarette on the wall before discarding the butt to the floor, a hollow laugh rattling through her aching chest, “I imagined what your faces would look like, being betrayed. Maybe you’d all feel a fraction of what it’s like. To be fucked over.” 

There was a heavy feeling in his chest, brows furrowing further as he watched a dark look come about the woman before him. Before he had a chance to catch the words, they were out in the open, snapping, “then why didn’t you?” 

Bell looked up and quietly regarded him. She was doing what she usually did, reading his features, gauging his reactions. Her eyes locked with his and there was the hint of tears forming in her eyes again. But, she didn’t cry, unable to allow herself to reveal any vulnerability. 

“Why didn’t you lie, Jodie?” 

“I…” She faltered. 

She ducked her head down, then to the side as she fought the tears, the burning tightness in her throat. If she spoke now, the tears would fall, her voice would crack and she couldn’t risk him seeing her so weak. Bell motioned to move away from him, to run from this situation and fade back into the shadows where she could silently cry but Woods’ hand gently took hold on her forearm. He softly guided her to stand before him, the lights now allowing him to see her features clearly. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes red-rimmed, and her lips quivered. His hand gave her arm a slight squeeze; it wasn’t much in the form of comfort, but she knew what he was trying to do. 

Then, she cleared her throat, fought to push out the words, “because I don’t matter.” 

She inhaled sharply and she uttered the next words almost to convince herself that she had done the right thing, that she had made the right choice; after all, everything she had done over the last few years, the pain she had endured, it was all coming to a head. 

Stopping Perseus is what she had been aiming for, right? 

Saving millions of lives is why she had betrayed the faction in the first place, right?

After everything awful she had done for that man, after the lives she had taken, ruined, destroyed she supposed it made sense that this was the way her story came to an end.

 Her voice was barely above a whisper, “what’s one more sacrifice…” 

Pulling away from him, she began to walk back into the safe house, leaving Woods to watch after her retreating form. She had no intention of speaking with anyone else; there was nothing left to talk about other than do one singular thing.

Stop Perseus.

[freddyabroad]

14.08.2023 - Spanienurlaub in Disneyland

Nach 3 Tagen Reisen sind eine weitere PPPlerin und ich in Santa Fe gelandet. 20min zu früh hatten wir erst Panik eine Notlandung zu machen, weil auch kein Haus oder Landebahn in Sicht war, aber die winzige Maschine brachte uns heil zwischen Kampfjets, Privatjets und Helikoptern auf den Boden der Tatsachen zurück. Alleine schon der Flughafen (ein Gebäude) erinnerte mehr an eine Westernstadt im Freizeitpark als an eine reale Stadt.

Nachdem die Familie und ich uns am ersten Abend erstmal kennengelernt haben, begann am nächsten Tag alles Bürokratische von SIM - Karte, Uni Kurse aussuchen bis zur Beantragung der nötigen Formulare um hier einen Wohnsitz haben zu können... und was soll ich sagen - es funktionierte nicht.

Mein Handy hat einen Lock - Code für Länder außerhalb der EU, die Border Control hatte einen Systemfehler, dass ich offiziell nie eingereist bin und bei den Unikursen habe ich mich ordentlich verwählt und konnte es nicht mehr rückgängig machen. Der Nervenzusammenbruch war vorprogrammiert und es flossen einige Tränen.

Meine Gastfamilie und das Team von Cultural Vistas unterstütze mich richtig gut, dass ich jetzt endlich einen Plan habe, wie ich all meine Probleme lösen kann!

Montag reise ich offiziell in die USA ein, Dienstag kommt eine SIM Karte, die hoffentlich im I Phone einer Freundin funktioniert, das ich mir in weiser Voraussicht leihen durfte (dickes Dankeschön an Janina❤️) und die Unikuse behalte ich jetzt doch, obwohl es bedeutet ein Vermögen für Flamenco - Stunden zu bezahlen.

Es ist aber noch so viel mehr passiert. Wir haben schon eine erste Endeckungstour durch einen Park aka Wüste gemacht, bei dem ich direkt vor Klapperschlangen, Bären, Taranteln, Berglöwen und Kojoten gewarnt wurde. Es bleibt also spannend 😅 Meine Host Family hat Louisa (die andere PPPlerin) und mich zu einem tollen ersten Abend mit Musik und Sushi eingeladen und es ging auf ein Hip Hop Festival. Was soll ich sagen, auch wenn ich erst nicht begeistert war, fühlt sich der Aufenthalt an, als wenn Ms. Fredy Spanienurlaub in Disneyland machen würde - absolut surreal und doch irgendwie schon ein bisschen zu Hause.

[4godownunder]

Freitag, 11. August 2023

Auf Wiedersehen, Lilli Pilli

Der letzte Vormittag bei Linda und John vergeht viel zu schnell. Denn es müssen nicht nur alle Koffer geschlossen werden und in Izzie (Kosenamen für unseren Mietwagen) verstaut werden, wir müssen auch noch Strandfundstücke sortieren. Gegen 10 Uhr gibt es noch einmal Tee und Muffins in der Sonne ... und um 10.30 Uhr sind wir unterwegs. Und sagen auch diesmal nicht Goodbye, sondern auf Wiedersehen!

Knapp 300 Kilometer sind es bei Sydney, um 17 Uhr muss der Mietwagen bei Europcar sein. Es gibt einen kleinen Stopp mit Kaffee und weiteren Muffins beim Sublime Outlook, diesmal nördlich von Wollongong. Bald beginnt der etwas zähe Weg durch die Vororte, wir rollen unter der Landebahn des Airports durch einen Tunnel und sind gegen 15.40 Uhr am Hotel.

Nach den wunderschönen Unterkünften, vor allem nach dem Luxus in Brisbane, ist unsere jetzige Behausung ernüchternd: 250 Euro pro Nacht für ein kleines Vierbett-Zimmer, wobei eine Schlafstätte noch zusammengeklappt in der Ecke steht. Aber das Fenster bietet immerhin den Blick auf die Oper und die Harbourbridge ... Tatsächlich war die Suche im Vorfeld schwierig und es gab nicht wirklich viel günstiges nahe dem Zentrum. Was wiederum an der WM, dem großen Lauf am Sonntag etc liegen kann.

Wir geben Izzie punktgenau zurück, danach laufen wir zur Oper und sehen wieder einen dieser sagenhaften Sonnenuntergänge. Allerdings wird es kühl und wir haben nicht viel gegessen. Also bummeln wir in DAS Touristenviertel The Rocks, gegen 18 Uhr sind die Bars recht voll und wir suchen eine Einkehr.Plötzlich stehen wir sehr großen (also: sehr große) sanften Jungs gegenüber. Die Spielregeln: Links dürfen nur Erwachsene in den Hinterhof, weil Bar Rechts dürften wir als Familie zum Mexikaner ... um 18 Uhr! Schräg.

Ausgehungert stranden wir im Pancake House. Später fällt uns auf, dass wir fast die einzigen Gäste nicht-asiatischer Herkunft sind... vermutlich steht der Laden in einem Reiseführer. Die Speisen sind okay, aber nicht wirklich der Kracher, der Service braucht ewig und das in Kombination mit der Touristenhölle des Franziskaner-Oktoberfestschuppens gegenüber ... Nein, es gibt sehr sicher bessere Abendessen in Sydney. Immerhin war es günstig.

Im Dunkeln laufen wir in unser Viertel, da der Botanische Garten geschlossen ist, dauert das etwa 35 Minuten. Potts Point hat viel Art Deco und viele Restaurants, liegt auch direkt am Meer. Und als dann noch ein Feuerwerk nahe der Oper gezündet wird, sind immerhin zwei von vier mit dem Zimmer versöhnt ...

[undsowiesogenau]

Bamako aus der Luft: Am auffälligsten ist die Dunkelheit. Eine riesige Stadt, ein Meer aus Häusern, und kaum Licht. Aber ein paar helle Fenster zu viel, als dass ein Stromausfall der Grund sein könnte. Inmitten dieser Schatten erkenne ich erst nach einer Weile den Niger, wie mit Schwarz auf Grau gemalt, breit wie ein Fjord. An seinen Ufern lodern ein paar wenige Feuer. Sie müssen riesig sein, wenn sie von so weit oben so gut zu sehen sind.

Auch die Landebahn liegt ganz im Dunkeln. Ist das zur Sicherheit? Die Kolonne des deutschen Ministers fährt mit Polizeieskorte in die Stadt hinein, wobei Eskorte in diesem Fall bedeutet, dass ein dicker Polizist (Soldat? Die Übergänge sind in Mali schon seit einiger Zeit fließend) mit seinem Motorrad nebenher fährt und nach anderen Motorradfahrern tritt, die seiner Meinung nach zu wenig Abstand halten. Unser Fahrer fährt mit irrem Tempo, alle scheinen froh, wenn diese Tour vorbei ist. Aus dem Fenster sehe ich Malier, schlank und schwarz, in bunten Kleidern, irrwitzig alten Autos (rot, orange, gelb, giftgrün lackiert wie Spielzeug), Tankstellen scheinen so etwas wie Treffpunkte auch für Fußgänger.

Die Luft riecht wie Schokolade.

Am nächsten Morgen sehe ich aus dem Fenster des Hotels die Sonne als rote Kugel im Nebel aufgehen. Darunter der Niger, nun aus mattem Silber. Zwei Stunden später fliegen wir in die Wüste. Das Flugzeug hat keine Fenster, es ist eine Transportmaschine mit Notsitzen an den Seiten. Alle Passagiere tragen fünfzehn Kilo schwere Schutzwesten. Nach zwei Stunden lässt der Pilot die Maschine aus großer Höhe beinahe wie einen Stein auf die Landebahn fallen. Je kürzer wir uns als Ziel eignen, desto besser. Draußen 36 Grad. Die Luft riecht nach Sand.

[soschmutzig4]

Entnervte Blicke der Mitreisenden, als ich schon im Gang stehe, während das Flugzeug noch über die Landebahn rollt. Ungeduldige Bisse auf die Unterlippe als ich in der Schlange warte. Nicht geschaut, was das Ticket eigentlich kostet, einfach solange Münzen reingestopft bis der Automat mir gibt, was ich will. Schweiß auf den Rückenmuskeln. Das Lyle & Scott im Spiegelbild der S-Bahn glatt gestrichen. Ich steige zu früh aus und verfluche mich selbst. Finger, die daraufhin auf dem Displayglas hektisch hin und her huschen.

Sauge die ersten Eindrücke deiner Stadt auf wie Kinder die zuckerwattegeschwängerte Atmosphäre eines Jahrmarkts. Denk an die Lieder über deine Stadt, die du auswendig kannst und zu denen du in Unterwäsche durch die Küche tanzt. Frage mich, ob in der Nähe vielleicht einige der Menschen leben, von denen du mir so viel erzählt hast und an deren Leben ich mich mindestens so gut erinnere wie an die liebevolle Art, mit der du von ihnen gesprochen hast.

Über die Stufen der Haltestelle hoch, dann über die Brücke, durch die Unterführung, wo die Obdachlosen schlafen, dann rechts ein kurzes Stück geradeaus, dann wieder links. Spüre wie sich mein Puls beim Druck auf deine Klingel beschleunigt. Presse dich gegen die Tür als du öffnest, bekomme gerade noch ein paar Begrüßungsworte heraus, bevor meine Lippen und meine Hände nonverbal verraten wie sehr du mir gefehlt hast und wie sehr ich dich will.

[tumblbiking]

Sicherheitsszenarien Flughäfen Sind Die Störsender

Im heutigen Kontext wachsender Sicherheitsbedenken sind Flughäfen zu Hauptzielen potenzieller Bedrohungen, einschließlich unbefugter Drohnen, geworden. Um die Sicherheit für Passagiere, Flugzeuge und den Flughafenbetrieb zu verbessern, hat sich ein Flughafen in einer geschäftigen Metropolregion für den Einsatz einer innovativen Drohnenabwehrkanone entschieden. Drohnen Störsender

Die Counter-Drone Gun ist eine fortschrittliche Lösung zur Abwehr von Drohnen, die dem Flughafensicherheitspersonal eine schnelle und effektive Möglichkeit bietet, unbefugte Drohnen zu neutralisieren. Seine fortschrittliche Hochfrequenztechnologie ermöglicht es, Drohnen innerhalb einer bestimmten Reichweite zu identifizieren und anzugreifen und so sicherzustellen, dass mögliche Bedrohungen schnell bekämpft werden.störsender

Auf Flughäfen werden FAanti-Drohnengeschütze strategisch in Schlüsselbereichen platziert, beispielsweise in der Nähe von Start- und Landebahnen und in Bereichen, in denen Flugzeuge geparkt sind. Ein Team aus geschulten Bedienern wird damit beauftragt, den Himmel zu überwachen und die Ausrüstung zu bedienen. Sie erhalten eine umfassende Schulung im Umgang mit Drohnenabwehrkanonen, um sicherzustellen, dass sie schnell und effektiv auf unbefugte Drohnenaktivitäten reagieren können.

Eines Tages entdeckten Betreiber eine nicht autorisierte Drohne, die in der Nähe des Luftraums des Flughafens flog. Die Drohne stellt eine potenzielle Gefahr für Starts und Landungen von Flugzeugen sowie für die Sicherheit von Passagieren und Flughafenpersonal dar. Der Bediener aktivierte sofort die FAanti-Drohnenkanone und zielte genau auf die Drohne.

Innerhalb von Sekunden wurde die Drohne von Anti-Drohnen-Geschützen abgefangen und stürzte in einem sicheren Bereich abseits der Landebahn ab. Der gesamte Vorgang verlief schnell und effizient, ohne Auswirkungen auf den Flughafenbetrieb oder die Sicherheit der Passagiere.

Der erfolgreiche Einsatz von Anti-Drohnen-Geschützen auf Flughäfen zeigt ihre Wirksamkeit bei der Verbesserung der Sicherheit und dem Schutz vor potenziellen Bedrohungen durch unbefugte Drohnen. Die Flughafenbehörde war von der Leistung des Geräts beeindruckt und integrierte es in ihre regulären Sicherheitsmaßnahmen, um die kontinuierliche Sicherheit von Passagieren, Flugzeugen und Flughafenbetrieben zu gewährleisten.

[swakopmund-online-de]

Swakopmund Airport: Alles, was du wissen musst

Entdecken Sie, warum der Swakopmund Airport ein verstecktes Juwel für Abenteurer und Touristen ist, und erfahren Sie alles über seine potenzielle Zukunft im namibischen Luftverkehr.

Wichtigste Erkenntnisse

- Ort: Swakopmund, Namibia - Funktion: Regionalflughafen, hauptsächlich für Privat- und Charterflüge - Besonderheiten: Nähe zur Wüste und Küste, dient als Zugangspunkt für Touristen in die Region - Infrastruktur: Keine Linienflüge, kleiner Terminal, begrenzte Serviceleistungen - Zukunft: Mögliche Erweiterungen zur Förderung des Tourismus in der Region https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLStSDuRn60

1. Einleitung

Der Swakopmund Airport ist ein essentieller Regionalflughafen für Privat- und Charterflüge. Seine Rolle im Tourismus ist bedeutend, auch wenn er nicht mit den internationalen Flughäfen des Landes mithalten kann. Er fungiert als Tor zur charmanten Küstenstadt Swakopmund und ihren Landschaften.

2. Lage und Bedeutung

2.1 Geografische Lage Nur 4 Kilometer von Swakopmund entfernt, bietet der Flughafen eine einzigartige Lage zwischen der Namib-Wüste und dem Atlantik. Diese Nähe zu naturbelassenen Schönheiten zieht Touristen magisch an. 2.2 Wirtschaftliche und touristische Bedeutung Swakopmund ist wegen seiner deutschen Kolonialarchitektur und fesselnden Landschaften ein Touristen-Magnet. Der Flughafen erleichtert den Zugang zu nahegelegenen Attraktionen, wie der Skelettküste, vornehmlich über Charterflüge.

3. Infrastruktur und Dienstleistungen

3.1 Flughafenanlagen Mit einer asphaltierten Landebahn und einem kompakten Terminal ist der Swakopmund Airport für kleinere Flugzeuge ausgelegt. Er bietet grundlegende Services wie eine Wartehalle und eingeschränkte Parkplätze. 3.2 Aktuelle Nutzung und Flugangebote Der Flughafen sieht hauptsächlich private Charterflüge – regelmäßige Linienflüge gibt es nicht. Dies ist seiner Nähe zum Walvis Bay Airport geschuldet, welcher als regionales Zentrum fungiert. !

4. Herausforderungen und Zukunftsaussichten

4.1 Aktuelle Herausforderungen Der Flughafen steht unter Zugzwang, seine Relevanz zu beweisen, besonders bei der Konkurrenz durch größere Flughäfen. Eine der Herausforderungen: die limitierten Kapazitäten. 4.2 Mögliche Entwicklungen Zukunftspläne sehen Erweiterungen vor, um dem Touristenaufkommen gerecht zu werden. Verbesserungen könnten mehr Infrastruktur und Kapazitäten für größere Flugzeuge mit sich bringen. Aktualisiert am 2024-10-08T04:22:32.000Z Read the full article

[korrektheiten]

Von deutschem Boden

Manova: »Seit 2022 wird der Bundeswehr-Flugplatz Büchel, in der Eifel, umgebaut, mit einer erneuerten Start- und Landebahn für von der Bundesregierung in den USA bestellte atomwaffenfähige F35A-Kampfbomber statt derzeit Tornado. Sie sollen 20 vermutlich schon seit einigen Jahren modernisierte, zielgenauere B-61-12-Atombomben im Kriegsfall wahrscheinlich nach Osten tragen. Bis Polen oder in weitere Entfernung? Gegen diese Aufrüstung protestierte der Autor am 8. Mai 2023 mit weiteren sechs Aktivisten, indem diese durch das wegen Baubetriebs offen stehende „Wildentor“ — der Name ist Einladung! — auf das Bundeswehrgelände gingen und sich auf die Zufahrtsstraße sowie die Baustelle setzten. Neben der öffentlichen Wirkung und einem Nadelstich gegen Militarismus war Ziel der Aktion wieder einmal, sich in nachfolgenden Strafprozessen auf einen rechtfertigenden Notstand nach Paragraph 34 StGB zu berufen. Dann, so kalkulierten die Aktivisten, könnte das Amts- oder Landgericht das Verfassungsgericht anrufen, um zu klären, ob die „nukleare Teilhabe“ mit dem Grundgesetz — damit auch dem Völkerrecht — vereinbar ist. Erwartungsgemäß lehnte jedoch das Landgericht Koblenz am 16. Mai 2024 die Berufung des Autors gegen die Verurteilung zu 60 Tagessätzen ab, später die zweier weiterer Mitstreiter in den letzten zu dieser Aktion anstehenden Prozessen. Die Aktivisten werden auch nicht Revision beim Oberlandesgericht einlegen, um danach selbst das BVerfG anzurufen. Dieses lehnte die Annahme bisher immer ab: Die Logik des Paragraph 34 StGB gibt es offenbar nicht her, das Bestehen einer Notstandslage in diesem Fall zu prüfen, selbst wenn es um existenzielle Gefährdungen des Friedens geht. Daher diskutiert Johannes Wollbold am Ende dieses Textes, ob es andere, direktere juristische Mittel gegen deutsch-amerikanische Atomwaffen gibt. http://dlvr.it/TBRY2N «

[lyrics365]

DÜrüm

[Intro] Gerollt und frisch eingepackt Düsseldorf kommt scharf Hab die ganze Nacht An der Main verbracht Rollen auf der Landebahn Düsseldorf kommt scharf Hab die ganze Nacht An der Main verbracht [Strophe 1] Mag gern Dürüm ja das sieht man an meinem Weichteilschatten Lifestyle zwei drei Weißweinflaschen Damit ich gut ausseh auf Medimeisterschaften Muss der Barber vorher einmal meine Seiten…

[schoenes-thailand]

Emirates-Flug mit sicherer Notlandung am Flughafen U-Tapao

Ein Airbus A319 der Fluggesellschaft Emirates auf dem Weg von Dubai auf die Philippinen absolvierte heute früh sicher eine Notlandung auf dem Flughafen U-Tapao in Sattahip in der Provinz Chon Buri, nachdem sich sein Fahrwerk nicht ausfahren ließ. Der Flug mit 100 Passagieren und neun Besatzungsmitgliedern an Bord musste heute Morgen gegen 1 Uhr wegen eines technischen Problems mit dem Fahrwerk notlanden. Die Genehmigung wurde erteilt und der Flughafen setzte Krankenwagen, Feuerwehrwagen und Notfallteams ein. Der Airbus A319 landete auf dem Bauch, ohne Fahrwerk, undrutschte leicht von der Landebahn ab. Alle Passagiere und die Besatzung sind in Sicherheit. Read the full article

[channeledhistory]

Die Staatsanwaltschaft Neuruppin hat fünf Mitglieder der Gruppe "Letzte Generation" wegen des Verdachts der Bildung einer kriminellen Vereinigung angeklagt. Das teilte die Behörde am Dienstag mit.

[...]

In ähnlicher Weise ermittelt die Generalstaatsanwaltschaft München seit gut einem Jahr gegen fünf Klimaschutzaktivisten der Gruppe Letzte Generation wegen des Verdachts, Mitglieder einer kriminellen Vereinigung zu sein, und gegen zwei weitere wegen Unterstützung. Auch die Staatsanwaltschaft Flensburg führt ein entsprechendes Ermittlungsverfahren.