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winterwandersland · 3 months ago

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NEW STORY ALERT❗️❗️

Echoes of Mercy

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Black!Fem!Reader Call of Duty x The 100 x Resident Evil Word Count: 3.7k tw/cw: blood, shooting, self-harm, death After you and your unit were declared MIA two years before, Task Force 141 is assigned another mission, one that could help put a stop to the ongoing epidemic in the United States. The country was suffering and the death toll was rising. Ghost can't help but to think about you, Enyo “Merci” Abara. Merci, is what they called you. Given the name because of your wishful thinking and light that you gave to every soldier you worked with. As a soldier, you were supposed to kill, but you did everything you could to not have to follow that path. But when it came down to it, you made sure your targets didn't suffer, always being thanked for putting an end to their suffering. However, the mission that is supposed to save the world may now give evidence to your unit's last location and that the world may be at greater stakes than first assumed. You are referred to as "Merci" a majority of the time, with minor/rare use of first or last names.

Chapter 1

The day you disappeared was the day Simon Riley broke. That day, both of your units were coming back from a joint operation, tasked with capturing a terrorist, one that used to be your colonel. Your mentor. Your best friend.

Ghost was lucky he wasn’t stripped of his title of Lieutenant after he practically lost his mind when they found out that your plane was nowhere to be found.

Today was the two-year anniversary of you and your team’s disappearance. General Shepherd called a meeting with the 141, the last unit to see you and your team alive. You were supposed to meet at the hospital to rescue your prisoner before detaining her, but you all never showed up.

There was no plane. No bodies. Nothing.

The plane’s tracker was defective. It said you were there. At the landing point on top of the hospital building. But there was nobody there. No one could make sense of it. Not Soap. Not Gaz or Laswell. Not Price. And especially not Ghost.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the team, Simon and you had a deal. You both kept personal trackers on each other to always know where the other was at in case anything ever happened. He knew you’d never take it off. Not without letting him know.

His was kept on the back of his dog tags. You insisted that you should do the same, but he felt that yours should be tailored to you. He knew how much you cared for your hair and tried to keep it healthy even through the dry conditions you all were constantly in. So, he got one that you could use to clip in your hair.

It was easily hidden in your curls, wrapped around your military regulated bun. It just looked like an ordinary clip in your hair and did no damage to the curls that you and Simon cherished.

He should have been able to track you. If the plane's tracker couldn't be located, he should have been able to locate you. He should have been able to find you. If he found you, he’d find your team, but you were the most important to him, at least. If anyone was found, it had to be you. He just hoped that wherever you were, you were granted mercy.

“As you all know, today has officially marked two years since the disappearance of Squadron Eight. I know that this may be a hard day for you all, and I hope that you all have found some peace over these last two years. But as you know, when there has been no trace or any leads of any persons, they must be declared KIA. I hate-,” Shepherd started before being interrupted by a pissed off Lieutenant.

“This is bullshit!” Ghost yelled as he banged his hand on the desk, causing it to shake and startling the rest of the team. “They aren’t dead!”

Laswell was accompanying Shepherd for times like this. Times when she knew Shepherd wouldn’t be able to calm the Lieutenant or any other 141 members who may lose their temper at the news. She motioned her hand at Ghost, letting him know to calm down. You were important to him. While you two never confirmed the relationship, the subtle change to the same home address told Price and Laswell all they needed to know.

“I know that this isn’t the news you all wanted to hear,” Laswell began, witnessing the huff and puff of the Lieutenant. Everyone else did their best to keep their composure, but they were hurting, too, their breaths becoming more drawn out.

Squadron Eight was the only team the 141 would always agree to work with. From the first day the two units worked together, there was instant chemistry. They were just as capable and were the only other unit that could actually keep up with the famous unit.

Most of your squadron were former CIA and FBI members. Others were highly skilled Marine Special Operators and Green Berets. You were one of two Navy Seals. You and the other woman were the only women in the history of the United States ever to become Seals. She was the first and you the second a decade later, but also becoming the first black woman to join..

She trained you and your team. Then there was an accident. She left, joining the United Liberation Army, and that’s when she became a terrorist. Not only the country’s enemy, but yours, too.

But that didn’t matter now because the two people who were bound to be in the history books were now gone to never see themselves in the headlines. Now, the headlines haunted the 141. Even after two years, your name still roamed around, but it lessened more every day.

“But we have done all we can to get a lead on where the plane landed or any whereabouts of the members and their prisoner. There is no trace of anything, not even a boot. We have had surrounding areas searched, but they have come up with nothing. There is no evidence of them being held captive. We have extended this day for as long as we could. I’m sorry, but you all know this is protocol,” Laswell continued as she sent a glare at Ghost.

“So what? We just stop looking for them?” Gaz asked.

“We have exhausted all options. There’s nothing else we can do. I’m sorry,” Laswell said. She could see the hurt in the team’s eyes. Squadron Eight was no more. Now, all they could do was mourn and learn to move on with their lives. “With that being said, we have a mission for you all,” General Shepherd began.

“As you all know, there’s been a viral outbreak that’s been affecting the States. Right now, we consider the situation to be under control. There’s a facility on an island that is housing CDC members who are looking for a cure for the virus. So far, they believe that what they have now could help treat the symptoms. They need you all to deliver it back to the states to be distributed,” Shepherd announced.

“Why does the CDC need a Special Forces team to receive an anti-virus?” Price asked.

“Because you all are the only ones they trust to not use the anti-virus on yourselves before distributing it to the public. It is also a classified mission. No one else knows about this facility. They abandoned the island many years ago and restricted access to only cleared personnel. It’s a simple mission. Nothing too much to handle, as I know this is a hard day for you all. You should be back on base in no time. Wheels up at 1600 hours.”

Ghost stared out the window, watching them pass over the same seas and land that they had when you disappeared. There was still nothing there and if there was, it’d be long gone by now, at the bottom of the ocean or disintegrated into the sand or dirt.

He felt helpless, but he never lost hope that you were still out there, somewhere, dead or alive. One day, even if it was twenty years from now, they would find something that would give him some sort of closure.

The only regret he had from that day was that he didn’t push hard enough to let you all fly in the same plane. There was more than enough room, but Shepherd insisted that it would be best to have two planes in case anything happened to another plane, they’d still have a way out.

He still kept his tracker on him, never taking it off for any mission. Perhaps in the future, he would receive a notification indicating that you were nearby. Maybe you’d see that he was near and you both would find each other again. Maybe your tracker would ping and it’d lead him to your remains to hold and finally say his last goodbyes.

The Captain had some sympathy for Simon. It didn’t take much to see what you and the Lieutenant had no matter how much you two tried to hide it, but with the way the Lieutenant’s eyes softened when he saw you and his rush to urgency whenever you were in trouble, there was no denying what you two had.

Have.

You’re still alive. Right? You have to be because if you aren’t, that means that would be the end of Simon. Simon Riley may have perished when you disappeared, but there was just a sliver of him that held on. A fraction of him that hoped that you were holding onto that piece of him and waiting to restore it once you two were united because that’s what you normally did.

You restored him. Made him feel whole when he believed he was broken because, for some reason, the hardass attitude and mask didn’t scare you like it should have.

It could have been because you were a SEAL. You had to have seen your course of horror over your years, so a skull mask on a gargantuan of a man didn’t phase you.

You two met when you were a recruit, still in training to be a part of the Navy Seals. He had only trained you for a few weeks. You captured his attention from the second he saw you be the only one not complaining from the hours of running you all were doing. While every man at the training camp complained and groaned, begging for the rigorous training to stop, you kept going, only stopping to drink water.

You were the only one that kept going. That was the day he put in a good word for you. Those few weeks of training became hell for you for more reasons than the intense combatant training. You and the Lieutenant became close for circumstances you both wished were different.

When he had to leave, you both kept in contact with each other and soon enough, you were back together again, this time working side by side after you passed your qualifications tests. The light in your eyes was something he’d never forget seeing, and he looked forward to how often he’d be seeing you.

The helicopter ride was silent, only the sound of the propellers and the turbulence of the aircraft filling the depressive quietness. Fourteen hours was a long time. Long enough to recall every bit and piece of what happened the day you vanished.

TWO YEARS EARLIER

It was a day that no one ever saw coming. Squadron Eight was down a colonel, leaving you in charge. The men on your squad didn’t like it, but it was in your colonel’s wishes.

You knew the only place where your colonel, Charmaine Diyoza, would be hiding; with her father. It pained you to have to be the one to capture the woman that trained you and became one of your favorite people in the world. But she had committed unforgivable acts against the government and its citizens. Ones that made her the number one wanted terrorist in the world.

It made you wonder if maybe you would become like her. She trained you, so why wouldn’t you follow the same path? As much as the thoughts hurt to think about, you had a job to do and that was to capture Charmaine Diyoza.

Simon tried to talk you out of it. Said that you could stay back, but you refused. You told him that she had to see you. She had to see the look of betrayal on your face. You wanted to tell her how stupid she was. But you also wanted to tell her how much you still loved her.

“Both units will ride in separate planes, considering you both will be going separate ways once this mission is over,” General Shepherd informed the teams.

“That makes no sense. We can all ride in the same plane and we separate once we touch down on base again,” Ghost said.

“We need to make sure we have a second plane in case Diyoza tries to sabotage one of them. We all know how intelligent she is and she will do anything to escape her fate,” Shepherd responded.

So that was it. Both teams rode in separate planes and, as informed, the mission was capture or kill.

You had had dinners with Diyoza and her father. You all were practically family. He treated you like another daughter. Diyoza was the only other person who knew everything about you. Your home life. The events that took place when she went on leave during training, leaving Ghost to be your Commanding Officer. She was an additional sister. One that you could relate to and be yourself around.

And now, you were hunting her. Searching for her to take her prisoner. All that went through your mind is if you could go through with the plan. Would you be able to take Diyoza prisoner like you were supposed to, or would you let her go?

When you all touched down, it felt surreal. Maybe you could make a plea deal for her or you could talk her down from running again. The more she ran, the worse the situation got. You just wanted it to all stop.

You checked in on Price a few times to make sure he was doing alright. He and Diyoza may not have been together, but they were obviously each other’s person. Both in superior roles and always looking to each other for advice. There was no doubt that there was something else going on with them.

He insisted he was fine, but you had a feeling that wasn’t true. He was hurting just like you.

“You all know the drill. This is capture or kill,” Ghost announced.

Your teams surrounded the house. You caught a glimpse of Diyoza and called out to her. You hoped she would be the one that came out the front door, but instead, it was her father, standing with a shotgun pointed your fellow teammates.

“Don’t shoot!” you yelled out, talking to both your team and Diyoza’s father. “Mr. Diyoza! Put the shotgun down!” you shouted.

Your body was tense, like it had become frozen as your thought about the multiple outcomes of the situation. Everyone had their hand on a trigger and someone was bound to pull it, but you prayed that it wouldn’t come to such events.

“This is what it has come to? You on their side. Really?” her father shouted, obviously speaking to you.

“Charmaine Diyoza must be placed under arrest for the crimes of-,” you began, but there was a shot fired and the teams started shooting towards the front door, sending bullets through the house and shattering the front windows.

“Noooo!” you called out, rushing to the body of Mr. Diyoza. You knelt down and put as much pressure as you could on his wounds, but it was too late. When you put your head up, everyone had their guns aimed at the front door.

You turned your head and saw Diyoza standing at the entryway, tears in her eyes and a knife in her hand.

“Charmaine, listen to me. You just have to come with us, please. It didn’t have to be like this. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you pleaded with her.

“Put your guns down! Now!” you yelled at both teams.

They each looked at each other as you gave them pleading eyes. “Please,” your voice cracking and a salty, wet teardrop falling to your lips.

Everyone put their guns down and you stood up, covered in blood, as you slowly approached Diyoza.

“Let’s go, Char,” you said as you inched closer to her.

“You know where they’ll send me,” she told you.

“I know. But we can make a plea deal. Okay? You can plead insanity. It's going to be alright,” you told her.

“You don’t have power over that and you know that. We both know what I need to do,” Diyoza said as she took the knife up to her throat.

“Charmaine, no!” you yelled as you rushed towards her, but again, you were too late. Her body dropped to the ground and blood sprayed all over you. You rushed to her aid, putting as much pressure on Diyoza’s neck as you could, mixing the blood that was already on your hands with hers.

Price came rushing to your side, grabbing anything he could find in the house to keep pressure on the wound. He picked up Diyoza and your team ran to your plane, doing your best to keep her alive.

He placed her on the plane and tried to stay, but you screamed at him.

“Go away!” you yelled, pushing him out of the plane.

“Merci,” he said, his voice softening.

“No! No one needed to die! This didn’t have to happen! Go away!” you continued to yell.

So he left.

Your teams separated, but Price instructed Nikolai to meet you all at the hospital.

But you all never made it.

PRESENT DAY

No one on the team really believed you all were dead and if you were, they hoped it was a quick and painless death. How does a plane vanish into thin air? No one will ever know. But in case they did find you all trapped somewhere, they carried extra food, water, and other supplies on them.

It became handy on missions that lasted longer than they should have, despite the supplies being meant for your team. The extra weight in their rucksacks gave them hope and the day they had to let go of the extra weight would be a devastating day for them.

Simon put all of your favorites in his bag and labeled them to say ‘for Merci’ because without permission, you wouldn’t eat it. You usually never did anything without permission. The first time he let you in his room, you stood until he granted you a spot on the bed. Since then, he’s tried to break you of the obscure compulsions, but they still seemed to linger.

The island started to come into view, its greenery and assumed wildlife. It was beautiful. They understood why only cleared personnel could enter the island, because anyone else would tamper with its beauty. The landing of the helicopter even seemed forbidden, like they were committing a crime to force their aircraft into such a verdant and seemingly serene environment.

From a distance, you could see the CDC building perched on top of a hill some miles away.

“Why couldn’t we land on top of the building?” asked Soap.

“Not a designated landing center,” Price answered.

“Well, neither is this,” Gaz remarked, referring to the random land in the woods that Nikolai landed.

The leaves were still falling from the blow of the propellers, and they circled around the team, creating an eerie presence. The team used their GPS to lead them to the coordinates of the building. Nikolai insisted he would stay in the helicopter until the team came back, keeping track of everyone’s locations.

Winter time was beginning to hit. Simon noticed the breeze that got stronger as they traveled and the cutting of leaves as it brushed across his teammates’ faces, creating minor scratches across their skin. The leaves crunched beneath their feet with each step, making it impossible to keep quiet throughout their travels.

“At least another mile until we reach the facility,” Price announces, keeping his teams’ heads up and giving them hope, even though he knew they’d never give up. Everyone skulked about the woods, tracking anything that moved, though the number of animals lessened as they went into hibernation. The only movement was themselves, the branches that occasionally fell from the trees, and the birds that flocked in the air.

“Is it just me, or does it seem like the birds are watching us?” Gaz asked. It wasn’t the craziest statement he could make. The birds stood on the branches surrounding them, a few straying from the lurking flock.

“They’re crows,” Ghost began, “They do that.”

“Those flying away are mocking jays,” Price said.

“How d'ya know that?” Soap inquired.

Price whistled a tune, a melody from one of his favorite songs. They all stopped in their tracks as they heard the mocking jays repeat the short whistled song. They were enjoying the moment until the flocking of the crows interrupted it, circling the trees and creating a dark shadow above them, and making the men hold their guns up in retreat. But the murder never attacked. Instead, they all flew in the same direction, towards the facility, as if they were being controlled.

“The hell was that?” Ghost blurted out.

“Thought you were the crow connoisseur,” Soap replied.

No one laughed.

The crows’ behavior was absurd, but they brushed it off and headed to the facility that only seemed further the more time they took.

The men’s pace was fast because of their wide gaits. They were in a rush to get home, so they focused solely on getting to the facility. As they edged closer to what was supposed to be a working building, a gust of a putrid stench emerged.

“Fuckin’ hell. Something must’ve died out here,” Ghost commented.

“More like someone,” Gaz said, kicking a pile of decayed flesh and exposed human ribs. They tried to keep their minds off the smell, but it seemed to get stronger the closer they got to the building.

“What do you think could have done that?” Soap wondered.

The smell of rotting flesh that filled their nostrils deeply disturbed them as they approached the building, giving them the sensation that death surrounded them. Before they went into the building, the murder of crows they had seen earlier, massed together over piles of dead bodies and rotting corpses.

Soap questioned, "I thought this mission was supposed to involve retrieving an anti-virus from a CDC facility."

“It is,” Ghost responded.

Soap’s voice became more gruff as he quizzed, “So then, why are we standing in front of an abandoned building on top of a mass grave?”

And there we have it folks. I have finally begun a new story and need to finish the chapter for my other story.

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #simon riley cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x black reader #charmaine diyoza #the 100 #resident evil #ghost simon riley #simon riley #reader is black #writing to deflect election voting rn bc omg

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kattvez · 3 months ago

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Heil Trump! 100 years on repeat.

This might make you pause and think, "No way—that could NEVER happen again!" But let’s look more closely, because the similarities are alarmingly real. Germany didn’t turn into Nazi Germany overnight; it was a slow descent, almost imperceptible at first. You may have heard the analogy of a frog in a pot of water, where the temperature rises so gradually that the frog doesn’t realize it’s being boiled alive until it’s too late. That’s what happened in Nazi Germany—and it’s what we risk today in the United States if we don’t pay attention to the warning signs.

In the early 1930s, many Germans, including Jewish citizens, dismissed Hitler as a passing phenomenon. They thought he was just a fringe figure—a "spook" who would fade away. They believed his extremist views wouldn’t gain traction. But Hitler’s appeal grew as he presented himself as a charismatic leader promising to restore Germany’s glory. His message was simple: make Germany great again. Sound familiar?

With the world reeling from the Great Depression, Hitler gained widespread support through his protectionist economic policies, offering a vision of economic relief and national revival. Many Germans, desperate for stability, ignored the darker, insidious rhetoric that came with his promises. Today, millions of Americans, feeling left behind by globalization and the rise of the tech economy, similarly turn to promises of economic revival and national pride. Like in 1930s Germany, the allure of quick fixes to complex problems can make people overlook the dangerous ideologies lurking beneath the surface.

One of Hitler’s key strategies was to undermine core democratic institutions, eroding public trust in Germany’s legal and political framework. We’re seeing echoes of this in Donald Trump’s actions. As both a candidate and a former president, Trump has repeatedly undermined the credibility of institutions when they don’t align with his interests—the courts, the electoral process, even the certification of an election. His rhetoric suggests that any institution not serving his goals is suspect, creating a divide in the public’s trust in these democratic systems.

A hallmark of Trump’s approach has been his relentless attack on the media, branding it as “fake news” whenever it criticizes him or his policies. The Nazis used a similar tactic, calling independent journalists the “Lügenpresse,” or "lying press." In both cases, this tactic seeks to sow doubt about any information that challenges the leader’s narrative. By discrediting the media, both Hitler and Trump attempt to shape reality to fit their own agendas, isolating their followers from independent sources of truth.

Scapegoating minorities has also been a disturbing common thread. Hitler blamed Jewish people for Germany's economic problems, stirring up public resentment against them as the "internal enemies" of the nation. Trump has similarly focused on specific groups, notably undocumented immigrants, portraying them as the root of America's economic and social issues. He has created a crisis around illegal immigration, expanding the role of ICE to target this group, often painting them as threats to safety, jobs, and stability. Today, similar tactics are being used against transgender individuals, who represent a tiny fraction of the population but have become a focal point of political and social resentment. Trump's rhetoric fuels these hostilities, using marginalized communities as scapegoats to rally support and divert attention from more complex issues.

Furthermore, Hitler relied on affiliated militias like the SA and SS to intimidate opponents and enforce Nazi ideology. Trump, while not formally organizing militias, has encouraged self-recruiting groups and militias, famously asking them to “stand by” during moments of tension, as seen during the January 6th Capitol riot. His cozy relationships with authoritarian leaders, like Putin, echo the alliances between Hitler and Mussolini, reinforcing the dangerous allure of authoritarianism.

The situation today may even be more dangerous because of technology. In the past, hateful rhetoric and propaganda required physical presence at rallies or the reading of pamphlets. Now, hateful content—whether anti-Semitic, anti-trans, or racist—finds its way to people’s screens, reaching millions in an instant. Algorithms amplify divisive content, pushing more extreme narratives into the mainstream, often without individuals even seeking it out.

It’s easy to believe that “it could never happen here,” but history shows that democracy is fragile, and small shifts in public sentiment, unchecked power, and targeted scapegoating can lead to devastating consequences. The parallels between Germany’s descent into Nazism and aspects of today’s political culture are a reminder of the importance of vigilance, empathy, and a commitment to protecting democratic values before it’s too late.

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