#Russian Alma

[daily-cryptids]

Almas, Adam-Ayu, Almasti, Almaslar, Bnahua, Ochokochi

Origin: Pamir mountain range, Caucasus mountain range, Mongolian mountain range, Central Asia The Almas is a large, ape-like creature similar to the Abnauayu who live in the Caucasus Mountain Range. The most recent sightings of the Almas locate it near the southern part of Mongolia, along the Altai Mountains and the Tien Shan pass near the northern border of China. The Almas first appeared on record in the 1400s and "is not used to refer to one organism, but a community of many"

[fitgothgirl]

I kinda hit a wall with my Russian on Duolingo after starting to get into the genitive case. With Russian, both verbs AND nouns change within 6 cases (nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, instrumental, and prepositional) AND 3 genders (he, she, neuter, they, you (inf), you (for), etc.). So there are multiple ways to say any noun... And sometimes it won’t even be a new suffix - a singular feminine noun in a sentence in the genitive case will have the same ending as if it were plural in the nominative case (I might be off with this clunky description but hopefully the gist comes across). So you're conjugating verbs and declining nouns at the same time. So I’m just losing track of everything and can’t seem to work out the rules of conjugation & declension. However, I had been supplementing Duolingo with my own research on YouTube university and a “Russian Course” book I bought on top of making my own notes, and I haven’t been doing those things as much anymore, right when I need them most lol.

But the community college I went to has a Russian class… it’s online and Russian 1 is only in fall quarter, with Russian 2 & 3 only in winter and spring respectively… I looked up tuition and for the 5 units it’d be $207… And they have payment plans… Ntm the teacher is crazy highly rated on ratemyprofessor!

I could work more with Duolingo but it’s only going to get me so far regardless even if I do get back to my extracurricular studies; Russian is hard. The temptation for an actual class (when I’d have a great baseline going into it) is so strong, and the window of opportunity for this is only so often.

Eeee idk haha but I have a few weeks to decide and get the money together before I could even register for classes. I did already register for admission for the fall term though just to be prepared! 🇷🇺

[s0fter-sin]

shepherd saying, “war isn’t about friends, it’s about enemies” when friendship is the main reason the 141 find all the missiles and take down hassan just scratches a lovely itch

laswell is able to find out hassan’s in mexico and working with the cartel bc of her friendship with price and gaz, who are already in amsterdam. they’re able to get the jump on him and find out about him shipping the missiles over the atlantic bc of her friendship with alejandro. price and gaz are able to fly to al mazrah in time to intercept aq bc of price’s friendship with nik and they’re able to get laswell back bc of their friendship with farah. soap makes it through las almas and eventually kills hassan in chicago bc he successfully befriended ghost, who stayed behind at his own risk and kept giving him advice he wasn’t required to give

the real treasure was literally the friendships they made along the way

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Headcanon : Ghost has always understood Spanish.

Based on a convo I had recently with @simonriley1994

In the Las Almas arrival cutscene, Alejandro asked Ghost and Soap "You know Spanish?", to which only Soap answered that he did not. Meanwhile, Ghost just stayed silent. That got me thinking.

According to his biography, Ghost has spent years and years in the stealth business and covert assignments, even earning his callsign for his efficiency and lethality right? Plus, the bio said that he "seeks solitude" and "thrives" in ops with little to no support. Bro likes being alone.

That makes me wonder, if he does stuff alone around the world, it would be stupid of him to not learn another language or two beside English. My theory is, he actually understands Spanish and probably Russian and other languages. However, if you're learning a language, it usually starts with understanding what people speaks before you can actually speak them.

Ghost is at that stage for all the foreign languages he knows, and when he speaks Spanish, it's the BRITISHEST Spanish ever.

Now here's the funny part: When Ghost and Soap entered the car, Rudy said to Alejandro, "Tengo miedo de los fantasmas" ("I'm scared of ghosts"). What if Ghost understands what he said???

And when Rudy decided to push his luck by saying "With that mask, you'll fit in well here Ghost.", Ghost looked at him UNIMPRESSED. But what if he was half that, but also half messing with Rudy? Like he knows Rudy's kinda scared of him, and then he decided to mess around with Rudy all the while telling him not to 'fuck-around-and-find-out' with him.

Like he's aware that Rudy's scared of him, but when he saw that Rudy still had the balls of steel to joke around with him, I'd like to think that Ghost's is half "...bitch..." but also half amused.

[nathanielzalexandria]

I love all the headcanons of "Steve is not dumb he's..." Hard of hearing, has poor eyesight, learning disability or his primary language is not English. I particularly enjoyed @dwobbitfromtheshire 's recent headcanon that he's hiding it because his father hates feeling inferior and only Eddie realizes that he is not dumb. But I would like to throw my own hat in the ring.

Steve is not dumb. Actually, he's quite smart and did quite well in school (because his parents would not expect anything less). He just wasn't into nerd culture and everyone just placed their stereotypes and rumours of him being a pretty and privileged rich jock who bought his way out of school but couldn't buy his way into college. Nevermind that he was in the top 10 students of his year and for most of his classes if not topping them and if not he wasn't failing the rest other than one or two science/math-based (rumours say the school forged those marks so that Steve could continue sports) and had a 3.6 GPA. It wasn't enough to get into his Dad's alma mater so his dad dismissed any of the other schools he got accepted into.

He does not try to hide his intelligence from Nancy or the Party, but Nancy had bought into the "Steve is simple-minded " narrative and the like before they got together and failed to realize that they are both in the same AP classes that were full of seniors and in any group or partnered project he more-than-well pulled his weight and had his own insights. So she spreads the narrative to Mike who spreads it to the rest of the party so by the time the events that befan with Dustin asks him for help with his "dog" and developed into concussed in the back of a car while a preteen drove his car, the kids have also bought into parts of the narrative. It doesn't help that he really isn't into the stereotypical nerdy stuff

Even his best friend Robin believed the lie until she worked with him and then got tortured with him by Russians. She eventually realises that he's way smarter in a practical sense than people give him credit for (he did raise himself since he was 11 or so) but does not think of it as stretching into the academic side of his life. She has not stopped calling him "dingus" though.

Eddie on the other hand knows better, which is why when a specific exam was coming up he turned to Steve.

He barged into the Harrington home a day when tye entire party was their.

"Stevie, you either have to tutor me or lend me your notes for this class. I am not failing this class and increasing the possibility of another year at fucking Hawkins."

Mike and Dustin burst out laughing at that before Steve can answer.

"I know you're e bad at that subject, but I didn't realise you were desperate enough to use Steve's notes," Dustin says with that condescending tone that means it should be obvious to Eddie.

Mike snorts at that derisively, "If he even has notes."

"Maybe," Lucas said diplomatically, "there are better options than using Steve's notes?"

Nancy steps up next offering some of her notes and flashcards since she took the class last year/is taking the class, "It's not my strongest subject but if we do a study group I'm sure you won't fail the class."

Eddie stares at the group with growing bewilderment as they agree that Nancy is the best choice while implying that Steve was not. Actually, they were acting as though he was dumb for even asking Steve, which made no sense to him.

Eddie turned his eyes to Steve. His posture by the kitchen island was much more different than when Eddie burst in. He had subtly curled into himself as if to make himself smaller, shoulders tense and a resignation on his face as if he's been through this conversation so many times before.

It was almost as if...

"You guys think that Steve is dumb, don't you?"

There was the type of silence that only comes when the quiet part is said outloud.

"No we don't think Steve's dumb," Robin begins and Eddie can hear the 'but' before she even said it, "But you know he wasn't good at the school part of school."

She continued to ramble on from there but Eddie did not hear any of it. He was too busy reevaluating the group he was with and rechecking old memories and facts to see if there was any inkling of truth to this strange idea that even the older teens should know isn't true.

It took him a moment to find the answer, and when he did he could not stop the derisive laugh that burst out and interrupted Robin's ramble.

"You guys fucking bought into the rumours, didn't you? I expect that from the kids maybe even Johnathan, maybe even Robin because of you became friends after he left school, but not from you, Nancy."

Nancy had that look on her face that she got when she was ready to argue but Eddie steamrolled over it.

"Jesus H Christ! Weren't y'all together for a whole fucking year? How do you not know that he was at the top of his year when you were together? Unless you dismissed that in favour of believing the rumours that his parents paid for his grades and the school wanted to make sure he kept on playing sports?"

He paused for a second waiting for someone to contradict him, but the look on Nancy's face was one of scrambling to defend herself. He sighed at that; she still wasn't getting it and it a sweeping look at the others proved they were lost too.

"Even if they paid off the school he would not have been in the top ten of his year, he would be like Carver and Hagan whose parents paid and their grades were just good enough to get into a decent college without too many questions. And they would not have kept on giving him high grades after he stopped doing any kind of sport in his last 2 years at that dump. Hell if Hargrove wasn't such a fucking beast at sports he would have been told he would have to repeat his senior year with me."

"It's okay Eddie; leave it go." He turned a fake sunny smile with his eyes tightly shut towards Eddie as if to pacify him.

Eddie turned to Steve who had yet to say anything throughout Eddie's diatribe up until that moment. He just continued to robotically make dinner for the party as though nothing was wrong, as though the hurt dripping off him didn't matter.

"I'm not letting this go! They had classes with you, some of which I'm pretty fucking sure were AP classes. If I had the attendance needed I would have graduated last year because of you, Stevie. So excuse me if I'm a bit annoyed that our friends are so blinded by a rumour that they can't fucking see your Salutatorian medal. Hanging. Right. There!"

All eyes except Eddie and Steve's turned in the direction that Eddie pointed at.

And there on the wall, was a framed silver medal with the word "Salutatorian" emblazoned on it. The party immediately burst into chaos amongst each other.

"Now, pretty boy, are you gonna tutor me or what?"

Or it goes something like that, I'm not sure.

[veenazegoddess]

hoping my soulmate is russian because i want to be called malyshka but also italian because i want to be called mia cara but also spanish because i want to be called mi alma but also desi because i want to be called meri jaan but also british because i want to be called love with a british accent but also—

[daisygirlwrites]

Behind the Wheel

Summary: Times when Ghost's driving (& piloting) gets the team in trouble.

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, injuries and drinking (but not really). Mentions of death. Mentions of throwing up.

Pairing(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader (Platonic), Task Force 141 x Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 1,642

Note: No use of (Y/N)

a/n: hey hey! so sorry that this is late! school just started for me and i've been doing job interviews as well. finally got some time tonight to finish this. sorry if the ending felt rushed, my brain didn't know how to word. might post another fic/headcanons this week though! also, thank you so much for 100 followers! and another thanks to @thoughtfullyhauntedchild for inspiration :3

taglist: @bobfloydsgf

Las Almas

Seeing the truck almost brought tears to your eyes. You were exhausted to say the least, also pissed off with Graves and Shepard and even more that you got shot. It was not your day. But during the darkest hour, that running truck was the ray of light you needed. 

After exchanging shots with the remaining Shadows in the area, Ghost rams through the blockade without warning. Still sitting up from covering the men in the front, the forward momentum launches you out of the backseat, body moving towards the already broken windshield.

If it weren’t for Soap's quick reflexes, it would have been the second time you’ve been thrown out the window during a mission. Thankfully he grabs the back of your vest to slow you down. But instead of glass, your face hits the dashboard. The pain was blinding white, tears threaten to spill as Soap pulls you back and you cradle your face in your hands. 

You missed Ghost’s eyes widened with shock (and slight amusement) as yours was still closed to stop the tears from leaking out. Soap’s eyebrows furrow with concern as he gently tilts your chin up and carefully slides the balaclava down your face, a chain of "owies" leaving your lips.

“Sorry Lass, I’m just gonna feel if it’s broken, okay?”

“As long as you let me whine about it.”

Using his pointer finger and his thumb, Soap makes small squeezes down your nose. You mutter curses as he does so. “Fuck, dammit! Oh Jesus Christ, shit!” Soap mumbles back apologies, keeping his hand steady as the truck drives through the uneven ground. He pulls back, giving your face another inspection.  

“Definitely swelling but nothing feels broken to me.” You give him the okay sign. Moving back to your seat, you gently maneuver your mask back on.

Ghost can feel your eyes burning holes on the back of his head. Maybe he did feel a little bad but it really wasn’t his fault that you slammed your face on the dashboard. He just hopes your nose isn’t broken or else he won’t hear the end of it. But still, he kind of apologizes.

Giving you a glance through the rearview mirror, he acknowledges you. “My bad, Sargent.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes and feeling like this is the most he’s going to say, you let out an audible sigh.

“It’s cool, LT."

Moscow

Whenever the team goes out after missions, you were almost, if not always the designated driver of the group. It started as a “rookie responsibility” but honestly, you liked taking care of others. It reminded you of your college days, dragging your friends back to the dorm building, feeding them goldfish and water before tucking them in bed and leaving them some painkillers for when they wake up. Now, you do the exact same things but with taller military guys that claim to have high tolerance. 

However, tonight’s a little different. Nikolai piloted the team to safety and as a thank you, Price promised to buy everyone's drinks. You initially declined the offer but Soap’s question made you reconsider. 

“Don’t you wanna try real Russian Vodka?” He grins at you. He watches you open your mouth before closing it, eyes deep in thought. Sensing your hesitation, Soap looks over to their Lieutenant that was in the back of the group.

“Hey LT, can you drive us back tonight?” Soap shouts at him. Ghost narrows his eyes. “Please? Crash has always driven us back!”

Ghost doesn’t respond but you do instead. “Don’t worry about it LT! I won’t drink tonight, I’ll drive everyone to the hotel.”

Soap lets out a whine, disappointed and even Gaz looked a little bummed. Clearly annoyed, mostly with himself for giving into peer pressure (and not wanting to deal with Soap’s bitching for the rest of the night), Ghost lets out a sigh, “Oi, Crash.”

Watching your head turn back at him, he opens his hand. “Keys,” He demanded. You raise an eyebrow at him, silently asking “Are you sure?” He just nods. Fishing the keys out of your pocket, you toss it towards him. 

A few hours and many shots later, the group piles back into the SUV. Nikolai sits up in the front passenger seat, giving Ghost slurred directions back to the hotel, while Soap and Gaz laying passed out in the back row. You and Price are in the middle, him telling you a story from his past and you, not really comprehending, nodding along. 

The car makes a slight jump when hitting a bump on the road, the movement not helping your stomach. It’s becoming more frequent now, along with the addition of the sharp turns. Looking away from Price and to the driver in front of you, your brain was slow to process what was going on. The bumps continue, eventually waking the two men in the back seat. Even with your hazy mind, you notice a pattern during the beginning chaos. Slide, bump, slide, bump. Glancing out the window to confirm your suspicions, you watch the tires going over every curb you see. 

Ghost was annoyed again. Nikolai’s instructions were sudden, therefore making his movements jerky. The safer option is to slow down but Ghost wanted everyone in bed. 

“Jesus, Si. The fuck you haulin’ ass for?” He hears your voice call out. "Fuckin' driving like a teenager, hitting curbs and shit."

“The girl is right. Wouldn’t want the police to show up,” Nikolai comments. As if he had been blessed with the gift of prophecy by Apollo himself, Ghost catches the sight of red and blue lights flashing behind him.

“Oh fuckin’ hell."

Swiss Alps

One of the pilots is dead, the other was putting pressure on their arm that was sporting a gunshot wound, the aircraft itself was spinning out of control and you were panicking. Honestly, everyone was panicking but you’re the only one showing it.

“Oh man, why am I forgetting my training for this?” You questioned, mostly to yourself. Price keeps a tight grip on your shoulders, trying to calm you down from your ramblings. Constant beepings and warnings are heard throughout the helicopter. Gaz, already bracing himself while Soap frantically looks around for anything useful.

Ghost, looking unbothered, shoves the body aside and takes a seat. He glances over at the injured pilot. “You’re going to instruct me to land this thing.”

“Crash landing to be more accurate. Look for big snow piles,” They yell out. Ghost nods, grabbing hold of the cyclic and quickly scans for snow mounds. Finding one that looks big enough, he leads the helicopter towards it. It was supposed to be simple, just crash on the fluffy snow and call it a day. However, trying to stabilize a malfunctioning aircraft wasn’t as easy as he thought. Though, upon seeing the pile of safety, he gives out a breath of relief.

Ghost on and off the field is a machine. So when he completely misses the snow mound, he lets out an audible gasp. Along with the loud beeping, Soap and Gaz join’s your screaming.

“HOW DID YOU MISS?! HOW THE FUCK DID YOU MISS THE-” Your yelling was the last thing he heard before blacking out.

141 Task Force Base

Waking up in the med bay was something he wasn’t expecting, along with being alive in general. The lights were dim, his eyes adjusting his surroundings quicker. Wiggling his fingers, he was relieved to feel them touch the cotton sheets. Unsure of what injuries he had, Ghost slowly lifts his hand up to his face. He lets out a quiet sigh when he feels the familiar fabric of his balaclava. Suddenly his mind races to his team, to Soap, to you.

The last thing he recalls was blurs of trees and everyone screaming.

“Hey! LT’s awake!” A familiar Scotts voice rings out, followed by someone shushing him and what sounds like a slap on the head.

The lights turn a smidge brighter, as if to not hurt Ghost’s eyes. He watches the team walk into the room, looking a little more rough than usual. His gaze lingers on the shortest member of the group. A couple bandages cover her face, along with a frown. Arms crossed and eyes refusing to meet him.

Price explains to him that after the collision, he, Gaz and Soap had to drag you, him and the other pilot out. And also the helicopter exploded. They watch him run a hand down his masked face.

He looks at you again, “You’re pissed.”

You meet his gaze this time, “No shit.”

Sensing some tension, the team spreads out through the room, not wanting to get in the way but also wanting to see you go off on the Lieutenant.

“Your driving sucks ass, LT! Like Cher from Clueless! Hitting curbs like a teenage girl. Holy fuck, my guy.” You start. All Ghost could do was stare at you, more amused than angry. “You almost broke my nose in Mexico with a freaking break check, I threw up in front of police officers- wasting eighty dollars worth of good vodka! And now this!” You point at your face. “My face is all jacked up!”

That last comment made him chuckle, out of all the things you were concerned about, it was your appearance that mattered. He inspects your face, besides having new scars, everything else looks the same. All he could do was shake his head in disbelief.

“Crash, you are such a girl.” He gives you a smile. You couldn’t see his mouth but his eyes expressed it. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

That comment caught you off guard, feeling heat coming up to your cheeks. You were speechless.

"Also, it really wasn't my fault."

"YES IT IS!"

[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

Chapter 5 [IKYLHT]

~2.4k Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter

-

“Officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark…”

“-I still don’t think that was the best they could’ve come up with.”

“Shh, Johnny, I’m trying to hear them.” You mumble with a light slap to the man’s thigh, nodding over to Price and Laswell as they clink glasses.

Simon chuckles from the other side of you as you peer around Soap’s form in an attempt to convince Gaz to relay the conversation word for word. He doesn’t, and part of you regrets not swapping seats with the man beforehand.

Not that you would’ve been able to, what with Simon and Johnny essentially herding you into the bar stool between them. 

Sheepdogs, I swear. 

“Y’know, I think you owe me, Bun.”

Johnny’s voice has a playful edge to it, something you so desperately need after the torture endured in that building. 

Bloody hands trying to find grip on the cables- anything that’d soften your fall down the elevator shaft and allow you to follow him into that half constructed floor full of soldiers and Hassan. 

Bloody hands that found themselves back on their original place, wrapping gauze around Price’s shoulder and pestering Gaz for updates every other minute.

He didn’t have any. You’d opted to try yourself. 

“Soap, please.” 

You can’t help the desperation in your tone. 

He hasn’t answered comms in four minutes. 

Something is wrong. 

“What is your status? Click the transmitter. Something. Anything. Please, Johnny.”

You hear nothing but the soft Chicago wind in return, shaking hand reaching for comms once more.

“Ghost, do you have a visual?”

It takes him a moment to answer, and you can just barely hear his boots ascending the stairwell in steps of two.

“Negative. Adjusting position now.”

You hate it. 

Hate that your view of Ghost is completely blocked from this floor, hate that Johnny isn’t responding to comms, hate that he’s in there alone.

Had this scene not already played out? Had Johnny not already been forced to fend for himself with shivs and rat traps in the streets of Las Almas? 

Why couldn’t they get someone in there with him? Where are the Marines? Where is Gaz? Where is Johnny?

I should’ve been there.

I was there. It still didn’t matter. 

I still couldn’t save him. 

“Fuck this.” You mumble, shuffling back onto your feet, eyes already scanning for the emergency staircase. 

I’ll scale the building myself.

Your gun is gone, lost somewhere to the explosion and subsequent shootout. You slide your hand over a spare knife resting on your hip. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.

“Price, I’m movi-”

“Ghost…” Soap’s voice carries through your earpiece and renders your legs damn near immovable. 

You don’t notice the way your knife slices open the top layer of skin on your palm, instinctually bolting up and towards the stairs as you hear Ghost reply.

Going down two, three, four at a time- shoulder slamming into the wall as you turn each corner and stumble down the staircase- you’re still unable to see any of what’s happening- eyes unblinking and ears straining to hear Johnny’s next words.

“Watch the window-“

“-Bun, c’mon. I remember hearin’ you make a bet with Simon.”

Blinking, you find yourself back in the bar.

Right. That’s right. It’s over. 

It’s all over.

Nodding, more to yourself than to him, you scan the bar and blink the image of it back into the front of your brain. 

You don’t miss the way Simon watches the entire thing. 

You let a semi-genuine smile grace your lips and nudge him back. 

“Which you were not a part of, Sargeant. Direct orders from the captain, in case you forgot. Plus, Si didn’t even agree to put any money on it. No point in betting if there isn’t a cash incentive.”

Glancing around him again, you’re just able to meet Gaz’s eyes as he finally divulges you by mouthing a single word before he’s turning back to Price.

Russians.

“I just think-”

“-Johnny.”

Your tone is what gets him to look up, to pop the bubble he’d created just for you, Simon, and himself. To raise his guard and compartmentalize like he always does. 

You can’t blame the man for wanting normalcy for just a little longer. The chance to sit in a dimly lit pub with his partners, nursing a drink and laughing at how awful the men across the bar are at playing pool.

He doesn’t want another assignment. Not now. Not after all they’d been through. He needed a break, desperately, and he needed to get his mind off of work before it consumed him completely. 

But you can’t. You just can’t slip into that headspace right now. You can’t let your guard down. 

Maybe it was the mission, maybe it was the close-calls, but this inability to just think straight is one you’d only experienced once before. 

You can’t remember when they start- the flashbacks, the shifting from present reality to memory. You only remember the looks of your comrades as they steer you back to the current moment.

Price’s voice cuts into the space, deep and low.

“He’s not new.”

He slides the picture over to Gaz, Soap bracing a hand over your leg as it bounces repeatedly.

You’re nervous.

You can’t tell why. 

You force yourself to stop, to allow Gaz to study the photo without interruption. You hear him shift, pass the photo over to Soap who holds it up for the two of you.

He nods once, reaching past you to hand it to Ghost.

Shaking your head, you whisper to both men beside you.

“I don’t recognize him.”

Their eyes meet past your shoulder, an unspoken conversation.

“Guys?” You whisper again, eyes darting between the pair. 

Still no answer, you look between Price and Kate, the latter looking just as confused as you did.

“Who is he?”

You feel Johnny’s grip on your thigh tighten, hear Simon’s deep inhale as Price turns to answer Kate.

“Makarov.”

-

“Well, this is me. You can just… knock, I guess. If you need anything, I mean.”

The door clicks behind Simon as you shift to stand awkwardly in the corner of your small accommodation. 

His eyes shift over your room, the tiny storage shelf topped with boxes and folders of paperwork you’d need to drop off before the night’s end.

It’s hardly decorated past the beige curtains and yellow lighting that adorned each private room in the barracks. 

You distantly wonder if Simon’s room is any nicer. Probably not, since it’s just a temporary until the flight home.

Better than a motel. 

He nods once, lets out a little hum of acknowledgment before locking eyes with yours.

“You okay, Tapeti?”

“Me? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just need a nap, I think. Maybe some real sleep once the paperwork is done.”

He hums again. 

“Okay. Not what I meant though, love.”

You give a sheepish semi-shrug, a half answer he lets slide with a small sigh. 

“Alright then. Gonna go check on Johnny. You comin’?”

You want to, to go and kick your feet up on Johnny’s lap while he doom-scrolls through social media, but your eyes fall back on the box of papers.

“Oh, uh. No, that’s alright. I’ll swing by later. Really gotta desk-jockey it tonight. Text me if he needs anything?”

“Of course, darling.” He says softly, kissing the top of your head through the mask before sparing you one last glance and slipping out the door.

You sigh out, shuffling over to the storage shelf and grabbing the box before plopping onto the chair with a huff. 

Casualty Report 

Contact Report

Frequency Interference Report

Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Report

Report

Report

Report

Digging your palms into your eyes, you groan out.

It's been hours, according to both the clock and the ache in your lower back.

“They offered me retirement, why the hell didn’t I take retirement?” Exhaling a deep breath, you whisper to yourself as you neatly pile the paperwork. “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job."

Sliding it off the desk and into the crook of your arm, you make your way through the foreign base, dropping off the paperwork to some higher-up's secretary with a content smile.

Not my problem anymore.

A little more pep in your step, you start making your way back to the barracks, giving Johnny’s door a light knock.

There’s no answer.

You knock again.

Still no answer.

With a small roll of the eyes, you dig for the spare key he slipped into your pocket with a wink, unlocking the door.

You crack it open, knock again and whisper as it quietly creaks.

“I swear Johnny, you’re such a liar- ‘oh I never fall asleep first’. I could practically hear you snoring through the- oh.”

His silhouette is dim but unmistakable. His snores are soft, as they usually are. 

So are Simon’s. 

You turn your head, scan the empty hall once more before really taking in the sight before you.

They’re cute. Snuggled up, cozy under the blanket Johnny will soon kick off, Simon’s head resting over his heart.

It’d be a lot sweeter of a moment if, well… if there was any space for you.

They really are cute together and you know it shouldn’t bother you, but, that was your spot. 

It’d always been that way.

Johnny on his back, you on his left side. 

Closing the door with a soft click, you lock the deadbolt as quiet as you can before making the trek back to your room.

It’s dark, curtains blocking any pale moonlight and the room is still just as fucking beige as before only now it’s a problem. 

The bed is too cold. Too big, too empty, too overwhelming without his body splayed over half of it. 

You don’t bother changing into anything comfier, kicking your boots towards the door and burrowing under the covers.

You look to the pillow on your right.

You shut your eyes.

It’ll be better in the morning.

-

Your descent down the stairwell is rushed, boots clipping the safety grips multiple times and hands flailing to grab the railing beside you.

You find a rifle on the way down, still slightly sticky with the blood of the masked soldier it belonged to. 

You could never be too sure.

It clatters against your tac vest uncomfortably, hitting the back of your legs and threatening to launch you down the stairs completely.

You don’t bare it much mind though, hopping off the last few steps and throwing yourself against the heavy metal door with a grunt.

Side stepping and nearly knocking over the surrounding Chicago police, you weave your way through EMT’s and rescued hostages before your path is abruptly cut short by a dark mass with outstretched arms.

“Slow down, Tapeti, he’s making his way out.”

You allow yourself to remain in the man’s arms but don’t halt your hurried steps.

“Then we can meet him in the stairwell, Simon.” You huff out, only partially regretting the way your words tinge with aggression.

He unhooks the back of the strap, grabbing the rifle with one hand and letting it clatter against the sidewalk, not once breaking stride or faltering in pace. 

You get one hand on the doorknob of the side entrance, readying yourself to slam bone against metal once more.  

You don’t get the chance to though, head on a swivel when you hear a nearby glass door shatter in on itself.

And finally, you see Johnny, tired face holding back a pained smile as he holds the door handle in midair.

“Rabbit-“

“-Johnny.”

You waste no time rushing to him, the impact of your body colliding with his almost knocking you both to the ground. 

You feel his shadow guarding the pair of you from onlookers, offering about ten seconds of privacy before Simon is damn near scruffing the back of your neck as he pulls the pair of you into his chest. 

“Jesus Christ, Johnny. Don’t ever do that again.” You mumble into Simon’s shirt, pawing at Johnny’s tac vest and trying to find a patch of skin that isn’t covered by work.

It’s a difficult task, what with Ghost barely allowing you ample space to expand your ribs as you breathe, but you manage to slip off a glove and warm Johnny’s hands yourself.

You feel him shift to lay his head on Simon’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around the man’s waist as he speaks quietly.

“You okay, Bun?”

“Are you okay, Johnny? We couldn’t get ahold of you, not a single thing through comms, not even static.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Johnny?”

You move to pat his hand but it isn’t there.

“John?”

You look up but he’s gone entirely.

You spin around, cover your arms over your thin shirt no longer protected by two sets of arms.

“Ghost?”

You spin again but you’re entirely alone on the street.

The cops’ red and blue lights still flash, doors wide open.

The back ambulance doors reveal the inside, the space that held the empty gurney that now sits mere feet away from you.

“Simon?”

The wind howls but doesn’t shake the trees.

“Gaz?”

Your ears ring above the silence.

“Price?”

You feel the hairs on your arms stand.

“Santiago?”

You hear a knock.

“Bunny? You in there, hen?”

Shifting your arms, you feel the stickiness of the sheets beneath you.

He knocks again.

Scrambling out of bed, you kick your shoes out of the way of the door and open it hastily.

“Good mornin’, sunshine. We were knockin’ quite a while. Must’ve been pretty knocked out.”

Your shoulders loosen seeing his smile, no longer feeling the urge to curl in on yourself.

“Oh, uh, yeah I guess so. Had kind of a weird dream.”

You feel Simon’s eyes on you, send him a smile as Johnny brushes past you and into the room.

“Anything in particular?”

You turn back to Simon, motion for him to make his way out of the doorway and into the room as you answer his question.

“Not really, mostly just replaying yesterday. Just cataloging, you know the drill.”

Well, except for the part where everyone vanished and left me stranded in the middle of Chicago searching for Santiago.

Guess I was calling out for two ghosts.

“Eh, as long as it wasn’t the weird armadillo one again. God knows what that one’s about. Anyways, you showering before brek, Bun? You stink.” Johnny smooths the duvet over the damp sheets, laying down with a groan and stretching his side.

“Yeah, I’ll make it a quick one. You waiting here?”

You don’t miss the way it comes out, the tinge of vulnerability towards the end of your words.

Neither does Simon.

Johnny lets out a hum, arms above his head and moving to stretch out his other side.

Simon steps forward, untucks the string of your hoodie.

“Shower, Tapeti.”

He sits on the edge of the bed.

“We’ll be here.”

-

<3

Taglist:

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[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch14

Description: we get taken to Mexico and thrust into the Action!! Let’s go find Hassan and meet Graves in the next chapter!! Whoop!!

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

I'm sitting in the meeting room, my leg bouncing up and down due to anxiety. I start chewing on my finger nails. Laswell's voice crackles over the computer. "Captain, good to speak again. I've spoken with Shepherd. He wants your team in Las Almas by tonight. They are to link up with the Mexican Special Forces. He is sending his own Shadow Team with Commander Graves. They have air support and any further assistance will be at your disposal. This is important, Captain. Lieutenant - I trust you will be able to get results. Don't let me down. I will send through further details as soon as I am off of this call. Thanks for your assistance once again. It is much appreciated" and with that, she signs off.

Everything seems to move in a blur from there on in. The next thing I know, I'm sat beside Johnny in a helicopter, the lieutenant standing near the pilot. I had packed my bags in a rush - I hope I had remembered everything but it was too late now.. we are already in the air. I had made sure to tie my hanky securely around my arm. It was tradition at this point. My lucky charm. Kyle joked that he felt the same way about his baseball cap.

I close my eyes and count for the rest of the journey, starting again at zero every time I lost my position. Johnny speaks with Ghost, who still hasn't looked at me. I was worried about this trip - how long would we all last together without John and Kyle. Would Ghost try and kill me before they join us? My hands start tapping on my thighs, nervously.

All of a sudden, there is a crash and jolt and within seconds, the side door of the helicopter opens revealing a concrete landing pad with three black jeeps parked waiting for our arrival. I freeze when I see him and tuck myself behind Johnny. I don't look up from the ground. Johnny and the Lieutenant stride ahead, down the ramp of the helicopter.

"Alejandro!" Johnny shouts, over the whirl of the blades.

"Sergeant MacTavish" - the Mexican Alpha replies - "Call me Soap.." Johnny greets, confidently and with respect, shaking his hand. Alejandro nods once.

"Lieutenant - Laswell says they call you Ghost?" - "Actually, I believe he prefers to be-" Johnny interrupts before Ghost snaps over the top of him -

"That'll do!" he barks loudly at Johnny. Johnny slams his mouth shut so quickly, like a child being scolded.

"And you - Garrick, is it?" oh shit..oh shit.. he's talking to me. He must have read the name on Kyle's hoodie. I'd forgotten to change before we had arrived! Stupid, stupid mutt!

The silence stretches on for too long and Johnny cuts in, answering for me as I just stare wide eyed at the dark haired Alpha. He is the one I'd almost shot when I was still with the Russians... Him and his omega.. the one that had died in that mission. I swear he looked at me. What if he recognises me?! Ghost narrows his eyes at my, obviously terrified, reaction.

"This is Laika - or Y/N.. I - I don't actually know what she prefers..." Johnny thinks aloud.

Alejandro squints his eyes at the strange interaction but then shrugs. "Welcome to the city of souls.." he says, turning to walk back to one of the black jeeps.

"I've never been to Mexico.." Johnny says - god, how was he so friendly and confident with everyone he has just met..?

I notice that Ghost is striding slowly behind me - probably keeping watch that I don't run off. He had clearly clocked my reaction to Alejandro when stepping out of the helicopter.

"This isn't Mexico.. This - is Las Almas.." The Alpha corrects Johnny.

Ghost then starts talking Lieutenant jargon - something about weapons and backup from Graves - Alejandro replies "my base is your base.."

"Good - now, where is Hassan..?" Ghost asks in that gruff, aggressive voice of his. I had gathered from the intel sent over from Kate, that Hassan is an Iranian terrorist who had been dealing American missiles with the Cartel. We had to catch Hassan who had outran the Mexican Special Forces - they needed to catch him before he crossed the border.

"At a safe house, holed up - it's about ten clicks from here - now, get in" he gestures to the jeep. Johnny walks around the back of the car to get in from the other side. Ghost nods for me to sit in the middle and then he squeezes his massive body in last. I still hadn't looked up.

"This is my second in command - Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra" - I glance up to see the Omega. The one I thought was dead.. I tense up and gulp audibly, and Ghost looks at me again with a look of confusion. Even Johnny looks unsure.

"tengo miedo de los fantasmas.." Rodolfo murmurs to his Alpha. Alejandro smirks before turning to face us from his seat - "You know Spanish..?" Alejandro asks.

"No" Johnny replies on behalf of all of us - "you will.." Alejandro chuckles..

I don't say anything to correct the assumption that I don't know Spanish - I mean - I know very limited Spanish, but enough to get by.

I feel a bit of warmth towards Rodolfo in that moment. For, I was also afraid of Ghosts...

*Ghost's POV*

The girl is acting oddly - ever since we stepped foot off of that helicopter she has been skittish. I hope she isn't going to be a liability. Even Johnny is giving her weird looks, so it isn't just me picking up on the weird vibes from her. Not to mention that she fuckin' reeks of anxiety and fear again, not that anyone else seems to be able to smell her properly yet..

I get the feeling that she is contemplating fleeing. I remember Laswell mentioning that she might try to go back, if the Russians came for her... does that mean she is a flight risk? I wasn't sure. All I know is that I have to keep a close eye on her.. I stay behind her in case she tries to dart off. I can feel her hesitation when Alejandro tells us to get in the car.

Her scent is rolling off in waves of sour fear. I try not to touch her but it's near on impossible with all three of us squeezed in the back like this. My legs press up against hers, she is trying to shrink - or disappear. Rodolfo says something in Spanish that none of us understand. The two men were a bonded pair. Alpha and Omega. I can smell it on them...

Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

Rodolfo - or Rudy - as Alejandro calls him, drives us through the streets of Las Almas. Some of them look eerily familiar from my last visit here - I try not to remember. Thankfully my memories of those days are fuzzy, thanks to the high dosage of drugs I'd been on. A white pick up truck drives by with several men and guns loaded on the back. Johnny immediately alerts Alejandro of the threat.

"Hey, hey! Tranquilo! Easy, that's normal here.." the Alpha replies with a heavy accent. The Alphas then begin to discuss the Corruption of the Police and Army in Las Almas. Alejandro tells Johnny that the locals call them 'Los Vaqueros' - the cowboys..

I remain silent for the entire drive. We slow due to a traffic block up ahead. I look the the right and see two dead bodies laying in a pool of blood, covered in the flags of the Cartel. I feel sick, but try not to show any reaction, I had seen this before when I last visited Las Almas, I heard the locals say it was how the local crime gang 'marked their territory'.

Alejandro instructs Rudy to go around the traffic block. The road was being blocked by the Mexican Army who were in the pockets of this 'El Sin Nombre' Cartel leader.

The car pulls into a smaller hidden area - Alejandro steps out and slams the door. "The Cartel are hiding Hassan in the village across the river. Get ready - we leave in five, amigos". I swear he eyes me with suspicion.

*Alejandro's POV*

I hadn't been told that the Brits were bringing a girl with them. A strange, shy girl. She had little to no scent, I assume she uses blockers. She seems familiar. I wait until the car pulls up at our storehouse and whisper to Rudy "vagila a la chica" - he nods, agreeing to keep and eye on the Garrick girl.

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

I quickly strap on all of my holsters, belts and put the heavy tactical vest over my head, clipping it tightly around my waist - I hate it when it is loose, I find that it throws my aim off. I follow Johnny to the car with all the weapons John had sent over for us.

I see the familiar case of the sniper rifle with a small ticket of paper sticking out of the lid. I furrow my brows. Johnny throws me an assault rifle. This would be the gun I use most - I then spot a smaller gun that I recognize from my time in Russia - some sort of pistol. It's labelled as a TYR, I make a grab for it and holster it, feeling pleased that I'd found a gun that I'd at least be familiar with using.

"The Captain said you'd want this.." Ghost grumbles, handing me the case. I look between him and the case, unsure. "Take it.." he growls. I do as ordered and quickly take the case.

How the fuck was I supposed to carry this fucking beast of a sniper?! I quickly kneel to the ground and assemble the scope and sights, making sure I take enough ammo for all of the guns. I stare at the Rifle for a few seconds, pondering how to carry it. I attach a leather strap to it and sling it around my back so that it settles between the rear pockets of my tac-vest. I shrug my shoulders and jump and crouch a couple of times with all of my gear to test that I could still move unrestricted with everything. It wasn't perfect, but it'll work. The last thing I do, is tie my hanky around the strap on my outer thigh. I glance back to the boxes of weapons and at the last minute, take a knife. I don't like using knives - always trying to stay far enough away to not engage in close range scraps.

I feel utterly terrified but fall back from the cars and stand behind the two familiar Alphas. Johnny glances back to me and for the first time in ages, speaks to me.

"You alright, Lass..?" - I just nod. He sends a tight lipped smile my way before we load back into the car and drive to the village.

The drive is short lived - we arrive within a couple of minutes. Soldiers leap from the surrounding cars. I just copy. I'd never actually worked on a team before - let alone a trained military unit like this. I hope I don't majorly fuck this up. I sense someone staring at me. I follow my instincts and look around, meeting eyes with Rodolfo. He doesn't look away, just raises an eyebrow.

"Weapons hot, Vaqueros!" Alejandro shouts at his men.

"Where are they hiding Hassan?" Soap questions, "White two-story building, back of the town" Alejandro says before fist pumping his Omega and splitting up to infiltrate one of the entrances to the village. I follow behind Johnny and the Lieutenant, assault rifle raised with the hope that I wouldn't have to use it.

I overhear Johnny asking about civilians, thankfully Alejandro responds saying that they'd all left when the Cartel took the village as a hideout. At least no families would be caught up in the fray. I sigh in relief.

We round another corner when the pop of gun fire erupts. A couple of houses' doors open and armed men start firing at us. I immediately take cover - hiding behind a wall. I take three or four deep breaths before popping back up to check beyond the wall. As I break cover, a bullet whistles past my head. I gasp and duck back down. FUCK, Careful mutt - that was almost a bullet to the brain..

The main group of Vaqueros, Johnny and the Lieutenant push forward up the middle of the street. I stay back trying to think about how to help. I couldn't just cower in fear. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, MUTT!

I turn sharp left and flank the group. I make sure I keep pace but on the opposite side of the village. I follow the gun fire and somehow manage to skirt around the village undetected. I reach the white two-story house. A ladder is leaning against the wall, just underneath the window. That'll do!

I quietly climb the ladder and enter silently through the upper floor window. I slowly work my way around the house, it was heavily guarded. I shouldn't have arrived here alone but I felt like I had something to prove. I pull the knife from my thigh holster and stare at it, turning it slowly, watching how the light flashes off of the blade. I have to be quiet so I will have to use the knife. I shiver slightly but concentrate on the task. Get Hassan.

I silently slice my way to the final back room on the upper floor. Dropping three bodies and dragging them to the side.

I move toward the final guard, not making a sound. I throw a piece of fabric over his head and then wrestle him down to the ground, straddling him before slicing his throat. Just as I finish clearing the upper floor, a huge ruckus sounds from downstairs. SHIT, they're here! I quickly notice that I'd been very stupid. If they see me, already in the house, they'll shoot before they realise that I'm on their side. I make a rash decision and elect to leap from the shot out window, rejoining the back of the team from downstairs - hopefully they think that I've been there the whole time. I can only hope nobody has noticed my absence. Hassan isn't even in the fucking house..

I quietly slot between two Mexican soldiers that I don't recognise - they line me up and down quickly with their guns, my eyes widen before one of them speaks "es solo la chica del británico" - I don't quite understand but gather that it's something along the lines of 'British girl' so I assume they know I'm on their side.. I smile nervously and wave. They just look at me as if I'm crazy before moving forward with the others.

As we begin to move forward, I eye the bodies I'd left in my wake from just five minutes earlier. I cringe slightly at what I'd done. I hear the Lieutenant's voice bellow from up ahead. "No Hassan.. Negative on Hassan" - "They must have moved him.. recently" Alejandro speaks.

I finally step into the room that I had already been in, Johnny notices me first and strides over to me quickly "I didn't see you for a while there, Lass - thought you'd done a runner!" he jokes, slapping me twice on the arm. I huff a soft laugh and look at my feet, what he doesn't know, can't hurt him... "Y'alright though..?" he asks, eyes trailing down my body, checking for any marks. His eyes hesitate on my legs before moving back up to my eyes.

I quickly glance down to check my own state - my eyes settle on my knees. They were covered in dark red - where I'd straddled the last guard and knelt in his blood. I feel like I'm going to hurl but keep an even face on in front of Johnny. "Not mine.. just slipped when coming up the stairs.." I lie through my teeth. Johnny laughs and accepts the lie instantly. I feel awful... guilty..

All of a sudden, a loud roar of engines sound from outside. "Commander! The Army is rolling in!" one of the Vaqueros shout to Alejandro. He curses and growls angrily, Johnny, confused, says "we've got reinforcements" - "Negative, Soap - we engage, cover my men" - "what? you want us to engage the fuckin' Mexican Army..?" Johnny replies, completely shocked.

"No, these men are paid by the Cartel - they are helping the Cartel protect Hassan.."

We all take position at the windows. I consider using my sniper but decide it is still too close range for that. "Wait until my men are clear before engaging!" Alejandro shouts.

I watch several Army vehicles roll down the hill towards the house. We are substantially out numbered. A gun fires and then all hell breaks loose. Grenades and flash-bangs are thrown back and forwards - they have light machine guns firing up at us but we eventually manage to gain the upper hand. Alejandro's radio crackles - it's Rudy. "Alpha, we are clear" - "Copy, rally at the safe house!" he shouts back before ordering us to fall back.

A grenade comes flying through the window, thankfully blowing on the opposite side of the room. It still causes Johnny and I to get thrown. I hit the wall hard with my shoulder, but quickly recover, ignoring the pain shooting up and down my arm. I whimper as I regain my footing. "Quickly lass, they're going to flatten the place.. the window! Follow Alejandro and Ghost" he gasps between coughs, pushing me back towards the window. The same window I'd already jumped from. I can't stop coughing and my arm is slowing me down, not to mention the pain that fires from my shoulder every time that I raise my gun.

I glance back to Johnny who shouts "Faster!! The Army is right behind us" - "Fan out! We will lose them in the mountains!" Alejandro shouts over his shoulder.

I wince again when I raise my arm. Fuck! Think Laika Think! I turn a sharp left and once again, flank the main chase. The Mexican Army run past my position as I use the trees for cover. I cover Johnny with supporting fire, although I can tell he thinks it is the Army shooting at them.

"Fuck, they're on us!!" Johnny shouts, loud enough for me to hear from where I was trying to find a good spot to cover them from behind.

Alejandro's men turn and set up positions to fire back at the quickly advancing Army. I quickly swing my sniper rifle from my back to the front and watch through the scope. Aim, one - two - click.. HIT. I hit four men cleanly, remembering to aim two marks to the left on the scope to make up for my slightly off aim thanks to my old rifle. It seemed to be working. The Army seemed to be thinning quickly. I throw the rifle back over my shoulder and lift the assault rifle, ready to try and rejoin the group without getting hit by friendly fire.

Alejandro's men start to move towards the cliffs while the remaining members of the Army look to regroup before giving chase. I try to sprint down the hill but the terrain is difficult. I manage to catch up to about fifty meters behind the main group. "Laika!! Where is she?!" Johnny shouts - "move sergeant, she'll catch up!" The lieutenant barks back - yeah.. he probably hopes that I'd been shot down...

"We need extraction - we can't take on an entire army.." Ghost shouts to Alejandro. "Copy that - Call for Extraction, Rodriguez!" Alejandro agrees.

I finally manage to rejoin the others and slide beside Rodriguez, who is madly trying to contact the extraction team. "The mountains are blocking comms.. we need to move!" He shouts, panicked, as the Army catch back up and start shooting at us again.

I run beside Johnny and squeeze his hand quickly before slotting behind him. He glances and smiles - "Lass, you've got to stop disappearing on me" he chuckles.

Alejandro leads us to some precarious looking rocks and cliffs. "What's the plan?" Johnny asks as we regroup at the edge.

"There is a bridge at the river - extraction will be there.." Alejandro explains.

"CONTACT - RPG" Ghost growls as a huge boom explodes a few yards to our left. I jump backwards into Johnny's chest. "We need to get away from here.." I whimper

Alejandro suddenly breaks cover - "Fall back! This way.." He runs towards a huge cliff. "WE HAVE TO JUMP THAT?!" Johnny shouts.

I stop dead in my tracks - there is no way I will make that...

"Do or die, Hermano!" Alejandro shouts back, leaping and easily making the distance.

Ghost jumps next and makes the leap, so does Johnny.

My eyes dart from left to right. There is no other way out. I hear the crashing of the Army gaining on us. "FOR FUCK SAKE, GIRL - MOVE!" the Lieutenant bellows from the other side of the gap.

Johnny steps forward "Lass, jump! I'm here, I'll catch you! C'mon - you need to move.. NOW".

I scream and sprint toward the gap. I feel my toes teeter on the edge, trying to get as close as possible to the edge to give myself the best chance of making the distance. I push off and close my eyes, still screaming. I feel arms grab me. I wince in pain, flinching away as the pain blinds me - my injured arm was carrying mine, and all of my gear's, entire weight. But at least Johnny had caught me..

"Argh Put me down, put me down NOW JOHNNY" I scream. He pulls me to safety and then drops me suddenly to the ground. I try to scramble back to my feet to keep running, but I stumble slightly. He quickly reaches to my painful arm and I flinch away. His eyes widen, is that sadness or pain I can see in his expression..?

"Don't touch me - don't Johnny.." I pant, stressed and in pain.

I clamber to my feet and we keep running. Alejandro tells us to push forward. The Army are trying to surround us so we have to go through the middle of them to find the river.

What feels like hours of excruciating pain, finally comes to a head when we reach a cliff edge overhanging the river. We have fought our way through hundreds of Army troops and what? Now Alejandro expects us to jump from a cliff into a fast flowing river. I give up...

"Extraction ahead!" Johnny shouts, spotting the vehicles in the distance.

Alejandro leaps from the cliff confidently, clutching his gun tightly. I wince and whimper. The lieutenant obviously notices my hesitance and fear because he unceremoniously lifts and throws me from the cliff and into the water below. I scream the entire way down until I hit the water.

I splutter and inhale water, weighed down by my guns. I'm fucking drowning. I start splashing and convulsing. What I think is my final thought is ' I knew Ghost wanted to kill me' - all of a sudden, I'm scooped from the water and pulled to the surface, getting dragged down stream. It's him. The lieutenant. I manage to catch my breath, coughing heavily. My lungs on fire.

He pushes me towards Johnny and tells him to keep me near.

I feel like I cough the entire way to the bridge.

"Vehicles on the bridge" Johnny shouts in my ear. "FUCK" Alejandro sounded pissed off "They aren't ours!!!"

"Hold the position, we will wait for extraction here" Alejandro instructs "We can't do shit against all that armour!" Johnny growls.

I notice that the water is shallow enough to support my own body weight again. I lean against the rock in front of us and test my arm by raising my gun towards the bridge. I wince but the pain is bearable. Suddenly, an American voice speaks smoothly over the Lieutenant's radio "This is Shadow-1, engaging the bridge North of your position. Sit tight, danger is close!" - he sounds all too calm for the current situation, i think to myself.

"Who the hell is that?!" - "Commander Graves - Shadow Company, he's with us.." Ghost replies to Alejandro's angry question.

Then, as if from nowhere, several airstrikes hit the bridge, destroying it. Whoops and cheers sound over the Lieutenant's radio. "Good to see you boys!" The American jokes.

We run for the car parked on the river bank, all of us climbing in, absolutely soaking wet. I start shivering despite the moderate heat from the Las Almas sun.

"We have a possible hit on Hassan two clicks north of your position" The American sings through the radio, joyfully.

I roll my eyes, not mentally - or physically - prepared for another fire fight..

Here we go again, I guess...

[daily-cryptids]

Abnauayu

Origin: Caucasus Mountain Range (Russia, Georgia & Azerbaijan) The Abnauayu is the Russian Bigfoot similar to the Almas and said to roam the lands around the Caucasus mountain range. The Abnauayu are usually described as muscular, and are about the same size as a grown human. They have reddish-black hair, a low brow, reddish eyes, and high cheekbones. Sightings occasionally describe them making garbled noises, they don’t seem capable of human speech. They are sometimes seen using sticks and rocks as tools or weapons. There was an 'Abnauayu' named Zana who was captured in the mid 19th century but she was not an Abnauayu she was just a black woman

[greatworldwar2]

• Stanisław Sosabowski

Stanisław Franciszek Sosabowski was a Polish general in World War II. He fought in the Polish Campaign of 1939 and at the Battle of Arnhem (Netherlands), as a part of Operation Market Garden, in 1944 as commander of the Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade.

Stanisław Sosabowski was born on May 8th, 1892 in Stanislau, in what was then Austria-Hungary and is now Ivano-Frankivsk in western Ukraine. His father was a railway worker. Sosabowski graduated from a local gymnasium and in 1910 he was accepted as a student of the faculty of economy of the Jagiellonian University in Kraków. However, the death of his father and the poor financial situation of his family forced him to abandon his studies and return to Stanislau. There he became a member of Drużyny Strzeleckie, a semi-clandestine Polish national paramilitary organisation. He was soon promoted to the head of all Polish Scouting groups in the area. In 1913, Sosabowski was drafted into the Austro-Hungarian Army. After training, he was promoted to the rank of corporal, serving in the 58th Infantry Regiment. After the outbreak of World War I he fought with his unit against the Imperial Russian Army in the battles of Rzeszów, Dukla Pass and Gorlice. For his bravery, he was awarded several medals and promoted to first lieutenant. In 1915, he was badly wounded in action and withdrawn from the front. In November 1918, after Poland regained its independence Sosabowski volunteered for the newly formed Polish Army, but his wounds were still not healed and he was rejected as a front-line officer. Instead, he became a staff officer in the Ministry of War Affairs in Warsaw.

After the Polish-Soviet War Sosabowski was promoted to major and in 1922 he started his studies at the Higher Military School in Warsaw. After he finished his studies he was assigned to the Polish General Staff. Promoted to lieutenant colonel, in 1928 he was finally assigned to a front-line unit, the 75th Infantry Regiment, as commanding officer of a battalion. The following year he was assigned to the 3rd Podhale Rifles Regiment as its deputy commander. From 1930 he was also a professor of logistics at his alma mater. In 1937 Sosabowski was promoted to colonel and became the commanding officer of the 9th Polish Legions Infantry Regiment stationed in Zamość. In January 1939 he became the commander of the prestigious Warsaw-based 21st Infantry Regiment. According to the Polish mobilisation scheme, Sosabowski's regiment was attached to the 8th Infantry Division. Shortly before the German invasion of Poland started his unit was moved from its garrison in the Warsaw Citadel to the area of Ciechanów, where it was planned as a strategic reserve of the Modlin Army. On September 2nd, the division was moved towards Mława and in the early morning of the following day it entered combat in the Battle of Mława. Although the 21st Regiment managed to capture Przasnysz and its secondary objectives, the rest of the division was surrounded by the Wehrmacht and destroyed. After that Sosabowski ordered his troops to retreat towards Warsaw. Sosabowski was ordered to man the Grochów and the Kamionek defensive area and defend Praga, the eastern borough of Warsaw, against the German 10th Infantry Division. During the Siege of Warsaw the forces of Sosabowski were outmanned and outgunned, but managed to hold all their objectives. When the general assault on Praga started on September 16th, the 21st Infantry Regiment managed to repel the attacks of German 23rd Infantry Regiment and then successfully counter-attacked and destroyed the enemy unit. After this success, Sosabowski was assigned to command all Polish troops fighting in the area of Grochów. Despite constant bombardment and German attacks repeated every day, Sosabowski managed to hold his objectives at relatively low cost in manpower. On September 26th, 1939, the forces led by Sosabowski bloodily repelled the last German attack, but two days later Warsaw capitulated.

Following the Polish surrender, Sosabowski was made a prisoner of war and interned at a camp near Żyrardów. However, he escaped and remained in Warsaw under a false name, where he joined the Polish resistance. He was ordered to leave Poland and reached France to report on the situation in occupied Poland. After arriving in Paris, The Polish government in exile assigned him to the Polish 4th Infantry Division as the commanding officer. Initially, the French authorities were very reluctant to hand over the badly needed equipment and armament for the Polish unit. Sosabowski's soldiers had to train with pre-World War I weapons. In April 1940, the division was moved to a training camp in Parthenay and was finally handed the weapons awaited since January, but it was already too late to organise the division. Out of more than 11,000 soldiers, only 3,150 were given arms. By June 1940, Sosabowski with approximately 6,000 Polish soldiers arrived at La Pallice, whence they were evacuated to Great Britain. Upon his arrival in London, Sosabowski turned up at the Polish General Staff and was assigned to 4th Rifles Brigade that was to become a core of the future 4th Infantry Division. The unit was to be composed mainly of Polish Canadians, but it soon became apparent that there were not enough young Poles in Canada from which to create a division. Then, Sosabowski decided to transform his brigade into a Parachute Brigade, the first such unit in the Polish Army. The volunteers came from all the formations of the Polish Army. In Largo House in Fife, a training camp was built and the parachute training was started. Sosabowski himself passed the training and, at 49 years of age, made his first parachute jump. In October 1942 the Brigade was ready for combat and was named the 1st Independent Parachute Brigade. Since the Polish General Staff planned to use the Brigade to assist a national uprising in Poland, the soldiers of the 1st Polish Para were to be the first element of the Polish Army in Exile to reach their homeland. Hence the unofficial motto of the unit: by the shortest road (najkrótszą drogą).

In September 1943, Lieutenant-General Frederick Browning proposed that Sosabowski reform his unit into a division and fill the remaining posts with British troops. Sosabowski himself would be assigned to the newly formed division and promoted to general. However, Sosabowski refused. Nevertheless, on June 15th, 1944 he was promoted to Brigadier General. In early August 1944, news of the Warsaw Uprising arrived in Great Britain. The Brigade was ready to be dropped by parachute into Warsaw to aid their comrades from the underground Polish Home Army, who were fighting a desperate battle against overwhelming odds. However, the distance was too great for the transport aircraft to make a round trip and access to Soviet airfields was denied. The morale of the Polish troops suffered badly and many of the units verged on mutiny. The British staff threatened its Polish counterpart with disarmament of the Brigade, but Sosabowski retained control of his unit. Finally, Polish Commander in Chief Kazimierz Sosnkowski put the Brigade under British command, and the plan to send it to Warsaw was abandoned.

During the planning for Operation Market Garden, Sosabowski expressed serious concerns regarding the feasibility of the mission. Among Sosabowski's concerns were the poorly conceived drop zones at Arnhem, the long distances between the landing zones and Arnhem Bridge and that the area would contain a greater German presence than British intelligence believed. Despite Sosabowski's concerns and warnings from the Dutch Resistance that two SS Panzer Divisions were in the operations area, Market Garden proceeded as planned. The Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade was among the Allied forces taking part in Market Garden. Due to a shortage of transport aircraft, the brigade was split into several parts before being dropped into the battle. A small part of the brigade with Sosabowski was parachuted near Driel on September 19th, but the rest of the brigade arrived only on September 21st at the distant town of Grave, falling directly on the waiting guns of the Germans camped in the area. The brigade's artillery was dropped with the British 1st Airborne Division. Three times Sosabowski attempted to cross the Rhine to come to the assistance of the surrounded 1st Airborne Division. Unfortunately, the ferry they hoped to use had been sunk and the Poles attempting to cross the river in small rubber boats came under heavy fire. Even so, at least 200 men made it across the river and reinforced the embattled British paratroopers. Despite the difficult situation, at a staff meeting on September 24th, Sosabowski suggested that the battle could still be won. He proposed that the combined forces of XXX Corps, under Lieutenant-General Brian Horrocks, and the Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade should start an all-out assault on the German positions and try to break through the Rhine. This plan was not accepted, and during the last phase of the battle, on 25th and 26th of September, Sosabowski led his men southwards, shielding the retreat of the remnants of the 1st Airborne Division. Casualties among the Polish units were high, approaching 40%. After the battle, on October 5th, 1944, Sosabowski received a letter from Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery, commander of the Anglo-Canadian 21st Army Group, describing the Polish soldiers as having fought bravely and offering awards to ten of his soldiers. However, on October 14th, 1944, Montgomery wrote another letter, this time to the British commanders, in which he scapegoated Sosabowski for the failure of Market Garden. Sosabowski was accused of criticizing Montgomery, and the Polish General Staff was forced to remove him as the commanding officer of his brigade on December 27th, 1944.

Sosabowski was eventually made the commander of rearguard troops and was demobilized in July 1948. Shortly after the war Sosabowski succeeded in evacuating his wife and only son from Poland. Like many other Polish wartime officers and soldiers who were unable to return to Communist Poland on pain of repercussions including death or disappearance, he settled in West London. He found a job as a factory worker at the CAV Electrics assembly plant in Acton.He died in London on September 25th, 1967. In 1969, Sosabowski's remains were returned to Poland, where he was reinterred at Powązki Military Cemetery in Warsaw. In The Hague, on May 31st, 2006, Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands awarded the Military Order of William to the Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade. The brigade's commander, Sosabowski, was posthumously awarded the "Bronze Lion". On June 1st, a ceremony was held at Driel, the town where the Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade fought. Among the speakers at the ceremony were the mayor of Overbetuwe, as well as Sosabowski's grandson and great-grandson. Sosabowski was portrayed by Gene Hackman in the 1977 war film A Bridge Too Far. In the summer of 2012 1st Airborne Major Tony Hibbert made a video appeal for Sosabowski to be pardoned and honoured.

[mesetacadre]

Aviation in the USSR

A collection of excerpts from Anna Lousie Strong's The Soviets Expected It, compiled for @czerwonykasztelanic

[...] Or the guerrilla detachment which captured six German planes, destroyed five of them, and sent the sixth to the Red Army, piloted by an amateur air enthusiast, who was a tractor driver in ordinary life. Lt. Talalikhin’s initiative is already a Soviet aviator’s tradition. Exhausting his ammunition in a fight with three enemy planes, he rammed the tail of one enemy with his propeller, smashed the tail of another enemy plane with his wing tip, and then bailed out of his own plane safely. Moscow parks displayed the wreckage of the German planes, and other Soviet pilots quickly copied the tactics. An aviation technician, Konikov, won renown by attaching the fuselage of a plane he was repairing to the front platform of a military train whose locomotive had been bombed by the enemy; he thus pulled the most necessary parts of the train to safety.

pg. 14

The Soviet people glimpsed and felt victory. For the first time they began to feel that they were no longer “backward Russians.” They were beginning to challenge the world. With this went a proud sense of their unity as a nation. Cotton growers in Turkestan exulted, “We have conquered the Arctic,” though they themselves would never see the snow. Bearded peasants, who had never sat in an airplane, began to talk about “our conquest of the air.” Young Nina Kameneva expressed the mood of the country’s young people when she broke a world’s altitude record in parachute jumping and remarked on landing: “The sky of our country is the highest sky in the world.”

pg. 46

Moscow can make all the implements of war, including planes and motor trucks, inside the city. [...] Moscow’s sky is covered by an air defense that was the marvel of the London experts who visited it after the war began to make suggestions and found it far superior to London’s. Anti-aircraft shells make a thick blanket at four distinct levels to London’s one, and observation planes patrol the heavens night and day. Moscow’s four million people also offer a night-and-day defense.

pg. 51

Alma Ata, the capital of this area, has grown from a town of 60,000 to a proud young city of 260,000 in the ten years since the railroad reached it. Its life has leaped at once from the nomad epoch to the airplane. The railroad is too slow to tame the wastes of Kazakstan. From Alma Ata Airport the planes shoot forth, east, west, south, north, on new discoveries. [...] Kazakstan is only one of the energetic regions behind the Urals. South of it lie the lands of the Uzbeks and Tadjiks, where some of the largest textile mills of the U.S.S.R. work up the locally grown cotton and where automobile and airplane parts are produced by mass production in the historic city of Samarkand.

pg. 58

I have traveled many times on the Trans-Siberian. In the spring of 1935, I went from Vladivostok to Moscow with a stop-over in the Jewish autonomous territory whose capital is Birobidjan. The train was crowded with pioneering people in warm woolen clothes and padded leather jackets, engineers, Army men, developers of the Far East. [...] An army engineer who shared my table at dinner was celebrating his return by airplane from the northern wilderness by consuming a whole bottle of port and bragging about the Far Eastern pioneers.

pg. 59

According to Pierre Cot, the French Air Minister, who visited Moscow in 1933, the Soviet air arm was at least equal to the best in Europe in numbers, technical equipment, and, above all, in the productive capacity of the aviation industry.‡ Thus, by the end of 1932, which ended the first Five Year Plan, the Soviet Union had reached the level of Western Europe in armaments – a fairly modest level judged by standards of later years.

pg. 65

Other official indications of the extent of the Red Army’s mechanization come from Voroshilov’s report in 1934 [...]. Five years later [...]. He claimed that the “bomb salvo” of the Soviet air force (the number of bombs that can be dropped by all planes at once) had tripled in five years and had reached more than 6,000 tons.

pg. 66

Soviet airplane pilots also hold many world records, both in altitude and long-distance flights. Their conquest of the Arctic and its difficult weather has accustomed them to the severest conditions. Americans well remember the Soviet pilots who twice made world records by flying from Moscow to America. These were individual exploits, but the development of Arctic aviation on which they were based was the work of large numbers of pilots and implies a whole air tradition

pg. 67

Parachute jumping has become a national sport in the Soviet Union. Soviet people are probably the most air-minded people in the world. Training for air-mindedness begins in the kindergarten. Small tots play the “butterfly game” and jump around with large butterflies pinned on their hair, gaining the idea that flying is fun and a natural activity. Children in their teens make jumps from “parachute towers” which are far rougher and more realistic than the parachute tower in the New York World’s Fair, which was copied from them. The sport is popular not only in the cities but on the farms. Several years ago a Ukrainian farmer told me of his trip to the nearby city with a group of farm children, all of whom immediately formed in line in the recreation park to go up in a tall tower and jump off under a parachute. “I thought it very terrifying,” he said, “and wondered why the park authorities allowed it. Then I saw that my own thirteen-year-old daughter was at the head of the line. These children of today aren’t afraid of anything.” At an older age, Soviet young people jump from airplanes, learn to operate gliders, or even become amateur pilots in their spare time. Every large factory, government department, and many of the larger collective farms have “aviation clubs,” which are given free instruction by the government. Probably a million people in the Soviet Union have made actual jumps from parachutes. It is not surprising that the Red Army was the first to use parachute troops in active service several years before the Germans adopted them. In 1931 a small detachment of parachutists surrounded and cleaned up a bandit gang in Central Asia. The making of airplane models by young people is taken seriously in the U.S.S.R. In 1937 over a million school children were spending after-school hours in aviation model stations. At a later stage, young people of talent create real airplanes and demonstrate them at Tushino aviation exhibitions. Owing to the wide interest in aviation and the public ownership of factories, a bright Soviet youth who invents a new type of airplane may get it constructed by his factory sports club and show it off. At one of the aviation festivals I attended, I saw a score of different amateur planes, including every possible shape of flying object – short, stubby ones, long thin ones, others shaped like different kinds of insects. They added greatly to the gaiety of the occasion. Whether or not they produced any really valuable new invention, they at least encouraged the inventiveness of their makers.

pg. 72

In the past two years, especially, all this training has been given a very realistic turn. [...] Only a month before the Germans attacked the Soviet borders, 7,000 Moscow citizens practiced a special drill in repulsing parachute troops over the week end. The large numbers of such trained citizenry, both among recruits entering the Red Army and among the older citizens assisting it, greatly add to the Soviet Union’s total defense.

pg. 73

[writeforfandoms]

Waking Lions 14

Find the series masterlist

We learn more about Ace's past and her connection to Kate. Also, she finally gets a meal.

Warnings: swearing, past violence, mention of past murder, Ace is still morally gray, Price still needs his own warning.

Word count: 1.7k

Captain went out first, making sure the way was clear for you as you locked up. You hiked your bag a little higher up on your shoulder and followed him down and out to the street, where an SUV was waiting for you. 

“Ma’am.” Garrick nodded to you from the driver’s seat, and you settled in the back. 

You looked out the window, tired and a little detached after everything. A quick look showed that you’d been working for nearly twelve hours straight. That was… less than ideal. 

“Here.” 

You blinked and refocused your gaze on Captain, who’d twisted enough to hand a water bottle back to you. 

“Thanks.” You took the water, twisting the cap off slowly and taking a drink. You were definitely dehydrated, but you drank slowly, sips at a time, gaze unfocused. 

It had been a hell of a couple days. 

Honestly, now that you were thinking about it, you were surprised Laswell had noticed so fast. Was it just timing? Or had she gotten word of Gray poking around? 

“Nearly there.” 

Captain’s voice made you blink rapidly, lifting your head. Both men were facing forward, which was a bit of a relief. 

You still weren’t sure how you were going to deal with Captain yet. 

Garrick parked and a moment later Captain was opening your door for you. You almost made a teasing remark about him being a gentleman, but… Well, that was too much effort, and you were tired. You just shuffled after him, watching for Kate. 

Kate spotted you first, your eyes locking across the distance. You sighed, long and slow. Oh, this was not going to be fun.

But you still let yourself be herded to a seat across from her, plopping down ungracefully. That didn’t matter. You didn’t need to be graceful right then. 

“What happened?” She looked between all three of you. 

You picked up the menu and held it in front of your face. Captain could start this one. 

“Found her working,” Captain said after a few moments of thick silence. “No evidence of anyone else watching. I doubt anyone knows she’s here.” 

“And why are you here?” Laswell pulled the menu down to stare at you. Damn. She was too good at making you admit things. 

“Gray found me.” It was not any easier to admit aloud, even after all the work you’d put in burning three aliases. “Got a call from one of my clients, she informed me that he was asking around after me.” You let the menu fall to the table, exhausted all over again. Your hands were shaking. Just a little. 

Laswell frowned, leaning back a little in her chair. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I’m not willing to risk it,” you shot back, tucking your hands under your thighs. Not that you really thought they had missed your shakiness. 

“Which contact?” Laswell tapped her fingers on the table. “Who told you?” 

You frowned at her. “No.” 

“I need to know where to start looking.” 

You sighed, tipping your head back. Valeria had called you, but she’d said he had been asking around. Okay. Gray wasn’t the type who went to underlings, so he hadn’t been asking Las Almas in particular. He’d been asking around that layer of criminal organization. Valeria knew some Russians and some AQ, which was how she’d gotten mixed up in the missile business. 

It was possible that White was just a coincidence… But now you weren’t so sure. Especially given that the last place you’d heard about Gray was in the Middle East. And the Russians had ties to AQ. 

In retrospect, you were amazed you hadn’t put the pieces together sooner. 

“He’s probably working with AQ, or adjacent to them.” You spoke quietly, without looking at any of them. 

“He wasn’t that eager to watch the world burn,” Laswell pointed out.

“Last conversation either of us had with him was years ago,” you pointed out, dull, flat. “It’s likely his morals have further skewed. Or he’s decided the ends justify the means. Or he thinks he’s using them for his own ends.” You shrugged, just a little movement. 

Captain nudged you, and then again when you didn’t straighten up fast enough for him. “You need to eat.”

You thought about arguing, you really did. But he wasn’t wrong. You flapped a hand at him, letting the others order first as you scanned the menu until you found something vaguely appetizing. Good enough. 

“So who is this guy?” Garrick asked, glancing between you and Laswell. 

“Crazy asshole,” you muttered, leaning back in your seat again. Your eyes burned a little from too many hours spent staring at a screen. 

“Bad news,” Lazwell added. “He’s got ties to weapons smuggling, but he hadn’t previously been a terrorist.” 

You grimaced but shrugged. Eh. Close enough. 

“And why does he want to kill you?” Captain spoke quietly. You could feel his gaze on you. 

“He’s wanted to kill me for years.” Your voice was too flat. This was a tone you hadn’t heard from yourself in years. You didn’t like hearing it now. “He decided to take over my father’s business a long time ago, had him killed, tried to have me killed. Didn’t work, obviously.” 

“The fact that you turned witness against him didn’t help his opinion any,” Kate pointed out. 

You huffed softly. “And you still couldn’t keep him locked up.” But there was no vitriol in your voice. This had happened a long time ago, you’d come to terms with it already. 

“You’re staying with someone until we get this sorted.”

That got you to lift your head and glower at her. “No.”

“If he knows you’re alive and he’s searching for you, you’re in danger. Until we can deal with him, you shouldn’t be alone.” 

You grimaced. She wasn’t wrong, exactly, but you hated it. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“You can stay with us.”

You blinked at the unexpected offer from Captain. “I dunno,” you drawled. “Sure you won’t try to kill me?” 

He huffed out a soft laugh. “Not on my to-do list,” he agreed glibly. 

“Good.” Laswell looked between the two of you with something very much like satisfaction, which was setting off all kinds of little alarms in your brain. Kate trying to meddle in your life was very much not a good thing. “We can discuss what you still need to do.”

You narrowed your eyes a little at her. “In terms of…?” 

“Your research.”

You blew out a soft breath. Right. Research. The thing you were supposed to be doing before you heard about Gray. “Dunno what more I can get,” you admitted, rubbing your forehead briefly. Now that you were actually paying attention to your body, you definitely had a dehydration headache. “Especially not without getting any closer to Gray.”

“You think he’s involved?”

“I think I’d be a fool to assume otherwise at this point.” You rolled your shoulders, drinking half your water in one go. 

Laswell was silent for a few long moments, just watching you. It didn’t make you nervous, not after all this time. Sure, you didn’t want her meddling, but you trusted her. 

“We’ll discuss this more after you’ve slept on it,” she decided. 

You scoffed but didn’t argue. You didn’t have the energy for that. Food arrived and you all ate, though Captain and Garrick talked quietly. You just focused on your food, working through it with a sort of exhausted determination. 

“I’ll do some looking on my side,” Laswell said, looking at Captain. You forced yourself to pay attention, though you were fading fast now that some of the frantic desperation of the situation had faded. 

Captain nodded. “Tomorrow, then?” 

“Tomorrow,” Laswell agreed. 

Captain stood, as did Garrick. It took Captain nudging your chair for you to stand as well, holding back a groan. Yup. You’d definitely spent too many hours hunched over your computer. The three of you were silent as you walked back to the car, Captain opening the door for you again. 

“Do you have everything from that apartment?” Captain asked you. 

You blinked, slow and sleepy. You needed to not be, but you’d hit your limit. The food had really cemented your fate - rather than invigorating you, the food was sending you on the fast lane to snooze land. So it took you longer than normal to answer him. “Yeah.” 

He nodded once, glancing back at you as Garrick started to drive. “You’ll stay with one of us.” 

“Bossy.” You made a face but couldn’t muster the energy to truly fight him. Not on this. Not now. 

He huffed softly. But he didn’t say anything else. Something you were rather grateful for. 

You weren’t up to your normal verbal jousting just at the moment. 

The drive to their hotel was silent, and you slowly tipped sideways into the door. Your blinks got longer and slower as you struggled to stay awake, the quiet climate controlled air too soothing. 

The car stopped and your door opened. You probably would have slid right out except for Captain bracing you, chest firm under your shoulder and temple. 

“C’mon,” he rumbled softly. “Just get upstairs and you can sleep.”

“Not sleepy,” you grumbled, just to be contrary. But you could barely peel your eyes open, instead listing harder into him until he reached across you to unbuckle your seatbelt. 

You did make sure you had your bag, though. You needed that. And you refused to give it up. 

“Up we go,” Captain murmured, soft and amused and rumbly and entirely too pleasant. You stumbled a little, but Captain held you upright and kept his arm around your waist, guiding you inside. 

You didn’t pay much attention to anything, too tired and out of it to bother to try. Captain wouldn’t let you get killed. Or grabbed. Not while he was right next to you, anyway. 

A door opened and Captain pulled you through. A moment later he was gently tipping you into a bed, and you sighed as you went entirely limp. He huffed and pulled your shoes off for you. 

“Sleep well, love,” he murmured, one finger gently touching your temple. 

And you were out.

[annaphoenix1994]

No Russian - 1

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

"Are you sure, love? I don't want to leave you here on your own-" 

"I'm sure, babe. You need time with your friends," She assured him after they had arrived back to their hotel room, Simon unbuckling the straps to her heels, impressed that she wore them the entire night. "I'll be fine. I'll make some popcorn and watch a movie until I fall asleep." 

"What if you need me? What if you fall or-"

She cut him off by reaching up to cup his cheek, knowing he was unsure about meeting Soap, Gaz, and Price at the pub for a last get-together before going their separate ways again. "I'll be fine, Simon. I won't fall or put myself into danger the entire three hours you'll be gone." She teased. 

"Are you sure?"

"Babe, I'm not a delicate wilting flower. I'll be fine. I'll be asleep by the time you get back. Unless you give me a reason to coincidentally decide to meet you at the pub if you have a lady friend waiting on you." She arched her brow playfully.

"You know that's not true, love," He huffed, hating how the first thought that came to her mind was that he was lying to meet with another woman. "They invited me for some drinks before we fly home tomorrow."

"I know, Simon. Alice told me before we left the ball," She giggled. "Have a good time with your friends. You need it." 

"I don't know about needing it, but I do enjoy spending time with them." He admitted. 

She hummed, "And to think you always had a cold heart." 

"It's cold, but I do have one," He chuckled, watching her twirl her hair into a loose bun after changing out of her dress, finding himself approaching her from behind, pressing a kiss behind her ear before she rested her head on his shoulder before turning around to face him, her arms around his neck while his hands made their way to her waist. "You always make it so hard to say goodbye to you." 

"I don't mean to," She giggled, placing a tender kiss to his chin - a small gesture and act of love that he cherished within his being. "You won't be too far away and I won't be going anywhere." 

"I hope not," He shook his head, placing a kiss to her forehead while he reached for his jacket. "I love you." 

"I love you too." 

"I'll call you when I'm on my way back." 

"I might be asleep, but I'll keep my ears open."

"I won't be out long." 

"Stay out as long as you need, Simon."

He flashed a weak smile, truly not wanting to leave her behind, feeling selfish for accepting the invitation of a final get-together without her, but he tried to understand as he'd want the same for her - to spend time with her friends without feeling like he was suffocating her with his presence. He knew he could be suffocating and didn't know how Kiera was so embracive of his behavior. 

Even though she enjoyed how "needy" he was. 

"I'll see you soon." 

"I'll be here." She smiled curtly at him.

»»-------¤-------««

Simon walked into the pub, seeing only a few couples before seeing his fellow comrades gathered at the bar, taking a seat next to Soap before ordering a well-desired glass of bourbon, savoring the burning sensation in his chest as it was well missed. Nearly a craving on most days. 

"All we need is Alejandro and Rudy." Soap chuckled, taking another sip of his drink, reminiscing about their first and last time together as a group at a local bar outside of Las Almas. 

"I didn't take the pleasure in knowing him, but I do know that he is fun at a bar." Price admitted, lighting his cigar and taking a long drag.

"That he is." Soap chuckled. 

"Was this before or after you went home with that mysterious lady of the night?" Simon poked at him before taking another drink. 

"Enough about the backdoor babe," Soap scoffed, rolling his eyes. The men chuckled amongst themselves. "You can't let it go." 

"Should've never come back gloating about it, mate." 

"What're we talking about?" Gaz furrowed his brows. 

"Nothing." 

"A dirty secret he shouldn't have asked us advice about." Simon commented. 

"Keeping secrets, Sergeant?" Price rose a brow. 

"Fucking Christ," Soap grumbled, ignoring the snicker both Simon and Gaz let loose through their lips. "See what you got him started about?" 

"I didn't start him on anything. Poor bloke just heard something he wanted to ask you about." Simon shrugged. 

"Don't you have a pregnant fiancé to tend to?" 

"I like the sound of that," He huffed, a smirk curling onto his lips. "Although she insisted on me going out tonight-"

"Sounds like you can't tend to her good enough, then." Soap snickered, attempting to prod at him for his poking jokes about his time with the woman he met at the bar in Mexico. 

Simon scoffed, "I lack no effort in pleasing her, I can assure you. However, I at least know she's a woman." He retorted, sending Soap's face falling back to a frown at his recoil. 

"Always poking the bear at each other, huh boys?" A familiar female voice sounded, a bottle of imported beer in her hand. 

Fucking hell, Simon grumbled to himself, knowing that the sight of Laswell entering the bar wasn't for a simple get-together. 

Something was about to happen.

And whatever it was, he knew Kiera didn't need to be a part of it.

"Laswell? You were the last person I would've thought to make a surprise visit." Gaz chuckled at her, watching her sit next to Price. 

"C.I.A shit, remember?" She arched her brow. 

He chuckled, tracing the rim of his glass of bourbon, "That's right."

"More like... creative writing."

"I'll never tell," Price chuckled. "Have you met up with Kiera since you've been here?" 

"No, I haven't," Laswell sighed. "Because she'll know I'm not here for a friendly face."

Simon's chest rose and fell in anxiety. 

He knew he wasn't going home anytime soon. 

And he didn't know how he was going to tell Kiera - or how he could tell Price that he wasn't willing to leave Kiera in a sensitive and vulnerable state of her pregnancy.

"What do you mean?"

Laswell sighed as she took a sip of her beer, licking her lips before she rested her elbows on the bar, "I wasn't willing to put thoughts into her head."

"You're making me nervous, Kate." Price sighed. 

"AQ, Iran, cartels..." Laswell began listing off. 

"Russians." Price added. 

"She was there for it all. Frankly, one of the best Case Officers to ever be in my command. I'd be lying if I said I could do it all on my own. Because now, we've got bigger fish..."

Price looked at her with a concerned gaze. 

"I did some digging on the Russians."

"Well, that's a dirty job."

"Ultra-nationalists ambushed that convoy Graves led, John."

"Kate, this is over." Price sighed, desperate to make an attempt to keep he and his team from deploying on another long-term project, knowing Kate's words were searing into Simon's mind, knowing that the hardest battle would be within his own mind - fighting to keep his focus on not just his work, but Kiera. 

"No, it's not. They're working with someone new. There's talk about nuclear warfare between Russia and the United States after we sent tanks to Ukraine to aid with the war. With not only this threat, there's an ultra-nationalist behind the lines pulling the strings."

"Who?"

Kate sighed, removing a polaroid photo from her jacket pocket, setting it face-down on the bar before sliding it over to him, looking away from him as he looked at the photo. "We don't know his name."

"Kate, he's-he's not new." 

He slid the photo next to him, Gaz looking at it next, nodding his head before sliding it to Soap, he too taking a quick glance of a new enemy before sliding it towards Simon, he being the only one to look at the photo for a moment, his gaze dark and full of the desire of revenge. Fucking hell. 

"Who is he?" 

"Makarov."

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

🌹Some Thoughts on Inserting Jade in MWIII 👀🌹

⚠️ MWIII Spoilers ⚠️

Because I'm so damn devastated and angst driven here's what I cranked up for Jade's role in MWIII! (aka I can't sleep because of the angst and decided to write this instead)

Version 1

Jade stayed in London throughout all the events of MWIII because she's retired (and of course, she earned this peace). When the news of the airplane crash and the attack on Arklov military base went to the news, she was wondering what happened, but chose to stay home as she promised her parents that she won't go anymore.

After the events of Trojan Horse, Ghost showed up in front of her floristry in the middle of the night, all broody and seemed... crestfallen. As Jade invited her to her house, she started.

"Simon. You're home! Why didn't you tell me? What's wro--" Her words got cut off by him suddenly hugging her. She wanted to ask what happened before he let out a sniff, close to a sob.

Jade thought it must've been a rough mission (every mission he goes to is, but to have him crying like this meant something terrible had happened), so she only rubbed his back, giving him time to collect himself. However, when his sobs only grew as time went by, Jade had to ask him.

"Simon. Tell me what happened, please."

"Johnny... Johnny's gone." Ghost voice shook as he clasped his hands harder to her back, wrinkling her shirt.

Upon hearing the news, her heart felt like it was being pierced a thousand times, leaving an empty hole. The young, brave Scot who's grown to be both her and Ghost's closest friend, gone, just like that.

"Oh... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Simon. I'm so sorry." As tears quickly ran down her cheeks, she rubbed Ghost's back firmly now, she could only wonder what happened, not wanting to pry too much from him.

***

Jade went to Scotland to let go of Soap's ashes, standing behind Price, Gaz, and Ghost to give them their time, even with tears running down her cheek. As Price and Gaz went, Jade approached Ghost near the cliff, before putting a bunch of lilies and chrysanthemums on the ground.

"Fly high, Soap."

Version 2

Ghost had told Jade that he's going on a mission with the 141. Jade hugged Ghost before he went and said, "Come back in one piece, alright?" "Count on that."

And then, when the news of Makarov finally got to Price and the boys, they turned around and immediately changed mission. Ghost opened his phone to contact Jade, but he decided against it, because if he told her that Makarov's out, Jade will absolutely ask Laswell to count her in. So Ghost didn't tell her that he's going on an entirely different mission, a dangerous one.

***

Laswell was alone with her laptop working on the intel General Shepherd gave to them regarding Milena Romanova, when Ghost approached her from behind and called her name.

"Laswell. What are you doing?"

"Ghost. I'm in the process of confirming the intel we have from Shepherd."

"And?" He pried for more.

"...I'm scrolling through my contacts to add our firepower. Makarov moves fast, so we need someone who can think and moves fast."

"Don't you dare tell her to come here."

"You know this is a matter of international emergency. She's one of the best contacts I have. You saw how perceptive she is and how helpful she was in your time in Las Almas. Makarov has stolen American missiles from ULF, caused false flag missile attacks on Russian Military base, and successfully orchestrated a false airplane hijacking, all under ULF's name - everything in the span of 36 hours. We need her, Ghost."

"She's retired. Laswell."

"And the world is on the brink of a large-scale war."

"And she has no part in this. Lottie's not coming here and that's final."

***

As the news of the airplane crash + the gas attack on Arklov Military Base went international, Jade obviously picked up on it, absolutely not believing that it was done by "an Urzikstani who got inspired by Commander Farah Karim". She did her own research with the help of her parents' contacts and connections to MI6, finally catching the news of Makarov's ousting from his prison.

After knowing this, Jade immediately contacted Laswell.

"Kate, where on earth is Ghost and the others."

***

She joined the missions with the 141 boys, particularly the ones with Ghost in it, including the Oligarch, Frozen Tundra, and Gora Dam.

And AS USUAL FUCK CANON. HERE'S THE ALTERNATE ENDING I DON'T CARE.

When Soap and Price was trying to defuse the bomb, Jade was there to cover them from the Konni's rain of bullets. When Makarov approached Soap from behind to stop him from defusing the bomb, Jade rushed to Makarov and tackled him to the ground and got shot on the shoulders, but not without Ghost and Gaz injuring Makarov in the process. The bomb is successfully defused. Mak ran away and Price and Soap wanted to chase him before the bullet train stopped them in their tracks.

Ghost cradled her as Soap and Gaz applied first aid on her bleeding shoulders. Ghost shouted,

"Lottie. Stay with me, alright. It's nothing. Just stay awake."

Price shouted to the comms asking for medic before Ghost carried Jade bridal style and hauled her ass through the tunnel and exit. The ambulance was there when they got out, and Ghost put her on the bed where the medics got to work on her.

He waited for Jade in the hospital as she came to her consciousness. The boys came to visit along with her parents who stared at them with devilish eyes, but also grateful for protecting her and giving the first aid.

EVERYONE IS ALIVE AND HAPPY OKAY

Or ---

Ghost cradled her as Soap and Gaz applied first aid on her bleeding shoulders. Ghost shouted,

"Lottie. Stay with me, alright. It's nothing. Just stay awake."

"I am, I am! I'm good, just let me take a breather for a second. Fuck it hurts."

She can walk but of course Ghost carried her bridal style UWU and EVERYONE'S FUCKING ALIVE LET'S GO.

AAAAFJJSDHJAGDHSJHDHSJJDH

---

So that was my brain vomit at midnight yesterday. Which version do you like the most? Leave some thoughts!

Thank you for reading and hope you like it...? (〒▽〒)

[siilvan]

bloodsport – I

prologue | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: day one of your imprisonment brings you face-to-face with the enemy.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, minor descriptions of blood/injuries, light manipulation?, makarov fucks w/ reader's head (╯д╰)

word count: 3.3k

note: listened to makarov’s voice reveal while writing this and felt my brain chemistry change immediately <3

the first thing you notice after waking up is how uncomfortable the bed you're sleeping on is. the mattress is thin and bare, sitting low to the ground on a wrought iron frame that had seen better days. your body aches, muscles burning and begging for reprieve as you pull yourself up to sit. you carefully swing your legs over the edge of the bed and wince from the effort.

you're not in a hospital, not even a temporary clinic set up for emergency treatment. the walls are made up of weathered stone and brick, akin to an old prison built to withstand a siege, and the iron bars across the room confirm your suspicions.

you've been captured.

the air surrounding you seems to grow thicker, heavier, threatening to steal the oxygen straight from your lungs. during your career, you've dealt with a great number of challenges: being shot, stabbed, abandoned, betrayed, and even nearly killed. you've been captured as well, but only for planned operations. torture was never a threat.

several parts of your body are neatly wrapped in surprisingly clean bandages, reminding you of the incident that led to your capture. the missile, konni's presence in the city, makarov. did he take the sergeants captive, as well? are they here with you?

you force yourself to stand and try to ignore your knees almost buckling as you cross the room, heading towards the door. a glance through the bars provides little information - the cell across from yours is empty, and the only sound you can make out is meaningless chatter between the guards patrolling the hall. they're speaking in russian, preventing you from eavesdropping on their conversations. it's probably nothing important, anyway. while searching, you start to consider the worst case scenario.

soap and gaz may not be here. they could be lying dead in the sand, either killed by their wounds or by the enemy.

you shake your head and step back into the middle of the room, not even daring to entertain that train of thought any longer. you can't afford to doubt your team at a time like this. they're alive, either in cells of their own or recovering somewhere else.

the voices in the hall suddenly go quiet. they're soon replaced by footsteps, languid yet purposeful, expensive shoes padding against the stone floor and steadily drawing closer. your eyes stay glued to the door, unmoving from it despite your instincts telling you to run. you have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. your only option is to face the person approaching directly.

advice from your team swims through your mind. although the sergeants have never been locked up and tortured, price and ghost have. you can remember price's stories clear as day, as if he told them only yesterday. ghost was more private about his experiences, but after las almas, he slowly began to open up about his past. the two echoed the same advice to the sergeants and yourself.

do whatever is necessary to make it out alive.

you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply, attempting to calm your buzzing nerves and racing heart. panic will do you no good in this situation. when you open your eyes, you're immediately greeted by one of the guards - a man in black clothing and gear, his face obscured, unlocking the door at the far end of the room. he steps away a second later, leaving you staring at the man you dreaded meeting through the bars.

his gaze is trained on you, dark eyes burning holes into your skin, rendering you immobile. you try to maintain a confident demeanor nonetheless, refusing to give him the satisfaction of intimidating you.

"turn around," he says, his voice flat as he gives you the simple command. "hands on the wall."

you hesitate, pride briefly overtaking your rational senses. after a short-lived staring contest, however, you silently concede and turn to face the wall. you press your palms to the cold stone and listen as the door creaks open and shut. gloved hands wrap around your wrists shortly thereafter and pull your arms backwards, forcing them behind your back. cold metal replaces his touch and binds your wrists.

"seems a bit excessive, don't you think?" you ask. your voice wavers just slightly, hoarse from lack of use. "i'm already out of commission, thanks to these injuries."

he gives you no response, though you catch a glimpse of his apathetic expression when he reaches past you to grab a metal chair that rests in the corner of the room. it scrapes across the floor as he drags it away, and you turn once more to watch as he sets it down a few feet from the side of the bed.

"sit down." he looks at you and motions to the bed. you wordlessly follow the order and stumble forward before settling on the edge of the mattress, hands clenched into tight fists. he sits on the chair across from you and leans back, looking completely at ease while taking in your current appearance.

"do you know who i am?" he speaks again, eyes flicking back up to meet yours. you feel like a prey animal locking eyes with a predator, waiting for them to tear you apart. you don't dare to look away.

"makarov." the name leaves your lips in a low murmur. "leader of the ultranationalists. konni's commander. the 'world's biggest threat,' according to some. i've heard plenty about you." you stiffen as the edge of his mouth twitches, an eerie smile playing on his lips.

"i'm sure captain price had a great deal to say, lieutenant." he folds his hands in his lap, nodding towards your bandaged body. you're still in your uniform, albeit without your dirty and damaged outer layers, and your gear is long gone. you feel vulnerable under his gaze. "my men found you in quite an... unfortunate state. i must admit that i'm impressed. surviving a direct missile strike is no small feat."

"where is my team?" you demand, fighting against the restraints. they don't loosen in the slightest, of course, and makarov merely tilts his head to the side at your struggle. "there were two men with me. where are they? what did you do with them?"

he blinks at you, refusing to respond. you open your mouth to repeat the question, before he interrupts you. "they didn't put up much of a fight. it was disappointing, really." his hands unfold and he shifts in the chair, chuckling to himself. "i expected more from price's so-called 'elite task force.'"

his comment pulls an involuntary gasp from you, a stuttering breath falling from your lips. "they didn't... you killed them?" you ask, voice dropping to a near-whisper. it can't be true. soap, gaz– surely they're still alive. they have to be.

"i never said that," he replies, shaking his head in a low-effort attempt to placate you. "whether your teammates still live is not my concern. my men left them to their own fates."

your eyes narrow, though your shoulders slump just a little at his answer. they could still be alive. "what is your concern, then? i doubt you've taken me captive just to talk." you remark, racking your brain for any reason why he'd take you over the rest of the team. convenience, perhaps? you were defenseless, and of the options readily available, you held the highest rank.

"nothing gets past you, does it, lieutenant?" makarov leans forward, prompting you to sit up straighter in order to keep a comfortable distance. his voice lowers, as if he was hiding his next words from any curious souls just outside the room. "i think we can help each other. i have information that you need, and your allies have the resources to take care of a constant thorn in my side."

"are you saying we have a common enemy?"

he nods, reaching into his pocket. "it appears we do." he pauses, pulling out a cellphone and scrolling for a moment before turning it towards you. you lean closer, studying the image on the screen as he continues. "this should look familiar to you."

you furrow your brow at the blurry picture, but the subject still stands out. it was a man laying dead on the ground, wearing combat fatigues that looked out-of-date, surrounded by several corpses dressed in similar, yet mismatched uniforms. their bodies have no visible identification, reminding you of the americans you encountered working with konni and al-qatala.

"i remember them. we thought they were random mercenaries hired by your men," you say, shifting your focus back to makarov. "i take it they're not working for you?"

"the men you encountered were not mercenaries. they worked for a man, not a company. your team knows their employer well." he pauses long enough for you to nod your head, urging him to speak. the satisfied smile that briefly crosses his face is enough to make your blood boil beneath your skin - he's enjoying making you beg for information. "the american general. shepherd, was it?"

"what?"

"did you really believe that you could trust him, petra?" he asks with a quirked brow. hearing him utter your callsign in such a casual tone only serves to make you feel hotter, practically burning with rage; at shepherd or makarov, you're not sure.

the situation doesn't make any sense. why would shadow company launch a war with konni, only to ally with them in secret? based on the intel that laswell gathered during your time in las almas, about shadow company losing the missiles to the group, shepherd should want to burn the organization, not assist it. you frantically search for an answer, but come up with nothing. grudgingly, you look to the man sitting in front of you.

"tell me more." you mutter, managing to subdue your anger for the time being.

instead of elaborating, he stands from the chair. you watch him cross the room and stop in front of the door, casting a glance in your direction. "we can discuss the details in due time. for now, come."

you stare at him, confused, before rising to your feet and following him. he leaves the cell and starts down the hallway with you in tow, doing your best to keep pace as the momentarily forgotten pain quickly settles in again. a pair of guards follow the two of you from a small distance, close enough to intervene in an emergency but far enough to not indulge in your discussion.

if you can even call this a "discussion." a madman and his captive audience is a more accurate description.

you try to take in your surroundings. the corridors greatly resemble the cell you were in, dark stone and brick walls that looked in dire need of repairs. the barred windows you pass look out onto different fields, courtyards turned into vehicle and weapon storage. you have to restrain yourself from gawking when you see a small collection of tanks in one area, accompanied by smaller APCs scattered about.

makarov has a small army that somehow slipped under your radars. you're well aware of konni and his affiliation with other powerful groups, but you've always assumed they were disorganized, using guerilla tactics and thrifted gear. this is something else entirely, you think. he's preparing for war.

you hear a soft rumbling in the distance. at first, you mistake it for one of the vehicles, until the sound disappears. it reappears seconds later, and you quickly realize that it's thunder.

"petra," he addresses you suddenly, drawing your attention. "tell me, do you consider yourself a good person?"

your brows knit together at the question. it feels out of place, and you wonder for a moment if you misheard him. your step falters, causing one of the guards to grumble something about "keeping up" until you catch up again. "i, uh– i guess i do, yeah. what are you getting at?"

there's a storm approaching, the thunder sounding closer now. the sky grows dark as grey clouds begin to form and block out the sun, casting shadows across the exterior grounds. it's a melancholic scene, although fitting considering your circumstances. you reach a set of doors that another pair of guards pull open, allowing you to step outside.

a cold breeze sweeps past you almost instantly, forcing a shiver down your spine as goosebumps rise to the surface of your exposed skin. makarov says something to the guards that you don't quite catch and the doors shut behind you, leaving you alone with him. you're standing on a small balcony overlooking a bustling area full of soldiers and mercenaries alike, training and organizing their forces.

"you consider yourself good, even though you're responsible for innocent lives being lost?" he remarks, stepping towards the balcony's edge and placing his hands atop the stone ledge.

"innocent lives– you are the one responsible for that!" you exclaim, striding across the balcony and glaring daggers at his profile. "my job is to save people, and that's what i do. i've spent years hunting down threats just like you with the sole purpose of making the world safer for the innocents!"

he turns to face you with the same apathetic expression as earlier, when he first entered your cell. he doesn't look at all affected by your words, dark eyes staring straight through you. if you didn't know better, you'd think he was seeing into your very soul. his response - or rather, the lack thereof - is enough to make you go quiet. a beat of silence passes between you, only broken by the encroaching thunder and sounds of his soldiers training in the field below.

"what of the missiles used by your allies? the ones that they lost." he mutters, earning an exasperated sigh from you.

"you mean the missiles that your men killed them for?" you flex your hands in the restraints and shake your head. "i'm not allied with the shadows or their commander, but even if i was, those missiles were going to a good cause."

"and, where were they going?"

your eyes flit from his own, focusing on the distant horizon. you can tell exactly where he's going with this line of questioning, but the frustration continues to build up inside of you.

"if i had to guess, they were probably heading straight for your doorstep." you grumble, shifting from one foot to the other. standing for so long is nothing short of agonizing, given your current state.

he clicks his tongue, making a 'tsk' sound at your reply. "you cannot claim to be fighting for a good cause, if said cause considers civilians another price of war." makarov huffs. from the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze still firmly locked on you. "the lives that you save will never outweigh the damage you've done. they'll never cleanse your hands of the blood that stains them. every time your allies fire off a missile to kill someone like me, so, too, are they killing innocent–"

"you're one to fucking talk–"

the words tumble from your lips as your back is slammed into the wall, your skull knocking against the stone from the force. you wince, eyes temporarily falling out of focus and head spinning from yet another injury. makarov leans in dangerously close, one of his hands wrapped around your throat uncomfortably tight, restricting your airflow. you can still breathe, but just barely, sucking in short gasps of air.

"watch your mouth."

the warning is a low growl next to your ear, his voice dripping with such an intense venom that it makes your skin crawl. you try to nod your head despite his hold, finding it impossible to form any words with your lack of oxygen. your brain is firing off warning signals, desperate pleas to eliminate or escape the threat in front of you.

after a couple seconds, his grip loosens, allowing you to fully inhale and exhale, chest heaving with each ragged breath. he's still standing unbearably close, enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. it's an unwelcomed reprieve from the damp breeze that makes your weary bones ache.

finally, he releases you and steps back, giving you space to come down from your brief adrenaline rush. you blink away any remaining disorientation and fix your gaze on him, sinking down on your heels and slumping against the wall.

he looks completely calm - a stark contrast to his demeanor from just moments ago. an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach as you watch him collect himself, fixing the rolled cuffs of his dress shirt and straightening his suit jacket.

"you wanted to know more about general shepherd." he mutters, eyes finding yours and holding your gaze. you worry the inside of your cheek and nod in return.

"the men working for him are not mercenaries, nor are they from any private military group. they're ex-soldiers." he begins, crossing his arms behind his back. "operatives from the CIA, to be precise. he has attempted to send several men undercover, and he's failed every single time. once discovered, they are... taken care of."

you lower your head and squint, struggling to follow. "i understand sending one man undercover, but why more? what is he trying to accomplish?"

"come on, you can figure that one out."

you want to sneer at the condescending tone, but instead you close your eyes and try to think. shepherd is still in the wind after las almas, and the only person that has a chance of knowing his location is graves. judging by the latter's cooperation with urzikstan, however, you can safely assume that shepherd is lacking in resources.

"he's attempting to start a war. reestablish himself and shadow company as an invaluable military asset," you mumble to yourself, suddenly feeling apprehensive about revealing this to the man in front of you. "if he can prove his worth, he can find forgiveness for his crimes. he'll try to use his position to pin it on the one-four-one, too."

"very clever, petra. i'm impressed." he chuckles at the glare you shoot his way, clearly annoyed with his praise.

you bite your tongue and push yourself off the wall. "i need to relay this to my team as soon as possible. shepherd can't be left to his own devices." you roll your shoulders back and mentally prepare for the uphill battle that the you'll be facing. the one-four-one's relationship with shadow company is already fragile, and you're left to ponder if graves knows about this plan. he could very well be involved.

"no need to fret over that. i have people for matters such as this."

makarov saunters across the balcony and places his hand on the door handle. you narrow your eyes at him, confusion plainly written on your expression.

"i thought you said we could help each other."

"haven't we?" he asks, swinging the door open. "ah, i can see what that pretty little mind of yours is struggling to understand. you believed i was going to let you go, didn't you?"

a bright flash emerges from the storm clouds blanketing the sky, illuminating the crooked grin on his face. you stumble towards him, fatigued body threatening to collapse under its own weight. you should have known better, you shouldn't have trusted that the situation would end in your favor.

"you– you fucking asshole–"

before you can lunge at him, use the last of your strength to do something, the guards from before appear in the doorway and restrain you. their hands dig into your skin, aggravating fresh wounds and setting your sensitive nerves ablaze, ripping a pathetic pained whimper from your lips.

"as much as i would love to stay and indulge myself," makarov starts, stepping aside to allow the guards to force you back inside the stronghold. "i have somewhere i need to be. as do you."

"go fuck yourself–!" you snap, fighting the guards in a last-ditch effort to free yourself. as they drag you down the hall, back to the prison cell you had already grown to hate, he keeps his gaze on you.

"i look forward to getting better acquainted with you, lieutenant."

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