#hunger pains 2

[thegreatgoddessnamedbees]

Where would we be as a society without strange fucking rpg games.....

[hai-nae]

meant to post these sketches a few days ago? a week? but, well, life.

[pawzn]

I’ve been so thirsty for him l8ly I just had 2 draw sumthingggg ghhhh…..

Lawwddd the things I wana do to this pathetic hungry man…. I just wana hear how loud that tum gets,,. 🤤

[mellarked-katnisseverdeen]

So I think the comment being made with the Capitols outrage over the baby bomb is mostly about how the fact that this is Katniss and Peeta, after they've fallen for their star crossed lovers act, demand treatment for them they wouldn't for any other tribute.

It's why a Victors QQ is logically so stupid. The Capitol gets away with killing these kids because they have convinced the populous they aren't real or suffering. But they get attached to those who DO win and they become part of their lives, and through all the post-games pomp, the victory tour and the like, they are MADE real to the Capitol. Albeit in an...extreamly shallow way whitch is still a problem and dehuminizing in it's own way. But they are living people to them at that point in a way they aren't before the Games.

I don't think if say, for an example, Katniss went into her first game pregnant, that there would be half of the outrage...because Katniss was still not real to them. It might be tragic, but it would not get the same backlash.

After Game, the Tour, the wedding hype though? She IS at that point. And THAT is the source of their anger, I think. Still wrong on many, many levels.

[fictionaltrvlr]

hey! don’t listen to the knitting song and think of katniss. definitely don’t imagine greasy sae teaching katniss to knit to cope with her ptsd. leaving her granddaughter with katniss to keep her present and grounded, repeating stitches and helping each other as the yarn tangles. leaving katniss with projects in the morning that she “expects progress on by the time i return in the evening!” sae smiling over her shoulder as she cleans, noticing katniss so focused on something so peaceful.

peeta cherishing katniss’ distorted scarves, the wobbly edges, gaps, and all. she tells him he doesn’t have to wear them, it’s just something for her to do to fill the time. but he insists, even in the warmer months he still weaves them through the straps of his bags. he needs her to see them.

as the years pass, she becomes more skilled. by the time the children arrive, they have handmade slippers and blankets; sae contributes some of the hats that no longer fit her granddaughter. as the children grow, peeta will teach them painting and baking, but knitting they will learn from katniss.

with every stitch and row she finishes, she plays her game. she recites all the good deeds of every person she has ever known. she weaves them into the work, being reminded of them every time she sees the completed pieces.

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Y'know how I said I'm not gonna post every day... Okay look I'm just enjoying myself and I'm on break so I got time to write. Sue me.

This chapter is called "The Ruin". Enjoy!

Page 5 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 2:

A blind man finds upon his path, a thing of uncertain birth, He whispers words of guilt, gait unsure around the being, A story of war falls from his lips, a tale well known, The beastly soul bows in assent, warmed only by gore, The man asks of the Beast, will you let me pass, The path clears, but a voice requests, Will you, O fallen knight, Will you let a monster trail?

The last time Soap was under a CO, the man spat in his face that he’s never going to amount to anything, not with his “attitude”. The one before it made him clean the latrines for three months, not that he stayed long enough to finish that sentence.

Ghost was… surprisingly different. His orders were clean cut, but Soap found them completely logical. And when he didn’t…

“We can’t go that way, the roundabout is full of equipment. Soldiers are constantly circling it.” Soap muttered next to Ghost. The SAS operator looked back at him. The skull mask adorning his face was cracked from untold battles long past, the sharp edges catching the low neon light from a nearby street sign.

Soap is sure if he saw that jumping at him from the shadows, he would scream like a wee girl. As it stands, the mask only makes him think of shirts edgy teenage boys would find on a sale at TK Maxx.

“How do you know?” the masked man questions.

Soap pulls a small bag from the rucksack he nabbed two days earlier, “managed to swipe some black powder from there when they weren’t lookin’.”

Ghost hums, “know how to use it?”

“Was a demolition expert, before…” Soap trails off, shoving the bag back into the side pocket, “we can go through the southern side, near the church. Think they’ve already combed that area.”

“Copy, lead the way Sergeant.”

Soap takes them through the winding alleys, hearing nothing behind, but knowing Ghost follows. For a man his size, he’s unnervingly dead silent.

“Where was yer exfil point set?” he starts. They would need to double time it, if it was back north…

Ghost is cryptid with his answers, as always, “we’ll have to set a new one.”

Soap frowns. “So our goal is just to put distance between us an’ the hostiles?”

“Affirmative. You got intel on their location?”

They enter an abandoned grocery store (as all stores in this area are), and Soap makes a detour at the cleaning aisle, looking for bleach and other solutions he could use for crafting. “I was ‘ere two days ago, dinnea where they are now…” he grins brightly when he finds a nice big bottle of bleach. With the vinegar he already has, he could create a good amount of chlorine gas. Pour it into a bottle and chuck it at hostiles, and they got a distraction should they need it.

“Stay focused, then.” Ghost murmurs, snapping Soap out of thought. He’s not used to having someone next to him, even before everything went to shit…

The church comes into view when they exit the store. Ghost stops to stare at it, and Soap takes the moment to inspect the Lieutenant further. Black gear over black clothes, no markings of country, unit, even blood type. Soap feels like there’s a lot more about this botched mission that Ghost isn’t telling him.

Not that the spooky bastard tells him much of anything.

“Could use the tower to scope the area. I see a line up there we can zip line down from.” Ghost eventually rumbles. 

“Sounds good, LT.” Soap responds, catching his slip belatedly. Internally, he muses, ‘ye can take the man out of the military…’

Ghost’s head snaps around to glare at him, and Soap can see his mouth open under the balaclava, before he turns around to stomp to the church tower, leaving Soap to jog to catch up.

The church looks ransacked, in a way that makes Soap’s gut churn. He’s not religious, not since he enlisted, but the way the soldiers destroyed everything without disregard…

It’s a view that haunts him throughout the city. How they don’t care that anyone lived here before.

Children laughed, babes were born, old men reminisced over long gone memories, girls played together. People lived and died here, this was their world.

And the Hunter’s soldiers crushed it all under their boot, spat on the graves of their ancestors and severed the ties.

Soap feels the anger building within him once more. His fuel for the firepower he throws at the hostiles. At first, he wanted to know why more than anything. But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Nothing can justify this.

He stares at Ghost’s wide back as they climb up the stairs to the tower, wondering what the operator thinks of all this. If he too feels his heart clench at the thoughts of senseless violence. Or if he doesn’t care, if the mission is the one and only important thing on his mind.

Soap wonders if there’s anything under that mask at all.

He asks himself, if there’s anything left behind his.

They reach the top, the city sprawling beneath them. The little lights blend together, shining between the dark buildings. Would’ve been a nice view.

Would have, if they didn’t spot the trucks rolling to a stop in front of the church.

Ghost and Soap share a brief look, and instantly he moves to climb out of the window to jump to the zip line, only to be stopped by the Brit.

“What are ye waitin’ for?! We need to go!” he almost yells.

Ghost yanks him back in, the sheer power knocking Soap into the wall. Fuckin’ hell, he hits like a beast.

“If we zip line now, they’ll shoot us down. We need to get through the ground floor.” he growls, turning away and starting to run down the stairs. Soap rolls his shoulders and runs after him, muttering a few curses under his breath.

Soap catches up to him, yelling, “there must be a back exit we can use-!”

Ghost stills on one of the last steps, shushing him. They both strain their ears, hearing far-off steps growing closer, and closer, and closer-

Soap shucks his rucksack off, taking out the bleach and vinegar, quickly pouring them into an empty beer bottle, “the fuck are you doing?” Ghost yells above him, crouching to hide behind the banister when the front doors are kicked open.

Soap ignores him, driving a piece of cloth down to stop the gas from leaking, and shoves it into Ghost’s hand as he makes another one, “throw this right before we go, they won’t be able to breathe right for days.”

Soldiers start spreading through the ruined church, Ghost testing the weight in his hand, “on my count.”

Soap nods, finishing up his bottle.

“One, two…”

One of the soldiers spots them, and Soap stops breathing.

“Three!”

They throw the bottles, the liquid within them splashing as they arc across the church. His bottle hits the soldier that saw them square in the face, and he instantly starts coughing and clawing at his eyes.

The gas isn’t visible to the naked eye, but Soap can track its spread by the way all soldiers start coughing. He and Ghost push off to run up the stairs, but as Soap casts a glance back, he sees some of them equipping a gas mask.

Why the fuck were they prepared for chemical weapons in a civilian city?!

“Ghost!” he shouts, slinging his rifle off his shoulder, “they have gas masks!”

He hears the man curse, “keep running!”

Not sooner after, bullets begin to ricochet around the spiral staircase. Soap swings around to shoot a couple of them, and as Ghost does the same, he notices his shots don’t land as they should.

He glances back at the Lieutenant, watching him rub roughly at his left arm. Right… Ghost did say he was broken. Soap didn’t realize how bad it was. 

A few seconds later, he realizes Ghost threw the bottle with his left hand, landing it perfectly between the soldiers.

With no time to maul it over, he pushes onwards.

Ghost is still grasping at his arm when they reach the window, and Soap can’t help but ask, “are ye gonna be able to zip dow-”

Ghost’s tone lowers dangerously, nailing him with a death glare, “I am not weak, Sergeant.”

He’s not sure who’s cornering who here. Ghost takes his eyes off him a second later, tugging on the line before asking, “got anything we can use?”

Soap continues shooting down the enemies pushing up the stairs, “check my pack!”

He feels Ghost rummaging through his rucksack, and it almost distracts him from the hails of bullets around them.

It’s… odd. How he doesn’t even know the man’s face, but he can trust him with his back.

Ghost zips the pack back up. From the corner of his eye, Soap can see two metal clothing hangers he picked up in one of his searches for a thicker jacket. In his other hand is his little project he used most of the black powder on.

He lifts it questioningly, and Soap answers while shooting, “a wee gift I made. It’ll trigger when someone steps on it.”

“How big’s the explosion?”

Soap smirks, “big enough.”

He can almost feel Ghost’s eye roll from his silence, and he would’ve chuckled if soldiers didn’t start coming closer.

“Ye ready to jump?” he yells.

Ghost hands him a hanger, dropping the charges on the last stair step. Soap watched him flex his left arm one last time, before swinging the hanger over the line, and jumping off.

Soap’s heart drops for a moment when the operator sways wildly, part afraid for him, but mostly for himself.

The hostiles at his feet don’t care either way, so Soap braces himself and jumps off as well. The way down is bumpy, rattling, and fuckin’ fast. Soap lets go of the hanger right before the end, rolling off on the rooftop, and stopping.

He hears his “gift” go off, and the sound is so beautifully familiar, it sends a pang of nostalgia through him.

Ghost is already making his way down, seeking to hide between concrete buildings. Soap hastily catches up.

“That was a wild one, wasn’t it, LT?” he says, a little out of breath.

That breath gets completely knocked out of him when Ghost slams him to the nearest wall. His eyes are obscured by shadows, leaving only two black holes when he leans down to growl in his ear.

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that. I am not your LT, not your CO, we are strangers. We get outta here, and you can go back to your civvy little life. Understood?”

Soap breathes out harshly, grinding his teeth. “Like I have a fuckin’ life-”

Ghost pulls back just to slam him harder, “do you fucking understand, Sergeant?”

He stares at the black voids, voice clear and flat, “yes sir.”

The Lieutenant finally pushes off, and Soap lingers for a moment. He wants to be angry, he wants to snarl and bite and talk back, like he used to when his past COs were yelling at him.

But Ghost is right. After this little “adventure”, Soap will have to go back to his life. To an empty apartment, which he has probably already been evicted from. To searching a job, only to find nothing truly worthwhile. To an airsoft field, a fuckin’ mockery of what he lost.

To a monotonous, repetitive, grey cycle, where John loses his mind just a little more every day.

Ghost is just telling him the truth.

Soap trails back behind Ghost, the man not reacting to his presence. He looks so much larger than him like this, blocking what little light is around them, casting a long shadow over Soap. 

He tried not to think of “what could have been” in the past year. But it’s so hard, when it’s literally within reach.

Could he have been like Ghost? This imposing, unrelenting soldier, stronger than anyone he’s ever fought. So powerful, he escaped a whole military worth of hostile soldiers?

There may be nothing behind Ghost’s mask, but there’s someone behind Soap’s. Someone weak, lost, and repulsive.

And Soap isn’t sure what’s worse.

They’ve walked in silence for the last hour or so, Soap lost in the tar pit of his own mind. Some part of him, hysteric and deranged as it is, doesn’t want this to be over. It disgusts him.

Ghost’s arm has been twitching minutely for a few minutes now. It distracted Soap from spiraling for a bit, wondering what exactly is wrong with him. He doesn’t see any rips in the fabric around the area, so it’s not a stab or gunshot wound. He thought about blunt force trauma, but that wouldn’t act up every once in a while like this. An old injury would, but if it’s bad enough Ghost can’t even shoot straight, no one in their right mind would send him on the field.

Soap exhales, his stomach knotting in warning. They didn’t stop moving since they encountered each other, so they didn’t really eat. Which Soap just remembered, and now can’t ignore.

He considers it for a moment before piping up, “ye hungry?”

Ghost pauses in front of him, slowly turning to stare at him. “You got food?”

Soap nods, pulling a few oranges from his bag. He almost hands one to Ghost before remembering his arm, and sets about to peel them both. Ghost watches him silently, as a sweet aroma fills the small back way. 

Soap gives him the first peeled orange, busying himself with the other while Ghost turns around to eat it. When Soap takes the first bite, a sour taste bursts on his palate. Yet as he chews, it turns sweet, and he closes his eyes for a moment, savoring it.

Ghost has turned back to face him when he opens his eyes again, a look Soap can’t place in his eyes. It makes him hurry and gulp down the rest of the fruit, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He starts walking, but this time Ghost walks beside him, his eyes still not straying from Soap.

Ghost’s eyes are a nice, rich brown, he notices for the first time.

[sethan-obsession]

What are some good new RPG maker games?

I played some ages ago, but the websites have now all been nuked because they were full of ripped assets from SNES games.

ooh i can answer this

for ones with no real combat that've been around for a while, yume nikki is good, but i've mainly played .Flow, a fangame of it, which has a darker tone and atmosphere with more understandable "goals", so i attached to it much more

Ib (eye, bee, as letters) is an interesting art game that appeals to emo/scene aesthetics that i like more, it has no combat but many puzzles and an incredibly interesting setting, to me

OFF is a french-translated RPG which is kinda the best in the business, the art & music are top notch and the gameplay is accessible, if seeing pictures of it or hearing music from it intrigues you, i think everyone should give it a shot.

almost all of these are real battle sprites. you play as a baseball player (The Batter) and purify ghosts as you come into existence. the fandom came & went in 2012-2014 or so, but the game's worth experiencing, very much. more games under the cut below the image

LISA: The Painful is an excellent game that has a post-apocalyptic setting and a weird axis/style for an rpgmaker game (being a sidescroller), the setting involves you playing as a very traumatized man living in a world where all women have gone extinct and people are fighting over nothing before the world ends, the feeling of it is pretty immaculate and the soundtrack is great but strange, it cultivated my interests at a developmental period

most of the aes can be described through this trailer

LISA also has a sequel (The Joyful) which takes place after the first to tie up the story, but most importantly is that the very interesting setting & vibe set up a slew of fangames, the strongest to start out with which are

LISA: The Pointless, where you play as a very washed up martial artist who gets dug out of a trash pile by a new friend he made; a gunslinger with a bolt-action pistol that only has one bullet, and thus he can never shoot it: only threaten enemies & fake out the fact that he MIGHT shoot them, to debuff them - this game also tightens up the RPG aspects of LISA significantly, and has an IMMACULATE vibe & unique feel, it's one of the most important games to me ever

and LISA: The Hopeful, which retains more of the aesthetic of the original as well as the goofy charm while telling a very compelling grounded story.

i also contractually need to mention Fear & Hunger, it's incredibly unfair and by most metrics fails at game design but if you're interested in body horror, cosmic horror & can stomach depicted (but very much so not portrayed positively) sexual violence, it's very good art

and finally, Hylics is an incredibly artsy game that's obtuse and strange but very beautiful. it's entirely sculpted and animated with clay, but i think (as someone interested in other claymation projects, but weaned off of them after a while) the aesthetic is notably better for hylics, it doesn't feel "gross" with its humor or too, "self-referential" i'd call it maybe?

the sequel, Hylics 2, is instead fully *animated* claymation that was then ported to blender, frame by frame. there's no other project on earth that really looks like Hylics 2.

i would highly recommend playing both if you gel with them at all or think they look cool, they're both pretty cheap on steam and are accessible for an RPG (if you can figure out its silly namings and mechanic equivalents for things like health & levelling up).

none of the games mentioned here have level grinding or random encounters, either (besides some parts of OFF)! i hate that! i only like good ones, i promise!

that's all, hope this helps lol

[jokeringcutio]

Snippet 18+ content underneath the cut. You've been warned:

“Excuse me, but what is going on?” you asked, eyes wide in disbelief. What did they want from you?

But then Arthur flipped the covers open, the blanket aside, to reveal that he was wearing a shirt with nothing underneath. Naked flesh, bare thighs. A proud and leaking shaft protruded out of a bush of greying dark hair. His cock, you thought alarmed.

“Will you help me willingly?” he then asked, voice smooth and gentle, his eyes finally upon you.

~ I have yet to find the plot / and a title. It'll come. Like the reader and Arthur come in nearly all four chapters now. It is insane. Like:

[pepprs]

ok i survived yom kippur. but it took every single scrap of strength in my body and i’m not completely better yet

[bookpdf]

woke up with a horrid little neckache at like 5am and then eating breakfast felt like a heroic uphill battle this morning. which does not bode well for. today in general :/

[coloursofaparadox]

im still not over the sleep thing one sec i gotta rant about this shit

[maraeffect]

i know i'm hungry, and i know that i need to eat. but man ))): my new cancer drug is really tearing my mouth to shreds; and bless my poor partner. they offered to make a full dinner for us tonight, which is usually hard for us to do. and it was slightly spicy, aka so painful that i couldn't handle even two bites ): i had to use a lidocaine mouthwash before to even try it, and had to use it again after two pieces of pork. i felt so bad having to give her my bowl of food.

i thought about ubering food right then, but i needed time for my mouth to settle down. and now that i've waited, i feel queasy and don't necessarily feel like eating 😭 this shit is so hard for the stupidest fucking reasons. i just want to be able to eat normally ):

[irellia]

In case anyone's wondering what's next for Mizu in her modern times john wick adventures, this is one of the songs of the playlist I listen to while I work on it for inspiration. I mean... Make an Educated Guess based on it's vibes...

[nomaishuttle]

itis rly hard being A girlie who thinks a meal isnt complete without some kind of meat on it.. bc meats like expensive Kr whatever and also bc im living in hippieville (washington) so its all vegeterians and shit. That'sliterally a lie and not true. washington grovery stores r actually pretty cool they have like 8 billion milk alternatives which is crazy bc ky jusr has almond milk Pretty much. but anywyas itll juet end up with me making a food and then being like um ok. And put a ham on it like lunchmeat. ill just fry a ham slice and have it with the meal so it feels like real food. yk

[actual-corpse]

The price of a big Mac meal increased over the past week...

What the actual fuck.

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This chapter was quite fun to write, even if it was hard.

Its name is "Vainglory"

Page 7 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 3:

An aged trader spoke to him, a witty man of many lessons,

You shan’t let a monster follow you, a being made of evil,

Fuelled only by malice and hate, a beast of the devil’s doing,

Run along blind man, leave lest it takes you down a sinful path.

The blind man, in wisdom or in foolishness,

Asks the Beast, shall I trust you?

The beast, in honesty or in deceit,

Tells it is only to be led, not to lead,

And if it finds itself, pushing down a death way,

May the fallen knight, strike down the Beast himself.

Ghost doesn’t remember the last time he’s had something as decadent as an orange to eat. Even a few minutes later, its sweet taste does not dissipate from his tongue.

Soap has been quiet since he cornered him, but he can feel the man’s gaze burn the side of his face. He’s… an odd one, that’s for damn sure. Says he’s been discharged, but has more skills than many SAS operators Ghost has worked with in the past. Soap may not be the strongest, but he’s cunning, can work on the fly, pushes against orders but not enough to actually disturb the mission.

Ghost would ask why the hell he was discharged if they weren’t about to split paths. The houses are becoming sparser and smaller, the fields surrounding the city almost in sight.

It hasn’t been… exactly unpleasant, having someone on his six, surprising as it is. 

Perhaps, when he finally dies, he’ll see this memory among the many, many regrets and tainted dreams.

But now? Now, he needs to get out of here. Figure out how to obtain an antidote, go under the radar, and watch. Wait for the right moment to strike the Hunter down. Nobody crosses Ghost and lives to tell the tale.

“Think we’re far enough for ye to call for exfil?” the Sergeant says, slowing to a stop. Ghost surveys the area. 

There’s one truck he could use. For a short moment, he wonders if he should drag Soap out with him. Ghost knows, no matter how smart the Scot is, he’s going to run out of kindling eventually. Malice only takes you so far.

He shakes the thought away the next. He works alone. The Hunter just harshly reminded him of why.

He covertly unsheathes a knife. Ghost doesn’t want to hurt the Sergeant, he’s not unfair in his violence, but he rather be ready for a fight than find himself bleeding into the muddy ground.

“Seems as good as any-” movement to his left catches his attention, and Ghost swings around to watch two soldiers closing in on them.

“Drop your weapons!” a gruff voice commands. A voice of a man that has been smoking cigars for the better part of a decade, who wears a daft hat that never seems to come off, a man with a kind smile and kinder eyes.

No… why would he be here? Ghost shakily exhales. He must be wrong…

Next to him, Soap already raised his guard, aiming his rifle at the soldiers, “identify yerselves!”

The larger man steps forward, and Ghost feels his control slipping, slipping, slipping.

Malice can only get you so far, and even metal caskets eventually rust and crumble.

Under his breath, a dead man whispers, “...Price?”

“We’re with the British Army! Now put. Your weapons. Down.” the man repeats, and Soap feels his mouth gape open. Have they come to rescue Ghost? He almost takes his eyes off to smile at the Lieutenant, but they’re still considered hostiles for the SAS soldiers.

Soap lets his rifle fall and raises his arms, “thank God yer here, this place has gone to hell,” he grins, “I’m-”

“John MacTavish?”

Soap blinks, staring at the other man, “...Gaz? Steamin’ Jesus, what are the chances!”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick steps forth, gun still raised but aim obviously faltering, “John, what the fuck are you doing here?!”. The other man’s brows shoot up, “isn’t that…”

Soap’s smile wobbles, “ah, ye see, it’s a long story-”

A hand drops on his shoulder, and he finally eyes Ghost. Soap’s brows furrow at the sight. He looks more tense than he’s ever seen him.

Instantly, Gaz and his partner train their aim on them again, “let him go, Ghost!” Gaz snarls.

“Wait, yer all misunderstanding this,” Soap raises his arms, placating, “Ghost’s with us-”

The bite of a sharp blade at his throat makes his voice fade. Ghost drags him to his chest, a large arm wrapping around his shoulders. Soap’s eyes widen, “...Ghost?”

The mass at his back breathes heavily. Gaz freezes, but the other man pushes, “he has nothing to do with this. Let him go.”

“Can’t do that, Captain.” Ghost drawls, his tone cool, a stark contrast to his taut and shivering form.

Gaz drops his gun, and the Captain copies him, both raising their arms in surrender. “What do you want?” Gaz spits, venomous and burning.

Ghost takes a step back, “the truck. You follow us, John gets offed.” Soap grinds his teeth.

Something ugly brews within him, arrows of treachery pierce his heart, rivers of blood flow down his body. Leaving only hate.

The realization drips through him, that nothing about Ghost made sense because he was lying.

“You got it.” the Captain grounds, “but let the lad go.”

Another two steps backwards. Soap should attack him. Even with a knife at his throat, he can take him down with him. Let them both be burnt up with bitterness and cruelty.

And yet he does nothing, as the man drags him further back. Because John is weak, at his core, and betrayal brought forth the man behind his mask.

“I’ll drop him a few miles off the city.” Ghost says by his ear. He can’t even feel his breath through the mask. “As long as you don’t follow, Price.”

Captain Price? Of taskforce 141? Fuck, if he was sent here to take out Ghost, Soap has been fucking running around with an international criminal.

The Captain’s gaze hardens, and Gaz tells him, “we’ll get you back, brother. Just… listen to him for now.”

Aye, he’s gonna listen. Doesn’t mean he’s gonna fucking obey.

Soap flashes a smile at Gaz, trying to calm him a little. He hasn’t seen the man in so long, his brother. Ever since joining his new taskforce…

Fuckin’ hell, he joined the 141. No wonder he didn’t have time for him.

Ghost drags him into the driver’s sit, pulling out his pistol to aim at his head.  The Lieutenant- no, he probably lied about that too, the man sits at the passenger sit and shoves the pistol at his face, “drive.”

Soap finds the ignition key (oh how he wishes he didn’t, now that would put a wrench in this walloper’s plans) and starts the truck. He solemnly watches the figures of Price and Gaz, as he shifts the gears and drives up to the dirt road.

Ghost keeps his gun glued to his temple, eyes hidden in shadow.

Soap swallows around the bitter blood in his mouth, and drives into the night.

“Yer a real piece of shite, ye know that?” Soap growls again, voice almost hoarse from cursing. His maw would slap him a new one if she heard how he’s talking.

Ghost is, as he was for the entire drive, silent. The pistol never strayed from his head, but the bastard’s eyes have fogged over, zoned out at a distant point in the horizon. Soap doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him, but at least he’s letting him take out his frustrations.

He grips the steering wheel tighter, watching his knuckles turn white. Soap’s hands start feeling numb. It doesn’t distract him enough, so he continues yelling at Ghost.

Soap doesn’t want to admit it, even to himself, because he’s already weak enough, but…

He thought Ghost could be someone he trusted. More than anyone else he met in the past year.

And… it hurts. Somewhere in his heart that isn’t fuelled with anger, there’s a place that aches.

He’s losing control. Price wasn’t supposed to be here, and certainly not after him. Ghost kept his tracks hidden, knew how to get around the systems he worked with for so long.

It wasn’t him. He was too careful.

The Hunter. Could they have alerted the 141? Must have. But Price wouldn’t be sent after him, the British Army has used him before.

Unless he’s considered too dangerous to keep anymore. 

Even the most useful attack dog will be put down if it bites the hand that holds the leash.

Why did he take the Sergeant? He should’ve killed them. Should’ve killed them all. Trusting the Captain’s word was dumb.

(You’re a good man, Simon. Don’t let them erase that-)

He knows he should be focused, on the road, on their back., listen in to see if Soap is spouting anything useful between his badmouthing. Make sure Price keeps his promise.

(Price always keeps his promise, except when he promised they’ll all come home that day-)

But Ghost is wading deep waters, memories constantly floating and sinking. Voices, dead and alive, sing for him, and like sirens, their only wish is to drown and consume him.

(You stabbed him in the back, because all you know to do is hurt-)

“-and I should’ve never trusted ye, you fuckin’ bawbag. Yer mask is feckin’ stupid, ye know that? I had a better fashion sense at twelve-”

Ghost blinks back into reality. The Sergeant runs his mouth, obviously spitting whatever comes to mind, talking for the sake of filling the silence, it seems. 

“-I wasted a good bottle of chlorine gas on ye, that shite doesn’t exactly grow on trees-”

The water recedes, and his lungs finally fill with air. Ghost shakes off the last of his mementoes, and examines the view outside the windshield.

The city is far behind them, now hidden by a hill they apparently drove over a few minutes back. The fields around them are pitch black, the only light emanating from the truck, leaving the crops washed out.

Nobody has followed them. Good. He can still salvage this mission. 

He considers staying quiet before deciding he should at least try to gather more intel, “How do you know Captain Price?”

Soap’s mouth clamps shut, his shoulders jump minutely as he startles from his monologue. The Sergeant recovers quickly, sending him a fiery glare, “so he remembers I exist, let me bring the feckin’ confetti. It’s none of yers, ye cunt.” 

Ghost sneers under the mask, “if you’re not going to say anything useful, shut your trap.”

“Or what, ye gonna make me?”

He taps the barrel to Soap’s temple, to which Soap responds by rolling his eyes, “yer stupid, but not stupid enough to shoot the man driving the truck yer in.”

This man is fucking impossible when he hates you, isn’t he? Ghost relents, quieting again. He’s not going to waste his time.

A flash of light makes his heart skip a beat. From the narrowing of Soap’s eyes, he caught it too. Ghost turns around to check the road behind them.

Headlights. Multiple vehicles.

Ghost presses the pistol at Soap’s head, “drive faster.”

It’s not the 141.

(Even years later, the dead man has a hold on Ghost, screaming, “he would never betray us”-)

Soap seems to come to the same conclusion, stomping the gas pedal and accelerating, “yer old friends?”

“The Hunter.” Ghost grinds his teeth. The vehicles speed up behind them, and he can make out at least 6 armored trucks. “Where’s your rifle?” 

Soap scoffs, “left it with Price and Gaz, when ye decided to stab me in the fucking back!”

One of the trucks bumps their rear, making Ghost and Soap jerk forward. Bullets start dinging off the exterior, and Ghost locks eyes with the driver. He brings his hands up, lining up the iron sights of his pistol with his head.

Time seems to stop when he presses the trigger. The bullet shoots through glass, straight into the driver’s head, the soldier slumping forward and losing control over the vehicle.

Time speeds back up when the enemy’s truck hits them with full force, forcing both of them off the road.

Ghost hears Soap scream before they hit the ditch, the truck flipping over.

For a few moments, the world is silent. His ears ring something awful, and his eyes are closed. It’s not until Soap groans besides him that Ghost refocuses back.

“Ngh… Steamin’ hell…” Soap unclasps his seatbelt, falling on his back. He kicks the window open while Ghost follows him. 

The trucks park on the road, soldiers shouting commends to each other. Ghost and Soap crawl out of the wreckage, the crops around them covering them, for now.

Ghost opens his mouth to order Soap, but stops himself at the look the Sergeant is giving him. It’s as if the man is assessing who would best who in a fight. Ghost grips on his pistol tighter. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill Soap, if it came to that.

(He wouldn’t hesitate breaking Price’s trust-)

No. He can’t betray yet another person. Not the Captain.

The stars above them cloud over, the night skies all the more darker, shadows threatening to swallow the world whole, when red lights slice through them, leaving bleeding trails behind.

The Hunter’s soldiers are shooting flares. Soap’s eyes widen, their color dulled by crimson red, and Ghost grabs his arm and starts running. Soap sputters behind him before picking up his pace.

Ghost is losing control. He knows, leaving the Sergeant behind is the most logical step. Alone, he can slip into the nightshadow, disappear like the ghost he is. But a nameless grave is being unearthed, a man raising from a cracked casket. A man who is far less rational than Ghost, a man that can’t leave the Sergeant to die.

“Where are we going?!” Soap shouts.

Ghost doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a plan, his movements are dictated by the instincts of a dying animal.

The flares burn closer, red creeping around his peripheral, a gruesome helo cinching tighter.

Soap’s arm is warm under his fingertips, the man behind him breathing heavily. Ghost keeps running, because they can’t do anything but flee. Cornered and surrounded, fate only brings them certain death.

Ghost only feels a tingling sensation shoot down the left side of his body as a warning, before his arm and leg locks up, and he falls to the ground. His body is shaking, fighting the poison eating away at his blood.

Soap falls with him, dragged down by his stiff arm. “The fuck- let go!”

Ghost stares at his hand, the limb feels detached from him. In his mind, he commends the arm to move, but in reality it is still, causing a phantom hand to swing around. Soap pries his hand away, face scrunched up in fury, before he looks up at Ghost’s eyes.

What do you see, a dead man wants to ask.

Do you see a soldier, a monster, 

Or a corpse?