#its not that im against change

[shouldering-worlds]

I think that the reason Dan and Phil don't come out with a Phard Phaunch is because they know that would make them explode in popularity again and they already sold out all their shows so there's really no use in the extra attention

[thereweredragonshere]

Just watched the httyd live action trailer and there are so many things I could complain about (just the fact that it exists being one of them) but like

They changed the structure of Toothless' hind legs??? In the original his hind legs function the way human legs do, his heel is flat in the ground and the bend of his leg is his knee, making him a plantigrade. But in the live action the bend of his leg is in his ankle?? They made him a digitigrade??? Why??? For what purpose???

[fuctacles]

Eddie, begrudgingly: Dustin's older brother is kinda fine :/

I had a craving for best friend's older brother AU so I wrote some but it's not my forte I'm out of ideas so that might be it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Edit: jokes on me I guess [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie was about to knock on his freshman friend’s door when there was a loud commotion on the other side and the door opened by itself. A guy, probably around his age, nearly ran into him in his haste to leave the house. He startled, taking Eddie in. And then taking a double take, the way Eddie was used to people doing at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” the guy asked, scrunching his nose and not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

He felt his hackles rise, venom building in his throat and ready to spit. He wasn’t expecting this on a Saturday on his friend’s doorstep, but he guessed this was the kind of town where you just couldn’t wear your battle vest in peace anywhere. His upper lip twitched ready to form a snarl, when suddenly the guy's features softened, a spark of recognition lighting up his eyes.

“Wait. Let me guess. Eddie?”

Eddie faltered, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He frowned.

“Yeah?”

The guy's face warmed up with a smile, and Eddie was not ready for that kind of emotional rollercoaster this early in the morning.

“Dustin’s stories do not do you justice,” he says for some reason, eyeing him again. Eddie wants to shrivel up and hide. What the fuck was happening. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, stepping to the side to invite him in. “I have to go to work, so you two be good, okay?” he says before waving a cheery goodbye and closing the door, disappearing just as abruptly as he showed up in front of Eddie. The inside of the house suddenly seemed dull.

Another ray of sunshine peeked from the kitchen, toothy grin and hazelnut curls.

“So you’ve met Steve!” Dustin grinned in place of a greeting.

Eddie gawked at him.

“That,” he pointed at the closed door. The sound of a car leaving the curb tickled his ears. “Was Steve?!”

“The adopted brother Steve? The Star Wars fan Steve? The badass older brother Steve?”

“Yes, all that,” Dustin nodded enthusiastically.

“I thought he was, like, 16!” Eddie flailed and it sounded like a petulant whine even to his ears. He winced.

Dustin frowned at him like he was being stupid. Eddie didn’t like that gaze, but unfortunately at this point, he was getting used to it. His younger friend leaned on the kitchen door frame watching Eddie toe off his shoes.

“He’s 19. What gave you that impression?”

Eddie frowned at his scuffed Reeboks. He nudged them with his toe to line up, looking for an answer.

“The adopted part, I think? He’s almost an adult, who adopts that old?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he said it. He looked up at Dustin, whose face twisted uncomfortably.

“Shit, sorry man. I didn’t mean-”

Dusting clicked his tongue impatiently, interrupting him.

“It’s fine. This is an unconventional arrangement,” he said in that way when you heard something repeatedly. “I can tell you more, but after we make that character sheet, okay?”

Eddie nodded, eager to abandon his social faux pas. The Henderson’s were an unconventional unit, and that’s what he loved about them, at least from the stories Dustin shared. The guy was a little freak, just like Eddie, so it checked out his family was just as unconventional. So was Eddie’s after all.

The parallels made him warm up inside, the familiar need to protect his younger friends flaring up.

“Deal,” he nodded, following his friend inside the kitchen, where notebooks and DnD manuals already littered the table.

A couple of hours, two coffees and an unsolved argument about the intricacies of multiclassing later, they decided to take a break and Eddie could finally feast his eyes on the family photos on display. He stood in front of the newest one standing front and centre on the mantle. Steve was smiling shyly to the camera while Claudia Henderson had her arms around his shoulders and Dustin was grinning wide from his other side, hair ruffled by the older boy's hand.

“How long he has been living here?”

Dustin’s head popped out of the kitchen where he was rummaging for snacks.

“About a year. Remember the Starcourt fire?”

“Yeah?” Eddie frowned, taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.

“Well, he’s been there and-” the boy frowned, fully stepping into the living room and crossing his arms. “Shit, Mom says I shouldn’t be babbling it around. That it’s Steve's story to tell.”

Eddie hummed, cocking his head.

“Your mom is very smart.”

Dustin unwrapped his arms, clenching his hands together.

“I guess I could tell you I mean who are you gonna tell? You just-”

Eddie raised both his hands, stopping him.

“Dude, he interrupted with all the disapproval his drug dealing nonconformist self could muster. “She’s right and that would be breaking your brother’s trust.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dustin gulped, looking adequately ashamed at proposing the idea. “You’re right., he nodded.

This lasted about half a second because nobody could stop Henderson from being an egocentric know-it-all and since he was wrong he was now going to overcompensate for it. Of that, Eddie could be sure.

“We can go to his workplace and you could ask him!”

Eddie raised his hands again.

“Hold your horses Henderson, we’re not harassing your brother at work.” The boy was actually pouting, the little shit. “I am not that determined to hear it. I’ll just catch him another time I visit.”

That was the wrong thing to say because he wasn’t planning on being a recurring guest initially. Or maybe it was the right thing to say since Dustin positively beamed at the implication.

Maybe it was because the kid’s presence has been a good influence on him as well.

Also, while the story of Steve’s adoption didn’t seem that interesting before, the idea of a mall fire being somehow involved raised questions that were now itching the back of Eddie’s tongue. He had to ask them at some point.

*

“There’s this guy,” Eddie starts one day during lunch break. 

“Oh-ho,” Gareth murmurs with disdain, the crumbs from his sandwich falling from his lips.

“Not like that,” Eddie glowered at him, slapping against his arm. Even though it was kinda like that. “He’s picking up Henderson after Hellfire today and if we run into him, I want you guys to be civil.”

“We’re always civil,” Jeff frowns at Eddie’s backhanded accusations.

“Yeah, especially when you guys are mooning after Mrs. Wheeler.”

The comment raised a wave of loud protests from his friends.

“I am just saying-”

“You’re just saying that guy is hot and we shouldn’t ogle him?” Gareth, the worst friend he has, raised his eyebrow.

“No, I’m just-”

“You calling dibs, Munson?” John the Traitor, the Backstabber, joined in. Johned in, if you will.

‘No!” Eddie protested, maybe a little too loud. A couple of heads turned but when they saw the ruckus was coming from the freaks table, they quickly lost interest. “He’s the worst. A hunk of jock with stupid hair but!” He rose a finger. “He’s Henderson’s family. And what do we do with family members in Hellfire?”

“Lure in.”

“Lull into a fake sense of security.”

“Cast charm person.”

“Exactly,” he smirked, pointing his finger at each of them in approval. “This case is no different.”

“It feels different,” Gareth murmured under his breath, earning himself another smack on the shoulder.

*

Eddie wrapped up the session and was giving out experience points to his players when a soft knock interrupted his counting. He frowned at the door.

“Speak ‘friend’ and enter!” he hollered to his sheep’s utter glee. He grinned at them.

Dead silence was all the response he got, so he assumed whatever normie was bugging them got discouraged. But then, Henderson was turning around in his seat, yelling at the door.

“It’s from Lord of the Rings! You know this one!”

There was a shuffle on the other side where apparently, Steve came already to pick up his brother.

“Oh! Um… Melon? Was that it?”

“You may enter!” Eddie commanded with a grin straining at his cheeks. Dustin was doing a good job educating his jock brother, apparently. 

The guy pushed the door open, taking in the table full of teenagers. He waved hesitantly.

“You guys finishing up?”

“I’m handing out points, we need just a few minutes,” Eddie waved his hand. “And it’s Mellon.”

Steve frowned.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure you did,” Eddie cocked his head condescendingly, ignoring the eyes of Corroded Coffin members staring at him. “Now sit and wait,” he gratuitously offered, snapping his fingers and pointing at a nearby bench, like Henderson’s older brother was some kind of dog.

To his surprise, he nodded shortly and obeyed, sitting down and watching him expectantly. Eddie took it as his cue to proceed. He coughed to gather his sheep's attention and went back to his meticulous calculations.

*

“That didn’t look like Charm Person to me,” Gareth hissed as soon as the younger members of Hellfire had left.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, throwing him a look while he stuffed his campaign notes into his bag.

“You told us to be nice, but you ordered him around like he was one of the kids,” Jeff pointed out, arms crossing.

“I did not”

“You totally did.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up.

“What is this? Mutiny? Among my own kin? Ungrateful little herd I had nurtured on my own breast-”

He was interrupted by a cacophony of grossed out noises.

“Spare us the imagery, please.”

Eddie huffed indignantly, closing his bag.

“Then quit yapping. It was a singular lapse of judgement on my part,” he said with finality, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Without looking back, he walked off, hand raised in a goodbye, “Toodles, bitches.”

And he was gone.

Gareth sighed.

“Man, I love Eddie, but sometimes…” John cut himself off, shaking his head. 

“Yeah.”

*

Eddie’s been on the fence about it for some time now. But the time was ticking and he did say more than once that ‘86 was gonna be his year, so maybe it was time to pocket his ego and make some calls.

Some very, very humiliating calls.

Sighing deeply he imagined himself going to the woods and digging up a deep hole. There he imaginary buried his pride, made a fancy map to find it later, hopefully in time for his graduation, and finally dragged himself back home and in front of his phone. Next to it, he tacked on a list of numbers of all his newest sheepies in case of emergencies. Like Hellfire scheduling.

He sighed once more, slumping dramatically before dialling the first of the numbers. As he listened to the dial tone, he squared his shoulders, decided a more confident pose was in order. He was now a man of action, taking his fate in his own hands. His pride was buried deeply in the darkest corners of the forest and only a courageous-

“Har- Henderson residence, this is Steve speaking.”

Eddie’s mind went blank, completely thrown off. Who was he calling again? What for?

“Hello?”

“Is this how you pick up the phone? Did I get the wrong house? Is this the British Queen?”

“... Eddie? Is that you?”

Busted.

“What gave me away?”

“Ah, only the dramatic nonsensical ramblings.” Steve answered, amusement in his voice. 

“Thank you, I pride myself in those.” No pride! Pride is buried deep in the putrid soil of a forgotten battlefield! “But I’m here for the superior Henderson, please and thank you.” Ah yes, the Charm Person again. Somebody could think Eddie buried his Charisma along with the pride.

“Sorry, Claudia is at work right now.”

Eddie scrunched his nose, confused, the gleeful tilt to the voice in his ear irking him. Then he remembered the mom. A staple in most households.

“Har, har, Steven. The smart one.”

“Please never call him that to his face,” the man said with a resigned sigh.

“There wouldn’t be enough space in the room for both our egos if I did.”

Steve laughed then, softly and genuinely, before calling out for his younger brother.

After a loud rattle, Dustin’s lispy voice finally reached Eddie’s trailer.

“What's up?”  

The man braced himself for what he was about to request.

“I need your help with an assignment.”

*

The door opened before he could even knock. Again.

“I thought I told you not to inflate his ego.”

“No, you told me not to call him smart. It is merely a by-product of my desperate attempts at graduating,” Eddie shrugged matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t respond to the likes of you.” He punctuated his words by seizing the guy up before brushing past him inside the Henderson’s house.

“The likes of- Excuse me?!”

Eddie was skipping towards Dustin’s room.

“Hey big guy I’m here for my tutoring!” he announced himself, standing in the open door to his friend’s room, who quickly beckons him inside. Steve’s heavy steps follow and soon he’s the one standing in the door frame, arms crossed, while Eddie bounces on Dustin’s bed.

“What do you mean the likes of me?” he asks, almost pouting. 

“Mainstream,” offered Dustin, shuffling through stuff on his desk.

“Jocks,” added Eddie, still bouncing with glee, hair following up and down.

“Normies.”

“Pop listeners.”

“Mom friends.”

“Conformists.”

“Okay, I get it!” Steve threw his hands in the air, stopping the list that probably wouldn’t come to an end otherwise. “You’re the cool guys, have fun having your cool stuff,” he huffed angrily, grabbing the doorknob. Before he closed the door he threw one seething glance at Dustin. “Do not. Ask me for snacks,” he hissed before slamming the door shut.

Eddie flipped back on the bed, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Man, your brother is so easy to rile up,” he chuckled gleefully.

“Right?! He’s so bitchy,” Dusting turned around towards him, signature smile in place. Eddie hollered.

“He is!”

Alas, a slap of palms interrupted his delightful trashing around.

“I believe we have some physics to cover?”

Eddie groaned. Right. He didn’t come here to bother the older Henderson. Booo.

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

[ganondoodle]

the company i work for decided that its switching from the german formal "You"(Sie) to the informal "you" (Du) in all of our websites so now we have to scour the entire database to change it and i quite frankly hate that, not just bc the unecessary extra work but especially bc its such a weird and unecessary change

i bet its bc everything here is getting englishfied (both literally and culturally it feels like, when my new boss talks its half in english bc every second german word is just replaced by an english one despite there being perfectly fine words for it in german too, its so annoying) and bc they want to sound more personal in hopes of getting more clients bc 'company is your fwiend uwu!!', i know this here is the amercian tm site so you wouldnt understand really but i do not want to be greeted with 'du' by companies, no, thats too personal, you dont know me and im not giving you my data, stay away!!

i guess thats how i would describe it .. the formal you is like a polite distance, like someone you dont know staying outside your personal space, but when its the informal 'you' it feels invasive unless i told you you can call me that, and that goes double for companies

maybe its a small thing that doesnt seem important but i cant stand it, im just a little part time worker doing data work so i got no say in it but the companies founder also announced hes giving his post to his kids some time ago so ...... since then theres been alot of changes and new projects that solely aim to imitate whats popular and whats done by other companies, despite ours being one that is, or used to be, intentionally different, like, that was the POINT, but i guess chasing trends is just too appealing for CEOs

[mofsblog]

THEY CHANGED THE MALEVOLENT WEBSITE'S TRANSCRIPT FONT

[quartergremlin]

i cant even comprehend this level of stupidity/queerphobia anymore. In what world does "why even bother transitioning if you're going to do woman stuff" make sense.

transcript:

Coworker: Okay so. You know what I don't get?

Quarter: mm.

C: Trans men who get married to men? and have kids? What's even the point?

Q (thinking): girl I know you know. like. the general concept of gay people.

[itz-pandora]

There's only one person I truly hate with all my being

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

《山河令》 WORD OF HONOR (2021) | Episode 20

Dear, the kiss that steals your breath Will steal your soul instead When night is all that's left So wait, keep your heart inside My hand won't keep it safe I'll just feed on dreams and smile as hope slowly dies –The Rigs, Run Baby Run

[reel-fear]

Genuinely so curious who Mike thinks is gonna be buying The Cage or the new DCTL GN bc with the way he tweets as far as he's concerned, it's not gonna be:

The queer people he has actively admitted he will never show any representation of in the games.

2. The POC he has actively fought against representing in his franchise. [Who he also mocked for thinking they would be represented in his franchise]

3. The Bendy fandom which has always been concerned with topics of diversity esp in the sense of queer people since its creation. Who he has responded to really poorly esp in regards to the GN.

4. The fans who critique him. [He blocked me for doing so lol]

5. His fans in general who he tweets about like this currently. [He's being vague about why people were mad at him or sent him 'nasty messages' because if you actually looked into why you'd see he was in the wrong. Either way, a very hateful way to speak abt ur own fanbase.]

Reminder while Mike is trash talking his fans he has always treated them rather poorly. The fans who won the fanart contest for Chapter 5 never got their posters actually in game due to it being rushed. Not only was chapter 5 a big slap to the face story wise, but it was literally so rushed he couldn't be bothered to add in the art his fans gave him for his game FOR FREE. [Meatly blames this on a crazy timeline, reminder him and Mike are the literal ceos of this company. The proposal of future updates here is also pretty cruel considering Mike nowadays happily admits he corrupted Chapter 5's source code and therefore literally can't update it At All currently. Because he is a moron]

At least they got to be in Boris and the dark survival, and by that I mean that was the Only game they got to be in so far, isn't that just treating your fans like you love them? Shoving their hard work into a spin off game almost nobody has played or addresses much. [Hell, who knows if with the Lone Wolf rebrand they'll even stay there. In which case they'll be in None of the games, only in the credits of BATIM]

6. The Bendy fans who just generally disagree with him on stuff. Like the new ink demon design where there is literally a public poll showing people generally prefer the old one.

7. The Bendy fans who can see he is actively lying to them. To their fucking faces.

He says this has always been the case, but screenshots and links to tweets regarding the books being canon prove it was not. Does he really think bendy fans are stupid or something? [Unless he's admitting here he lied to Kress when he told her the books were canon which sounds worse!]

8. Anyone who doesn't like the idea of giving money to a guy who laid off tons of employees then afterwards thought it was a great idea to express his anti-union views! Also brag about how good of an employer he was, according to his employees, he was not!

So in summary; Mike is an awful person who has not learned anything from the awful things he did. I will not be purchasing The Cage because, combined with this and his absolute refusal to take any kind of critique or see any differing interpretation of his franchise, I have no reason to think my problems with the franchise will ever be addressed or fixed. I probably will pirate The Cage along with any future Bendy Products [Including the movie] and will do my best to avoid giving it any kind of monetary support. Unless this changes any time soon, I can't see myself making anymore positive Bendy posts soon.

Mike has just managed to make it so hard to speak positively or optimistically of this franchise when he's so willing to broadcast how little he cares about it or its fans. I'm at the point where I refuse to pull any of my punches with my problems with it. What's the point of trying to play nice with my critique when either way the people creating it don't care?

So with this post, I want to invite anyone who feels similarly about the franchise to tell me, make a post or send an ask talking about how all of this makes you feel. It may not change how things are, but genuinely seeing other people share my feelings of anger makes me feel better. It feels nice to see when other people share our same concerns and worries. I'd also love to know if anyone else thinks they'll be avoiding purchasing Bendy products over this.

I'm not forcing anyone to participate in it nor trying to say anyone who doesn't supports mike but genuinely maybe if we can collectively decide to boycott things like the movie, graphic novel and The Cage... It might at least make the bendy devs acknowledge how much they have destroyed their own fandom's faith and trust in them.

The way Mike tweets about his actions like he had no control over why people were mad at him at least proves to me he takes NONE of it back nor regrets it. If you didn't know about his actions and only went off his tweets, you would be led to believe Mike has been needlessly picked apart by fans over things he couldn't control [or in his own words, had his words twisted and taken out of context]. That is not how you speak about your actions if you have actually learned better from them.

anyway, that has been my bendy dev callout post. This is an open invitation to anyone feeling similarly upset about the way the franchise is going to talk about it. It's genuinely nice to see how people feel about this and the more we talk about the more it's likely the bendy devs are forced to address our concerns. I don't think they will but hey, that's why I'm not gonna support them with my money anymore nor am I gonna be nice to them in any content I make critiquing Bendy. I mean I'm also basically making this post just in case anyone asks me Why I feel this way towards to bendy devs/as a way to respond to anyone who thinks I am too harsh in my critique in the future.

As always, it seems the best part of Bendy isn't actually anything about canon but about what the fan's are creating with the ideas Bendy failed to do anything interesting with.

Also the books, the books slap.

[velvetsssapphic]

Me whenever this scene comes up

[triglycercule]

what if because dust and horror wouldn't wanna be called anything aside from sans in a multiverse context and they were both good buddies they both just start calling eachother sans. i'm sans (dust) and i'm sans (horror) ahh duo

becaaause horror in his eye(s) still sees himself as sans!! he's sans!! who else is he SUPPOSED to be god 😒😒 stop attatching this stupid fake name onto him that just points out all his shortcomings in his au and also just dehumanizes him (because i get that aus are named after a key trait of something but COME ON the guy's name is HORROR it's like naming a poor person "brokie" or something,,,). horror is PROUDLY sans smh

and dust ALSO sees himself as sans!!! like,,, granted he's definitely not a better sans than he was before considering everything he did (but he still doesn't like his past self's inaction) but he's STILL SANS. nothing about him changed (really?) enough to warrant the whole identity shift. like dude dont discredit him DONT DENY HIS WHOLE LIFE!!! he IS sans no matter what,,, dust doesnt wanna think about what he became if he's not sans now anyways lul :3

now could they fight over the right to the identity of sans??? possibly,,, but also consider this: there are literally infinite numbers of sanses in the multiverse. at some point the shiny title of Sans would be something horror and dust are used to around the multiverse!!! so why fight over the name (that so many others share already so its not exactly exclusive) when they can just decide to make each other feel better!!! be delusional TOGETHER 🤞

[ninashiki]

i feel like almost everything in utena has sort of already been extensively discussed in the last two (almost three) decades of utena's existence (not that there aren't new interpretations to be made, there always are) besides black rose arc (mikage+mamiya+tokiko). which is why they're so much fun to think about. i think the need to read between the lines makes it unfortunately easy to misunderstand or look past obvious stuff if you don't pay attention, but to me it's always been really obvious that mikage's arc is a literal representation of the erasure of queerness in ohtori (society?) by akio/everything he represents. and that's so fucking tragic! nemuro was never able to find a name for his desires. he lived and died as a puppet in the shadows.

[reds-skull]

Revenant Side Stories

Story VI: Farah

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

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

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

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

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

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

They don’t look up to revenants in Urzikstan.

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

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

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

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

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

And she dies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stone face turns to stare at her.

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

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

“DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

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

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YOU WANT TO LIVE, FARAH.”

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

The Reaper tilts closer, its face level with hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ACCEPT YOUR SACRIFICE, FARAH.”

“MY MIGHT IS YOURS.”

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

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

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

“I chose sacrifice, baba.”

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

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

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

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

The Russians.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, baba.”

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

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

“Stay behind me!”

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

Baba pleads with the man. He does not listen.

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

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

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

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

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

Hadir. She needs to help Hadir!

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

In her heart, she asks for forgiveness from mama.

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to kill you!”

Farah watches the man stumble in the hallway, searching.

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

He trips on the rug. She sneaks closer.

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

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

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

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

“You’re- you’re one of them?!”

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

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

“It’s working! Again, sister!”

She pulls it out, and repeats.

“Good, Farah!”

And again.

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

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

“I can’t… I can’t go with you.”

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

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

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

Baba’s head drops. He’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My country… My country?

Urzikstan will never kneel to the likes of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For them, all Urzik are the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They don’t fear death anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lieutenant-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were going to watch them suffocate and burn.

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

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, how could she leave him like this?

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

A heartbeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sister.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alex Keller is… odd.

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

The world already knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One vehicle approaching from the east!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her clothes are riddled with holes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“H-Hadir… You’re… a revenant?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-Farah!… Alex!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s proving her she’s not at fault.

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

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

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

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

As they board the helicopter, Farah looks down.

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

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

She shakes her head, and with it his hand.

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

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

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

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

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

[f0rgetf0rgetting]

ameest au inspired in the scum villain self saving system that i just pulled out of my ass

im still thinking what to do with and the details of what the “original novel” was about, im thinking cardverse setting

[tendisneren]

hey so you are NOT VALID in sayinf misa is a freak i mean she is pretty weird at first but shes genuinely my pookie now i love her

(obviously you are valid in your own opinions i was /j)

LOLOL!!!! hii 😋😋

but erm….im SOOOO valid…/hj…

i just dont like how freaky she is about light!!!!!! but also i identify with the word freak so. no hate to misa my ways have been changed (i know worse people irl who are my pookies i realize)

[scionshtola]

bob era is real and happening