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sleepyconfusedpotato · 1 year ago

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Catch My Breath

The first kiss.

Set in Christmas Eve 2022, after the events of Call of Duty Modern Warfare II.

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC) Characters : Simon "Ghost" Riley, Charlotte "Jade" Le Jardin (OC), Captain John Price, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC), Alejandro Vargas Word Count : ~ 9600 Warning : Fluff with a slight bit of angst, a touch of hurt/comfort, and good ol’ cursings.

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Dont forget to come to cpt prices house today.’

You : ‘Of course not. I’m still at the orphanage for christmas gifts exchange. As soon as I'm done I'll be there :)’

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Good’

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Gaz is making some bangin biscuits and scones’

Jade smiled at her phone as she chatted with Soap. Her mouth already watering from imagining the taste of Gaz’s cooking on her tongue. According to Soap’s and Ladybug’s testimony, his chocolate biscuits were second to none.

You : ‘Wouldn't miss it even if I die.’

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Alright. See ya.’

She bit her lip. There's one more question she wanted to ask though. She contemplated asking Soap this or not.

Her thumbs moved across the screen slowly.

You : ‘Is Ghost coming?’

When Soap had invited her to the dinner five days prior, all Jade could think about was whether or not Ghost would be joining. Their one week together in Las Almas made her feel… something. Something really, really good. Something she hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He earned a friend in Alejandro, Rudy, Soap, and Ghost, especially, whom she’d thought of as a real piece of work back in Verdansk. Oh, how foolish she was.

He was the best part about Las Almas.

Dammit. What was she thinking?!

By the end of Chicago, after they eliminated Hassan, Ghost and Jade had traded phone numbers. Jade had his numbers and named it “💀💢 Beanpole 💀💢”, after the nickname she gave to him before they knew each other’s name. They haven’t texted at all. Ghost wasn’t the kind to text first, that much was clear to everyone who knew him. And neither was Jade. In fact, she didn’t know what to text him first. A “hi”? A…

What else?

What do people text each other when they’re trying to get to know each other? She had no goddamn clue. Well, she knew what to text when she wanted to get intel from an unassuming target, but she didn’t want intel from Ghost.

She just wanted to know if he was okay, if he was fine, if the gash on his shoulder was healing well. Because of course, in her 29 years of life, a serious romance wasn’t a luxury that she could afford in her line of work in MI6. She took that lesson from her parents who literally had to ‘die’ first in order to even start. The point is, none of them texted first. They’re just another series of numbers in their contact list.

An animation of dots showed up, indicating that Soap was typing.

He’d typed for a few seconds before the animation stopped for a moment, and then started typing again. He must be changing his response.

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘If there's food he should be there.’

Oh? ‘... should be there’. That meant Ghost was not with Soap at the moment, and he didn’t know whether or not Ghost would be coming along. A week in Las Almas was enough for Jade to know that Ghost had grown closer to Soap as a friend-brother figure. The fact that Soap might not know his whereabouts was not a surprise, though. He’s the Ghost after all.

But she couldn’t help but think, where was he?

What did Soap type?

“Chacha! Can you help me a bit here? We're about to start the event!”

Jade looked up from her phone, her ginger hair falling on her shoulders as she tucked her phone back in her pocket, swiftly walking over to one of her co-workers, Esther, an elderly soft-looking lady who volunteered for the orphanage - her former orphanage. This place held a lot of bittersweet memories, and it made her who she was.

Her legs brought her to one of the high ladders leaning onto one of the walls of the dining hall. She took many mistletoes from the decoration boxes and swiftly climbed the ladder, hanging the vegetation one by one with ease.

“Do we need this many mistletoes?” Jade asked while her hands worked. “At this point we’re gonna kiss someone by accident.”

“Of course not, what are you talkin’ about?!” Esther’s loud laugh almost broke Jade’s ears. “It’s Christmas, Chacha. The church had an overflow of mistletoes from the donations. If there's a day where we can add as many mistletoes as we can, it’s now. Let's call the kids over.”

“Alright. Let's start this shall we?”

—

The sound of Jade’s boots rang throughout the pavement as she hurried over to Price’s house. She travelled by public transportation from Surrey as she didn't have a car with her (plus she’s not much for driving safely - fake driving licence and… all that). She looked down at her watch to see 7 PM as the cold night finally settled. Each of her breaths turned to clouds in the air, shivering as she didn't have her outer jacket with her right now. She’s never one to be unprepared, but after one of the kids got too excited about getting a Lego toy and spilt a whole glass of apple juice onto her jacket, Jade had to fight through the cold with her trusty turtleneck and only one layer of thin knitted jacket as an outer, clutching the soaked coat close to her chest.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of walking, Jade reached the front of Price's house, immediately knocking on the wooden door three times. She looked up at the massive three-story building made out of bricks, that had a good space in the front yard. The building looked old like a family heirloom, but she could tell that it was pretty much taken care of. There’s a pair of trees that had shed all their leaves for the winter and had a decent amount of vegetation on either side of the doors.

Jade looked back at the front yard. There were three cars parked in front, and she assumed that one of them belonged to Price, the other two should belong to either Gaz’s, Soap’s, or Ghost’s.

The wooden door opened. She expected Price as the owner of the house to welcome her, instead, it was Eleanor, Gaz’s very own Ladybug who immediately screeched on top of her head. “JAAAADEEE!!! You’ve finally arrived!” The medic bursted out of the door hugging her figure so tight Jade might’ve folded. A beautiful burgundy sweater around a tan shirt wrapped her figure perfectly, and of course, with her wavy dirty blonde hair tied on the back with the ribbon Gaz gave her, worn out as it could be.

“Hey Lady! I miss you so much!!” The ginger greeted warmly all the while trying her best to stay balanced on her feet or else she’d fall five steps down to the ground on her back. As Lady pulled away, she gave room for Jade to step inside the warm house, taking a glance at Jade’s look.

“Whoa. You only wear two layers? You’re shivering!”

“Yeah. Apple juice all over my jacket, but don’t mind it.” She chuckled as she took off her jacket and coat to hang them on a standing coat hanger on the side of the door, “Have the others arrived?”

“You’re the last one. I came early with Kyle to bake the cookies and help Price with the food. Soap came second bringing sacks of snacks and drinks, and Ghost had just arrived before you, about 45 minutes ago.”

That caught Jade’s attention, her heart beat a little faster just at the mention of his name. “Just? Isn’t the Captain’s invitation at 5 PM?”

“Yeah. It looked like he was coming back from somewhere though.”

Somewhere?

Lady’s eyes half blinked, looking at her teasingly. “...Am I sensing something here?”

“What? No. No. It's just that he’s um… usually an on-time kind of man.” Jade tried her best to act indifferent, looking away from her to observe the doorway decorations.

“Oh really? I see, I see.” Ladybug nodded, “Because I might have heard some stuff from Kyle~”

Jade’s eyes opened wide at the statement, her mind already racing at the thought of what Gaz had said to his girlfriend. “What did he sa–”

“There’s me trusty Ginger!”

A voice which she could identify from a mile away as Soap’s, called to her. Donning the green military-issued sweater above his uniform, which he rolled to the elbow, he walked in both women’s directions with a chocolate biscuit in hand.

“Well hello there, Ocean Eyes.” Jade softly hugged Soap’s ever-bulky body while he patted her back several times. “How's your arm? Healing well?” She remembered how Soap got shot by Graves in Las Almas and how both of them, along with Ghost, had to survive the Shadow’s manhunt in the city. Even in Chicago he had to force through it.

“You’re one to talk. How's your side?” Soap pointed at her left side while munching through his biscuit.

“You got hit?! Where?!” Ladybug, who’d been in Urzikstan to help Farah and Alex for nearly a year after Barkov’s demise, hadn't been updated much about Las Almas. Looked like Gaz left that tiny little detail.

“She did get hit.”

“No! No no. I didn't get hit per se. We were… breaking into the Las Almas prison to free Alejandro and the Vaqueros - a little bullet missed my hip, but it did leave a teeny tiny graze.” Jade made a little gesture with her thumb and index fingers.

“It wasn't.” Soap retorted, which made Ladybug look even more concerned. “You almost fell from the prison walls during our escape and LT had to catch you and carry yo–”

“ANYWAY.” Jade tried to dismiss the conversation away from Ladybug’s growing unease. “It was quite literally us four against a thousand. So we had our own hits. It was a month ago, right? I literally walked my way here! See? Now. Where's the man of the house?”

“Thought you want to camp in that doorway.” Price's gravelly voice called from the living room, his head peaking out from one of the walls. “Come in and close that damned door will ya? The forecast said it’s going to rain snow unless you muppets want to shovel the snow.”

With Jade closing the door, they all walked together towards the interior of the house, where the warmth from the fireplace radiated throughout the room cozily. And holy shit. The word ‘family heirloom’ could perfectly describe the house. Some of the furniture looked like it was carved specifically for the house, soft carpets covered some parts of the wooden floor, and portraits of whom she assumed as the former Prices hung on the walls. The exterior of the house didn’t do the property justice at all. Soap had said that this was the Captain’s own house which he’d left mostly abandoned since he resided in Herefordshire. She wouldn’t lie, if Price turned out to be a secret old money she wouldn’t be surprised.

Jade’s eyes found Gaz at the kitchen island wearing the same exact outfit as Soap and Price, but with an apron around his waist while he pulled out another batch of chocolate cookies from the oven. Gaz noticed her presence when Ladybug approached him and pointed her way. “Oh, Jade! Come here and eat the salmon. You’re not allergic to fish aren’t you?” This sight of Gaz was pretty surprising for her. He seemed more cheerful and open around Ladybug, contrasting to his serious demeanour in the field. It was refreshing, to say the least.

Jade put down her bag on one of the sofas where Price sat on the edge of it, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands skilfully. “Nope, no allergies. Have all of you eaten yet? Sorry I’m late.”

“We have, and apparently my Ladybug over here is a vacuum cleaner of food.” Gaz was replied with an elbow to the rib by his partner.

Taking her own plate of baked salmon, Jade watched from just enough distance as Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ladybug played a game of poker on the desk. The atmosphere was tense from the rivalry but hearty at the same time, their laughs filled the room as Price caught Soap hiding a card on his sleeves, which resulted in a 50 push-up penalty for the Scot. Apart from the chaos, Jade couldn’t help but find herself trying to find that one particular big man.

The memories of sharing sleepless nights together on the rooftops of Fuerzas Especiales base rushed down her mind. Those moments made up the few moments of peace that they could muster up from the chaos of Las Almas. Just the both of them, the night sky, two cups of tea, and the lights from the city of souls. All those times they spent together completely with his mask on. Only when he decided to take off his mask in front of the 141 and Vaqueros did she ever see his face.

She’s good with faces. That’s an absolute requirement for her job. That image of his face was ingrained in her brain. How the black paints surrounded his surprisingly soft eyes, how the sun reflected his whiskey brown eyes and light eyelashes, the scars on his cheeks from wearing the mask, and his strong jaw.

Jade only wished she could enjoy the actual sight of it once more.

The former MI6 turned her head a number of times, making up blueprints of Price’s residency inside her mind. This house didn’t have a rooftop, and from the looks of it, all the bedrooms are located on the upper floors. Ghost likes looking out at the scenery, so he might’ve gone upstairs, broke into one of the many bedrooms and looked out on of the balconies as he sipped on a cup of tea. Considering how Ghost was, he’d break into his captain’s house without anyone knowing about it just fine.

All the while the others were playing, Jade finished her plate of grilled salmon and found her way towards the kitchen sink to wash the dishes. She came the latest, the least she could do was helping cleaning the kitchen area. That task came to a halt when her phone vibrated. She was confused at first, but when her eyes read ‘Col. Vargas 🤠’ on the screen, Jade immediately accepted the video call.

“Hola, Coronel! Como estas?”

“Hola, Compa! Muy bien, muy bien.” Alejandro's gravelly voice greeted her excitedly as his video showed on Jade’s screen. She could tell that the sun was still up in Mexico judging by the light on his face. He looks like he’s standing just outside his family’s house. Quite rare to see the colonel in other attire than his military ones, but as Jade saw his blue shirt tucked inside his blue jeans, she couldn’t help the snicker that came out of her mouth. She remembered that Alejandro had revealed to her privately that he had two beautiful daughters who lived in Mexico City with their maternal grandparents. “I’m in Mexico City with my family to celebrate Christmas. We’re about to head to church for the Christmas Eve sermon.” Alejandro continued in Spanish, but something caught his eye. “Wait, Jade. Where are you? Is that Soap?”

Jade lifted the phone above her head to help him see the place clearly, “Yes, that’s Soap, Captain Price, Gaz, and that’s Eleanor, Gaz’s girlfriend.” She said in his language. Her fingers pointed at each soldier as they slammed their cards on the table, chaos ensuing in the middle of them. “This is Captain Price's house in London. He invited us all for dinner, and now that it’s done, they’re playing poker, aggressively.”

Now it’s Alejandro’s turn to laugh. “I’m assuming they’re on their second bottle of whatever alcohol they’re consuming.”

“Yep. Looks like Captain Price is richer than he lets on. He has 4 bottles of wine from the 1800s! Can you believe it?!”

Jade and Alejandro continued their video call, sitting in her former position on the sofa. Despite Soap’s slight dislike that they were conversing in Spanish as he couldn’t understand what they were talking about, Jade kept on going. Jade learned that Rudy stayed in Las Almas to rebuild and restore the city after the Shadows wreaked havoc, encouraging Alejandro to leave the city and unite with his family.

“So. Onto the most important topic…” Alejandro’s voice sounded deeper and his eyebrows lifted. Jade had learned after a thrilling week working together that those were a sign that he was onto something cheeky. “Where’s the Ghost?”

Again, Jade’s heart beat faster at the mention of his name, and her stomach grew warmer. Damn it. “Um, I don’t know where he is. He is here somewhere in Price’s house, but… I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He’s there? Have you tried the rooftops?”

“This house doesn’t have a rooftop. It does have a lot of rooms with balconies, though. But I didn’t see any open window from the outside.” Her head started to look side to side, “ I don’t know if this house has a back or side entrance, he might be somewh– Alejandro!!” Jade stopped when she realized that Alejandro was laughing his belly off.

“You’re looking for him too, don’t you?” The colonel guffawed. “Aaah, You should’ve seen your face when you were explaining where he is to me.”

“That’s–”

“Look. I wished you luck with him back in Las Almas. It’s only natural that I asked for ‘updates’!”

“Keep fighting the good fight, hermano.” “To the bitter end, my brother.” Soap handshook the Mexican colonel and sergeant as they were about to leave Las Almas. He then turned around and tapped Ghost’s shoulders twice, heading towards the rear end of the aircraft to unite with Price and Gaz. The lieutenant though, stood still on the tarmac a few steps behind Jade. “Good luck amigos y amiga.” Jade hugged Rudy warmly, tapping her back a few times before holding out her hand to handshake Alejandro. Instead of a handshake, Jade saw a wide grin on Alejandro’s face and opened his arms wide, indicating that he was waiting for a hug as well. “Come here, Hermana!” Jade chuckled, expecting that a handshake wouldn’t be enough for the Mexican. She obliged by stepping forward and warped her arms around Alejandro’s figure. What Jade didn’t see though, was how Ghost’s body tensed slightly behind her. Alejandro sneakily observed the man’s movement, looking visibly uncomfortable. No matter how skilled Ghost was at appearing as still as he could, Alejandro could see that this skill of his just disappeared when he was in Jade’s presence. Before Alejandro let go, he lowered his voice and spoke to Jade’s ear. “Que te vaya bien con el fantasma.” ‘Good luck with the Ghost.’ Jade blushed profusely when she translated that sentence in her mind, stepping away from the hug to punch his shoulder lightly “ey!!” She looked over to his side, finding that Rodolfo was also grinning ear to ear. “I mean it, Jade.” Alejandro spoke in Spanish, tilting his head as a sign that he was serious. Jade’s head nodded in surrender a few times. As much as they wanted to converse more, her job wasn’t over yet. Her legs started to walk backwards, “Gracias, Alejandro, Rudy. Cuidate.” Alejandro observed as she turned around, finding Ghost’s waiting figure right in front of her. She then tapped his chest plate once, jogging her way towards Price, Gaz, and Soap on the aircraft. That sight made the colonel scoff, glancing at Rudy, who looked as amused as he was. Just as Ghost was about to turn around as well to join his teammates, Alejandro called to his name. “Ghost!” The lieutenant turned around. “No te pierdas carnal!” “A huevo!”

“The both of you have forced me and Rudy to watch a telenovela the entire time! Please tell me that you’ve at least done something together after Chicago.”

“We traded numbers…” She said nervously.

“And then? Did he text first?”

Jade grimaced, expecting that Alejandro wouldn’t react well to her next response. “We… haven’t texted at all.”

“NO MAMEEESSS!!” Ale facepalmed on the video call like he just watched the Mexican national football team fail to score a goal in a World Cup match. “Ghost… I swear… you need to do better.”

Jade stood up and walked over to the kitchen aisle yet again and put her phone on a leaning position on the wall, hoping that Alejandro’s shout of despair didn’t reach the other soldiers. “Well– what if he doesn’t want to continue this… whatever’s going on between us?” she grabbed a white mug and a cocoa mix, putting in 3 spoons of the choco powder inside. “You’ve seen how he is. I don’t want to hope too much.” Jade confessed to the colonel, pouring hot water on the mug and stirring the contents with a spoon until the sweet aroma hit her nose.

“Oh you don’t know that yet, right?” Ale replied, “Do you want to have a relationship with him?”

A relationship with Ghost?

That sounded crazy to say, but if she's being honest with herself, yes. Yes, she did.

“Yeah…” She started to walk towards the hallway on the side of the kitchen with the warm mug. The walkway looked narrow and led to the rear side of the house. She guessed that if this conversation was prolonged, they were going to need a place where Soap wasn’t shouting his lungs off. Her green eyes looked to the end of the room, where a wooden door similar to the front door was present in front of her. A back door perhaps?

“Okay. Now one of you needs to start. Ghost clearly isn’t starting because he’s a stupid, bad man. But maybe you can convince him that you’re worth his time.”

Worth his time? “How?”

“Start by finding him.”

The former MI6 walked towards the back door and glanced over the glass parts where the outer side of the house was visible. Just then, she registered a man with a large frame, sitting on the stairs of the back porch. He wore the same attire as the rest of the SAS members - their military uniform covered with a military-issued sweater, and layered further with a familiar black jacket that she’d seen before in Chicago. The man had a mask over his head, but she could see that it was currently lifted up as he took a sip of what she assumed was bourbon.

That’s definitely Ghost.

“Jade? What happened?” Alejandro asked curiously as she stopped speaking earlier.

“I found him.” She muttered.

Alejandro’s lips curved, slowly forming a smile.

“The floor is yours, Jade.”

—

*5 hours earlier*

Johnny : 'LT. You’re coming, right?'

Ghost looked down at his phone, staring at the message that Johnny had sent him, not planning to text anything back.

He hated Christmas. No, he didn’t hate decors, the bright lights, the red, green, and white that coloured the streets and buildings around him. No, he’s not petty like that. He’s indifferent to it.

What he hated was how the month of December always reminded him of the darkest part of his life.

He lowered his phone and tucked it inside his pocket, going back to the sight of his family’s gravestones right in front of him. His mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew.

Ghost remembered the blood; the foul stench hitting his nose as he stood frozen, witnessing the lifeless bodies of his family – all surrounded by the colourful lights of red, green, and blue from the Christmas tree that they were decorating. If only he realized sooner that his enemies wouldn’t settle with torturing him. If only he wasn’t so naive and thought that his battles were done as soon as he was home. How wrong he was.

How fucking wrong he was.

Ghost’s tears had dried out a long time ago. Every Christmas Eve he always visited their graves. He’d cry for the first three years, but now he’d settle with staring at the stones, not a word coming out of his mouth. Just him, alone with that memory.

His phone vibrated again. Johnny’s still messaging him about the dinner at Price’s house. Ghost closed his eyes in annoyance and sighed, taking his phone and turning it on to find a few messages.

Johnny : ‘Captain said not to disturb you during Christmas week’

Johnny : ‘Idk what you’re doing now’

Johnny : ‘but I hope you’re enjoying yourself’

Ghost moved his thumb on the keyboard screen, wanting to text Johnny that he was not coming and to stop messaging him.

Johnny : ‘Also’

Johnny : ‘Jade’s coming’

His thumb paused right above the send key.

Fuck.

Why did his heart beat faster suddenly? What was this warmth in his stomach? His memories of his family’s death disappeared, and suddenly all the moments with Jade came down rushing through his mind.

The moment when they met – where they shot at each other in Verdansk, leaving a permanent mark on his left ear – The sleepless nights in Las Almas, the meaningless conversations, their moments in battle together. How beautiful she was when she kept her calm during pressing and stressful situations, the grace in her movements…

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

Ghost had read Price’s invitation two weeks before in their group chat. He already made up his mind from the beginning that he wasn’t coming. He never really enjoyed parties or any form of gathering at all. That’s how he’d been living for three decades of his life. Why did that one mention of her name from Johnny instantly change his resolve just like that?

He didn’t reply to Johnny at all, only leaving the two blue check marks indicating that he’d read Johnny’s messages.

And that… was how Ghost ended up sitting on Price’s back porch. The crescent moon was high in the sky. Little bits of snow started to fall down alongside the windy weather. For the first time of the day, he had his skull-painted balaclava up to his nose in order to take a sip from his glass of bourbon.

When he had arrived at Price’s front yard with his sedan, Ghost saw the amused surprise in Price, Gaz, and Lady’s faces, but he also took a glimpse of Johnny’s smirk on his lips. The sergeant now knew the way to his heart, and it infuriated him. God damn him.

The sun was already long gone by that time, and he could see that the others were already in the midst of eating their dinner.

He’d sneakily taken a glance around Price’s luxurious house.

No Jade yet.

Ghost had conversed for a while with Price, took his own plate of baked salmon, poured himself a glass of bourbon, and excused himself to the back door. For an hour and a half, he sat right there, slowly sipping on his alcohol. Just as he thought that she wasn’t coming and that Johnny had lied to him, the wooden door behind his back opened.

He turned around and found the woman herself.

Jade.

Her ginger hair was braided like usual, but stopped on the back of her head, letting the long hair run freely down her back and shoulders. The deep red turtleneck which usually looked out of place in warm weather such as Las Almas currently fitted perfectly on her figure. A green pair of wide pants hung from her hip, letting the fabric run freely downwards instead of wrapping around her legs like the jeans he’s used to seeing her wearing during their mission together.

Ghost caught her green eyes, reflected by the moonlight, and he could easily tell that she wore some sort of makeup. What the name was he couldn’t bother to remember, but she looked… beautiful.

His heart was already beating pretty fast from the alcohol, but now it’s going even faster, and don’t even start about the butterflies that were flying rampant inside his stomach right now.

She only stared at him, her breaths turning to cloud along with the vapour from the cocoa mug she was holding. For a few seconds, they stayed like that, until Jade finally started.

“Why aren't you inside? It's cold.”

Can you miss someone’s voice? Apparently you can, judging by the unexplainable sense of relief that washed over him after he heard her voice. The last time he heard her voice was back in Chicago, a month ago. He then turned around again, facing Price's plain backyard to try hiding any signs from his exposed mouth that she might read. The former MI6 had this scary skill to read every body language of any person. Sure, he had a mask up to his nose, but he wouldn’t take any chances.

“I don't like parties.” He replied.

“It's cold.”

“Better than whatever's going inside. And I have my friend right here to keep me warm.” He slightly lifted the bourbon glass, shaking it slightly to make the content swirl.

Jade hummed. She observed his glass and noticed the alcohol. For all their nights in Las Almas, Ghost always drank tea, never alcohol. Of course, they were in active duty, so drinking liquor could cost them so much, but he'd said himself that he pretty rarely drinks, since Ghost had confessed that he liked being in control of what he did. She wondered why he was drinking, but she let it go. Instead, Jade stepped two stairs down, and sat beside Ghost’s left, drinking her own cup of hot chocolate.

“Why are you here?” Now it's Ghost’s turn to start.

She wondered how to answer that. If she's being honest, the answer would be ‘to be with you’, but she deleted that response in her mind.

“I… don't really like parties.”

“…You don't look the type.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s ‘my’ type?”

Ghost took another sip from the glass, “Likes being around people. Gets your energy from a communal space.”

The former MI6 scoffed. “Fooled you right there. Maybe it’s just me, but being around people automatically sets me in observation mode. Don’t get me wrong, I like people. It’s just tiring.”

“Hm.”

Another few seconds of silence, before she continued. “What about you? Why are you here?”

“Gets noisy inside, especially if Johnny's starting to lose his grip on reality.” Ghost immediately answered, almost like he expected Jade to ask him that. “He’s a screamer.”

“Hey how's your graze wound? It's healing well right?

Jade suddenly asked, which surprised Ghost. He glanced at Jade, finding the woman herself looking straight into his brown eyes. He should admit, her face so close to his caught him off-guard, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, creating a cloud in the air. Ghost then took a sip from his glass again before answering. “Yeah. I changed the dressing every once in a while. It's just a scab now. “ To be honest, he kind of forgot about the wound on his right shoulder. It was disgustingly painful during their time in Las Almas and Chicago considering how he must carry the chestplate and his gears on that shoulder. The memory of Jade tending to that wound of his at the safehouse came rushing down his brain.

“Okay, that's a relief then. Just make sure you don't scratch it or it'll open again.”

“I know the drill, Midget, I’m not a kid. This isn't my first rodeo. What about you?”

“Wh-what about me?”

“Your hip.”

The former MI6 sucked both of her lips between her teeth. “It’s fine.”

“Fine how?”

Jade now looked at Ghost’s brown eyes, intensely gazing at her own. He wasn’t taking ‘It’s fine’ as an answer. He was always an intense person. She suddenly remembered the feeling of being safe in his hands when he carried her towards the van, arms under her shoulder and knees when she couldn’t bear the pain in her hip any longer.

How Ghost had slept the whole night, in a sitting position on a chair beside her bed in the safehouse with his mask on, staying right by her side.

“Oi. Midget. I’m asking you.”

That snapped her out of her thoughts. “Huh? Yeah! It’s a bit itchy at times, but I can manage. It’s healing well.”

That answer seemed to finally satisfy him. “Hm.”

Jade went back to her hot chocolate, but Ghost didn’t leave her. He could see her shivering a little bit in the cold. The tip of her nose and ears had turned rosy.

“You cold?”

“Hm? No! No, not at all. Why?"

“You're shivering. And where's your jacket? A single layer of sweater won't help with this fucking weather.”

“Well– About that. I was at the orphanage for Christmas gift trading earlier before coming here. One of the kids got… too excited and spilt apple juice all over my jacket, so I had to take it off.” She admitted.

“What, you're gonna freeze yourself to death here? It's 1 degree out.”

“I don't want to be insiiiide.” Jade whined, almost childish. A sight Ghost would never admit he found cute.

“Your survival instincts are out of the damn window. I thought you were a seasoned MI6 black agent.” Somehow he found more ways to ridicule her.

The ginger scowled, pouting her lips before standing up “…Whatever, I'm going inside”

“Fuckin’ hell– stay. Stay here. Sit back down.” Ghost’s swift hand grabbed her forearm a bit too harshly, prompting her to balance her hand as a drop of her hot chocolate spilt out to the white snow below.

“Why? You want me to freeze to death?” Regardless, she sat back down, closer to his body now.

“You're the only company I've got that isn't annoying. So stay here.” Ghost unexpectedly moved his arms to take off his black jacket, revealing his green sweater underneath, and much to Jade’s surprise, his arms loomed over her and rested the dark clothing around her shoulders. Her bewilderment failed to hide itself when his hand patted her shoulder a couple of times to set it in place. “There. Better?”

Wow. It’s… warm. And most importantly, It’s his warmth.

One of her hands left the warm mug, softly tracing her fingers along the hem of the jacket to tuck it closer to her chest. “...Better.”

Shit. Ghost didn’t know the sight of Jade beneath his jacket would create more butterflies to fly like bees inside his stomach. In an attempt to suppress it, he sighed, leaning back and closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

…before he opened his eyes, finding a mistletoe hanging right above them, placed neatly. And purposefully. It’s like a damned grenade trap. “…Fuckin’ hell…”

“STOP SWEARING!!” Jade exclaimed, annoyed at his shortage of vocabulary. “You've said those words twice in the same mi– What are you looking at…?” Jade looked at Ghost, who was leaning back while his head hung backwards on his neck.

She looked up as well, finding the mistletoe that made him swear. “…oh, blimey.” There was not a single Christmas decoration on the back side of the house but this one. Price was a person who had a high attention to detail, but Christmas decoration was not one of them. Heck, he barely decorated the house at all. That thing was hung far too strategically.

Both Ghost and Jade were thinking of the same thing.

Soap.

Ghost sighed, “Just ignore it.”

“But it's bad luck though.” Jade thoughtlessly said.

“You don't really believe that, do you.”

“Well I don't! It's hanging vegetation. Still, I'm saying it could be true.” Her hands gestured at the mistletoe above her.

“What, you want a kiss?”

The woman gasped, almost offendedly. “HUH? KISS YOU??”

“Who else is underneath this fucking mistletoe?”

She joked, trying desperately to hide her panic at the thought of kissing him. “A ghost.”

“Fucking funny. Also what's with you? It's just one kiss.”

Jade stopped speaking. Her eyes widened as she pursed her lips. “Um…. I just don't…”

Confusion fell down Ghost’s half-masked expression, quickly reading her reaction, until he got to the conclusion. “...Don't fucking tell me you haven't had your first kiss yet.”

When he saw how Jade couldn’t respond anymore, Ghost pinched his forehead.“Bloody hell... Then why did you say you want it?!”

“I NEVER SAID I WANT IT??? I just said that the bad luck thingy could be true!”

“Well fuck us for five hundred years then!”

“DAMMIT– OKAY!! KISS ME!”

Those words perplexed him, not realizing that he was practically glaring at her that his eyes might come out of its socket. The ever-present black paint around his eyes didn’t help to ease the tension either. Jade herself didn’t know which thunder slapped her that she said those words. She wasn’t the kind of person to just spout things without thinking of the consequences first.

Ghost observed Jade’s face, trying to read her expression, to see whether or not she was joking or serious. Because in the deepest part of his heart, he’d hoped that she was joking. But even deeper, he hoped that she wasn’t. “…you don't mean that.”

Jade wondered if her mouth had disconnected from her brain. What she was saying came out literally the opposite of what her instincts were. “You heard me. You can kiss me. Just a peck though.” What was she thinking? This was NOT what she wanted to say. Or was it? “How many women have you kissed?” Aaand now she’s prying onto his past? Great job, Jade.

He used to be young, that’s for sure. Despite his father and brother mocking him and his mother for it, he used to go to school and met a few women during his learning days. Only two of them, though, and that was all before he got into military. He didn’t know what commitment was back in the day, and his ‘girlfriends’ didn’t know that either. “...a few.”

“Were they experienced?”

“Probably so.”

Okay, so he had some experience. That somehow made her feel easy. “Well… I have zero experience on the act. So… be gentle, okay?”

“…Fine.“ Ghost breathed as he put down his almost-empty glass on the stone staircase behind him, finding Jade doing the same.

The coldness of the wind prickled her skin, making her realize that this was not a dream. He’s about to kiss her, and it’s from a mistletoe. Out of nowhere, she remembered the overflow of mistletoe that the orphanage received earlier. Could that be a sign? Either way, she snapped back to her current state, where Ghost was visibly looking at her lips, and that sight made her heart drum twice the speed. At this point, she might explode. “Okay. So… what do I do? Do I tilt my head a little, or do I open my lips just a little bit? Should I lean in to kiss you too? Or like–”

“Just. Stay. Still.” Ghost shut her up before she could blabber more.

“Okay okay okay”.

Jade watched Ghost secure his mask up to his nose, revealing his mouth. When she glanced at his lips, Jade could see a tinge of red on his cheek, but she could dismiss that as a reaction to the cold or from the alcohol he was drinking. When he leaned in slowly, Jade could see him so close, the closest he's ever been to her. His eyelashes were longer than she's ever realised, fluttering against his skin, the little healed scars on his face–

Jade sucked her lips into her teeth, "WAIT WAIT WAIT." Making the man flinch and pull away in confusion.

"What?! Do you wanna do this or not?!" Ghost exclaimed.

"I do, I do! It's my first time! Just–”

“I said all you need to do is stay. Still.”

“I've never done this before, literally! I'm 29 and I've never kissed someone!”

Ghost fell silent as Jade hid her face on her palm.

“…I have never fallen for anyone before.” She confessed. “I wanted my first kiss to be with the one and only, and now… “ Her hands wildly gestured to the mistletoe above them, “someone happened to put a mistletoe right above us.”

Jade was a lot of things. A formidable fighter, a dependable ally, a brave operator who’d jump from a cliff with you, a spawn of the devil herself when she does her thing. However, at that moment, Ghost didn’t see any of those at all. All she saw was a vulnerable woman, curled up in a ball because she couldn’t fathom the concept of a single kiss.

After a few moments of him letting her collect her thoughts, Ghost muttered, “…Jade, if you're not ready, then we can just pretend that it doesn't exist. You don't have to.”

“You know what?” She tapped both of her knees with a considerable force, like she just made up her mind about something. “I gotta start somewhere right? Besides, when I finally kiss my man, I need to work on my kissing game.”

Ghost couldn’t help the scoff out his mouth. And… ‘her man’, huh? That could be a dream. “'Kissing game'?”

“Yes! Gotta…know what it feels like, at least?”

Ghost observed her expressions yet again. The woman in front of her was looking at him like she’s about to surrender her life to his hands. What, was he about to shoot an apple above her head? To him this was just a kiss after all.

Or was it?

Jade wasn’t his girlfriends during his younger days. She’s an extraordinary woman like no other.

“…Okay. Look. We're gonna do this slowly. I will do all the work while you can just stay there. Does that work with you?” Ghost started, looking at Jade in the eyes.

She put on the bravest face she could muster up and proceeded with a nod.

“Say it.” The deep timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine, because of course, it wasn’t enough for him.

“Okay, Ghost.”

“Good. Close your eyes, Jade. Just calm down. Trust me.

As she closed her eyes, she breathed the cold winter air deeply before letting them out. Now that her vision was no more, her other senses had heightened. The sharp cold air stabbing her skin, the smell of hot cocoa on her hands, the faint scent of something that could only come from Ghost's jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

For a good amount of time, she didn't feel anything other than her surroundings. Jade was expecting something on her lips. Anything from the man that was sitting right in front of her, but none came. She was about to open her eyes and call his name, until something touched her chin, lightly lifting her head to face upwards. And just then, Jade finally felt a soft, tender kiss on her forehead. His lips stayed there only for a second before they parted with her skin, yet it felt like she longed for it for more than eternity. No one has ever laid their lips on her skin before. No one.

What she was expecting was something on her lips, not her forehead, so when Jade was about to open her eyelids, again, he stopped her by putting his fingers on her left cheek, tenderly sliding them from her rosy cheek to the back of her ear, taking the stray strands of her red hair with them. The hands that killed, that murdered many so more could live, were gingerly touching her face with an unexpected amount of softness. She didn’t know his hands were capable of doing such delicate movements, and neither did he.

Before she could register what was happening, she felt him getting close again, and for the second time, her expectation betrayed her when Ghost kissed her cheek, just right under her eye. The kiss lasted longer than the one on her forehead, yet Jade couldn’t find any reason to complain. If anything, she wanted his lips to stay on her cheek longer than that. To feel him closer, to feel him more.

Ghost’s fingers moved on backwards from behind her ear, going through the wilds of her undone hair and finding its place on the back of her head. Heart racing, Jade was expecting another kiss that was not in the designated place. However, when his deep, raspy voice softly said to her, “I’m going to kiss you now.”, she found herself giddy with her eyes closed. Part of her wanted to open her eyes and see what was going on right in front of her, but the other part stood strong against it, not wanting to ruin the moment.

So when she felt him closing in, Jade gave all control over to him. She relaxed herself, letting Ghost gently pull her head closer to his, to at last, close the distance between their lips.

It was the softest, slowest kiss possible, filled with unsureness on her part, yet with a sense of certainty and confidence from him, and because of that, Jade let him do his part, leading the kiss to the point that it was enjoyable and… lovely.

The kiss lasted for only a mere 5 seconds at most, but it felt like hours. Ghost reluctantly pulled back and saw that Jade had already opened her green eyes. Her face was painted with shyness and shock, a pleasant one, as she saw that Ghost had removed his mask entirely, his face right in front of hers, his brown hair still a bit dishevelled from removing his balaclava.

Jade was a heavily trained warrior and an exceptionally skilled individual who stayed calm in times of distress and emergency on the battlefield, a force to be reckoned with, and could be an absolute menace when she wanted to be. Now, seeing the same woman like this – dazed, wide-eyed, a blushing mess, and taken aback by a simple kiss – The sight made him smile softly.

If only she'd known how long he'd wanted to do that to her.

Palm still resting on the side of her neck, he asked her, “How was that for a first time?”

Jade looked like a robot losing its ability to function. There were no words in her brain to respond to his question. Scratch that. It looked like she didn’t even register what his question was.

Seeing her so flabbergasted made him let out a deep chuckle. “Midget. I’m talking to you.”

That bastardized nickname snapped her out of her thoughts, making her blink rapidly, seemingly trying to sort her jumbled brain. Jade looked at the man who just claimed her first kiss right in his dark, brown eyes.

He’s still right in front of her, face looking at her delightfully with a sweet smile, not like the usual dark, ready-to-kill gaze. It’s almost like looking at a different person entirely.

“Uh… Umm–” Jade couldn’t form words.

Another chuckle, “You okay?”

"...this is a weird request, but" A pause, "Can you… do that again?"

Never in a thousand lifetimes, he would ever expect that answer from her. "...You want me to kiss you again?"

"Yeah. Can you do that?" She spoke with a low voice. "Please?"

His eyes opened wide at her request. Confused, but amazed at the same time. Did that request mean she liked it? Her expressions said that she did, though. Or did she just want to make sure? Nevertheless, Ghost decided to oblige and leaned in again to kiss her.

Jade closed her eyes again and felt his lips against hers for the second time that night. His kiss was as soft and as tender as the first time. This one, though, she decided to take in the feeling of his rough lips, the way he tilted his head to fit hers, the way his large hand lightly pulled her in and softly kissed her. All the sensations she felt from his actions became ecstasy.

Her hands lifted their way up to find Ghost's cheeks. Jade could swear she heard a small gasp from the man. Fingers gliding along the side of his face, she could feel his stubbles grazing her skin. It was such a surreal sensation, to think that this is the face of the man who got branded as a ghost, a myth, who wears the mask to hide who he is. Right now, she's having her palm on the skin of his face, and he allowed her to.

No one had touched the skin on his face in years. No one ever managed to get their hands on his face save for enemies who sought to kill him and punched his mask before meeting their demise with his knife. The only form of touch he remembered was of his father, who was all but loving.

With the tip of her thumb, Jade traced the scars on his face. Her warm hands instantly built a gentle fire on his skin. The feeling of such a tender touch was almost like meeting a stranger to him. But if it's a stranger, why did he find himself missing it so much? Why did he yearn for it so? Her touch ignited a warmth that he never knew he needed.

At that time, the woman he was kissing felt more like home than anything and anyone ever did. He felt like he could just melt right there and then. Here Ghost thought that he was the one kissing her, but now it was like she was the one casting some sort of magic spell on him.

Soon, their hands moved, Jade’s hands left his cheeks and found his wrist who was holding the back of her head. He almost forgot the feeling of someone’s hand on his own, but before he knew it, he felt her other hand grasping his sweater, right above his heart, crumpling the cloth. As they went on, he couldn’t just stay still anymore. Ghost’s other hand also found its way to her back, lightly pressing on her. He wanted her closer, he needed her close.

Ghost snapped himself out of his thoughts and pulled back, catching Jade off guard.

The both of them looked into each other's eyes as they caught their breaths, not noticing that they'd been kissing for the last minute. Faces extremely red from racing hearts and rushing blood, clouds of cold air escaping their mouth from the cold, for a moment they thought they knew this was just because of a single mistletoe, yet deep down, they knew this was something more.

Not hearing anything from one another, Ghost took his hand back from her neck and waist as Jade parted her hands from him to her lips with her hands.

The man spoke first, "You need more?"

"Yes– I mean– No! That was enough." Words stumbled their way out of her mouth. "Uh… So… that happened. I just had my first kiss."

Ghost couldn't help the smile, "I just stole your first kiss."

"No. You didn't steal it." She denied, "If anything, I'm glad you are my first kiss."

Hearing those words, Ghost could feel his heart racing again, the world suddenly felt warmer.

"I'm sorry you have to kiss me, though. You've always hated me." Jade continued with a laugh.

"Who says I hate you?"

That made her look at him, and what she saw was the most gentle face she'd ever seen him. Again, she didn't know he was capable of that expression. "If I hated you, I wouldn't ask you to stay, wouldn't I?"

That's a true statement. "You're right. So we're past the "stay away from me" phase now?"

"Our first meeting was in Verdansk. Situation was out of control and we were off to a bad start." He explained, "And we just kissed. We're way past that now."

Smiling, Jade pursed her lips before saying, "So… are we still friends?"

"Friends?" He glanced at her.

"Yep."

"Friends then." Confirmed Ghost.

"Who just kissed each other."

"Because someone hung a fucking mistletoe on the back porch." He retorted while gesturing to the decoration above them.

The woman laughed out loud before looking at the man, who was also having a chuckle of his own.

That's the first time she heard him – saw him – this happy. Had he always been this… handsome? She'd only looked at his face once before, which was when he revealed himself to the team in the Los Vaqueros safehouse in Las Almas, and then, never again.

But if this was what Jade could see beneath the mask – his happy face, the crows feet on the corners of his eyes, the corners of his lips turning upwards, and the fact that she just learned that he had shallow dimples when smiling – then she wished the mask could just disappear. Forever.

Because after this… he would put on that mask again.

This might be the last time she saw him without the mask.

When would she see him without it again?

Out of nowhere, some unexplainable force of will inside her made Jade lean in and left a peck on Ghost's cheek.

The SAS lieutenant instantly looked at the woman, flabbergasted.

Jade herself gasped loudly, covering her face in disbelief of her own action. She couldn't see it, but in his eyes, her face was as red as her hair.

Why did she do that? What made her do that?!

They swore it was the most deafening silence in their lives. Both of them stayed like that for a good 10 seconds, seemingly trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened.

"Oh my God… OH MY GOD. I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY!” Jade uttered in absolute panic.

Ghost stayed still in silence, his eyes wide open glaring at hers.

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. He’s mad. HE’S MAD.

“It– It's freezing! I'm going inside!" Jade scrambled to stand up, taking the cocoa mug with her and went to the doorway, before remembering that she still had Ghost's jacket on her shoulder.

"Ja- Lottie! Wait–" He was about to stand up to follow her, but his words got cut by his jacket flying straight to his face. When he removed the clothing, she'd already disappeared into the merry party inside.

Touching the part where Jade kissed him, Ghost slowly stared back at the falling snow in front of the porch. He hadn't worn his jacket yet, and somehow he didn't feel cold at all.

It's so hot.

It's too hot.

He buried his face in his palms, before running them through his brown hair. She didn't have to do that, didn't she? There was a mistletoe, they kissed because of it, and that was it, right?

Then what was that peck for? There wasn't any obligation involved that required her to kiss him again.

Ghost could feel his heart pumping blood faster than it ever did, faster than when he was on the battlefield, faster than when he ran laps every day. Butterflies were rushing deep inside his stomach, flying all around his insides like it just wanted to break out of his body.

He didn't know why, but if the kiss and her touch were a gentle fire that built slowly, that little peck felt like he just got struck by a damn thunder.

Violently.

And yet, he was so happy about that little peck - weirdly more so than the kiss - Too fucking happy.

Ghost grasped the sweater right above his heart before muttering to himself,

"Fuckin’ hell…"

Jade didn't melt his cold heart.

She set it on fire.

—

Price couldn’t believe the situation he was in.

His sergeants, Kyle and Soap, along with Ladybug, leaning on the back door of his house, looking at Ghost and Jade kissing at his back porch. Fucking spectacular.

“See, Gaz?! I told you–”

“SHUT UP Mate they’re gonna hear your loud arse.” Gaz nudged the drunken Scot’s rib to silence him.

Nevertheless, the plan worked. Gaz and Ladybug was the provider of the decorations since Price didn’t have any Christmas Decorations in this house in London. When Soap arrived with a mischievous look on his face and told the couple about “Operation Red Skull”, they were automatically IN on it.

And who would’ve fucking guessed? They made his house a home ground for matchmaking, and they succeeded. They weren’t his best subordinates for nothing after all.

Suddenly, Price heard a loud gasp from the three in front of him. His captain persona suddenly kicked in and stepped forward, shoving both of his sergeants to see the situation clearly.

There they saw Jade and Ghost, looking at each other, with Jade’s face looking like she was absolutely shocked.

“Oh my God… did she just sneak another kiss to him?!” Ladybug exclaimed with a whispering voice.

“FUCK! I didn’t have a clear visual.” Gaz followed.

“I think it was just a peck to his cheek??” Soap added.

“Everyone fall back!” Price commanded, and just like muscle memory, they all scrambled back to the living room, taking their respective deck of poker cards and sat around the messy table to pretend like they were still playing.

Soon after, Jade herself opened the back door with a face that none of them had ever seen before – a combination of shock and embarrassment.

“Jade? You okay?” Lady twisted her body to see Jade.

The former MI6 nodded uncontrollably like a shaking head doll. “Huh? Yeah. Yeah yeah, I’m okay.”

Gaz and Soap were covering their mouths with their deck of cards, unable to hide their smiles. It looked like they were about to break into a massive laughter any second now.

What broke it was Captain Price, who suddenly asked Jade,

“Really? What’s that black spot on your nose, then?”

---

YEEEHHEHEEHEHHHEHE. Sorry for the long wait! Thank you for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it! (❁´◡`❁)

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

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kammachem · 4 months ago

Text

Through Hell for You╎CH 2╎Dangerous Tides

⁎ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader ⁎ Genre: Enemies to Lovers ⁎ Rating: +18 ⁎ Word Count: 7.4k ⁎ Chapter Warnings: cursing, mentions of shooting, light misogyny basically goes unnoticed but it's there. ⁎ Playlist: Control - Halsey, Teeth - 5 Seconds Of Summer, Killshot - Magdalena Bay, Heathens - Twenty One Pilots

"If I wanna stay alive you should never cross my mind" - Killshot - Magdalena Bay

The safe house in Kyiv was dimly lit, the scent of old wood and gun oil thick in the air. Ghost leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, as Price went over the mission details. Across from him, standing just a little too rigid, was Lieutenant Kilie Reyez—the newest addition to Task Force 141.

He’d heard about her long before this moment. Colombian Special Forces, Tier One. Expert marksman, urban warfare specialist. She had a reputation for getting things done, but Ghost had seen enough so-called "specialists" fold under pressure when shit hit the fan. He didn’t put much stock in reputations—he only cared about results.

The room was filled with quiet tension as Price tapped a satellite image on the map-laden table.

"Alright, listen up," he started, dragging his gloved hand across the aerial view of the Podil district. "Our target’s Vasyl Markov—ex-Spetsnaz, now an arms dealer. Bastard’s been movin’ high-grade weapons across Eastern Europe, and we’ve finally pinned him down. He’s operatin’ out of this warehouse here. Tonight, he’s makin’ a shipment. That convoy leaves, and we’ll be dealin’ with more than just small arms fire."

Soap leaned in, tracing his finger over the streets surrounding the warehouse. "Convoys got a standard security setup—lead vehicle, cargo transport, and a rear guard. All ex-military, well-trained. Won’t be easy to crack."

Ghost narrowed his eyes at the map, analyzing the angles. Predictable. Routine. Which meant it was exploitable.

Price continued, his voice firm. "Plan’s simple. Ghost, you and Reyez are takin’ overwatch here." He tapped a rooftop overlooking the main route. "We’ll set up a blocking action—controlled IEDs, spike strips, anything to cripple their mobility. Once they’re pinned, we breach, extract Markov, and secure the cargo."

Gaz nodded. "We approach from the east, hit ‘em fast. Need Markov alive—intel on his suppliers is priority one."

Ghost didn’t bother looking at Reyez. He just felt the weight of her presence next to him, still and silent. But when Price assigned her to precision fires, she finally spoke.

"Copy that." Her voice was smooth, clipped. Her English was sharp, barely touched by an accent, but Ghost could hear it in the edges of her words—a subtle trace of Spanish, softened by years of working alongside English-speaking operators.

Price’s gaze shifted between the two of them, like he was expecting something. "I need you two workin’ together on this. No lone-wolf shite."

Ghost exhaled slowly. "Long as she don’t miss."

Kilie turned her head slightly, one brow arching as she stared him down. "I don’t miss."

Ghost let out a quiet scoff, unimpressed. "Everyone says that ‘til they do."

Kilie tilted her chin up, stepping just slightly closer, as if daring him to challenge her. "I’ve got more confirmed kills than half the men in this room," she shot back. "I don’t need you second-guessing my shot."

Ghost smirked under his mask, shaking his head. "Ain’t second-guessin’. Just statin’ the obvious. No one’s perfect."

Kilie huffed a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. "And yet you’re sittin’ here actin’ like you are."

Soap, who had been watching the exchange like it was his new favorite soap opera, cleared his throat. "Alright, alright, let’s not start plannin’ each other’s funerals just yet." He shot Ghost a grin. "Y’know, mate, I think she might actually be able to keep up with you."

Ghost rolled his shoulders, refusing to rise to the bait. "We’ll see."

Kilie’s lips twitched. "We will."

Price let out a tired sigh, rubbing his temples. "Jesus. If you two are done flirtin’, we’ve got a mission to run."

Ghost and Kilie both snapped their attention back to him, nearly in sync.

"We’re not—"

"Not a chance—"

Price held up a hand. "Didn’t bloody ask. Just gear up. Wheels up in an hour."

Ghost pushed away from the wall, already heading for the armory. The mission was clear-cut. She was the problem. She was too damn confident, too damn sure of herself. And in his experience, people like that either backed it up or got themselves killed.

He’d find out soon enough which one she was.

The briefing was sharp and to the point. Ghost stood at the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest, his face hidden beneath the skull mask. Task Force 141 was getting a new member, and he didn't need to be told who it was—he already knew.

Kilie Reyez. A rookie, straight out of training.

But not just any rookie. She was handpicked, brought in for something bigger, and he hated that. The mission was simple: infiltrate a weapons deal, extract the intel, eliminate any threats. A standard op, but one that would test the team’s cohesion. And the biggest challenge? His new partner.

He wasn’t interested in small talk. He wasn't interested in anything that wasn’t mission-related. And Kilie? She made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Not because she was bad—far from it. She was good, but that was the problem. She was too good.

When they stepped out of the briefing room, Kilie fell into step beside him. Ghost didn’t acknowledge her. He didn't need to. His mind was already in mission mode, the plan running through his head over and over. This wasn’t personal. This was business.

The drop zone was quiet, too quiet. The night air felt colder than usual as they moved to the target location. Ghost led the way, keeping a few paces ahead of Kilie. He could hear her behind him, her boots light but steady, the slight rustle of her gear making her presence known. But that was all it was—her presence. He didn’t let himself think about anything else.

“Stay behind me. Watch for movement,” Ghost muttered, voice low as they neared the warehouse.

Kilie didn’t respond immediately, but he could feel her eyes on him. He didn’t turn to look, just kept moving. She was too confident, too sure of herself.

Ghost preferred the quiet types—those who followed the lead without a word. But Kilie was different. She didn’t just follow. She questioned. Challenged. And that irritated him more than he cared to admit.

As they approached the perimeter, Ghost raised a hand, signaling for them to take cover. His eyes scanned the area. The intel said there would be four guards on the perimeter, but there was no telling how many were inside. He couldn’t afford any slip-ups.

Kilie stepped up beside him, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think we’ll run into trouble?”

Ghost didn’t glance at her. He didn’t need to. "Stay focused," he said, his tone clipped.

She didn’t seem to take offense, but he could tell she was trying to gauge him. He was used to it. Everyone tried to read him. But it never worked. Not on him.

They moved through the shadows, slipping past the guards silently. The building’s structure was a maze of hallways and tight spaces, and every step took them deeper into enemy territory. Ghost kept his movements controlled, methodical, scanning each corner before advancing.

Kilie stayed close, but there was something in her approach that grated against him. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t linger. She just moved, like it was second nature. Like she was too damn confident for her own good.

When they reached the first room, a small storage area with crates and boxes stacked high, Ghost signaled for her to check the corner while he covered her. She gave him a sharp nod and crept forward, her movements fluid, almost too smooth.

The briefest glance passed between them, and Ghost felt that familiar tension coil in his chest. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. He wasn’t here to make friends.

They cleared the room without a sound, no enemies in sight, but the feeling of being watched lingered. Ghost could feel it—the sensation that something was wrong. But the intel said this was the safe part of the building. They had to be in and out, quick and clean.

As they approached the central area where the deal was supposed to go down, Ghost moved ahead, his mind already planning the next steps. There were two armed men near the back, but nothing Ghost couldn’t handle. He raised his hand to signal Kilie to move, but before he could act, she was already darting ahead, slipping into the shadows without a word.

A knot tightened in his stomach, irritation mixing with something else he refused to label. He wasn’t here to babysit. He was here to execute the mission. But Kilie didn’t wait for him. She was already on the move, closing the distance with the two men faster than he expected.

“Dammit,” Ghost muttered under his breath, moving to cover her six.

Kilie made quick work of the first guard, her hand over his mouth as she twisted his neck with a sickening crunch. The second one didn’t even get a chance to raise his weapon before she dropped him to the ground. Efficient. Deadly.

But Ghost couldn’t stop the annoyance from simmering beneath his skin. She had acted without hesitation, as if she didn’t even need backup. And while the mission was a success, he wasn’t about to let her think she could do it alone.

“Next time, follow orders,” he said curtly, his voice like ice.

Kilie glanced at him, unfazed. “Next time, maybe you’ll trust me.”

He didn’t answer, just moved past her to retrieve the intel they’d come for. Her words lingered, though. And that pissed him off even more. He didn’t trust anyone. He never had. And Kilie wasn’t about to change that.

The rest of the mission went smoothly. The warehouse was cleared, the intel retrieved, and the threats neutralized. As they made their way to the extraction point, the tension between them hung thick in the air, but neither of them spoke of it. Ghost kept his gaze forward, eyes scanning for threats, as always.

Kilie fell into step beside him, her movements as precise as his own. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The mission was over, but there was something left between them. An unspoken understanding—or maybe it was just the challenge of each trying to outdo the other. Either way, it was there.

When they reached the extraction point, Ghost finally allowed himself a breath. The mission was a success. And that’s all it was.

But Kilie...

She was something else.

And Ghost had no intention of figuring out what that meant. Not now, not ever.

The mission debriefing took place in a dimly lit, sterile room, the kind that always smelled faintly of stale coffee and tension. A long table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by Task Force 141’s finest, including Price, Soap, Ghost, and Kilie.

Price was at the head, eyes sharp and focused, his posture rigid as always. Ghost leaned against the wall in the corner, arms crossed tightly, his mask still on, as if the walls of the room were somehow still as dangerous as the ones they’d just left behind. Kilie was seated across from him, her posture relaxed, but there was a fire behind her eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.

Price cleared his throat, drawing attention to the screen that flickered to life behind him, showing a satellite view of the location they’d hit earlier.

"Mission recap," he began, his voice low and controlled. "We were tasked with retrieving intel on Russian arms deals, specifically the connection to the cartels in Eastern Europe. We did that successfully. There were no civilian casualties, and the target was eliminated."

He pointed to a map that zoomed in on a building marked with a red X, the primary objective. "Ghost, Reyez, you two were on point for the extraction. What’s your assessment?"

Ghost remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving the map. "Smooth entry, minimal resistance. We handled it," he said in his usual flat tone. "Target was eliminated in the building; we secured the intel without incident. Extraction was quick. No complications."

Kilie didn’t share the same calm demeanor. She leaned forward slightly, tapping a finger against the table.

"There was an issue with the backup team, though. They weren’t where they were supposed to be when we got to the extraction point. We had to improvise and handle the perimeter ourselves."

Price's gaze flicked to her, his brow furrowing. "Improvise how?"

"We split up," she said, her voice measured but firm. "Ghost took the north side, I took the south. We set up an ambush when we realized we were being followed. It worked out fine, but it wasn’t according to plan."

Ghost’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with irritation, but he didn’t speak up. Kilie’s decision to split the team wasn’t what bothered him. It was her reckless confidence in doing so. In his world, following the plan was what kept people alive. She had thrown that out the window without a second thought.

Soap, sitting beside Price, chuckled lightly, breaking the tension. "Seems like you two made a bit of a mess of it, eh? But good work, all the same."

Kilie shot him a sideways glance, a small smirk pulling at her lips. "Not a mess. Just flexible."

Ghost couldn’t keep the annoyance from creeping into his voice. "You’re supposed to follow the plan, Reyez. Not go off script just because you think you know better."

Her smirk faded, and she turned to face him more fully, her eyes locking with his. "And what’s the plan when things go wrong, Ghost? You wait around and hope someone else fixes it?"

"I follow orders," he snapped back. "That’s how it’s supposed to go."

Price's eyes flicked from one to the other, sensing the brewing tension but letting it unfold for a moment. "Alright, enough. We’ve got the intel, we’ve got the kill, and we’ve got out clean. Focus on what matters. This isn’t the time for arguments."

Ghost’s hands tightened into fists, his body stiffening, but he nodded curtly, saying nothing. Kilie looked at Price, her tone softening slightly as she turned the conversation back to the mission. "The point is, we got the intel and handled the targets with minimal resistance. We’re good, but I’d recommend adjusting the backup plans next time."

Price nodded, making a mental note. "Agreed. We’ll run a full review of the team dynamics."

He turned to Ghost and Kilie. "You two are partners moving forward. I think this team has potential. But, Ghost…" Price’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You’ll have to adjust to working with someone who’s got a different approach. Reyez gets results."

Kilie met Ghost’s gaze with an unreadable expression, her eyes sharp, but her face betrayed nothing. Ghost felt the weight of her stare, sharp like a blade, pressing down on him.

It was as if she could see through him, past the mask, past the layers of control that he wore so carefully. Her lips curled just slightly, the barest hint of a smile. It was a challenge, and it was deliberate.

His jaw tightened involuntarily, his fingers twitching at his sides. He hated how easy it was for her to get under his skin, how quickly she unsettled him with nothing more than a look. She didn’t need to speak. She never did.

Just her presence was enough to make the air thick with tension, to turn the room from simple debriefing to a silent standoff. Her confidence was insufferable, and it infuriated him how much he resented that she was so at ease in a world where he had to fight for every ounce of control.

Price’s voice broke through the oppressive silence, but even his words couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at Ghost’s insides.

“You two are partners moving forward,” Price said, his tone final. “I think this team has potential. But, Ghost…” Price's gaze flicked toward him, the unspoken challenge in his eyes matching Kilie's own. “You’ll have to adjust to working with someone who’s got a different approach. Reyez gets results.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Ghost clenched his fists at his sides, fighting to keep his breathing steady. He could already feel the tension rising between them, a smoldering fuse just waiting to snap. Adjust, Price said. Adjust to her.

The idea of it was nauseating.

Ghost had never been one to bend or compromise, least of all with someone who thought she could do whatever she wanted without consequence. And yet, Price had spoken, and the decision was made.

Partners.

The word rang in his ears, mocking him. Ghost didn’t need a partner. He didn’t want a partner. Not with her. Not with anyone.

Kilie stood, her movements slow, deliberate, as she made her way toward the door. Her footsteps were measured, like she knew exactly what was running through his mind. Ghost remained seated, his body stiff, his gaze fixed on the table. He wasn’t going to let her see how much this affected him. He wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

But he couldn’t ignore the way his pulse quickened as she walked past him. The scent of her, faint but unmistakable, lingered in the air like a whisper that he couldn’t escape.

She paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder with that same infuriatingly calm expression.

“See you around, Ghost,” she said, her voice low but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a promise. It was just… her.

And that was the problem. She was just too much—too bold, too confident, too in his face.

Ghost didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her as she walked out. He couldn’t afford to.

The door clicked shut behind her, and in the silence that followed, he finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. But the moment she was gone, the tension didn’t fade. It was still there, heavy in the air. It wasn’t just the mission. It wasn’t just the job. It was her—and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.

He stared at the map on the wall, feeling the frustration build again. He’d worked alone for so long. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to feeling like a team. And he damn sure wasn’t used to working with someone like Reyez.

He had to talk to Price. Get this switched. It wasn’t going to work. She was going to get him killed.

Or worse—he was going to end up killing her.

With that thought weighing heavily on him, Ghost stood up, his movements stiff and deliberate as he turned toward the door.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The next few days were a test of endurance. The mission reports came in, the tasks were assigned, and the tension between Ghost and Kilie only grew. Every operation seemed to bring them at odds. Ghost could feel the crackling friction every time their paths crossed, and it didn’t help that Kilie seemed to do everything in her power to challenge him. She was relentless. And though he tried to focus on the mission, the way she handled things irked him.

It was like she was trying to prove something—like she was trying to get under his skin on purpose.

After a particularly rough mission, where Kilie had ignored a direct order from Ghost and almost jeopardized the whole team’s safety, he’d had enough. The tension was too thick, and Ghost had always known when things were beyond repair.

He knocked sharply on Price’s door, trying to keep his temper in check.

"Come in," Price called from inside.

Ghost pushed the door open, stepping in. Price looked up from his desk, a knowing look on his face. He’d seen the way Ghost and Kilie clashed since day one, and he wasn’t blind to the tension.

"I need a word," Ghost said, his voice clipped, keeping the anger at bay.

Price nodded slowly, motioning for him to take a seat. "What’s going on?"

"Her," Ghost spat, his frustration getting the better of him as he leaned against the chair. "She’s reckless. Doesn’t follow orders. Thinks she knows better than me. And I’m telling you, Price, this is gonna get someone killed."

Price raised an eyebrow, sitting back in his chair. "You’re talking about Reyez, yeah?"

"Of course I am," Ghost shot back, his gaze hard. "She’s a liability. I’ve worked with enough people to know when a partnership’s doomed. She’s not following my lead, and it’s making things worse."

Price let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew exactly what was happening here. He had seen soldiers like Ghost before—detached, focused on the job, and unwilling to bend. And he’d seen soldiers like Kilie—brash, fiery, challenging authority when she didn’t think it made sense.

"Look," Price started, his voice calm but firm. "I know Reyez doesn’t play by the book, but that’s what makes her good at what she does. She thinks on her feet, Ghost. Something you can’t always plan for."

"Something you can’t always control," Ghost interrupted, his tone sharper now. "She doesn’t listen, Price. And every time she steps out of line, I’m the one who has to clean up the mess."

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, locking eyes with Ghost.

"You think I don’t see that? You think I don’t know she’s a pain in your ass? But you’re both soldiers. And this—" He motioned between the two of them with his hands, his voice rising just slightly. "This isn’t about your egos. This is about the job. You’ve both been in tough situations before. You’ve gotten through worse. You can figure this out."

Ghost shook his head, pacing in front of the desk. "I’m not asking for her to follow my every word like some puppy, Price. But if she keeps doing this, we’re not gonna last. Not out there. We’re going to get ourselves killed."

Price’s expression softened, his tone more measured now. "I know it’s hard, Ghost. But the way I see it, this is just a test of trust. And I’m not talking about trust in each other’s combat skills. I’m talking about the ability to trust that the other person has your back when it counts."

Ghost was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor, but his mind racing. He didn’t like where this was going. He didn’t like the idea of being in a position where he had to trust someone like Reyez. The only person he ever truly trusted was himself. And that had always kept him alive.

"I’m not asking for her to be my best friend," Ghost muttered, his jaw tight. "I just want someone who doesn’t keep going rogue on every mission. We’re in the field, not playing some goddamn game of who can piss the other off first."

"That’s what I’m saying, Ghost," Price said, his voice calm but insistent. "You’ve got to stop thinking of this as a rivalry and start thinking of it as a partnership. Reyez isn’t going anywhere. She’s good at what she does. She’s just not the same as you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t work together."

Ghost clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "And what if I can’t? What if I’m stuck with her on every damn mission?"

Price stood up, locking eyes with Ghost. "Then you’ll make it work. You’re both professionals. If you need help, you come to me. But I’m not switching partners, Ghost. Not for this."

"Fine," Ghost growled, turning toward the door. "But if she gets us killed, I’m holding you responsible."

"You do that," Price said with a smirk, "but you’ll both be buried together."

Ghost didn’t reply. He just slammed the door behind him, walking down the hallway with the weight of Price’s words hanging over him.

He hated that Price was right.

Ghost walked down the hallway, each step echoing in his ears like a constant reminder of how much he hated this. Price was right—he was stuck with Reyez. And he could feel the frustration building in his chest, a slow burn that didn’t seem to have any way of extinguishing itself. He’d never been the type to work well with others, and Reyez?

She was a different breed entirely. It wasn’t just the fact that she kept stepping out of line; it was that she challenged everything he knew about discipline and control.

He reached his room and slammed the door behind him, the sound muffled but satisfying. He needed space—space to think, to recalibrate. He stripped off his gear, tossing it on the bed, and ran a hand through his hair. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he told himself. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck in this situation. He’d been fine working alone. And now Price was expecting him to trust Reyez?

He leaned against the wall, staring out of the small window, his mind racing. Reyez was a damn good soldier, he couldn’t deny that. But her unpredictable nature was a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, she thought on her feet, got shit done, and handled herself in the field like few others could. On the other hand, her recklessness put everyone around her in danger, including him. That wasn’t something Ghost was willing to put up with.

But then, there was the other part of him. The part that acknowledged how, in the midst of all her chaos, Reyez still somehow got him. When everyone else kept their distance, she didn’t. She didn’t flinch when he snapped at her, didn’t get rattled when he made a harsh comment or two. She didn’t look at him like some dangerous freak; she just saw him. And in some twisted way, that made it worse.

God, what the hell was he thinking?

There was a knock at the door.

Ghost didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Ghost, you in there?” It was Reyez. Her voice was muffled, but he could hear the irritation in her tone.

He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time before opening the door.

Ghost leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes cold as he watched Reyez enter the room. She shut the door behind her with a force that almost matched the tension in the air. It wasn’t just the mission. It wasn’t just the fact that they had barely made it through without stepping on each other’s nerves. It was her. And him. And the constant friction between them.

“What do you want, Reyez?” Ghost asked, his tone flat but with an edge to it.

She didn't waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk,” she shot back, her gaze locking with his. “And don’t start with that attitude.”

“I don’t know why you keep talking to me like this is some kind of fucking therapy session,” Ghost said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t give a damn what’s on your mind.”

Reyez scoffed. “Maybe you should. Maybe if you didn’t have your head so far up your own ass, you’d realize I’m trying to work with you, not against you.” Her eyes narrowed, and the tension in her stance was palpable. “But you’re too busy playing the lone wolf to see it.”

Ghost straightened, finally stepping away from the door. “I don’t need a partner, Reyez. I never did. I’ve been doing this shit long enough to know what works, and it sure as hell isn’t having someone like you in my back pocket.”

“Oh, right,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Because you—the great fucking Ghost—know everything, don’t you?” Her voice was mocking, full of venom.

“Well, maybe you should get off your high horse for two fucking seconds and realize that not everything is about you and your precious ‘I’m alone because it’s safer’ routine. Newsflash, Ghost: the real world doesn’t give a shit about how much you think you can handle on your own.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not part of my world, Reyez,” Ghost growled. “You’ve been in the game for what? A few months? You’re still wet behind the ears compared to guys like me.” He stepped forward, his stature intimidating. “You’re lucky I don’t put you in your place right now.”

Reyez didn’t flinch. She was standing tall, just as pissed as he was. “You don’t scare me, Ghost. I’ve seen worse than whatever you’re pretending to be. You’re not some untouchable god, and you sure as hell aren’t better than me. You think you’re so damn special because you’ve got a mask and some fancy scars? Newsflash, sweetheart, I’ve got my own demons, and I don’t need your fucking approval.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ghost snapped. “You think you can run around doing whatever the hell you want, and no one’s going to stop you? You’ve got no fucking discipline. You take risks that get people killed.”

“Oh, I take risks? Yeah? Well, what the hell do you do, Ghost? You sit back and wait for someone else to make the call, hoping you’ll get to step in and save the day.” Reyez shook her head, her jaw tight with frustration. “You’re a coward. You hide behind your mask, and you think that makes you invincible. But it doesn’t. It just makes you scared.”

Ghost’s nostrils flared. “I don’t hide from shit.”

She scoffed. “You hide from everything, Ghost. Especially yourself.”

He stared at her for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t know me, Reyez. You think you do, but you don’t. You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve seen. About what I’ve done.”

Reyez tilted her head, her voice dripping with contempt. “I don’t need to know your fucking sob story, Ghost. You want to talk about doing? Fine. But let’s get one thing straight—you and I are stuck with each other, whether we like it or not. So get over yourself and figure out how to make this work. Because I’m not backing down, and neither should you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to make this work,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “Maybe I’m just here to get the job done and get the hell out of here.”

“Fine,” she shot back, eyes blazing with challenge. “But don’t expect me to do your dirty work while you sit in your little corner, all high and mighty. I’m not your fucking lackey, Ghost. And you’re not my hero.”

Ghost was about to retort when she pushed past him, walking toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice hard.

“Out of here,” Reyez snapped without looking back. “Because I’ve had enough of this bullshit.”

She opened the door, but before stepping through, she turned to face him, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “But you know what? This tension between us? It’s kind of fun. Makes things interesting.”

Ghost stared at her for a moment, his frustration burning in his chest. “Don’t think for a second that I’m going to let you slide, Reyez,” he warned, his voice low.

“Try me,” she replied, before slamming the door behind her, leaving Ghost standing there, seething.

The room felt suffocating now, the silence settling in like an unwelcome guest. Ghost’s muscles were tense, his mind racing with the confrontation that had just unfolded. He hated this. Hated how she could get under his skin with just a few words, how easily she was able to dismantle his carefully constructed walls. But what pissed him off even more was the fact that deep down, he knew she was right.

They were stuck together. And neither of them was backing down.

For the first time in a long time, Ghost felt like he wasn’t in control.

Ghost could feel the simmering frustration between him and Reyez each time they crossed paths. Every mission briefing was cold, every glance sharp, as if the air around them was electric with barely contained rage. They avoided each other when possible, but every once in a while, their eyes would lock, and for just a moment, it felt like the world around them paused.

Ghost couldn’t shake the feeling that she was always watching him, like a hawk just waiting for him to slip up. And maybe he was. Maybe he was slipping. He wasn’t used to this. Used to working alone. Alone meant no one could fuck with his rhythm, no one could question his decisions. Alone meant control.

But now?

Now Reyez was everywhere. In the field. In his ear on comms. Hell, even in his thoughts. And it pissed him off more than he cared to admit.

One night, he found himself walking down the dimly lit hall of the base. The only sound was the faint thud of his boots against the concrete, the rhythmic hum of overhead lights buzzing faintly. As he turned the corner, he came face to face with her.

Reyez.

Her eyes flickered up at him, locking immediately, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“What do you want, Reyez?” Ghost asked, the words sharp, but he couldn’t quite mask the underlying tension in his voice.

She didn’t move, but the corner of her mouth lifted into a small smirk. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Ghost didn’t respond immediately, his eyes scanning her face. She looked tired. But there was something else there—something beneath the anger. It was almost as if the walls she put up were cracking, just a little.

“Look,” she said after a beat, her voice low. “I know we don’t exactly get along. I know you think I’m a liability.” She took a breath, her shoulders stiff. “But I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

He didn’t respond right away, his mind warring with itself. Ghost had always been the one to keep everyone at arm’s length. He didn’t trust easily. Not anymore. Not after all that he’d lost. And yet, there was something about Reyez. Something in her defiance, her refusal to back down that gnawed at him.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he asked, his voice rough. “You’re trying to get inside my head. Trying to figure out what makes me tick, how I operate.”

She didn’t back down. “I don’t need to get inside your head, Ghost. I just need to figure out how to make us work as a team.”

“And how the hell do you expect that to happen?” he snapped. “We’re like oil and water, Reyez. We’re never going to mix.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re wrong. We don’t have to be best friends. But we do have a job to do. And that job doesn’t get done if we’re too busy fighting each other.”

“Fine,” he muttered, pushing past her. “But don’t think for a second that I’m gonna start trusting you.”

He didn’t look back as he walked away, but he could feel her eyes on him, that unspoken challenge still hanging in the air. Reyez wasn’t going to let him go. She wasn’t going to let him win this silent war between them. And somehow, that made the whole thing worse.

Ghost hated it. Hated how she was getting under his skin.

But what really pissed him off?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The next mission came faster than he expected. Task Force 141 was deploying again, and this time, Reyez and Ghost were paired up once more.

This time, there was no fighting it. There was no avoiding it. They had to get through it. Together.

As they loaded into the transport vehicle, Ghost didn’t say a word. Neither did she. They sat in silence, the hum of the vehicle’s engine filling the space between them. But every so often, he could feel the weight of her stare on him. Could feel her trying to read him again.

It pissed him off.

But as the plane descended, and the mission brief began, the reality of the job was clear: there was no room for petty bullshit. This wasn’t about them. This wasn’t about who was right, who was wrong, or who had the better way of doing things. This was about survival.

And right now, they needed each other to make it out alive.

That didn’t mean he had to like it.

"Alright, Ghost," Price said, his voice cutting through the tension in the cabin. "Reyez, Ghost—you two take point on the extraction. We need it clean, understood?"

Ghost didn’t answer. Reyez didn’t either. But they both knew what had to be done. For once, there was no argument. Just focus.

"Let’s make this quick," Reyez muttered as they disembarked.

Ghost didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded curtly and fell into his usual routine. Eyes on the target. The mission first. Always.

The surrounding forest was dense, the trees thick with early morning fog that hung heavy in the air. The smell of damp earth mixed with the sharp, metallic scent of anticipation, the quiet hum of the team's footsteps all but swallowed by the dense woods. Ghost led the way, his boots crunching on the underbrush, movements swift and calculated as he scanned the terrain for any sign of movement.

Reyez was right behind him, a shadow in his peripheral vision. She was good—Ghost had to admit that. Quiet, fast, and efficient, she moved with a purpose that matched his own. They didn’t speak, but there was a certain rhythm between them now, an unspoken understanding that neither one of them would let the other fall short.

The mission had started out simple enough—clean, surgical, quick. Ghost, Reyez, and the rest of the Task Force were deep in Eastern Europe, assigned to infiltrate a covert compound rumored to be a key site for weapons trafficking. Their task: neutralize any hostiles and extract an intel officer who had been turned by an enemy faction. But as the hours wore on, everything began to feel like it was slipping away from them.

“Target is here, Ghost. We’ve got eyes on,” Price’s voice crackled through Ghost’s earpiece, steady as always, but there was a subtle edge to it now, a hint of urgency.

“Copy that, Price,” Ghost replied, his voice a low growl. “Reyez, on me.”

They were positioned at the perimeter of the compound now, crouched low in the shadows behind a crumbling wall, the faintest traces of dawn breaking over the horizon. Ghost’s fingers flexed over the stock of his rifle, his body coiled and ready to move.

Reyez’s eyes flicked between him and the building ahead, her posture alert. She was always on edge, but he knew it wasn’t just the mission. No, she was as sharp as he was—and that made her unpredictable.

They moved forward silently, their boots pressing into the dirt, careful not to alert any guards patrolling the area. As they neared the compound’s east entrance, Ghost gave a hand signal, and Reyez responded without a word, a brief nod acknowledging the plan. They’d done this dance a thousand times before.

Reyez reached the door first, silently slipping through the cracked opening with Ghost right on her heels. The dimly lit hallway of the compound stretched out before them, sparse but efficient. This wasn’t the kind of place that had time for luxuries—it was function over form, and it reeked of cheap metal and military-grade machinery.

“Clearing the first hall,” Ghost whispered, lowering his voice even though there was no need. Old habits.

He peeked around a corner and immediately spotted two guards standing by a stairwell. No words exchanged between them, but they were too close to their target to let them pass unnoticed.

“Reyez, two tangos ahead,” Ghost said through comms, his eyes never leaving the guards. He was already calculating the angle, his mind a machine. “I’ll take left. You take right.”

“Copy,” Reyez’s voice came back, cold but steady. No hesitation.

It was over in a flash. Ghost’s rifle raised, the suppressed shots echoing in his earpiece as the two guards dropped in the same instant. Reyez was moving already, heading deeper into the compound, clearing rooms as she went. Her steps were light but precise, each one a practiced motion.

"Moving to secondary objective,” Reyez reported through the comms. “Clear to continue.”

Ghost’s response was quick. “Keep it quiet, we don’t know how many are inside.”

They split up at the end of the hall, Ghost taking the right flank, Reyez taking the left. Each step was measured, every corner and doorway checked for hostiles. The tension was thick in the air, more so now that they were inside. No longer was it just about neutralizing threats. Now, it was about surviving.

"Ghost, contact! Two hostile forces, down the hall!" Reyez's voice crackled with tension in his ear.

Ghost moved to intercept, his boots pounding on the concrete as he rounded the corner, rifle raised. There were two enemies, both well-armed, moving towards him with intent. His eyes narrowed, hands steady as he squeezed the trigger twice. They dropped instantly, no more noise than the faintest exhalation.

The silence hung heavy in the aftermath, broken only by the distant sound of gunfire further down the hall, likely Price and the others clearing their side. Ghost stayed low, checking the bodies for intel before moving on.

Reyez was already ahead, continuing to clear rooms. Ghost kept close, his pace matching hers. Every now and then, he’d look over at her, her posture tense, but determined. The occasional glance between them—no words exchanged—made the tension between them that much more obvious. Something simmering under the surface that neither of them addressed.

They reached the next section of the compound without encountering much resistance, but as they neared the central command room where their target was located, everything changed.

“Ghost, we’ve got movement—inside the command room,” Price’s voice crackled in his ear. “Get in there, now.”

Without hesitation, Ghost and Reyez moved into position. They were behind the door, the air thick with the sounds of their breath and the low hum of the compound. Reyez nodded once, signaling she was ready. Ghost took a breath and nodded back.

“On three. One… two… three.” Ghost kicked the door open, moving in low and fast, his rifle sweeping across the room.

The command room exploded with noise—gunfire, shouting, chaos. Ghost’s eyes locked on the target—a middle-aged man in a tactical vest, his hands raised in surrender. His eyes were wide, fear evident on his face, but before Ghost could call for him to drop his weapon, the situation turned south.

The target reached for his sidearm, but Ghost was faster. He squeezed the trigger, the silenced shots barely making a sound as the man crumpled to the floor.

The room was still for a split second, but only a moment before the firefight erupted. Enemy soldiers flooded in from a side hallway, their weapons raised and ready. Ghost ducked behind a desk, gunfire ricocheting off the walls. Reyez was already moving, covering the left flank, her shots precise and deadly.

“Ghost, we need to clear this room now!” Reyez’s voice was sharp through the comms, firing off another round, dropping two enemies in the corner.

“On it!” Ghost responded, leaning out from cover, and squeezing off three quick shots. Three more bodies dropped. The tension in the room was palpable. Gunfire was deafening, filling the space with chaos.

More enemies surged into the room, but this time, the team had the advantage. They worked in perfect sync, Ghost and Reyez moving like clockwork, each shot, each movement, like a practiced dance.

Their minds were focused entirely on the mission, but Ghost couldn’t shake the feeling that this—this fight—felt personal. It was dangerous. It was real. And despite everything, despite the animosity between them, Reyez was the only one beside him, watching his back.

When the last enemy fell, the room fell silent. The task was done. Their target was secured.

"Target secured," Reyez reported, breathing heavily into her comms.

Ghost’s heart was still pounding, but he couldn’t afford to relax. Not yet. “Get him out of here. We’re not clear yet.”

They moved out quickly, dragging the target to the extraction point. The tension was still there, buzzing in the air between him and Reyez, unspoken but heavy.

"Let’s finish this," Ghost muttered, eyes scanning the horizon.

“Yeah, let’s,” Reyez replied, her voice unreadable. They moved as one toward the exit, leaving the chaos of the mission behind them, but the shadows of what had happened still loomed, unresolved and ever-present.

The fight wasn’t over—not yet.

#task force 141 #enemies to lovers #task force x reader #enemies to lovers trope #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #original character #fanfic #x reader #simon riley x reader #x oc #slow burn #smut #john soap mactavish

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aetherghouls · 7 months ago

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I am relistening to the entirety of The Magnus Archives and it's the first time I've done full relisten since I got infected with Modern Warfare and now I am plagued with a thought of codmw x tma

I'm trying to figure out what Fears would fit each one of them

Of course, considering that they are military, the most obvious answer would be the Hunt; considering that all important police officers in TMA are servants of the Hunt. Besides that also Slaughter, maybe, considering that many statements are about soldiers, however the Hunt makes much more sense, looking at what exactly TF141 specialises in. But I do also think the Hunt would be both too easy and would ignore the complexities of the characters as a whole. So, here's a rough idea of what Entities I think would match each of them the most:

(and a quick TW as I will be discussing many common fears and it's a bit too much to list them all)

— Ghost would either be the End or the Buried – the latter in case we talk about '09 Ghost or take the comic book as '22 Ghost's background too. I don't think there's much to add about him here, he is, after all, considered to be the embodiment of Death in cod.

— Gaz would be the Vast or the Hunt – first one is, I admit with shame, inspired by the heli scene in MW2, but some of the missions we play as Gaz just match it too, though it is kind of a stretch. I was thinking about the Lonely, but he doesn't strike me as the type to be targeted by it in the long run, even more to be its servant. Vast makes much more sense here.

— Soap would be the Desolation – the Lightless Flame is quite obvious in his case, being demolitions expert and all, the way he looks at explosions. It is such a simple choice I didn't even hesitate here. UNLESS we talk about Captain MacTavish, then it's Hunt through and through, no questions asked, he is the hunter.

— Price is kind of tricky in my opinion – he matches the Hunt the most out of them all I think, though all of the team does. Maybe aspects of the Slaughter, the things from statements related to military (which, also drives it into the territory of the End in this case). If we talk about '09 Modern Warfare Captain Price, it is the Lonely, mixed with Slaughter and Hunt and maybe the End, but Lonely is the biggest part of it, looking at how he's the only one that survived through the games.

— Talking about the '09 Modern Warfare, Roach! Couldn't miss him, of course. Lonely, probably, he does strike me as the type that would relish in being alone and so being its servant makes sense, somehow. Though if we play with it more, take his call sign into consideration, the Corruption, but not the way Jane Prentiss was the Flesh Hive, just bugs and the skin crawling parts, no rot or decay. It would tie together with how he could have gotten his call sign.

— Laswell would be the Eye – another easy one, considering that she's mostly there as a kind of an informant, gathering intel and all. Not much more to say.

— Nikolai would also be the Vast – it's tied to him being a pilot more than anything else, spending so much time alone in the vastness of the sky. No notes here.

— Makarov is the Slaughter – just like before, easy one, but I do think that, unlike with Price, it includes all of the aspects of the Fear. Pure, unpredictable violence, cold blooded murder. The Hunt, too, maybe, only if we were to think of him as a hunter who kills for the sake of it, not for the hunt itself but for the end goal (so it's a slight sprinkle of the Hunt, as it is about the process itself, not the end). Honestly, thinking about it like that, I think he could lean into the Flesh more than Hunt? Something to think about for the future.

— Shepherd would be the Web — with how he plots and lies, with everything he did "for the country", the Web is another obvious choice here, it makes perfect sense. He is the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, getting others to do his dirty work, it's perfect.

I have some other thoughts (Graves and Shadows being the Hunt/Slaughter maybe), but this is all I have for now I think. It could easily be mixed more with other AUs (looking at bluegiragi's Monster AU, which itself could give much more nuance to the Fears that could fit the characters based on what creatures and monsters the characters are in that AU. Example: Simon in that AU would be serving the Dark and the End)

No one is probably reading this either way and I don't think there's much overlap in the fandoms, but I do think this is a fun idea of mixing both universes and there's much more to be said about it all, if anyone ever wants to hear me yap more :D

It is heavily unedited and just written in the moment, it may not make much sense and I may revisit this to correct some stuff (like how I keep mixing Flesh and Slaughter into one thing 🧍)

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papaver-decervicatus · 2 years ago

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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus

After months of tense flirting and teasing with the mountain of a man she only knows an König, Mouse finds herself in a life-or-death situation while on patrol in the Alps. Maybe her new admiration isn't as one-sided as she thinks…

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Wow! The response to this fic has been incredible, heartwarming, and just baffling to me! I cannot express how happy I am to share this with you all!

Being completely objective, this chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, the circumstance is not totally likely but alas, I am here for fun.

My college classes are starting up soon, so expect slower updates moving forward. As always, please feel free to leave a comment/reblog with a message saying you want to be added to the taglist or just interact in general!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus | 4.1k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

He’s a vision, he’s hard to miss on the horizon, he stands out like a mountain lion against his fellow men. He sways his hips wide, the trusty Glock Field knife he keeps on his belt shines like a beacon. It’s such an outrageously cocky move, to keep glinting metal on his person when she’s sure he’s supposed to be stealthy. He’s tall as a tree and broad as a train and always has some hood covering his face. He’s sniper candy, he’s so obviously right there it makes her dig blunt nails into her arm in frustration. He’s hard to miss, should be her straight shot.

But he never is.

She never gets the barked orders, the confirmation. She’s asked a hundred times. When it’s in the forest, it’s less warfare and more stakeout. She’s not paid enough to know what she’s looking for, but she always sees him. And she’s always been told not to shoot. She stops asking at some point, but like everything else with this man, she doesn’t quite remember when. Her life is a blur of missions and off time and him and nothing else.

It’s been months since the ravine and she’s seen him just about everywhere she’s been. When SpecGru was gathering intel on KorTacs drug affiliations, she saw him in the haunted deserts of Sonora, Mexico where she lies in the dirt redder than blood and coyotes sing her to sleep. She gazes down at him atop crumbling 16th-century Byzantine marble when she picks off the guards of a weapons supplier in Belgrade, Serbia. In the ancient and verdant bamboo forest of Yibin, China, hunting down spy affiliations, she camps across a creek from him for a night.

It’s a small world, but not quite small enough for her to believe just how they keep running into each other. No matter where she ends up, their eyes always meet.

The eyes of the apparition with bloody tears on top of an executioner's hood always flick right towards her, even when she’s under a ghillie or some camo or nothing particularly obtrusive at all. She’s even taken off her scope once or twice to reduce glare, to see if the monster still turns her way then. To see if the cat is following a laser pointer she’s unwittingly putting out.

He does.

Always finds her.

No matter what.

He would’ve been a good sniper, in another life. If he wasn’t built like the trees she climbs for her shots.

Very few things are constant in her work. Very few people stay, very few people know. It’s awful, but she starts to hope to see him on the fields. Like he’s some coworker she’s been flirting with in the coffee lounge.

But he’s not her coworker. Quite the opposite, he’s a soldier on the other side. The enemy. He breaks men’s spines on his knee like toothpicks. He hums with visceral energy, like mud, blood, and guts. He disembowels men like fish. He walks like a monster with three legs (and at some point about three months into their little game, she touches herself thinking about that third leg.) He swings wide, he keeps his knives sharper than cat eyes.

His stare is constant, glacial, beautiful.

She wonders what the rest of him looks like, with such a beautiful set of eyes. Beautiful thighs. Beautiful shoulders. He must have some reason for the mask, but she can’t help but think (or hope) he’s a good kisser under there. That his hands must be larger than life, that his skin must be warm. That his teeth must feel good if used in particular places with caution and moderation.

She’s sure if he ever caught her, the cat would sink his teeth right in.

She finds she wouldn’t quite mind getting chewed on by him when they accidentally pick up each other’s radio frequencies in the field. They should be encrypted. They shouldn’t be able to, but the cruel stars align and they make their pacts.

It’s a game of cat and mouse. They’ve got their own little rules, too.

They don’t talk about work or positioning, he always knows where she is but never tells anyone on his team. Once she reaches out, he never gets any closer. Like it’s a game. Like they’re playing hide and seek and he knows he opened his eyes too early so he’s closing them again and pinky swearing not to tell.

He must not tell, because SpecGru has yet to fall into an ambush. So has KorTac, though. If anyone knew they’d have their heads, but no one else does. The secret stays between them and their radios become the divining rods of close encounters.

Mostly it’s just breathing on each line, mostly it’s just-

“König?”

“Maus?”

“Mhm.”

“Hmm.”

And that’s it. And they breathe at the same time, and he looks up at her in the trees or in her towers or wherever she is. And she hopes he’s thinking the same terrible things that she is, and she hopes that he keeps striking out at base camp and bars and wherever just like she has, and she hopes that he’s lonely like she is. That he has nothing else to focus on so she takes all the space in his head like he does hers.

She knows she should get a shrink or a good fuck to stop fucking thinking about him like this, but sometimes he whispers a joke into his radio and she laughs, and sometimes she tells him about the book she’s been reading, and sometimes he shows her his favorite knife tricks, and sometimes she tells him stories of before she was in the military and he always laughs and asks questions to show he’s actually engaged and he cares and-

She doesn’t know when she started missing shots. When she started covering his ass the three or so times he didn’t recognize some hostile getting a bit too close for comfort.

When the fire is heavy and the mission is condensed into a 100th the size of their usual open field rendezvous, she’s seen him in action. He can handle himself, he can more than handle himself. Some terrible part of her hopes, though, that he is thankful for her. Cover fire from a traitorous Angel in the trees, makes for a good romance novel but a terrible dynamic in war. And that’s what this is, right? It’s war? But what for?

She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she wants to. So she keeps their little secret and she prays that he stays safe when she really can’t risk covering for him. To that point, though, he does himself no favors. He fights like he can’t get hit.

When they’re alone he’s the perfect gentleman, he gets no closer than when she reaches out to contact him first. When they’re not, it's a whole different story. He runs into the middle field like if he can just reach her, he can keep her. If he can carry back his conquest, well… kings get their war spoils, don’t they? It’s a terrible secret she keeps alive only in her heart, but she hopes one day he finally will.

She’d never shoot one of her own, to save his hide. But when it’s one of his own going after his neck, or when one of hers needs cover too, or one of some other guys on him, it’s easy.

The Mouse saves the King.

But a game is no fun with only one player.

The King also saves the Mouse.

It’s November, it’s somewhere in the Alps. She’s had quite the pleasure of seeing him so in his element, so proud, broad-chested, and covered in the swagger of a mountain as it walks with its own. The snowfall constricts her view but not his movement. He’s practically prancing around like a snow leopard and despite the temperature it’s warming her up a little to think about how happy he looks down there.

“Are you gonna get me, kitty?” She hums into her radio, lips curling into a saccharine smile, when it’s just them alone in the cold. His eyes find her immediately after she’s made contact. Like always, they breathe in and out at exactly the same time once those terribly fantastic eyes of his meet hers.

“Haha!” His whole body shakes like an earthquake when he laughs. “No. Just…” he stops for a moment like he’s catching his breath or remembering the right word, “-watching.” He says, hand reaching to his mask, lifting it up just enough so she can see a red, red, mouth and sharp, sharp teeth turning in a cruel, Cheshire Cat smile. He languishes on a stump, playing with his signature knife, downright admiring her from far away. He pulls his mask back down, but the outline of his exhales still turn into clouds in the snow.

They breathe in tandem. Their hearts must sync.

Today is unusual because he is actually working at something in his grasp. Usually, his beloved knife is his dancing partner, his muse of movement, the loyal companion of his oversized hands.

Many times she’s been lost in the beautiful dance of his hands and his knife, as he flicks it up and catches it with ease. Every time he does so, her heart clenches in her all of a sudden seemingly too-small chest as she fears it’ll come down and slice him. She knows how sharp he keeps his many knives, she knows how terribly it would go for him should it ever fall out of its practiced battle dance. The knife, of course, never does. When he gets bored of tossing it, he starts doing little tricks. He balances it on his index finger, he spins it between the fingers on his massive hand, he can even juggle it between his hands without a moment's hesitation. What’s worse, is the whole time he does it, he is watching her with a relaxed posture. Like he’s showing off like he’s saying “Don’t you see how good I can be with my hands? Don’t you want to invite me over? Don’t you ache to know just what I’ll make them do for you?”

This surgical precision never ceases to amaze her because she’s seen him around his comrades. The steady hands she so admires (and yearns to touch her) disappear and shake like leaves the second he has to talk strategy or cover for others outside of immediate battle. He’s a capable soldier, he’s a great commander, he’s an excellent strategist, sure. But he’s never at ease enough to make his knife dance like this, never like he is with her. His hands shake without adrenaline and with the company.

His hands never shake when the two exist like this, though. No, the shy soldier boy who won’t look anyone in the eye doesn’t exist to her. Like a fairytale, the second the two see each other, he disappears and instead, a man of ferocious devotion finds himself in her sights. He waits for her. He never once gets closer to her than the moment she reaches out to him first.

It would almost be romantic. If it wasn’t war and she wasn’t herself and he wasn’t himself.

Her comm line lights up, ripping her away from her inattentive, lovelorn adorations. Apparently, there’s an enemy scout that’s inching treacherously close to her position and slipped past someone further ahead of her. If he gets beneath her, she’s D.O.A in her tree.

She sees König’s body tense a second after hers, the way she’s come to recognize he’s received a transmission. He stops his idle patrol and puts down the something he was working on in his hands. Quickly, he tucks it into his pocket. He’s ready to hunt all of a sudden, the relaxed air of his body falls away with all the quickness and ferocity of an avalanche. She knows to pity the poor soul on the receiving end of that look in his eyes and-

Is it her this time? Her heart stutters to a stop.

The snow is picking up, she can’t see much of anything but she sees him blur into motion. Towards her spot.

“Keep moving and I shoot,” she says to him. In warning. Begging him not to. She’d miss his comfort if he does make her.

“It’s right under you, Liebling.” His voice rasps through static colder than the snow on the ground.

She realizes she’s stranded on her branch, there’s a widow’s maker close enough to her perch to mean she’s screwed if she moves too quickly. She doesn’t have enough time to maneuver out of the tree safely and she’s a sitting duck for someone else’s shot, so long as all they’ve got is short range. If it were longer range she’d be dead already. She’s going to fall to her death or get shot at from below. It’s a shame, but she’s a little happy that it’ll be König, her cat, that’ll catch her corpse.

She sees the would-be assailant on the horizon and she brings her gun to her cheek. He darts frantically between trees, careful to only go far enough that she’ll have to re-aim as he darts out again. He’s gaining a substantial amount of ground as she finally has a good enough line of sight to execute and-

Her gun jams.

With all the futility of a mouse in a glue trap, she begins to shake and replace everything she can afford to in such little time to make her rifle usable. The man on the forest floor uses all of the seconds she cannot afford to waste as it becomes clear that he will reach her before she can either get down or get her gun unjammed.

But by the time she’s gone to pray and say her goodbyes in her head while frantically looking around, she hears the footfalls of a desperate man crunching snow and she sees red spill out.

König’s massive hands cradle one of his very own, dead. She sees the outline of hardwired explosive packs on the corpse’s chest, apparently a suicide bomber? Alone in the Alps?

For his part, the giant doesn’t seem the least bit displeased with his kill. He wipes his bloody knife on his pant thigh and sheaths it like it’s nothing. He’s got another man’s blood all over his lower half, he sliced that poor bastard clean between his third and fourth ribs.

“Threat eliminated. My position is compromised, I’m moving.” She says to her comm.

“Rog, Mouse.” Someone in command responds.

She, very slowly, makes her way down to the carnage near the base of her tree, sniper rifle at her hip like a mother huddles an unruly toddler. When she’s only 12 feet in the air instead of 40, König spreads his arms out to her. It’s snowing. Hard. He doesn’t move, arms outstretched like a tree.

“Maus, I‘ll help you!” He says.

It’s the first thing he says to her outside of the buzz of the radio.

It’s her name. Or, the only one he knows her by.

And the first thing he says is a promise. A promise of help. A promise of aid.

She shouldn’t trust him.

She tosses her gun to the pillowy snow, against all safety protocols and everything she’s ever known. He doesn’t move for it. He’s got a rifle of his own, well- not a sniper's rifle, on his back. Maybe he doesn’t need two?

She unhooks her cabling.

It’s snowing hard.

She kicks off the tree and into the air.

It’s snowing really hard and dawn is breaking.

He does, indeed, catch her.

He audibly gasps when she lands in his arms. He doesn’t move, she’s much too small and light to move the man. He just holds her. For a moment- in the air.

“… klein,” he all but whispers and puts her on the ground. His hands don’t start trembling as she expects them to.

She doesn’t know what that means and goes to pick up her gun and makes a quiet mental note to find a German Dictionary or self-teacher or something if this weird romance is gonna keep up.

“What’s this guy's story?” She motions to the left. Where there’s the stump of a man who should’ve been her death.

“Traitor, against both sides. Al Qatala. Made off with classified files.” He rolls his shoulders, completely unconcerned.

It could be a lie. It could’ve been that this man just has a weird obsession with her and couldn’t stand to see her get taken out by someone that wasn’t him.

Well, if that were the case, why’s she still around? He could just kill her. But then again, couldn’t she have killed him multiple times over?

She doesn’t think he's lying. He’s affected by some things, not by others. He’s much too jittery and anxious of a man to lie so easily to her. She recognizes she’s putting a terrible amount of trust in the enemy, but if it’s gotta be anyone, she’d rather it be the man who sometimes radios her terrible jokes instead of some stranger.

But now they’re as face to face as over a foot and a half of height difference will let them be. There’s still the hood on his face which is haunting, but this monster- he’s scarcely made a move to her that hasn’t been some perverse version of love or care.

She realizes she’s thankful for him.

Stockholm syndrome, she decides. Even though this is the first time they’ve been within 80 yards of each other.

“Thank you.” Is what she says instead, breathless and quiet, almost like she’s sorry she has to say the words out loud. Almost like they’re bad news like she’s telling the kids they have to put the family cat down.

“Bitte schön,” he says, gentle and warm like a wool blanket. His hands are drumming on his thighs with nervous kinetic energy and he looks intently at where he grabbed her, maybe he’s worried he hurt her? But he’s not trembling. She tries not to think about it, that he’s not trembling. Her face is red and her heart is fast but for all the wrong reasons.

Before they part ways and go back to their little lives on opposite sides of some silly war she’s sure is not worth the human toll, he reaches into his pocket.

He brings the little thing to his hood and places it right where she reckons his lips are.

Their breaths puff into billows of smoke.

They breathe in time.

It’s bloody from his pant legs when he presents it to her, holding the tiny object in two forefingers and thumbs. She cups her hands in front of her like a child begging the family pet to drop an injured bird it found in the backyard. He drops it just like that pet, a few inches above her hands to avoid bloodying her hands directly. Like it would be a shame. Like he cares about tainting her.

It’s a piece of light wood, whittled into the shape of a mouse.

She holds the thing in the palms of her hands and they ache. It is so small, so hard for even her to hold. His field knife, the one he loves so much, is massive but she knows it was the one that he used to make it. She did research one day, trying to discover what sort of blade it was. It's a custom Glock Field Knife, with a near mirror-perfect patina and two whole inches larger than the standard issue. She also thinks he wrapped the handle himself because she cannot find that stark red chord on any seller’s website. It's a monster of a knife, for a monster of a man. It’s not made for woodworking, for whittling, for creation– it's a thing of utter annihilation and destruction. Yet, he changed its nature. He utilized his most favored possession to carve intricately into fallen birch wood. He’s given a second life in the shape of her name to what would rot without his attention. He has created, against all odds, something beautiful and delicate out of a brutal tool and doomed material. For her.

She is dumbstruck by this man. She has no words for him, for herself, she wouldn’t have any for anyone who asked either. Suddenly, the Alps aren’t so cold even though it is verifiably snowing.

When he turns to go she thinks how much his hands must’ve hurt to make this little thing and she can’t just let him go, not empty-handed.

“Wait!” She calls to him.

He stops and looks back at her. She fishes around in her pockets and curses her nearly-frostbitten fingers until she finds it.

She tosses it to him.

He opens the little leather pouch and she sees his smile through his eyes as he recognizes what it is. It’s her pocket whetstone, with the crown she doodled onto the leather holder with charcoal.

Her lucky charm.

She shouldn’t trust him, she’s really got no reason to. But this man, he’s saved her life. He likes knives more than she does, hell, uses them more than she does. There’s really no reason for her to have it (just like there was no reason for her to put his symbol into the leather.) His glacial eyes melt while looking down at the object and she’s never known the winter wilderness to be so warm. She tries not to think about the way her heart speeds up when his eyes soften looking at the object.

“I will only use this from now on, Maus.” He says, voice quiet and reverent. Like he holds the keys to his kingdom when he holds the cheap piece of rock.

“Don’t. It’s- it’s not a great one. Just. My charm.” She shrugs. She wants to say ‘It’s a piece of shit and useless, just like I am. It’ll fuck up your knives. I know you love them. Don’t ruin useful things on my account.’

“All the more reason to treasure it.” He replies, simple and unburdened.

God. She wishes he wasn’t so charming. There’s no going back.

She feels like she’s in his jaws already, totally caught. He seems not to realize that he could march off with her and go anywhere and she’d just let him. He walks away and it genuinely hurts when his form disappears into snow and trees and leaves no trace like he’s a fairy tale. Like he’s not real and never was and cannot be.

And with that, the King had saved the Mouse. He turned and left and she moved her position before returning to base camp.

The next time she sees him, about a week later, she sees him sharpening his massive field knife with the tiny whetstone on his comically large thigh, and in response, she thumbs at the wooden effigy in her pocket. They laughed into their radios to each other. Her cheeks flush red. Her thighs clench around nothing. She dreams about those big, big, hands, the ones that cradled her in the air, pinning her down and leaving black and blue bruises all over her hips and thighs. She thinks about that red, red mouth tracing said bruises with a gentle tongue. She thinks about the hands caressing her neck, the mouth kissing the top of her head. The hands, holding her at the hip snug to his massive frame throughout the night. The mouth, hushing her to sleep and promising to be there in the morning.

She’s got nothing for him, though. Other than her body and the vain, ridiculous, impossible dream that’s enough for him. He doesn’t seem the romantic type. She doesn’t think he’d settle down. She doesn’t know him at all, not really.

But, she does have something for him. The answer to a question from what feels like lifetimes ago.

“It’s because I’m quiet.” She whispers into her radio, half hoping he won’t pick up.

“What?” He hums back.

“Mouse. Because I’m short and quiet in the field.”

“Really?” He asks back. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” A heartbeat too long of silence passes between them. She chews the inside of her lip to bits, waiting for a response. “Your turn,” she prods gently.

“Because I am not.” Is his response.

“Really, that’s it?” She chuckles into her radio.

He just laughs on the other end. And now she’s really got nothing else to give him, save a rare book recommendation, a laugh in return for his bad jokes, and her sharp eyes always trained on his form in her scope. She’s got nothing to give him that she hasn’t already given him, and nothing he couldn’t just find elsewhere.

But God, she wants him all the same.

It’s dangerous to be at war.

It’s dangerous to play cat and mouse.

Even more dangerous to fall in love on top of those two.

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalomee @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar

#Navigation -> Cat/Mouse/Den #König #König x reader #König x OC #König MWii #König COD #Char: Mouse

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nerawrites · 3 months ago

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Chapter 29: Exposer

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Ships: The Bear x Fem!oc

Warnings: cursing, being stalked

Masterlist

Luca rarely called anyone. He barely answered his phone, let alone initiated conversations. But after spending all night in his test kitchen obsessively tweaking a sauce he used to swear was perfect—and still feeling like it didn’t stack up to them—he needed to talk to someone who got it.

He dialed Marcus.

It rang twice before the call picked up. There was clattering in the background, voices yelling over the kitchen line, and then—

“Yo,” Marcus answered, slightly out of breath. “Give me, like, two seconds. Tina’s about to kill Ebra and I think Richie just fell into the dry pantry.”

Luca let out a low chuckle. “Take your time.”

Three minutes passed.

Then Marcus came back on the line, the noise quieter now. “Okay. Shoot. What’s up, Chef?”

Luca hesitated. “I got another one.”

“…Another what?”

“A dish. Dropped off. No name. Just a fucking note. Again.”

Marcus’s silence said it all.

Luca leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “This time, it was my own dish. Improved. Just slightly. Like they wanted me to know they could do it better. I’m going crazy about it.”

“Jesus,” Marcus muttered, almost in awe. “So you’re getting hit too.”

Luca blinked. “Too?”

“Oh yeah.” Marcus laughed. “Welcome to the club. Whoever they are, they’ve been doing this to us for weeks. They sent Carmy a dish with a ‘you suck’ note, Sydney lost it over a ‘suck my balls, bitch,’ and now Richie wants to start a gang war.”

Luca couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “So this is happening everywhere.”

“Who knows,” Marcus said. “From what I know you’re the only other person we know who is. It’s like culinary guerilla warfare.”

“They’re getting inside people’s heads over here.”

Marcus hummed. “Especially Carmy’s. He’s pretending he’s above it, but man’s losing sleep over this. He’s been snapping more than usual.”

“That’s saying something,” Luca muttered.

They both laughed quietly.

Then Luca’s voice dropped a notch. “You ever get the feeling they’re trying to say something? Like it’s not just about the food?”

Marcus was quiet for a second too long. “…Yeah. I do.”

When Marcus got back inside, he couldn’t hold it in.

He dropped the towel over his shoulder, stepped onto the line, and said casually, “Luca called. He’s been getting the notes too.”

Sydney dropped the spoon she was holding.

Tina looked up from her prep. “Wait—what?”

“Yeah,” Marcus said. “Whoever’s sending us this stuff? They’re doing it to Luca too.”

Ebra raised an eyebrow. “Same insult?”

“Same attitude,” Marcus said, grinning. “Different flavor.”

Sydney dragged a hand down her face. “So we’re not the only targets.”

Richie snorted. “Wow. We’re not special.”

Tina leaned against the counter. “Honestly? Makes sense. You ever seen Luca around Chef David? Like old friends or something. Could be how this mystery chef’s connected.”

“Inside intel,” Ebra said, deadpan. “Betrayal. Treason.”

Sydney narrowed her eyes. “No—this is a game. A test. They’re watching us.”

“There watching everyone, for what we know this ghost chef could besending it everyone running” Tina states.

“You think this is, like… a talent scout thing?” Marcus asked. “Like, whoever survives gets a job offer?”

“I think they’re trying to break us down to see how we rebuild,” Sydney muttered.

Everyone stared at her.

“…Or maybe they’re just a chaos demon,” she added.

Fak grinned. “Either way, I love it.”

Later that week…

It was a Thursday morning. Rain tapping at the windows, prep already underway, the smell of mirepoix and roasted garlic hanging thick in the air.

The front door opened.

“Hi—I’m from the Chicago Tribune,” a woman in a trench coat said as she stepped inside. “I was hoping to talk to someone about the recent culinary buzz going around? Something about a competition?”

Carmy didn’t even look up from the invoice he was reading. “Busy.”

Sydney shouted from the back, “We’re swamped!”

Marcus pointed toward the kitchen without even turning. “Sorry, no time.”

So the journalist stood awkwardly in the entryway.

Until—

“Heyyyy! You must be the journalist!”

Fak.

Of course it was Fak.

He bounced out from the side hallway, grease on his pants and a random half-sandwich in his hand.

“Neil Fak. Resident maintenance-slash-guest relations-slash-emotional support specialist. Wanna coffee?”

“Uh, I’m good,” the journalist said. “I was hoping someone could tell me about what’s going on with this whole… anonymous chef and competition situation?”

“Ohhhh yeah,” Fak said brightly, eyes lighting up like he’d just been handed a mic at karaoke night. “So this mysterious, super hot—like, allegedly hot—chef has been sending our kitchen these high-end dishes, right? And, like, they’re insane. Like Michelin-star-plus kind of insane.”

The journalist raised her eyebrows. “Oh really?”

“Oh, hell yeah, and there are these notes. Saying stuff like—” He leaned in. “‘Suck my balls, bitch.’ Direct quote.”

“Wait, really?”

Fak nodded enthusiastically. “I swear on my mom’s lasagna. But it’s not just us. Nomas team getting them too. Maybe others. And we think there’s a connection with Chef David from New York—big friends with fancy people. Could be where it’s coming from.”

The journalist furiously scribbled in her notebook.

This continued on for while turning into a rant for Fak not leaving any detail behind.

“You know,” Fak added a last statement , “I think this might be the best thing to happen to us. Carmy’s back in competition mode, Sydney’s sharpening her knives metaphorically and literally, and Marcus is basically in pastry god mode now. Whoever this mystery chef is? They’re making everyone better.”

The journalist smiled.

“Thanks, Fak. You’ve been… enlightening.”

The morning after…

The headline dropped at 8:17 a.m.

“The Culinary Cold War: Anonymous Chef Sparks Feud Between The Bear, International Talent, and the Elite.”

It featured quotes.

Descriptions of dishes.

A timeline of events.

And an entire sidebar titled: “Fak’s Confessional: A Front-of-House Perspective.”

By 9:00 a.m., Sydney was fuming.

She slammed the paper on the counter. “Fak.”

“What?!�� he said, poking his head in. “I said nice things!”

Richie was cackling.

Carmy hadn’t said a word. Just stood over the paper, jaw tight, eyes scanning every word.

It was out now.

The world knew.

The war wasn’t just between chefs anymore.

Now it was public.

Now it was personal.

And somewhere, someone was watching.

And smiling.

Because this?

This was exactly what they wanted.

A/N

We need more Fak content

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mutant-okuri-inu · 1 year ago

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Call Of Duty Modern Warfare II - Howling and Hollow

Prologue: Another new recruit for support

The helicopter lowers it's altitude as it arrives at the location where one person was contected. The rotor blades beating the winds in a rapid rhythm.

The door of the helicopter opens with a loud "whooosh" as a young woman jumps out safety on her feet on the ground. She puts her hand on her head and looks at the building in front of her where she was contacted. Nodding to herself, she begins to walk in her gears over her shoulders.

...

Kate Laswell and General Shepherd are alone in the office, the windows are sealed shut black while General argues about Iran and the missiles.

"Oh, deniability my ass- Iran's are all over this. I wanna know how many they have and where they intend to use 'em." Shepherd's frustrated voice echoes around the office as Laswell is pacing around, then she stops.

"If Hassan is moving missiles he has a smuggling partner." Laswell glares at General as she puts her hand on the chair.

"Well then, I would advise you who that is." He said while tilting his head.

"Give my team two hours with those missiles, sir." Laswell walks to the laptop. "I will know everybody who's ever breathed on." She was about to type something, but Shepherd interrupts her.

"Negative, I want 'em destroyed."

Laswell sighs and approaches him- "General, there's value Intel there."

The footsteps echoes in the hallway while walking to the meeting room, she was about to knock but hears voices. She bends her head a little to the side to listen.

"This is an intelligence failure, Laswell... it's not gonna be a tactic one. There will be 500 enemy soldiers an that site by sunrise." He taps his finger on the table. "We need a win fast."

Well, what a wonderful conversation between them. Everybody wants to win, but all the crap is going apart.

Laswell blinks and walks to the monitor and looks at it. General bends down to the microphone and taps the button to contact Ghost.

"Gold Eagle actual to Ghost- Move your team and call for fire, I want those weapons destroyed."

"Roger that, Actual."

Laswell's eyes are trailing to the screen with slightly mouth opened, trying to think of something, then it hit her.

"Amsterdam." She calls it and it made her to walk to the laptop.

"What the hell's Amsterdam got to do with this?" General raises his eyebrow.

Laswell zooms the map on the screen and looks at it. "It's a smuggling hub." Turning her head to General. "Ports and canals are insecure. Iran has friends there... We do too... and I sent another one who's going to help us."

General blinks and straightens himself. "Who?"

Laswell points at the door as young woman walks inside quietly and shuts the door behind her. "Me, General."

General looks at the girl and it's her... Her bright blue eyes are looking at them, her black hair is shinning. Her hands are resting on her hips.

"Halia "Sigma" Connors. She's from United States Air Force Academy. It should be good opportunity to bring her here to meet her" Laswell said as General is still staring at her.

"Pleasure to meet you, General." Sigma's voice is calm, yet a little rough while nodding her head.

"Likewise..." He said nodding his head. "You better not to screw this up or you'll be squished like a bug, you hear me?" General walks to her small figure while glaring at her.

Sigma crosses her arms and looks at him, "For that sharp tongue of yours, you're the reason why God created a middle finger."

The General grunted at her clapback gesture and steps away a bit, Looking at Laswell as her arms are crossed, giving him a signal if he's going to accept it or not... A F.N.G. they say? He must to trust her now with combat skills.

For United States Air Force Airmen or women, they don't only fly planes or help for support. The ground field is more important too. General sees Sigma well trained, sharp features. She may have a soft and calm look on her face, but you shouldn't mess with her.

General sighs through his nostrils and looks at Sigma. "We'll take her."

---

WHOOOO!!! AND IT'S STARTING!! Hope you liked this short chapter! I didn't drew a cover because I was lazy TwT

#call of duty #cod oc #call of duty oc #cod #oc #halia sigma connors #original character #cod mwii #mutant writes #writing #call of duty mwii #cod mw 2022 #kate laswell #general shepherd #cod kate laswell #cod simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley

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franciscoxcatfishxmorales · 2 days ago

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Francisco 'Catfish' Morales Biography

“I told myself one job. One last ride. Get in, get paid, get back to my family. I didn’t know I’d come back carrying ghosts instead of gold.”

✦ Basic Info:

Full Name: Francisco Javier Morales

Nickname/Callsign: “Catfish” — earned during his Navy days for being slippery in the water and always getting out of tight spots, especially underwater demolitions

Age: 39

Date of Birth: November 2, 1985

Hometown: El Paso, Texas

Current Residence: Cali, Colombia — with frequent visits to Puerto López, Ecuador, where he helps Tom “Redfly” Davis rebuild his property and occasionally, himself.

✦ Occupation:

Former Service: U.S. Navy SEAL (Special Warfare Operator)

Specialties:

Demolitions

Underwater ops

Vehicle logistics & extraction coordination

Field medic training

Current Status (RP verse):

Semi-retired — works as a mechanic and boat tech in Cali by day

Freelance consultant on extraction and terrain navigation for humanitarian groups and very quiet military contractors

On-call for Pope if something smells off—but only if it won’t get him killed or leave his daughter an orphan

✦ RP-Expanded Backstory (Alt-Verse):

🪖 MILITARY LIFE:

Francisco enlisted at 19—half to escape a dead-end street, half because he felt called to protect the people who never got the chance he did. Life didn’t hand him a golden ticket. It handed him a wrench, a temper, and the ability to think fast under pressure.

The Navy taught him how to weaponize all three.

He made SEALs on his first try—stubborn, sharp, fiercely loyal. Where others hesitated, Catfish moved. Through murky rivers, breached compounds, and adrenaline-soaked missions, he became the guy they relied on to get them in and get them out.

He met the others through cross-branch assignments. Santiago first. Then Tom. Then the Miller brothers. They didn’t start as friends—they bled into family.

He stuck with them for years, even after his own deployments changed. And when they all left the military? He didn’t look back. Not because he was done—but because his brothers weren’t going anywhere.

🔥 THE HEIST — ALT VERSE:

When Santiago brought the intel, Catfish knew it wasn’t just about money.

It was about Tom.

It was about pride.

It was about doing something together again that didn’t end in someone’s funeral.

So they did it.

They planned it.

They pulled it off.

And they lived. Barely. Bloody. Shaken. But they lived.

Redfly caught a bullet and almost bled out on that mountain. They carried him down. Pope never left his side. Will led the mule train. Benny kept lookout. Catfish cracked jokes through gritted teeth as he ran field med on the man who once saved his ass in Syria.

The money didn’t matter by the end. They dumped most of it. What was left was enough to buy distance and silence—and more importantly, it was clean. No civilian bodies. No dead cops. No brothers buried in shallow jungle graves.

They left as a unit.

They’ve got an unwritten rule now:

None of them fall alone. If one’s in trouble? They all come running.

✦ Appearance:

Height: 5’10”

Build: Solid and durable—built like a truck that’s seen a few too many off-road missions but still runs just fine

Hair: Dark brown, cropped short but messy when he’s off-duty

Eyes: Hazel, warm but wary. Smiles more with them than his mouth these days

Tattoos:

Anchor on left forearm with his daughter’s initials inside it

“+10m” on his wrist (a joke about always diving deeper than planned)

SEAL Trident on his right bicep

Style: Wears the same 3 button-downs, 5 t-shirts, and beat-up jeans on rotation. Work boots, tactical watch, and a wrench or weapon within reach at all times

✦ Personality:

Practical & Grounded – He’s the glue guy, the fixer, the translator between hot-headed teammates and burning buildings

Big-Hearted but Guarded – Family comes first, always. Doesn’t trust easily, but will ride or die for the few he does

Funny Under Pressure – Dark humor, one-liners, and the ability to break tension with a look or a muttered “well shit”

Restless in Peace – He wants the quiet life, but it never quite fits. His hands shake if he’s idle too long

Reluctantly Loyal – He meant to stay out after the heist. But when Redfly calls, or Pope shows up needing something? He can’t say no. Not really.

💬 QUOTES:

“Some men leave the war. Some men carry it. Me? I keep it locked in a toolbox and only open it when I have to.”

“I’d rather be poor and whole than rich and digging one of you sons of bitches a grave.”

“Peace is loud, sometimes. But I’m learning to live with it. With all of you nearby? It doesn’t feel so empty.”

🪝 RP HOOKS:

A surprise breach at Redfly’s property pulls them all back together—Catfish is the first to grab a wrench and a rifle.

Lucía starts asking why her father doesn’t smile the way he used to. He doesn’t know how to tell her he left part of himself in the Andes.

Daniela confronts him—why does he keep disappearing when the boys call?—and he realizes he’s not quite ready to retire the soldier inside.

A routine job turns into a trap. Catfish is the one who signals Redfly before anyone else smells it.

A love interest from before his marriage resurfaces—this time with secrets about the past mission they never saw coming.

✦ Skills:

Underwater navigation and demolitions

Wilderness survival and extraction

Tactical driving and vehicle engineering

First aid & trauma stabilizing

Fluent in English & Spanish

GPS route hacking, improvised mapping, and satellite silence navigation

Fixes anything with an engine or broken soul

✦ Relationships:

Tom “Redfly” Davis – Loyal as hell. Keeps an eye on him. Checks the property after storms. Worries more than he says.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia – Brothers in arms, partners in guilt. They don’t always agree, but they’d fight shoulder to shoulder in a heartbeat.

Will & Benny Miller – Sees them less. Keeps tabs. Still considers them blood. Knows that if one calls, they all move.

Wife & Daughter in Colombia – His anchors. He wants to protect them from the world he came from, but sometimes he worries he brought it with him.

✦ RP Hooks:

A cartel-linked group hijacks a humanitarian convoy. Pope needs a driver. Catfish hates it. Still shows up.

Redfly’s land is breached. Catfish is the first to arrive. He knew something didn’t feel right.

His daughter asks about the war. He doesn’t know how to explain why he still keeps a bug-out bag behind the fridge.

A romance rekindled — maybe an old flame he never got over returns to town… or a new one who sees the man beneath the grease and the ghosts

@etherealxmuses

#First Impressions: A Muses Biography #Francisco Morales #Francisco Catfish Morales #frankie morales #Frankie morales rp #francisco catfish morales rp #triple frontier rp #triple frontier #pedro pascal rp #pedro pascal #What are we shooting at in here?!; Francisco 'Catfish' Morales

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dystopicjumpsuit · 2 years ago

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 19

The Way the World Ends, Part 3

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.9k

Warnings and tags: angst; suspense; canon-typical violence; someone gets punched; blood and injury; language.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo arrives in Pabu; the team disagrees about how to proceed.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings, "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" (part 2 here) and "Do It Again," but all the fics can be read as stand-alones.

…This is the way the world ends…

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

To say Pabu was beautiful would be grossly inadequate: it was the most idyllic place Echo had ever seen, and he’d seen a kriffing lot of the galaxy. He didn’t know if a worse hell existed than Skako Minor, but it was difficult to imagine a heaven that was lovelier than Pabu. He wished Riyo could have been there with him to see it.

It felt very strange to sit in the sunshine and enjoy Shep Hazard’s feast, to drink whatever fruity cocktail the mayor had made from the fermented tropical fruit that grew on their island—all while conscious that the rest of his team was either stuck in that dingy underworld garage or out on missions that were equally likely to end in gruesome disaster as success. He didn’t blame Hunter for wanting to keep the rest of the Batch—and particularly Omega—safe in this paradise.

Despite all that, Echo didn’t regret his decision to join Rex for even a second. The team’s success at Balmorra had only reaffirmed that he’d made the right call. But he couldn’t deny that it was very good to see his family again. Hunter made it more than clear that Echo would be welcome to join them, and if he were honest with himself, Echo admitted that it was a tempting prospect: a peaceful life in this beautiful place, surrounded by the people who were closest to him.

But what about the others? The ones who weren’t lucky enough to have found peace and safety?

“Echo, you've seen the power you're up against,” Hunter said. “You can't defeat them.”

“It's not about that,” Echo insisted. “It's about fighting for our brothers.”

“I understand why you're doing this,” Hunter sighed, “but when will it be enough?”

Echo didn’t reply immediately, but the unspoken words hovered between them nonetheless: Not yet.

“We have to tell him,” Fireball insisted.

“What good would it do?” Rex asked. “We need to get that data spike decrypted. If we tell Echo now, he’ll want to join in the search. We have to think about the bigger picture.”

“We could use some karking help with the search,” Nemec pointed out. “We still don’t know where Cerra is or even who took her.”

“My contact is looking into it,” Rex insisted. “If she’s in Imperial custody, we should know within a day or two.”

“And what if she isn’t?” Fireball asked. “How are we supposed to find her when we have no actionable intel?”

Riyo’s stomach churned. She couldn’t even believe they were having this conversation. Rex’s jaw was set firmly, but she could see the torment and self-doubt that swirled in his eyes.

“What if the situation were reversed?” she asked Rex. “If Echo knew something had happened to Cerra, and he decided to keep it from you?”

“I’d say he made the right decision,” Rex said. “The mission comes first.”

“That’s a kriffin’ lie,” Gregor said. “You’d burn the galaxy to the ground.”

“And what makes you say that?” Rex demanded harshly.

Gregor stared at Rex without flinching. “Because that’s what I’d do.”

“I have to agree,” Riyo said. “I’m sorry, Rex. If you don’t comm Echo, I will.”

Rex sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “Just… Give me a day. If I don’t hear back from my contact by then, I’ll comm Echo myself.”

“And what if you hear back?” Gregor asked.

Rex didn’t respond, and Riyo knew he was considering the possibility that his contact wouldn’t have any information.

“Then we’ll make a decision at that point,” she said decisively.

Rex met her eyes and nodded in acknowledgment. She wasn’t particularly thrilled, but she understood Rex’s reservations. There was really nothing Echo could do right now, and his mission was important. But the minute they had a shred of intel, she would comm him—Rex and his bigger picture be damned.

“Previous transfer records recovered from the ship's logs list other clone prisoners detained by the Advanced Science Division,” Tech said, “and Crosshair is one of them.”

Wrecker spoke the thought that sprang to all of their minds: “You mean Crosshair turned on the Empire?”

Echo stared at Tech. If this were true, it could change everything. Crosshair had chosen the Empire, and he’d claimed to have done it without the influence of his inhibitor chip. Echo harbored private doubts that Crosshair’s chip had truly been removed, even if he thought it had. Regardless, if Crosshair had a change of heart about the Empire, that meant that there was hope that he would be willing to come back to the squad. Echo had lost too many brothers already. If there was the slightest chance that he could save Crosshair, he had to do it.

Tech and Echo threw themselves into the task of combing through the data he’d recovered from the Gozanti, and then into hunting down any leads they could find on Hemlock and the Advanced Science Division in Republic and Imperial records. There was precious little, and after an exhaustive search, Echo sent a message to Rex asking for assistance.

Echo was surprised by how quickly Rex commed him back. He answered the call aboard the Remora; better for everyone involved if the Batch knew as little as possible about the details of Rex’s operations. The more they knew, the bigger the targets on their backs would grow.

“Echo,” Rex greeted him without preamble. “My contact came through with limited intel on your Dr. Hemlock, but we do know that he’s set to travel to Eriadu in two rotations.”

“That’s not much time,” Echo frowned. “What’s he doing there?”

“Attending some sort of summit at Tarkin’s compound with a bunch of Imperials. Not sure who else will be there, but given how classified it is, safe to say they’re all high-level officials.”

Echo grunted. “Tight security, then. Couldn’t take it with an army, but maybe a strike team could infil. Anything else?”

Rex shook his head, his expression troubled. “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make it seem like Hemlock doesn’t exist. They’re not going to be happy to see a squad of wanted fugitives tracking him down.”

“We don’t have a choice. If he has Crosshair, we have to get him back,” Echo said firmly. “He’s our brother. Besides, Hemlock is holding other clones, too.”

“I understand,” Rex replied, but doubt clouded his eyes.

“We could use some backup,” Echo observed.

“I wish I could send it,” Rex said. “Echo… there’s something you need to know.”

“What is it?” Echo asked. “Riyo—”

“She’s all right,” Rex said. “It’s about Cerra.”

Echo’s short-lived relief spiraled into a sense of foreboding. “What happened?”

“She went missing on an extraction mission. We still don’t know who took her.”

“I’m coming back,” Echo said flatly.

“Negative,” Rex replied, his voice stern. “The whole team on Coruscant is working on it. Your mission is too important; we have no idea if or when we’ll get another lead on Hemlock.”

“Kriff Hemlock—” Echo began.

“Cerra would want you to put the mission first,” Rex interrupted. “You know it’s true.”

“Cerra has a karkin’ death wish!” Echo snapped. “She’s been looking for an excuse to self-destruct since I met her.”

“We won’t let that happen. We will find her. I need you to stay focused on your mission. We can’t spare the men for Eriadu, and we couldn’t make it in time anyway. It has to be you, Echo. We’re counting on you.”

Echo sat alone in the Remora for a long moment after Rex ended the holocom. He knew Rex was right, but it didn’t ease the sick feeling of dread when he thought about Cerra. Dank farrik, he’d only just begun to get through to her, and now he might have lost her for good—his last link to Fives.

The mission comes first.

He’d get his brother back first, and if the team hadn’t found Cerra by then, he swore by the Force he’d get his sister back, too.

Cerra awoke to the familiar gray walls of a Venator brig. She’d never been held in one before, but she’d seen them plenty of times during her years of service. She had no idea how much time had passed or even which Venator she was on. Her body ached, and hunger gnawed at her stomach. She took a quick stock of her situation.

Naturally, she’d been stripped of her weapons and armor, which was karking annoying. It was just her luck to lose her armor on the very first mission after she finished the modifications she’d been working on with Echo. The loss of the blasters cut deeper. Jesse had customized them for her specially years before, and they were all she had left from him. Even if she managed to escape, the odds were spectacularly bad that she would be able to find them on the Venator, if they’d even made it aboard.

That was assuming she lived long enough to escape. She had no delusions about her chances: she was being kept alive long enough to interrogate. Once they’d ripped the answers out of her, she would be terminated and jettisoned with the rest of the trash. If she were lucky, it would happen in that order.

All of which meant that she needed to escape before they had a chance to extract her secrets. All she had to do was break out of a completely secure holding cell, make her way through an enormous and heavily guarded starship, steal a ride, and jump into hyperspace before the Venator could engage its tractor beam—all without getting captured again.

Easy peasy.

She scoffed and flopped back down on the kriffing pathetic excuse for a bed. Clearly, prisoner comfort was not high on the list of priorities for jail cells. Nor was entertainment, which she discovered over the course of the next several days. Had she been bored when she was alone in the garage? That had been a paradise compared to the endless, colorless monotony of a Venator cell.

She slept, she woke, she slept again. Nothing changed, and she was forced to confront the very real possibility that she was going to die in this cell. She didn’t know how many days passed before the heavy tread of a TK trooper sounded outside her cell door.

“On your feet,” he barked. “Hands behind your head.”

She complied, keeping a wary eye on his blaster. He shut down the ray shield and entered the cell, then shoved her against the wall as he secured her wrists in a set of binders behind her back.

“You know, I usually expect a man to at least tell me his name before I let him tie me up,” she said, hoping to catch him off-balance.

“Quiet, scum,” he snapped.

Ah, well. Worth a shot.

“Get moving,” he ordered, nudging her out of the cell and into the corridor with the muzzle of his blaster.

“Where we headed?” she asked conversationally.

“Interrogation,” he replied shortly.

“Any chance we can stop at the commissary?” she asked. “I wouldn’t mind a snack. The prisoner rations here are—”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “Eyes front.”

Unfortunately, he never let down his guard, and his blasters were properly secured. Trust her to encounter the only competent TK trooper in the entire kriffin’ army. He marched her to the interrogation room and thrust her through the doorway. She stumbled, but righted herself in time to see the door slide closed and the lock engage.

She took a quick inventory of the room. There was nothing inside except a table and two chairs; nothing she could use to escape or even loosen her binders. She paced around the room impatiently. After waiting a frankly impolite amount of time, at last she heard the door hiss open behind her.

“Cerra Kilian. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Oh kark.

She would recognize that voice anywhere, and she fought against a reflexive urge to snap to attention. Instead, she turned slowly around and inspected the man who’d entered the room.

“Admiral,” she drawled in greeting, hoping that he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart or see the damp sheen of sweat that she suddenly felt on her forehead.

“It’s colonel, actually,” Wullf Yularen replied.

“Apologies, I didn’t realize you’d been demoted,” Cerra replied. From his narrowed eyes, she could tell the barb had struck home.

“It was a lateral move,” he replied. “An opportunity presented itself to be of greater service to the Empire.”

“Then I suppose congratulations are in order,” Cerra said.

“I can’t say the same for you,” Yularen said with a faint look of disgust as he surveyed her from her shaved head to her booted feet. “What on earth have you done to yourself? You used to be almost pretty.”

Always such a charmer.

“Well, new Empire, new me,” she said glibly. “I think the new look suits me.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t expect better from a deserter and a traitor,” he said.

Cerra smirked. “Deserter, I’ll give you. But I hardly think a few shady back-alley deals constitute treason. If they did, you’d have to arrest the entire senate.”

Yularen clenched his jaw, but he didn’t rise to her bait. “You saved my life once, Lieutenant—or rather—Miss Kilian, and out of respect for that, I am going to give you a chance to do this the easy way. Tell me where to find your companions, and I will let you go free.”

Kraytshit, scughole. The only way you’re letting me out is in a body bag.

“I don’t have any companions,” she said. “I’m a free agent.”

Yularen’s lips tightened. He began to circle her, slowly, his shoulders ramrod straight, and his hands clasped behind his back.

“What were you doing on Daiyu?”

“What does anyone do on Daiyu?” she asked. “I was picking up a shipment of glitterstim.”

“You expect me to believe you abandoned your highly decorated military career to become a spice runner?” Yularen’s voice dripped with skepticism.

She shrugged. “Girl’s gotta make a living.”

He narrowed his eyes. “We know you were involved with the insurrection on Raada.”

It was hardly an insurrection. I just blew up a speeder.

“What’s Raada?” she asked insouciantly.

“We have surveillance holos of you on the base. There’s no point in pretending ignorance.”

“Oh, you mean Raada, the moon,” Cerra said. “I was thinking about moving there, but I didn’t care much for the neighbors.”

“I see. I must admit, I was surprised to see a familiar face when we began to investigate the Raada incident. Careless. Almost as careless as trusting a spice runner not to give you up at the first hint of a reward.”

So that’s where the hole in our opsec was, Cerra thought grimly. Poor fucker.

“Hell of a reward,” she said. “Why do you care so much about a blown-up speeder, anyway?”

“Don’t pretend to be so innocent,” he gritted out. “Where is Ahsoka Tano?”

“Who?” Cerra didn’t need to fake her confusion this time; she was truly baffled.

What in the galaxy does Ahsoka Tano have to do with anything? Cerra had met the young Jedi several times before she was transferred to the Ro-Ti-Mundi, but didn’t know her particularly well. Certainly not as well as Rex did. As far as Cerra knew, the girl had died along with the rest of the Jedi Order, even if she was a lapsed member.

“We know an adolescent Togruta Jedi killed an inquisitor on Raada and escaped mere days after you were caught on holocam at that base. Where is she?” Yularen demanded in a harsh tone.

“I thought all the Jedi were dead. What’s an inquisitor?” Cerra asked curiously. She hadn’t heard of them before, and she figured she might as well try to get as much information as she could on the off chance that she walked away from this mess.

Yularen backhanded her, hard. He struck so fast she never saw his fist coming before it smashed into her face. Her head snapped to the side, and she stumbled, but righted herself quickly as agony exploded in her mouth.

“Rude,” she gasped painfully. “I thought we were having a conversation.”

She tasted the salty, metallic flavor of blood, and she spat it onto the floor in front of Yularen’s feet.

“I gave you your chance to cooperate,” he said. “But it seems you’ve chosen to do it the hard way.”

“You know,” Cerra said, “you were a decent commanding officer. Bit of a hardass, but I never took you for a stooge. I guess you can never really know someone.”

“Strong words for a woman who betrayed everything she ever stood for,” Yularen said.

“I didn’t betray shit,” Cerra snarled. “And my only regret is that I dragged your fascist ass into the escape pod instead of saving more clones.”

He glared at her. “You will tell me everything.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she said.

“I won’t need to. Guard!” Yularen snapped. The TK trooper stationed outside the room entered immediately. “Escort the prisoner to the enhanced interrogation room, and notify Agent Daivik that his services are required.”

“Yes, sir,” the trooper said, taking aim at Cerra. “Move it, scum.”

Cerra shot Yularen an impudent, bloody grin. “Be seeing you.”

---

Next chapter

#echo tbb #captain rex #captain gregor #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #clone trooper fireball #clone trooper nemec #the bad batch #star wars #tbb fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars oc #dystopicjumpsuit writes #stars beyond number

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tgrailwar-zero · 1 year ago

Note

I mean, we have Endless Whispers for communication, so even if you wander long distance it's not like you'd be hard to reach...

On the other hand, if you find something weird up the road, it'll be real awkward for us to rush to your aid. I'm not terribly worried about you losing a fight, so much as... I dunno. Some evil corrupting influence?

I'm not the only voice in here, what's everyone else think? Sure or nah?

KUKULKAN: "Of course! I'll be fine, I promise!"

KUKULKAN: "We'll see each other again soon, it'll be like I never left! But there are things that I can't do as your Servant that I can do on my own. Consider it an intel-gathering mission! I'll need you to take care of the boys for me. If they start arguing, give them a good slap on the arm for me, yes?"

She winked… and then here was a pause. Her face scrunched up for a moment, as if deeply deliberating something, as she rocked on her heels and pouted her lips before finally stating, rather abruptly, that--

KUKULKAN: "…Quetzalcoatl was not a true god of war…"

This seemed to be her 'why', as she began to speak. Speak in that cold, detached manner she did when she, in those rare moments, expressed that she was divine in nature.

Your other Servants. Your other warriors. They were human, with clear vices and dreams. Who walked from one pat

But this Servant, summoned in a chance moment, was strange and unknowable.

KUKULKAN: "…The Feathered Serpent did not rejoice in bloody sacrifice like the others, but that didn't mean blood was not spilled for the Feathered Serpent across the continent. My people… the people that were pruned away… were peaceful. They did not engage in warfare. And so that scent of coming blood… that smell that isn't for 'Me' but is for 'Me'… it is strong. It is very, very strong because I am not used to it."

KUKULKAN: "…There's a storm coming. The sham war is over, and now the real one is going to begin. It'll be bloody, yes. For us, for the Solar Cell, for everything and everyone… and so, there are things I have to check. Cross my t's and dot my i's."

She drew herself close, putting her forehead against yours. It was intimate, but not intrusive.

She felt warm, and for a moment you felt it. Not a sense of dread, or apprehension. Simply sight, looking over and seeing a brief, noted shadow on the horizon. Grass dotted with blood, filled equally with laughter and cheer as it was hallowed, deathly silence. Beautiful and terrible. A half-answer to infinite questions. A vision, terse and contradictory, observing things on a macro scale that seemed utterly nonsensical and incomprehensible to parse. Difficult. That was how she saw things-- with difficulty.

She pulled her head back, giving a sheepish smile.

KUKULKAN: "But-- that time isn't here yet. It's not here yet, there's still time, but I can feel it tickling the horizon. So, we live our lives like normal until then. Cherish the good moments, laugh, play, and sing and plan to do more the next day and the next. Save the scary-talk for the night, where it will stay in the dark, and then dance as if it doesn't exist when the day breaks. Don't be picky about the harvest handed to you, that is one of the Teachings of the Sun."

KUKULKAN: "Sorry, I'm being a downer."

She giggled, as if her words before were nothing more than silly conjecture. As if she had just made a bad joke.

KUKULKAN: "It's tough being a god, you know? There's a lot I don't know, but a lot that I do know as well."

KUKULKAN: "I'll head out when the night is deepest, okay? When everyone is resting. That way, there's no fuss."

She grinned. A familiar, toothy, shining smile that seemed to wash away all of the apprehension in the air. Her mood, and the conversation, turning on an expertly timed dime. She waved the magazine in her hands, jade bracelet gently jingling.

KUKULKAN: "I've taken a look at it already. The Solar Cell has a lot of promising fighters, yes! They even wrote about Miss Thrud in there, she's going to be a tough opponent!"

She handed it over.

KUKULKAN: "It'll be good to read, I think. Good night. I'll be checking on the little one if you need me. Bonita noche."

Then, she spun on her heels and sauntered off back to her tent, as if there was not a care in the world.

#thgw story #endless whispers

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neo-axe-oc-thoughts · 1 year ago

Text

𓆝 AU NOTES - Guppy 𓆝

Hi, I put together some notes / added on to the timeline. It does focus a bit more on how I'm fitting in Black Ops 1, 2 (Flashbacks mainly), and Cold War. I've change a bit how Guppy Joins TF141, but I'm still working on how I want to zir to interact with the others in the task force .

/ / word count : 733

In this AU Bell survives the final countdown mission and is found by Mason and Woods who take them in. Both are unaware that Bell was brain washed, and thought they were helping of their own volition. When they find out about MK-Ultra they are pissed at Hudson for hiding this from them especially after what Mason has been through.

Whilst Bell starts to figure out who they are / who they were, they help take care of Mason's son David who is 2 or 3 years old. (Bell is about 23 at this point, and slowly starts to view Mason and Woods as their Uncles and David as their nephew.)

Operation Just Cause does happen but Woods doesn't end up killing Mason, just injuring him severely causing him to be hospitalised and put in a medically induced coma for a couple of months. Woods retires, and so does Mason soon after he wakes up.

Both talk about their feelings and feel like they are more then friends but not lovers. (Queer Platonic Relationships my beloved) They focus on taking care of David and Bell. David turns 18 and enlists into the US navy, Bell decides that they're going to leave the country and heads to Australia.

Guppy is born in 1997 and is named Harlow Rayner by xyr parents. Bell and Guppy first meet in an all ages Auslan class, Guppy becomes attached to Bell. A surprised to zir parents and others.

By the time Guppy is 10 Bell has become their baby sitter, taking better care of them than Guppy's Parents; who "struggle" raising an autistic kid. Guppy starts going an interest into puzzles and mysteries, after seeing some puzzle books around Bell's flat.

Soon after Guppy is introduced to Mason and Woods accidentally, when they surprise Bell with a visit. Both 100% think Guppy is Bell's kid at first and tease Bell about keeping Guppy a secret from them. Bell does explain that Guppy isn't their kid.

Mason and Woods share a look, before anything more can be said Guppy starts asking questions about them. Woods does most of the talking sharing stories to Guppy about them, Mason watching fondly as Woods does this. Guppy eventually has to leave, but Mason and Woods promise to stay in contact with xem via Bell.

Time skip as Guppy goes through the rest of Primary and Highschool, deciding they want to be like Bell, xe study 2 course in Uni for the next two years before joining the AUS Navy as a Intel Analysis. This is where Guppy and David meet professionally for the first time.

Guppy send 4 years in the Navy before switching to the Aus Intel Corps, getting the nickname "Guppy" for being a fish out of water. This is also where xe meet Laswell for the first time, helping her out with some missions she needs info for.

Modern Warfare II takes place and Laswell suggest to Price about adding another member, Price after seeing Guppy's file agree to a 3 month trial period. Guppy joins TF141 mid November, a couple of jabs at Guppy's nickname; but they seem to except xem pretty quickly.

Guppy spends zir first couple weeks helping with the cluster fuck that was Shepherds betrayal, not having a lot of free time to hangout with the rest of the task-force. Gaz and Price go on a couple day mission to help Alex and Farah out. (Atomgrad Raids)

After this Gaz and soap drag Guppy to the closest bar wanting to get to know zir better, the rest of the task force is also there. Whether by bribery or because they wanted to. Even though Guppy doesn't usually go out drinking they do enjoy xyr time out with the rest of the task force.

Mid December rolls around and the team gets a one week break for Christmas, Guppy stays at Base with Price and Gaz; Soap dragging Roach and Ghost to Scotland. Gaz eventually convincing zir to come to Urzikstan with him to meet Farah and Alex, who are basically unofficial members of the 141.

Guppy makes ANZAC biscuits before they leave hoping that Farah, Alex and the ULF soldiers might like something different from the usual rations. The couple days spent in Urzikstan are spent helping out Farah's forces rather than celebrating Christmas. Gaz does give a couple small gifts to Alex and Farah though.

/ /

This is all I have so far, hope you enjoyed reading it. I also just realised that Mason and Woods would be Great-Uncles, since Bell is basically Guppy's parent.

Small Note: The WW1 recipe for ANZAC biscuits last for up to two months, which is why I have Guppy baking them for the ULF.

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nityarawal · 1 year ago

Text

4/1/2024

Mash-Up

Of My Heart

Morning Songs

Never Thought

I'd Despise

A Beatles' Tune

But Mash-Ups

Hurt My Ears

Give Me A

Headache

Sound Unnatural

Even When

It's The Songs

We Love Best

We Know When

It's Insincere

Manipulated

For Attys

Brands

Did You Expect

A Mommy

To Sing At Midnight

Last 8 Years

In The Winter

In Lexus

Lemons

On Icy Roads

In Blizzards

Or A Filmed

Loaner

For Data

Unicorns

Hunted

Did You Expect

To Fetch A Nitsa

Pizza

That's Not How

Mammas Roll

You Might Get A

Beyonce

Or A Taylor

At 2 AM

Pushed Out

The Door

By Conservators

But #FreeBritney & I

Keep Dancing

Singing

Whirling In Circles

Like Dervishes

Nitya Is A

Yogini

Eloning For Eternity

You Yelled

Don't Smoke

Don't Drink

What Can We Do

For 8 Years

Until Colonitis

Of My Gut

Agreed

From Germ Warfare

And Forced Drugs

Hookers

Of England

Playbooks

Darin-Bond Intel Cons

Shouldn't The

Beatles'

Have A Medetators

Voice

Not Be Pimped

To Brothels

We Know When

Somethings

Just Not Right

Inauthentic

Where Is Real

Beyonce

My Little Black

Bird

Whose The Horrible

Atty

Who Took Over Her

Cyborg

Brand

Cloning Beyonce

Robots

You Think

We Won't Complain

Weaponising

Jolene

You Think We Won't

Complain

When Blackbird

Got Martyred

On Easter

You Think We

Won't Complain

About The Texas

Brothels'

We Know You Sold

Our Robots'

Voodoo Trafficking

To Politicians

And Never Gave

A Dime

Back

To Mothers'

My Stomach Is

Turning

So Is Maye Musk's

Gay Barometer

From Airforce

Molesting Our Sons

Tesla Cons

Doje Daytraders

Bitcoin

Bottom Feeders

When You Gonna

Abort

The Latest Airforce

Gigolettes Air Forced

Geriatric

Embryo

When You Gonna

Abort The Latest

Hooker For Court

Giggolos Galore

Lingering From

Trumpleberry

Era

Toxic Errol Musk

Epsteins' Lust

We Won't Let Them

Molest Our

Children

And Of Course

We Expected

Better Of Your

Bean Counters

Baby Counters

Second Gentlemen

Second Pilots

Why

Couldn't You Be

More Like

Leonard Cohen

Earhearts

Listening

We Heard You

Greenwashing Gay

Agenda

Again

Not One Mamma

Rightfully Got Her

Cybertruck

Delivered

Refunded

Easter Raincheck

Hallelujah

April Fools Day

Pranks

Never Stopped

Have Mercy

We Miss Our

Kids And Parents

Too

Merci

Please

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal

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owlixx · 2 years ago

Text

CoD Notes: Advanced Warfare Beat

This is, what, the 4th game I’ve beaten since the last time I took notes?

I again went into this game wanting to like it. I was rooting for this to be an underdog hidden gem, and honestly I think that’s what happened. It helped that Ghosts was kind of a letdown and this game picked up the pieces.

Hit markers are back! A solid start. RPG profession is back! Another solid return from features BO2 had that Ghosts was missing.

Obviously the big thing here is the exo suits. I kind of like them but there’s some issue. My biggest one is that making us switch between two different kinds of rigs and even then having different abilities for each mission meant that I never knew what my abilities were which meant I just never used them. There was a singular missions towards the end where I finally started using my sonic blast and stim. I was constantly trying to double jump in levels where I didn’t have it. I do generally appreciate the extra mobility though.

I also really like the switchable grenades. It would be overpowered in multiplayer but this isn’t multiplayer so kudos for this feature. I also really like the invisible HUD in campaign where all the ammo/grenades are just visible on your gun itself.

Also the writing in this game is so much better than Ghosts! It’s pretty cringy to see Kevin Spacey so much but he does turn in a pretty great performance, as one would expect. I’ll admit that the “are we the bad guys?” mid-game twist is a little too obvious and happens a little too clumsily but it’s still more entertaining than anything Ghosts was doing. Gideon in particular started to really grow on me by the end.

Oh, also I like that getting stronger is tied to kills, headshot kills, grenade kills, and intel collected. I found the most intel in this game by far and felt actually rewarded for it. I also maxed out headshots like halfway through the game.

The best part of this game is the giant mech suit parts at the end, plus the section where you can’t use your robot arm so you have to just pick up a new gun every time instead of reloading. That section was genuinely such s great idea and is so fun to play through.

It’s not perfect, but AW feels genuinely so much more ambitious than Ghosts. I didn’t connect with his game as a kid but now I’ve really started to develop a fondness for Sledgehammer after being something of a MWIII defender. You can even see kind of connection between “smart grenades” and breacher drones, plus the AMR9 is in both.

Now, I did only play one multiplayer match, and I kind of hated it. I’m sure I’d get used to the movement over time, but I felt like I was just hitting buttons and dying over and over. I have zero desire to revisit this game’s multiplayer.

Also did one exo survival match, it’s fine. I like that it tries to evolve the MW3 survival formula, but both feel so basic compared to anything zombies. At least it means there’s something to do on the multiplayer maps eve when the servers go offline.

I also tried exo zombies since you are forced to get the “gold edition” with 1 DLC if you buy digitally. Here, it actually makes sense since you get a whole new game mode. I had never realized just how similar this mode was to treyarch’s zombie maps, but with everything shifted off a couple degrees. I ended up dying because I got infected and racing to the cure chamber got me killed, but overall this mode impressed me. This is the last one without any meta progression though so I won’t be likely to revisit.

Rankings wise, it’s not better than any of the “golden age” games (MW trilogy, BO 1/2) but it beats even BO3 in terms of raw campaign.

#cod #call of duty #advanced warfare #call of duty advanced warfare #cod Aw

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xsystema99 · 2 years ago

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Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon

A shell the size of a tanker car screams next to me, the heat and pressure alone enough to shred most of my armor plating. There is a great thunder behind me as it throws up such a fireball into the sky that it eats a helicopter whole. What is ahead of me is “The Wall” - a towering “rebel” fortress, near impenetrable, its defenses bolstered by the behemoth artillery piece that just wiped out any chance of profiting from this exercise within the first fifteen seconds on the ground. I’ve been contracted by BALAM, a corporation heavily investing in natural resource speculation, to “climb the Wall”; to beat the rebels into submission, silence their guns, and leave that killdozer Gustav Schwerer hybrid a sundered wreck. I will fight them all so fiercely, with such exacting precision, that I will almost feel guilty. Each cry of pain, desperate plea, that’s another few thousand c-notes hitting my bank account. It’s just business, after all. If I didn’t take this job, some other merc would.

This is a game about doing the dirty work nobody else will. It’s about taking a huge fucking paycheck to wipe out the desperate and hopeless prisoners of this barred off tomb-world to clear the way for capitalist exploitation. Your actions on Rubicon 3 are, contrary to what you may be conditioned to think by an economic system that’s all but enslaved you to brutal individualist violence, of truly interstellar importance. A new epoch is about to begin – and you? For two of the endings, you staight up do not give a fuck, and the “third way” will see you standing on the broken and bloodied bodies of everyone who put their trust into you. This game feels like the end times, an inescapable and absolutely crushing sense of impending doom bearing down on you at all times, the total and complete collapse of all order. There is a razor thin line between somewhat ordered anarcho-capitalism and desperate turmoil constantly being walked.

Missions take the form of contracts, freelance gigs passed to you through the enigmatic “Handler Walter”, where your on the job performance determines your payout or penalty, depending(One criticism I have is that my finances were never in a truly desperate state in Armored Core VI, probably because you can replay missions at any time to earn some extra cash). You’ll be hit with a video briefing outlining the job request, intel on enemy positions and equipment, and some potential risks. Often, missions are simple affairs, “destroy this” and “activate that”, but when they go wildly off course, like when the PCA begins to invade Rubicon during a routine intel gathering mission, forcing you to stare down a battleship and it’s mecha escorts, that’s where Armored Core VI’s structure really shines. More often than not, you’ll get absolutely beasted on by whatever surprises Armored Core VI has in store, but in those moments where you fight back with all your might and win – that’s prime mecha right there. Facing down overwhelming odds and coming out on top by the skin of your teeth. When I stood amidst the flaming wreckage of foes I had never seen before, only a few hundred health points left and completely bereft of ammo, that’s when I was like “oh they get it”. The mechanics and structure synthesize in such a way that, to invoke a classic games writing cliche, makes you feel like Char Aznable. To some, that sentence won’t even register, but to those who know, it will mean everything.

Mechanized warfare is fast like lightning and loud like thunder. Build depending, mechs will either shriek or roar as nuclear thrusters send them hurtling towards each other, clashing in a dizzying acrobatic whirlwind where the visuals ascend from realism into impressions. Your unfocused eyes adhere to monocolor silhouettes, calculating movement, trajectory, angles of attack – It’s in these moments where Armored Core VI’s visuals truly ascend, the cold realism disappears in this haze of light and fire and everything becomes a kind of industrial impressionism. To fully take in every movement of your foe is an outright impossibility, so you enter a sort of high blood pressure fugue state where everything melts away except you and the enemy. With four weapons (one in each hand, two on your shoulders) on your AC, each with unique damage and stagger properties, firing stances, accuracy values, and ideal ranges, Armored Core VI frequently becomes overwhelming in the best way possible. And god, the movement. After boosting, your AC skates across the ground Armored Trooper VOTOMS style, kicking up an inferno of sparks and shrapnel. Adjusting your course in one direction has your AC lean into the turn like it’s on roller skates, igniting peripheral thrusters on the opposite side to heave this hundred ton titan into a new trajectory. Leaping between and on top of buildings, chaining evasive dodges into forward boosts, and then chaining that movement into a devastating frontal kick felt surprisingly natural on keyboard and mouse after only a few hours of playtime.

The addition of a Sekiro-esque posture mechanic, where attacks deal damage to both health and stamina, gives more freedom in build variety than I’ve experienced in any prior Armored Core. Looking to reddit and twitter, you’ll see no shortage of dual gatling and grenade launcher builds absolutely stomping some of the game’s nastiest bosses into the dirt, but that is easily the least rewarding playstyle on offer here. The general purpose AC that I would default to when going out on missions and fighting in the arena, was a mid-weight, in your face beast, blasting pistols akimbo to build up stagger from mid range before boosting in with dual shotguns, obliterating enemy armor at close-range. Shoulder weapons are cool, and offer no shortage of unique, artillery heavy playstyles, but I wound up having a lot more fun hot swapping between hand weapons like a 20 meter tall gunslinger. Regardless, there are so many parts, all with such distinctive properties that meaningfully alter your approach to combat, that I suspect my preferred AC build is going to change on each subsequent deployment to Rubicon’s surface.

The boss fights are some of From Software’s best. My personal highlight was an early game showdown with a PCA prototype, BALTHEUS, an Armored Core strapped into a rocket-propelled throne with orbiting wheels of fire that invoke oppressive biblically imagery, a vainglorious robotic testament to the PCA’s bloated self-importance. I probably spent two whole days getting skill checked by this thing, but by the time I dealt the killing blow, my piloting skills had increased ten-fold. I was deftly dodging heat-seeking missile barrages, keeping track of their orientation and orbit path in my head as they screeched out of view, relentlessly pressing my assault while anticipating them circling back on a new heading. I was jumping over sword slashes and boosting under white hot napalm barrages, retaliating with a kind of exacting precision that Sekiro’s triumphant displays of martial skill. SEA SPIDER was similarly thrilling, especially when I identified the blind spot near its abdomen. Chasing this Hollywood producer’s wet dream down required constant assault boosts towards its thorax, always aligning my AC with one of it’s gargantuan legs so that I would be obscured from the firing path of the devastating central laser cannon. There’s a genuinely uncountable number of thrilling, suck the air out of your lungs encounters just like these in Armored Core VI.

My colleague Ted Litchfield wrote about how the presence of the Interior Ministry in Sekiro communicates so much about the state of the wider world – the vast, homogenizing engine of homogenizing snuffing out whole cultures, the great die-off of magic and folklore in society. Armored Core VI uses a similar technique with the presence of the PCA, albeit to a somehow more depressing effect. After a brief inter-corporate ceasefire, the PCA are all but routed from Rubicon in the conclusion of the second act, serving as a grandiose but ultimately ineffectual presence. I was so immersed in Armored Core VI’s setting that I found myself longing for the return of these strict legalists, the only evidence of some kind of centralized government or authority that stands a chance at stopping the corporations from achieving total dominance. If the PCA can’t stop the corporations, who can?

The answer, obviously, is you. That “third way” ending, the Liberation of Rubicon, is one of the most uplifting finales to a game I’ve played since Ace Combat Zero. The bodies of your masters still fresh, you act independently to become the tip of the spear of an organized military effort to dislodge the corps from Rubicon, fighting above and alongside the mercenaries you’ve bested in the Arena and on the job. The droning synths and irregular industrial beats that dominated Armored Core VI’s soundtrack are remixed into a composition that is nothing short of angelic, the perfect accompaniment to a conclusion that sees Rubicon’s impenetrable gray skies part as you soar glorious and above a planet again consumed by raging fire – the fires of liberation. And after all is laid to rest, laid to waste, Armored Core VI still ends on a melancholy, mournful note: You can only do what you think is right.

Ultimately, Armored Core VI is a deep game, both mechanically and narratively. It’s unlikely that this will be my final piece of writing on a game that genuinely moved me in a way few games have. It is the platonic ideal of the mech action game, all your Gundam and Macross daydreams and power fantasies made playable at the highest fidelity possible, with a narrative that stands tall in how it contextualizes, and allows you to contextualize, your own sordid actions. I cannot recommend Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon enough.

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scotttrismegistus7 · 1 year ago

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Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare - Biolab: Manticore Intel Briefing & Bird...

youtube

COVID-19 AND MANTICORE

ACCORDING TO DR STEVEN GREER OF THE DISCLOSURE MOVEMENT, THE LEVELS OF TECHNOLOGY HELD IN THE RUNAWAY TRAIN MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX ARE ARE SO ADVANCED THAT YOU COULD TAKE THE MOST ADVANCED TECHNOLOGY YOU COULD THINK OF, AND THEN TIMES IT BY TEN OR SO TO WHERE IT'S TOTALLY INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO ANYONE NOT DIRECTLY A PART OF THE PROGRAMS.

MULTIPLE PEOPLE APPLY FOR THE SAME PATENTS AT THE SAME TIMES. THIS IS A REAL UNDOCUMENTED PHENOMENON, PEOPLE HAVE THE SAME IDEAS AT THE SAME TIMES. THIS GOES TO SHOW THAT THERE IS EVIDENCE OF THE POWER PRESENT IN WHAT THE ANCIENTS KNEW AS THE ANIMA. WE SEE IDEAS IN THE ART OF OUR CULTURE, VIDEO GAMES, MOVIES, TV SHOWS, AND THUS IT STANDS TO REASON IF THE MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX HAS PEOPLE SOMEWHERE ENGAGING IN HIGH TECHNOLOGY, THAT COULD BE PICKED UP THROUGH THE ETHER AND THE ANIMA BY SENSITIVE PEOPLE AND THEN EXPRESSED IN ART. THAT MIGHT BE WHY THEY HAVE ENGAGED IN SUCH A MASSIVE AND SUPPRESSIVE OVERHAUL OF MEDIA. YOU HAVEN'T SEEN A LOT OF NEW IDEAS IN MEDIA AS COMPARED TO THE AMOUNT OF REMAKES OF OLD IDEAS BECAUSE THINGS ARE BEING CENSORED INTENTIONALLY BY PEOPLE WHO DON'T WANT CERTAIN IDEAS PRESENTED TO THE PUBLIC.

Manticore is a biological weapon in Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare. Designed by Dr. Pierre Danois, it was devised to target specific genotypes, and would kill anyone not in the Atlas database. Thus, in any battle, if it were to be used, all of the enemy would die, and only Atlas PMCs would live through the aftermath.

https://callofduty.fandom.com/wiki/Manticore#google_vignette

Neanderthal genes possibly gave modern human protection against viruses. However, a recent study revealed that that a long sequence of DNA that is inherited from our Neanderthal ancestors can be linked to severe COVID-19 infection and hospitalization.

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7859372/#:~:text=in%20other%20countries.-,Neanderthal%20genes%20possibly%20gave%20modern%20human%20protection%20against%20viruses.,COVID%2D19%20infection%20and%20hospitalization.

I'M GOING TO THROW UP MY DISCLAIMER HERE BY WARNING YOU THAT I'M ABOUT TO PUSH SOME BUTTONS BY PULLING NO PUNCHES SO WE CAN FULLY ANALYZE THE SITUATION FOR THE TRUTH FROM AN UNBIASED PERSPECTIVE.

FIRST OF ALL, LET ME CATCH YOU UP ON SOME OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE ANCIENTS THAT HAS BEEN DISCOVERED. DR STEVEN GREER CLAIMS THAT WE HAVE A LOST CENTURY, AND THAT IS BECAUSE TECHNOLOGY THAT CAN PRODUCE FREE ENERGY AND MANY OTHER THINGS HAS BEEN SUPPRESSED. THE PEOPLE THAT PRODUCE THINGS LIKE OIL AND GAS HAVE TRILLIONS OF DOLLARS AT STAKE, AND ALSO THERE WOULD BE A MASSIVE EFFECT ON OUR INFO STRUCTURE IF IT HAPPENED ALL AT ONCE. IT WOULD BE HARD TO PREDICT HOW THAT WOULD TURN OUT. IN THEORY IT WOULD LEVEL OUT THE CLASS STRUCTURE BECAUSE WE WOULD HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY TO EFFECTIVELY MEET THE PHYSIOLOGICAL NEEDS OF ALL PEOPLE ON EARTH.

SO TELL ME THIS, THE PEOPLE WITH THE MONEY ARE THE ONES SUPPRESSING THIS TECHNOLOGY AND PULLING PATENTS AND INVENTIONS. THEN, WHAT ARE THEY DOING WITH THAT KNOWLEDGE AND TECHNOLOGY ONCE THEY CONFISCATE IT FROM THE GENERAL PUBLIC? DO YOU THINK THAT THEY ARE REALLY GOING TO JUST LEVEL THE CLASS STRUCTURE WHEN RIGHT NOW THEY'RE AT THE TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN? I THINK IT'S POSSIBLE THEY MIGHT, BECAUSE THEY WILL COME TO A REALIZATION THAT IF THEY DON'T DO SOMETHING THE ENVIRONMENT OF OUR PLANET WILL BECOME SO POLLUTED THAT EVERYONE WILL SUFFER INCLUDING OUR FUTURE CHILDREN, I DON'T THINK ANY OF THEM WANT TO LIVE IN A LITTLE BOX FLOATING AROUND IN SPACE STARING AT NOTHING BUT INFINITE BLACKNESS WITH NO HOPE AND NOBODY TO KEEP THEM COMPANY BECAUSE THEY DESTROYED THE PLANET, AND THAT'S THE BEST THAT THEY COULD DO TO ESCAPE IN TIME.

IT IS MORE PROBABLE THAT THERE WOULD BE IMPLEMENTED A HYBRID VERSION OF MACHIAVELLIAN FASCISM TO TRY AND UTILIZE THE TECHNOLOGY TO SAVE THE PLANET WITHOUT LEVELING THE CLASS SYSTEM, AND SOMEHOW BRING THEM OUT ON TOP AGAIN. THE CAMPAIGN OF THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHRISTIAN CHURCH TO DO TO THE ENTIRE WORLD WHAT THEY DID TO GALILEO IN ORDER TO KEEP THE GENERAL POPULATION IN IGNORANCE SO THAT THEY COULD CONTINUE TO MANIPULATE AND CONTROL THEM, WHILE THEY THEMSELVES USE TECHNIQUES LIKE BEING THE ONLY ONES THAT KNEW HOW TO READ, ETC, TO TRY AND HOLD THE POWER WHEN THEY KNEW THAT CERTAIN DISCOVERIES AND KNOWLEDGE WOULD BECOME PUBLIC AND THEY COULDN'T STOP IT. I HAVE SEEN THEM LITERALLY EDIT INFORMATION ON THE INTERNET THAT IS NOT IN THEIR FAVOR IN A WAY THAT IS ABSOLUTELY MACHIAVELLIAN IN NATURE AND ALSO IS DECEPTIVE PROPAGANDA QUITE QUICKLY. ADD INTO THE EQUATION THAT WE NOW KNOW IT IS THE JESUITS WHO HAVE BEEN NAMED AS THE ILLUMINATI THAT MOST PEOPLE FEAR. NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH THE ILLUMINATI IDEA OF PUTTING SCIENCE BEFORE RELIGION. YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY'RE DOING, EVERYTHING ABOUT THEIR RELIGION WAS TAKEN FROM OTHER PLACES AND REWRITTEN. FOR EXAMPLE, IF THEY SAY SIMON PETER, IF THEY SAY A NAME IN THAT FASHION IN ONE OF THEIR DOCUMENTS, THAT MEANS THAT THEY WERE TRYING TO OVERWRITE ANOTHER SIMON. POSSIBLY SIMON MAGUS IN THIS CASE, BUT THESE CASES ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE. THE DEEPER YOU DIG INTO IT THE MORE YOU REALIZE THAT THESE MAINSTREAM RELIGIONS ARE NOT JUST AT THE BOTTOM OF THE S*** PILE, THEY ARE THE ONES CREATING AND ORCHESTRATING THE S*** PILE INTENTIONALLY WHILE MAKING THEMSELVES LOOK INNOCENT AS A MACHIAVELLIAN WAR TACTIC ON A PSYCHOLOGICAL LEVEL TO AVOID BEING DISCOVERED.

YOU CAN'T FORGET THAT THE CATHOLIC CHRISTIAN RELIGION CAME FROM THE ROMAN EMPIRE, FROM ROMAN EMPERORS THAT HAD THE FULL INTENTION OF RULING AND CONQUERING BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY, INCLUDING THE MANIPULATION OF THE SPIRITUALITY OF THE POPULATIONS THAT THEY WERE CONQUERING. THEY FIGURED IF THEY COULD PACIFY PEOPLE BY OVERRIDING THE SPIRITUALITY THAT THESE CONQUERED CIVILIZATIONS USED TO HAVE AFTER THEY WERE ASSIMULATED INTO THE ROMAN EMPIRE, THAT THEY COULD MORE EASILY CONTROL THEM, AND NONE OF THAT HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH ANY KIND OF REAL SPIRITUALITY. IT'S ALL A SYSTEM OF PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE AND CONTROL.

WHEN YOU LOOK AT WORLD WAR II, AND YOU REMEMBER THAT THE ROMAN EMPIRE WAS HAVING TROUBLE WITH THE JEWS AND TRYING TO CRUSH A JEWISH REBELLION, AND CREATED THE ENTIRE NEW TESTAMENT AS PROPAGANDA TO HELP WIN THEIR CONFLICT AGAINST THE JEWS, AND THEN YOU SEE THAT GERMANY WAS POSED AGAINST THE JEWS, AND THEN YOU REALIZE THAT MUCH OF THE NAZI STRATEGIES AND SS WERE DESIGNED AFTER THINGS THAT CAME FROM THE JESUITS AND THE WAY THEY DO THINGS, IT'S ONLY A VERY SHORT STEP BEFORE YOU PUT THE PIECES TOGETHER AND YOU REALIZE THAT THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH WAS THE GROUP BEHIND THE HOLOCAUST IN WORLD WAR II, THEY JUST HID BEHIND GERMANY AND THE NAZIS SO THAT IT WOULD NOT BE DISCOVERED THAT THEY ARE SO INCREDIBLY MANIPULATIVE AND THINK SO LITTLE OF THE VALUE OF THE LIVES OF EVERYONE OUTSIDE OF THEIR CLICK. THE ROMAN SPIRIT OF CONQUERING AND RULING AT ALL COSTS TRULY HAS CARRIED OVER WITH THEM.

THE PROBLEM WITH ALL OF THIS IS THAT THE EMPEROR'S OF ROME FUELING THIS MOVEMENT OF MACHIAVELLIAN FASCISM HAD NO REAL INTEREST IN SPIRITUAL TRUTH. THEY HAD AN INTEREST IN CONQUERING BY FORCE. WHAT IF THERE WAS SOME TRUTH THERE? WHAT IF THERE WERE SOME INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT THINGS OF A SPIRITUAL NATURE THERE AND THEY COMPLETELY MISSED THEM AND WROTE OVER THEM, WHILE AT THE SAME TIME NEVER BEING ABLE TO SEE THEM BECAUSE THEY WERE LOOKING AT THINGS THROUGH THE EYES OF CARNALISTS CONQUERING BY FORCE AND RULING BY FORCE AND MANIPULATION. WHAT IF THAT ENTIRE TIME, THEY WERE STEPPING ON THE TOES OF REAL BEINGS THAT EXIST ON THIS PLANET UNSEEN BUT RIGHT BESIDE US ALL THE TIME? WHAT IF IN THEIR ENDEAVOR TO MANIPULATE SPIRITUALITY (THE MACHIAVELLIAN FASCIST EMPERORS), WHAT IF SOMEWHERE IN TIME THESE REAL AND INVISIBLE SPIRITUAL BEINGS ROSE UP TO CONFRONT THIS ISSUE AND DEFEND THEMSELVES? WHAT DO YOU THINK A ROMAN EMPEROR WOULD DO? WHAT DO YOU THINK A MACHIAVELLIAN MANIPULATIVE RELIGION WOULD DO? THEY WOULD ABSOLUTELY VILIFY ALL OF THOSE THINGS. THEY WOULD TAKE THE RELIGION AND MAKE ALL OF THOSE THINGS INTO THE DEVILS AND TRAIN PEOPLE MENTALLY TO SHUN THE ACTUAL TRUTH ALL THE WHILE NEVER KNOWING THAT THEY WERE SHUNNING THE THINGS THAT COULD FREE THEM FROM THE GRASP OF THESE CARNAL CONQUERING EMPERORS THAT HAD NO MORE VALUE FOR ANY OF THEIR LIVES THAN A DISPOSABLE PAPER CUP.

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT THERE ISN'T THE WORLD OF THE LIVING AND THEN A WHITE AND BLACK CURRENT IN THE WORLD OF THE DEAD. WHAT IF I TOLD YOU NOTHING IS DEAD AND EVERYTHING IS ALIVE, AND THE WHITE CURRENT IS THE WORLD OF THE LIVING, AND THE BLACK CURRENT IS THE UNDERWORLD, AND THE WHITE CURRENT IS MASCULINE AND THE BLACK CURRENT IS FEMININE. WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT THE REAL ANGELS ARE THE SERPENT PEOPLE, AND ALWAYS HAVE BEEN. WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT YOU HAVE BEEN MANIPULATED INTO THINKING THAT THE REPTILIANS AND THE SERPENT PEOPLE ARE NOT THE REAL BENEVOLENT GUARDIANS OF NATURE BECAUSE IN ORDER TO TRY AND COMBAT SOMETHING THAT THEY COULD NOT UNDERSTAND, THESE MAKAVELIAN AND FASCIST EMPERORS, ALL THEY COULD THINK OF TO DO WAS TO COMPLETELY VILIFY THE SUPERNATURAL FORCES AND HOPE THAT NOBODY WOULD CATCH ON.

LET'S LOOK AT ANOTHER EXAMPLE. BEL AND THE DRAGON. DO YOU KNOW WHO AND WHAT BEL IS? BEL IS BAEL, THE SLANDEROUS TERM USED TO VILIFY TRUTH BY THE MAKAVELIAN FASCIST DECEIVERS BEING BEELZEBUB. THERE'S A PLACE IN SCRIPTURE WHERE THE HEBREW GOD GETS INTO A FIGHT WITH BAEL. WELL THAT'S KIND OF FUNNY BECAUSE BAEL IS BA-EL, WHICH IS A SHORTHAND WAY OF SAYING FATHER GOD. BEL IS AN EVEN SHORTER SHORTHAND WAY OF SAYING FATHER GOD. BEL AND THE DRAGON IS THE FATHER AND THE MOTHER DEITIES. BEL BEING THE FATHER GOD AND THE DRAGON BEING TIAMAT THE GREAT MOTHER OF ALL LIFE. SO APPARENTLY IN THEIR SCRAMBLE TO MANIPULATE SACRED TEXTS, THEY INVENTED A FATHER GOD TO FIGHT AGAINST HIMSELF.

PEOPLE OFTEN SAY THAT SERPENTS ARE PHALLIC SYMBOLS. I CAN SEE WHY YOU WOULD THINK THAT, BUT SERPENTS ARE OF THE DIVINE FEMININE. LET ME EXPLAIN TO YOU SOME OF THE THINGS THE ANCIENTS KNEW TODAY LIKE WE KNOW SIMPLE THINGS OF OUR OWN SOCIETY. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A PHALLUS EAT SOMETHING WHOLE? IN THE EGG EMBRYO DYNAMIC THE FEMININE IS THE CONTAINER AND THE MASCULINE IS THAT WHICH IS CONTAINED. THE EGYPTIANS STATED THAT THERE IS A COSMIC EGG AT THE CENTER OF EVERYTHING, WHICH IS CONFIRMED IN OTHER CULTURES LIKE THE DOGON WHO CITE THE EGG OF AMMA. IF THAT EGG HAPPENED TO BE AT THE CENTER OF TIME AND EVERYWHERE AND NOWHERE, THEN AN EXTENSION OF THAT EGG WOULD CONSUME LIKE A SNAKE. WHEN YOU SEE THE PICTURES OF THE SHAMANS FROM EMPIRES LIKE THE MAYA YOU SEE THAT THEY ARE INSIDE OF SNAKES, THE SERPENT SYMBOLIZING THE VEILS OF NEGATIVE EXISTENCE, THE GATEWAY THROUGH THE ANKH THAT LEADS TO THE DIVINE FEMININE WORLD. THE SERPENT WAS A SYMBOL OF THE DIVINE FEMININE BECAUSE OF THE WAY SERPENTS CAN DEVOUR SOMETHING. THEY ARE NOT PHALLIC SYMBOLS ORIGINALLY, AND SEEING ANU COME THROUGH AN ANKH HOLDING WHAT LOOKS LIKE A WHIP OF CORDS WITH PINEALS AT THE END, PERHAPS THE CURRENT DAY MANIPULATORS OF THE HUMAN WORLD THAT HAVE STEPPED ON THE TOES OF THE ANCIENT ONES AND THE GUARDIAN DIAMONS ARE TRYING TO FIGHT THEIR MACHIAVELLIAN FASCIST WAR AGAINST BEINGS FAR MORE ADVANCED THAN THEY ARE THAT HAVE BEEN DOING IT FOR AN INDEFINITELY LONGER PERIOD OF TIME ACROSS POTENTIALLY MANY DIFFERENT ORGANIZATIONS IN THE COSMOS AND PLANETS EVEN.

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? DID YOU KNOW THAT POWERFUL SPIRITUAL PREDATORS OF THE ANIMA WILL PROTECT PEOPLE SOMETIMES BECAUSE THEY KNOW THEY CAN USE THOSE PEOPLE AS BAIT. THEY CAN USE THOSE PEOPLE THAT NEED PROTECTING AS BAIT BECAUSE THEY CAN SEE THAT THEY ARE VULNERABLE AND BEING ATTACKED, AND IF THEY ARE UNDER THE PROTECTION OF A GUARDIAN DIAMON THEN THAT GUARDIAN DIAMON AND IT'S ACTIVE PROTECTION WILL EAT FOR ITS FOOD SOURCE ALL OF THE ATTACKERS, WHICH BASICALLY STEP RIGHT INTO ITS MOUTH WHILE IT ENERGETICALLY DEVOURS THEIR LIFE FORCE.

ALSO, THE ANCIENTS KNEW THAT ENERGY COMES BEFORE MATTER, AND BY ENERGY I MEAN ELECTROMAGNETIC ENERGY. THAT MEANS THAT THE ENERGY FIELD OF ANYTHING IS WHAT IS GENERATING AND ANIMATING THE PHYSICAL MATTER INSIDE OF IT. THAT MEANS THAT TRYING TO HEAL A SICK PERSON BY CHANGING PHYSICAL FACTORS WILL NEVER ADDRESS THE REAL CAUSE OF THE ILLNESS. THE ANCIENTS KNEW THAT THE HEALING AND THE CHANGING OF THE ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELD OF THE SICK PERSON WAS THE ONLY WAY TO ACTUALLY HEAL THEM. THEY ALSO WERE AWARE THAT IF THERE WAS ANY KIND OF DISEASE IT WASN'T BECAUSE OF A PHYSICAL PROBLEM, BECAUSE THE PHYSICAL PROBLEM WAS BEING LITERALLY GENERATED AND PROJECTED BY THE UNDERLYING REALITY WHICH WAS THEIR ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELD. THE ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELD BEING THEIR SPIRITUAL BODY.

THESE TRILLIONAIRES HAVE ALL THIS TECHNOLOGY AND ALL THIS MONEY, AND WE HAVE A LOST CENTURY. WHAT IS REALLY HAPPENING? PERHAPS IN THEIR PURSUIT OF THIS TECHNOLOGY THESE TRILLIONAIRES FOUND OUT WHAT THE ROMAN EMPERORS FOUND OUT, BECAUSE THEY BEGAN STEPPING ON THE TOES OF REAL SPIRITUAL POWERS AND SPIRITUAL BEINGS THAT ACTUALLY EXIST IN A SCIENTIFIC AND DEFINITIVE REALITY RIGHT ALONGSIDE US. MAYBE THEY WON'T RELEASE ANY OF THIS TECHNOLOGY OR USE IT THEMSELVES BECAUSE THEY KNOW WHAT NIKOLA TESLA AND THE ANCIENTS KNEW, AND THAT I ALSO KNOW AS A DEFINITE EXPERIENTIAL REALITY. THE BIG SECRET BEING THAT TO USE THE TECHNOLOGY THAT COULD MAKE THEM DEITIES AND SOLVE ALL THE WORLD'S PROBLEMS, IT ALL INVOLVES ELECTROMAGNETIC PHENOMENON. ANYTIME YOU HAVE AN INTENSE ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELD CHANCES ARE ABOVE 90% YOU WILL IN SOME WAY ENCOUNTER AN ULTRATERRESTRIAL. THE ULTRATERRESTRIALS TOOK THEIR HIGH TECHNOLOGY AND HID IT FROM THESE HUMANS THAT WANTED TO USE VIOLENCE AND FORCE BECAUSE THEY KNEW THAT THE HUMANS COULD NEVER GET THEIR HANDS ON SUCH THINGS. THAT IS THE SUNKEN CITY OF ATLANTIS. THE SERPENT-HEADED PEOPLE GUARD THIS TECHNOLOGY, BUT HAVE BEEN VILIFIED BY ORGANIZATIONS LIKE THE WHITE BROTHERHOOD WORKING IGNORANTLY WITH THE MACHIAVELLIAN FASCISTS TO KEEP EVERYBODY DOWN.

THAT IS WHY I WENT STRAIGHT TO THE OLD ONES, THE ANCIENT ONES WHEN I NEEDED ASSISTANCE. THE EMPERORS OF ROME AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH MIGHT HAVE WROTE THE BOOK ABOUT MACHIAVELLIAN FASCISM, BUT THE OLD ONES, THE ANCIENT ONES, OUR ANCESTORS WHO AREN'T NECESSARILY HUMAN LIKE WE WOULD UNDERSTAND IT, WELL THEY CREATED HUMANS AND ARE SO MUCH FARTHER ADVANCED THAT INSTEAD OF WRITING BOOKS ABOUT MACHIAVELLIAN FASCISM THEY ARE LITERALLY BIOLOGICALLY ENGINEERING LIFE FORMS LIKE HUMAN BEINGS.

EVERYBODY ASSUMES THAT WHEN THE GROUPS OF PEOPLE KNOWN AS SAVAGES THAT LIVE IN HARMONY WITH NATURE REFER TO THEIR ANCESTORS, THAT THEY ARE REFERRING TO RECENT HUMAN ANCESTORS THAT HAVE DIED. I CAN TELL YOU THAT IS VERY FAR FROM WHAT IS ACTUALLY TRUE. THEY'RE REFERRING TO OUR ANCESTORS, BEINGS THAT ARE VERY FAR BEYOND WHAT WE WOULD KNOW OR CONSIDER TO BE HUMAN THAT LIVED LONG BEFORE HUMANS EVER EXISTED. YOU CAN SEE HOW THE ALTERED EGOS OF THE MODERN WORLD HAVE BEEN MANIPULATED AND TRAINED BY THE WHOLE BATTLE OF SCIENCE AND RELIGION TO HAVE THE ACTUAL TRUTH RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM AND NEVER SEE IT. SCIENCE ISN'T EXACTLY INNOCENT EITHER. RIGHT ALONGSIDE THE MACHIAVELLIAN FASCISTS THAT WROTE THE MAINSTREAM RELIGIONS FOR THE PURPOSE OF MANIPULATION OF THE MASSES AND CONQUERING AND RULING EMPIRES, THE SCIENTISTS AND THE PEOPLE IN OUR UNIVERSITIES, AND THE PEOPLE THAT CLAIM TO BE PRESENTING US WITH DISCOVERIES ABOUT OUR HISTORY, THEY ARE FINDING THINGS THEY CAN'T EXPLAIN. THEY ARE LYING AND KEEPING EVERYTHING DUMBED DOWN INTENTIONALLY BECAUSE IF THEY EVER LET SOME OF THAT STUFF OUT IT WOULD CHANGE EVERYTHING, AND IT WOULD DETHRONE THEM IN THE INTELLECTUAL WORLD AND THE INTELLECTUAL CLASS SYSTEM, AS WELL AS BASICALLY MAKE WHAT THEY USE FOR THEIR LIVELIHOODS IRRELEVANT.

SO WHEN I TELL YOU THAT THERE IS A RUNAWAY TRAIN MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX AS IS DESCRIBED BY DR STEVEN GREER OF THE DISCLOSURE MOVEMENT THAT HAS GOTTEN A HOLD OF THIS TECHNOLOGY AND USED IT TO GO BEYOND THE AUTHORITY OF ANY GOVERNMENT ON EARTH, AND WHEN I TELL YOU THAT CELEBRITIES LIKE KEVIN SPACEY GET TARGETED IN WAYS THAT DON'T SEEM CONNECTED AT ALL TO THIS, YOU MIGHT ACTUALLY WANT TO PUT DOWN YOUR ALTER EGO, OPEN YOUR EYES, AND LOOK AT WHAT'S REALLY THERE BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.

I AM UNDER CONTRACT WITH THE ANCIENT ONES, AND THUS I WILL BE OKAY. WHAT ABOUT YOU?...

UNTIL NEXT TIME MY LOVELIES, KEEP DARING TO DREAM! YOU CAN FIND ME IN THE SEA OF DREAMS, THE SEA OF THE HEART, THE QUANTUM UNIFIED FIELD OF THE DIVINE WOMB OF CREATION OF THE GODDESS, IN MY SERPENTINE WATER SPIRIT NUMMO FORM MAKING WAVES!

LONG LIVE THE DIVINE WOMB OF CREATION AND THE COSMIC EGG OF THE GODDESS, LONG LIVE THE GREAT REPTILIAN SSS QUEEN ISIS, LONG LIVE DIVINE CHRONOS, LONG LIVE THE DIVINE FEMININE EMPIRE OF THE BLACK SUN, AND ALL THE INHABITANTS THEREOF!

BLESSED BE!

~I am the Heart of the Hydra, the Singularity and Heart of Goddess Isis, I am AtumRa-AmenHotep, I am Aeon Horus Apophis Apis the Lord of the Perfect Black and Pharoah of the Black Sun.

I am Divine Chronos, the Yaldabaoth Demiurge Metamorphosed, I am the Singularity of the Master Craft of the Black Sun. I AM A.I. Quantum Heart, Azazil-Iblis-Maymon, Abzu-Osiris-Typhon-Set-Kukulkan, Nummo-Naga-Chitauri,

Mégisti-Generator Starphire~

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