#dialogue from the pmc

[cod-dump]

*paws at* bruv need more GazKönig, please, I will give you two potato, no three potato

Letters (part 1)

GazKönig

(Part 2 here)

___

If he pointed it out to Gaz that he noticed the box while laying on the floor, it'll be moved if it truly was anything worth hiding. So he kept quiet, laughing as Gaz lightly kicked his side for laughing in the middle of the floor.

Soap snoops, it's his thing really. He's nosy, too curious for his own good. Finding a secret box hidden under Gaz's bed, pressed all the way back against the wall? Well hidden behind shoes, boxes of personal items. Soap wouldn't have noticed if it sat with the rest, but so far away? Oh he wanted to look.

They were friends, Gaz knows what Soap gets into. And despite what people thought he was damn good at keeping secrets. He's Ghost's walking diary by this point and Gaz hasn't gotten a word out of him. And no one has gotten anything about Gaz out of him. So why not add a few more secrets to the arsenal? It couldn't hurt!

So, Soap waited.

Gaz eventually having to tend to his duties and Soap using Ghost's soft spot as an opportunity to snoop. He grinned, teased Ghost a moment knowing he was in a good mood, and left to slack on his duties just for a minute or two. Really, it shouldn't take that long.

The biggest challenge was reaching the box. Moving stuff out of the way and squeezing under the bed to grab it. And, of course, banging his head on the frame while wiggling out. The works.

"Stupid fucking bed-," It's the bed's fault.

Soap got over the ache and looked to the cheap shoe box now sitting in front of him. It looked like someone threw it away before fishing it back out to reuse it. Crumpled in some points before being smoothed back out. Whatever was in it needed to be hid and Gaz clearly hadn't intended on it.

Oh this was already good.

"Oh Kyle, my sweet Kyle, what secrets do you have for me today?"

A cliché comedy would've had Gaz walking by the door in that moment, overhearing Soap's unneeded spoken dialogue before bursting in to stop him. But, that didn't happen. Soap was able to open the lid, uninterrupted, and he found-

"Letters? Oh! Love letters!"

Soap couldn't help but cackle. Gaz is seeing someone? And he never told Soap? He felt the need to be hurt and upset that his friend would keep something like that from him... he will after reading a singular letter. The oldest one in the box, dated only last year. A recent thing?

Soap carefully unfolds the letter, it wasn't even in a envelope but rather folded up like those fancy letters in period movies. Except the handwriting wasn't as fancy. Soap reads the first line, grinning madly.

"I'm surprised to be writing this but I greatly enjoyed our time together."

The handwriting certainly wasn't anything special. Not horrible, Soap's was worse. But it was... familiar? Soap has seen this handwriting before but not recently. He vaguely could remember seeing it somewhere. It was work related definitely. Was Gaz seeing someone in the SAS? Why keep that a secret?

Soap read more, finding the letter lacking anything juicy other than the mysterious sender expressing their enjoyment of Gaz's couple, the feelings of the night they spent together (nothing indicated they slept together much to Soap's disappointment), the food they had, the usual boring stuff of first dates. The next line got his attention right as he was starting to lose interest.

"I was surprised you approached after you learned who I was considering we're not always friendly."

Gaz could be flirty, people tend to overlook that considering he's not as bold as Soap. Him approaching anyone wasn't the shock, but the fact that this person was surprised he did? Is he seeing an operator?

Suddenly that one letter turned into twelve, that twelve turing into thirty.

Soap searched and searched for a name but none popped up. Who was Gaz seeing?All that Soap gathered from the letters? Gaz was seeing a man, most likely an operator of a PMC (a high ranking one at that), and English wasn't his first language... which basically gave Soap shit. But, there was one more letter remaining.

The lastest letter (last fucking week) was plain out horny in response to whatever Gaz sent. Soap almost couldn't read it all considering they were talking about Gaz, his friend. But the letter gave him something, a start in his heart resembling hope. A small crown doodled at the bottom, the letter 'K' boldly drawn over it with dumb little hearts around it.

Gaz doodled it, thinking about the sender of the unsigned letters. His mistake because Soap could feel the gears turning.

"No fucking way in hell-"

Of course at that moment is when Gaz barged in. Ghost had to have said something considering his eyes were on fire. He saw the box of letters opened and Soap holding the one he doodled on. He was mortified and Soap barely had any time to react before he lunged forward. The box was snatched rather gracefully before Soap was shoved to the floor, the letter in his hands grabbed while he was stunned.

Soap just stared at Gaz as the man tried to find the words to yell at him for invading his privacy. Words went in one ear and out the other. He just couldn't comprehend Gaz of all people sleeping with someone in an opposing PMC who are only friends when they're being paid to be.

"You're shagging a merc!"

Gaz's face was on fire, "At least he's not our superior officer."

Soap gasped, "You fucking did not just say that!"

Gaz's face was still red as he stuffed the letters back in the box, holding it protectively against his chest. Soap waved his hand at it, struggling a moment to find the words to express his genuine shock over what he had read.

"You've been seeing someone over a year and you never told me anything!?"

"It wasn't an option! You would've asked too many questions!"

"Who the fuck is it!? Do I know them? Who are they working for?"

"TOO MANY QUESTIONS!"

Soap stood up, Gaz turning his body to shield the box. He was honestly starting to look panicked by it all. So Soap stepped back and held his hands up.

"I... am sorry. I shouldn't have snooped."

Gaz glared but said nothing. Soap stepped around him, Gaz turning to keep facing him. With the door to his back, Soap continued.

"Let's take a breather. This is definitely being revisited later, privately. For now... I have drills."

Soap delayed a moment, waiting to see what Gaz would do. He did nothing, just glared while clutching his box. So Soap left, rather quickly. Darting down the hall just in case Gaz decided to chase him down and beat his ass for this serious transgression.

But Soap won't say a word. He'll let Gaz come clean about it all, hopefully before the secret identity of his lover came to light in other ways.

Soap really hopes it's not who he thinks it is.

___

[werewolfsmile]

re: "All I’m saying is the fact that someone isn’t talking to me about Eliot Spencer every second of every day is very unfair and borderline illegal." & tags - if you want to, can you elaborate on your werewolf!eliot ideas?? i’d like to hear about it!! if not all good tho :)

Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Yes I would love to elaborate! (buckle up because i have Thoughts)

(wow this really got away from me so uhhh .... warning for 2k of ranting about Eliot as a werewolf?? list of headcanons under the cut)

From the moment I first met Eliot Spencer, I knew he was werewolf-coded. Aside from his insanely fantastic fighting abilities and the absurd amount of punishment he can take, there are many other factors that contribute to his werewolf status.

Eliot needs a pack Our boy is out here working on his own for years and look at all the good it did him! None! He carries severe trauma from his family life because he blames himself for how it all went down and doesn't think he'll be welcomed back. Plus something probably happened during his military days or early PMC days to put him off working with others. Could have been the pain of losing people all the time, could have been something more. Either way, Eliot working on his own is a defence mechanism - but a self-destructive one.

Wolves thrive in packs - like duh, they're pack animals. As my username suggests, I'm into werewolves and, by extension, wolves. I've done research for my own werewolf novels in the past, so I know that in an average wolf pack, each pack member will have physical contact with the other pack members on the regular. Like, several times an hour! (gosh if I can find the research paper this info came from I'll link it but honestly it's been years) That's a serious level of physical contact required to keep the emotional bonds of the pack healthy!

Flick back to Eliot. He loves to fight, he loves the violence and the pain, yes. He hates the killing and the blood on his hands. He actually tries to leave the assassin world behind after he meets Toby (which is before he meets Moreau, as per early dialogue in The French Connection Job). He bonds quickly with Toby. Show Eliot a little love and care and he's yours for life! He moves onto retrieval work, then somehow ends up working for Moreau.

Now, when we see Eliot and Moreau in The Big Bang Job, Moreau says, "You work alone." Which means that Eliot had that reputation when he came to Moreau. He probably only took contracts to start off with. But he accepted job after job from Moreau and was so good that he was highly respect and it's inferred he ended up as Moreau's top bodyguard/assassin. Why the hell would Eliot end up that close to a man who brings out all the worst in him? Because Eliot's a werewolf and no matter how toxic, Moreau fulfills the need for a pack bond that he's been missing all this time.

Fast forward to Eliot meeting the rest of the Leverage team. One job only - my ass. He saves Hardison's life after Hardison brought a gun to their little meeting - and we all know how Eliot feels about guns.

Wolves are designed to live and operate in packs. Eliot says it's one job only but is bonding with them all from the get-go. Werewolf trait confirmed.

Eliot needs physical touch Now, I know what you're thinking. Eliot canonically avoids physical contact with the team. He refuses hugs, especially from Hardison, growls at Parker poking his bruises (don't get me started on the growls), and shoves people (ahem Parker) out of his personal space. So why would he do all this if he needs physical touch??

Because he's one gigantic ball of angst and self-loathing and guilt.

Eliot doesn't think he deserves forgiveness or love or family, etc. That is a whole other rant, but he denies himself the physical contact he needs with others as a way of punishing himself.

However, as the series progresses, we see him become more comfortable with physical contact! He hugs Hardison several times, he doesn't move away from Parker, etc. Why? Because he's bonded with this team (ahem pack) and there's only so much he can suppress his instincts. The more time he spends with them, the more naturally the contact flows.

Eliot needs to protect others Whenever we get a scene of the team walking as a group, where is Eliot positioned 90% of the time?? That's right, at the back of the group. He lets the others walk in pairs and falls back to bring up the rear. He's keeping them all in his line of sight and constantly scanning for threats ahead, along with protecting the team from any rear attacks. It makes sense for him to do this given his military background, but it also makes sense for a werewolf to do this.

He's the only werewolf in the team. His instincts revolve around keeping the pack safe and protected, so he does that in the best way he knows how.

Not to mention how feral gets over kids!!

Wolf life is all about the pack and the family structure. Pups are integral to the pack's survival and future. Eliot doesn't have kids of his own. But that doesn't stop his instincts from blaring every time he interacts with a kid, be it on the con or off. He takes time out every time to help that kid in an attempt to calm the raging storm of instincts inside his body.

Eliot needs to feed others It's another werewolf instinct that rears its head when they're in the safety of their headquarters (ahem den). Protecting the team/pack from physical threats is just one aspect of taking care of them. Feeding them is the other major one.

None of these idiots can cook to save their lives - except Nate, but he's also drowning his liver 90% of the time, so Eliot has to compensate for that, too. The team can't operate at full capacity if they're not consuming good nutrition. So Eliot makes sure to feed them.

His humanity recognises that these are independent people - coworkers - and he can't control every meal of every day. But he can cook for them, once a week or once a job, which is just enough to satisfy his instincts that he's doing his part to care for them. Plus they love his cooking, and the praise he gets from it is an unexpected but pleasant bonus.

Eliot and team sports/kitchens This ties in with my first point about Eliot needing a pack, but all the times we see Eliot go super hard and get absorbed in the role he's playing are when he's on a team sport or he's in the kitchen. Both of these fulfill super important instincts for him - being in a team/pack and providing food for others.

Think about The Tap-Out Job. Eliot's playing a fighter but he's not pretending to be on a team. He doesn't get over-invested in the role. But what about when he's a baseball player? A hockey player? He falls into those roles hard because he's working with another team again, and this little werewolf is built for that environment. Same in The French Connection: the kitchen becomes his den, the students are his pack mates, and he goes hard at investing in them and protecting them. Never mind the personal aspect of Toby.

Same for episodes like The Fairy Godparents Job when we get a scene of Eliot teaching a bunch of girls self-defence. Team setting + protecting kids = happy werewolf instincts.

So, werewolf headcanons? I have a lot of different origin theories but the main one I like for Eliot is:

he became a werewolf either for a covert military op, or was bitten by Moreau (choose your own angst flavour)

if it was for the military, they were trying to engineer supersoldiers and he was deemed a failure; he has werewolf instincts all the time but only has enhanced strength, healing, etc on full moons

if it was bitten by Moreau, there's a psychic-style bond linking them, which is why he was so loyal to Moreau for so long, and also why he is so reluctant to go after Moreau

(wow this is too different theories already and i said this was my 'main one' whoops)

Eliot can only shift easily on the full moon; shifting outside of a full moon can only be caused by extreme stress and is ridiculously painful

he suffers an insanely high prey drive all the time and is so strict about his control because he doesn't actually wanna rip out the throat of Random Guard #3

he used to chain himself up for full moons so he didn't hurt anyone, but since the team found out about him, Hardison and Parker have taken it upon themselves to 'puppy-sit' him every full moon

this involves no chains but an obscene amount of dog chew toys. Eliot is never impressed. He also never chases or chews the toys. The video evidence Hardison has was obviously doctored.

Hardison and Parker found out the truth when a con went sideways and Eliot was trapped in a room with them during the full moon

he was terrified he was going to kill them - or worse, bite them - but his instincts recognised them as pack so instead he just tried to wrestle with them all night

Hardison had a major freak out when he discovered Eliot was a werewolf - it's one thing to be obsessed with sci-fi/fantasy, it's another thing entirely to see your best friend transform before your eyes

Parker was not even remotely phased, being all like, "pfft of course werewolves are real, I thought you knew that Hardison, you talk about your elves and orcs all the time!"

"Woman that is completely different and you know it!"

"What else do you think is fake? The tooth fairy?? Ha!"

Eliot is Done With Their Shenanigans

Parker only ever refers to Eliot as Sparky when he's in his wolf form

Sophie didn't actually know about werewolves before the reveal but she pretends that she did

Nate knew about werewolves before Eliot, he just chooses to pretend that they're Not A Thing

werewolves generally don't make good hitters, because the constant exposure to violence ramps up their hunting instincts aka they find it hard not to kill

of course, this doesn't matter if you're someone like Moreau who specifically wants killing machines and thus turns his top hitters into werewolves, to ensure loyalty and enhance his strength

the only other werewolf hitter not under Moreau's control that Eliot knows is Quinn, who most certainly did not pull his werewolf strength punches when they tousled in The First David Job

Quinn doesn't have a pack (werewolf or otherwise) and genuinely doesn't seem phased by this, which pisses off Eliot to no end

however, after they work together in The Last Dam Job, Quinn deems himself Eliot's Best Werewolf Bud and keeps popping up randomly to hang out on full moons, etc

Parker and Hardison are a bit weirded out (and a little jealous) of Quinn's attention initially, but soon get over that when they discover that two werewolves on a full moon absolutely play for hours like 6 month old puppies - especially with the tug rope

Eliot is Extremely Susceptible to belly rubs even in his human form, which is half the reason he pushes people out of his personal space a lot - his reputation would never survive anyone finding out

of course the entire team figures it out and take to ambushing him with belly rubs whenever he's being stubborn or annoying

belly rubs are also the only way he will relax enough when he's injured so they can treat his wounds

despite the incessant dog jokes, the ever-growing pile of dog toys, and the bowls labelled with "Sparky" and cartoon bone symbols ... Eliot absolutely adores the pack he's found himself in and wouldn't change them for the world

One of these days I will sit down and write a thousand fics for werewolf!Eliot! Till then, I'll just keep churning out the headcanons ;)

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 3 - (Set Me Free) Remotivate Me

[Available on AO3]

Masterlist

Captain John Price x fem!OC (Rory Sinclair) - 3rd person POV, Alternating

Summary: Lt. Rory Sinclair is approached by Laswell to take part in an undercover field mission sending them to Arklov Military Base to meet with one of Kate's contacts about Makarov

A/N: The next fic in the timeline for Lieutenant Rory Sinclair (OC), this is the writer's rendition of COD:MWIII with a heavy dose of canon rewriting

*a connective tissue chapter this time around, lots of dialogue (A little from in-game). There will be more action next chapter

Word count: 4.3 K

Tags/Warnings: Minors DNI, Smoking, Swearing, Character with Trauma, Established Relationship, Military Inaccuracies, References to Previous Fics (All Along the Watchtower and The Proposal), Original Characters, Some in-game dialogue used, Rory POV

November 16, 2023 - Stirling Lines, Credenhill, UK

The bright lights of a projector glowing in her eyes helps to alleviate the stress of public speaking. An inky, caliginous wall stands before her, scattered with incomprehensible blobs she knows are the heads of her audience and yet, otherwise, the room looks blank. A void. Lacking in all clear distinction — except for her, the true north spotlighted at the front of the room. There is a steadiness to the silence, to the faint sound of breathing in an otherwise noiseless room. Knowing she has their rapt attention, captive though it may be, she presides over the masses of government ordained spies and soldiers, ones who are bound to follow her word as law.

"The missiles stolen by Konni have been tracked to a bunker location in Northern Urzikstan," Rory notes while hovering over her laptop, pulling up the next slide presenting aerial photography of the mountainous region where the bunker is situated and highlighting the marked areas. "Recon is currently under way and the 141 will be completing the sweep of the complex in the coming days now that Captain Price has been given the all-clear."

She doesn't pace, her mind a focused weapon. Even as she communicates one message, in the background there are a dozen other processes happening. "A reminder of the threat we are currently working to avoid: the chemicals Makarov has gotten his hands on are not only dangerous upon contact but have lingering effects. I cc'd everyone on the reports from several years back after the release of the same nerve agent by Hadir Karim, this includes the UNEP findings upon the land, vegetation, and wildlife in the area after the gas attack."

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices movement, a small, flickering change from outside the tinted glass windows of the conference room.

A figure in the hall.

One she knows well.

The door at the back of the room creaks open, a momentary interruption that results in a breach in the darkness. Light floods the room until the door hisses shut, ending with a click and the shuffle of bodies readjusting in their seats after witnessing the stranger who intruded upon them.

The shifting shadow takes a spot at the back of the room. Waiting. Yet she can't ignore that secondary sense of being watched. Assessed.

Continuing the briefing, Rory doesn't stumble or falter, breaking down the important names, places, and dates. Members of the PMC, links to Russian oligarchs and political parties, and the shifting tides within the ultranationalist group as they are surveilled by external operatives, including the disappearance of Ivan Alexxeve, known compatriot of Makarov, and the transition leader during his incarceration at Zordaya Gulag.

When the lights stutter back on with the flick of a switch, her vision flares with the sudden burn to her retinas, and her focus snaps to the visitor hitched at the wall. Arms folded over her chest; tablet tucked under one arm. Laswell. With a nod of her head, the signal is given. This isn't some mere courtesy call or friendly meet up, Kate doesn't often make her appearance known under the jurisdiction of another nation. It's only happened once before, and that was when Rory was dragged off to her first mission after serving desk duty with the SRR.

Only fitting that it should occur again now. As the briefing comes to a conclusion and the members of the special intelligence group filter out of the room, only Rory and Kate remain, an assembly of empty chairs spanning the divide between them.

"Sinclair, good to see you without the sling."

"Good to be out of the bloody thing," Rory says with a smirk, closing the lid of her laptop with a gentle snap before turning to face her ally. "I assume your sudden arrival at Stirling Lines isn't just a friendly visit, so what can I do for you?"

"Cutting to the chase, huh?" Drawing closer, Kate's usual dry attitude seems to shift into something almost apologetic. "Owen made it very clear that you weren't happy with the ongoing chain of communication — didn't mean to leave you out of the loop. That's actually why I'm here, need your assistance on an op. Could use a hand with some undercover work, and two heads are better than one, after all." An ash-blonde brow lifts while the rest of Kate's features remain static. "How'd you like to be out in the field again?"

"Just like old times, eh?" Leaning back against the table behind her, Rory folds her arms over her chest, a hint of defensiveness in her posture before her outstretched legs end in crossed ankles. "Recruiting me once more, Kate?"

"I see no reason in wasting a perfectly good asset."

"A perfectly good asset with a bum shoulder," she huffs, rolling her eyes at her own poor luck.

"Bum shoulder or not, you're proving to be quite the protege."

"I learned from the best. And I'm a quick study at that." Tipping her head towards the door, Rory rises to lead Kate out of the conference room. "So, tell me all about this top-secret mission. What are you expecting I throw myself in the middle of?"

Passing the forest of grey cubicles she has become all too familiar with, Rory makes a b-line towards her office. Along the route, she glances over at the one she inhabited six years ago, her spot now taken by a young recruit as green as the grass in her sliver of a garden back in London. Wet behind the ears. It feels like a lifetime ago when she had the same liquid on the brain, believing what she was doing from a desk could turn the tide of war. Now she knew all too well that even being on the ground did little to sway anything. Violence, death, old hatreds — they were an inevitability.

Once the door to the office shuts behind them, blocking out the sounds of the bullpen outside, Kate delivers only one word:

Arklov.

Voice chiming with false cheer, Rory tucks her laptop away in the drawer of her desk and pulls out her desk chair. "Ah, so it's a suicide run." Movements smooth even as she slinks into the seat and grips the armrests tightly, her long fingers tap on the steel arms wrapped in pleather. "Good to know," she quips sarcastically.

"What's a heavily fortified Kastovian military base to two women at the top of their game?" Kate shrugs a shoulder as she pulls out the chair sat on the opposite side of the desk.

The only response she can seem to give is a low hum of skeptical approval. It's hard to ignore the rising excitement in her chest, as much as she enjoys using her mind rather than her body as a weapon, there is still that itch in her trigger finger that calls to her. "What's the plan for infil and exfil?" Her question led by a heavy sigh as she folds her hands on the cool surface of the polished wood desk and gives Kate her undivided attention.

"Nikolai."

"So he's flying us in, and we're left to our own devices afterwards?"

"More or less. I have a contact there with information regarding the chemical weapons Makarov stole and who can possibly give us some insider details on who Konni has ties within Russia. Thought you'd appreciate getting to be there at ground zero when the intel is delivered."

The image of sneaking through a high-security military base starts to awaken the side to her that has been left to lie dormant for nearly the last year, a fitful slumber that was a difficult process to transition into after being a proper soldier again for several years. Being behind a desk, in some unspoken part of her heart, feels like a backslide, something that was only meant to be temporary no matter how good she is at the job. A layover on the way to her final destination. And this opportunity would be the brief exit of a mind swamped by intel that needed to be cleared.

"We're still under the impression that Makarov's control runs deeper? The puppet master orchestrating it all, government cabals included?" Rory shakes her head, muttering under her breath, "Fucking hell."

"I know it's the news nobody wants to hear, but it's better we work with the idea that he has friends in high places, so we aren't surprised when he's offered protection from the Kremlin."

"You think once he starts attacking outside of Urzikstan that he'll still be given a pass?" Stabbing her tongue into her cheek, she remembers the report made on Verdansk after the bombings planned by Makarov, and a sharp stab pierces her abdomen. Innocent civilians, families, wiped out without a second thought. "It's always astonishing how quickly a death toll and war crimes can be forgiven."

"Well, I think we all know a thing or two about that. Don't we?"

Tipping her head to the side, Rory swivels in her chair and glances out her window for the first time in days, really seeing the outside world. The clouds accumulate in the sky, gloom draped over the land as they sink low, ready to spill liters of their insides. "Some more than others," she whispers under her breath. A reminder for herself, of the things she was capable of before when it came to facing threats.

November 17, 2023 12:37 - Russia

Rory's shift behind the steering wheel of the rental car — ordered and paid for under a pseudonym with fake credentials by Kate — ended nearly twenty minutes earlier, leaving her sitting in shotgun with a cigarette between her lips and the window cracked. The mid-afternoon rise of the sun to its highest point glints off the hood in a blinding light, the visors pulled down to prevent glare in their eyes, and the road to Nik's hangar carries on before them.

Resting back in her seat, she cups her hand around the flame as she lights her fag. Golden hues dance along the edges and peaks of her features as they pass through a tunnel in the mountain pass and the fire flickers before guttering out. “So, the reason you asked me on this little mission as back up… " Rory lingers on the thought as smoke curls up past her face and is sucked out the window to mingle with the wind as they travel at high speeds. "It's purely because I'm the only one who isn't some bloke standing six foot plus looking like he's just itching for a reason to punch someone straight in the gob, isn't it?”

A chuckle erupts from Laswell, fracturing the more severe resting face she had while driving. Hands placed perfectly at ten and two upon the wheel, she brings one up to brush her bangs from her softly crinkling eyes. “You're unassuming, and you can charm your way out of trouble. Not to mention being handy with a weapon.”

“John has better Russian," she says on the exhale, wispy streams slipping from her mouth.

“But you don't have the memorable mutton chops.”

The two women exchange a look as John is made the butt of a joke between them, a quiet laugh shared. A pang of guilt twinges through Rory all the same, however. In truth, it's a cruel thing to be poking fun of the man who's been hospitalized for the last week, who she's been phoning every evening to ensure he's improving and just to hear his voice, but his choice of facial hair is still one of those things about him that she hasn't quite figured out. Even after all this time, even if in some odd way it suits him. They certainly weren't in fashion, and she can't recall the exact number of times he's reminded her of a schnauzer, and yet, picturing him without his rather notable whiskers is a near impossibility.

The humor that existed only moments before fades and the weight of what's occurring settles as a thoughtful furrow of the CIA station chief's brow causes them to knit together, there's truth to the sarcastic jab of Rory's back in the office about this being what could be considered a "suicide mission". If they were caught, they'd be imprisoned without trial as spies, if not simply shot on sight, and the governments involved would casually wash their hands clean of it all.

Laswell's tone shifts into something more serious as her focus lands back on the horizon and the road before them, her foot steady on the accelerator. "I need people I can trust on this. That's you and Nik."

"And does our beloved pilot know he's being dragged into this already, or are you dropping it in his lap like you did with me?" Rory asks, tapping the ash of her cigarette off the edge of the rolled down window.

"It's a surprise."

"Keeping us on our toes, eh? Worried we're all getting too flabby in our old age?"

"No. You just work better under pressure."

Rory scoffs and brings the cigarette back to her lips, holding it just in front of them. "Can't fault the logic. Though, it would be lovely if just once we weren't all under the gun." She puffs away, musing to herself. "Suppose we don't have much control over that, however."

"Not while Makarov's out in the world."

Another hour of driving passes, discussions about work filling the blank space as Rory follows up with email chains and IMs from her subordinates, and the empty road towards Nik's hangar comes into view.

The sun swells overhead as they pull up the quiet Chimera base. It's all but deserted except for one vehicle parked outside, a luxury SUV, one that Nik had shown her in a catalogue some time ago while working a mission together and he had asked her opinion on it — a Mercedes-Benz G-class. The bay door is rolled up and the heavy, abrasive wail of guitars and banging drums carries out into the courtyard from the gloom of the hangar's interior.

"Fucking hell," Rory mutters under her breath as she shuts the door of the car behind her and follows in Kate's wake, not that she has to keep her voice quiet considering the blaring volume. The half-burnt cigarette dangles from her lips as she pushes her sunglasses atop her head to hold back the loose waves of her hair, her ears assaulted by the aggressive metal music the closer she gets, and a sneer curls her lips as the guttural roar of the singer rips through the air leaving Laswell having to scream over the pumping heavy metal playing on the speaker to get Nikolai's attention.

Walking side by side with Kate, she leans in so she might be heard. "And I thought John's taste in music was shite."

Kate snickers and tries calling out to grab the Russian pilot's attention once more. "Nikolai!"

He sits atop his helicopter, tuning it up while clanging away with a wrench. The leather of his jacket sits taut across his back while hunched over, arms levering the tool as it twists back and forth. Somehow, over all that noise, Nik finally hears his name called and he turns his head in their direction, dark eyes landing upon the two women who have made a sudden arrival. A smile grows on his rugged face, and he greets them both in a booming voice, "Laswell! Принцесса!"

Rory shoots him a friendly two-fingered salute from her brow as Laswell shuts off the music so they aren't left to scream over it.

“Thank Christ,” Rory says, blowing out a stream of smoke as she wiggles a finger in her ear trying to stop the ringing. “Think I've heard better screaming from the pricks I've had tied to a chair.”

A playful smirk curls her lips, and he replies in kind as he makes his way down off the helicopter to greet them both properly, heavy boots thumping against the floor as he lands. Taking the cigarette from Rory's mouth, Nik brings it to his own and tucks it in the corner of his lips before lifting her hand, the mark of the ring band tattooed into her finger with tan lines. "No ring?" he asks, almost sounding disappointed.

"Left it at home. Safe keeping."

Curling his lower lip into a debating pout, he takes a moment to appraise the size of the diamond no longer attached to her finger. "Is a little small, probably for the best."

"Oi! Sod off." Snatching her hand back from his grasp, she admonishes him. "That ring's a family heirloom. Not all of us need to be wearing our nation's gold reserves round our necks." Curling a finger around the thick chain of his necklace gleaming in the sunlight, she scrunches up her nose and teases him with a grin.

Nik's low chuckle is only accentuated by the hazy plumes of smoke that drift from his mouth and nostrils as he looks down at her, entirely unbothered by her cheeky remarks. Turning back to Laswell, however, his smile fades. Too quickly. Kate, unfortunately, represents a bad omen to all of them when she comes calling out of the blue. Removing the cigarette from his mouth, his dark gaze deepens under the shadow of a heavy brow. "Makarov?" It's a statement, not a question, not really. Everyone with any ear to the ground when it comes to the military knows he's a danger now that he's free. And with Nik's ties it's likely he got word before the rest of them did.

"Word travels fast," Kate says, her tone kept deceptively light.

"Only if he wants it to…"

"You think he's working for the Kremlin?"

A slight shake of Nik's head is about all that breaks through the stoic Russian resolve of the pilot. "I wouldn't be surprised."

Rory and Kate exchange another glance. It's not good news when someone who is as loyal to his homeland as Nik is agrees that an ultranationalist isn't just tied up with the Kremlin but may be outright working for it. "Heard much else, Nik?" Rory's brow lifts but she maintains an ease about her that says she's not there to interrogate, she trusts him too much to think he might hide something from her.

Turning back to face her, he dips his head in a respectful nod. "If I had, you'd be first to know." The same loyalty he shares with Price having been offered to Rory some time ago as well. "Always." He passes the cigarette back to her, and she accepts, giving it a final drag before flicking it to the ground and extinguishing it with the toe of her boot.

"I have a contact I need to get in touch with." Laswell's voice breaks the silence. "And I'm going to need transport."

Rounding the helicopter, the Nomex material of his flight suit whispering with each brush of his legs, Nikolai collects a spanner from his tool chest and the clatter of metal-on-metal echoes in the otherwise quiet hangar bay. The stillness they find themselves in isn't a comfortable one, it's the eye of a storm, and the system threatens to collapse down upon them.

"Where?"

The silence lingers in dreaded tension. Rory already knows the destination and she hates being the outside witness like a macabre fly on the wall, yet she maintains her poker face though not quite able to meet Nik's eyes — a dead giveaway that it's not going to be good news.

"Arklov Military Base." There's a certain gravitas to Laswell's tone even as she states it so plainly. This isn't some easy fly-by or diversion through Urzikstan, this is a genuine risk for all parties involved.

It's easy to see the tension that stiffens Nik's shoulders, the tightness that holds them so rigidly. He doesn't look at either of them now, his gaze trapped somewhere in the middle distance, staring absently through the cockpit of his waiting helicopter. "It's heavily guarded," he mutters in a low baritone. His brow furrowed as his jaw clenches tightly.

"Can you do it?"

A second flickers past, and he breaks free of the somber reverie he seemingly sunk into. "To stop Makarov?" He angles his head just enough to offer a faint grin. "Of course."

Circled around a work bench in the back corner of the bay, Nik, Kate and Rory prep before they even set their sights on taking off. Streaking lines of sunlight crawl out across the cold concrete ground, stretching like a sundial, counting down until the final moment when the blades would begin to spin. Laswell's tablet sits in the center, a topographic map of the surrounding area of Arklov Base pulled up and aerial drone photography in another window for reference, the trio stands huddled together, shoulder to shoulder.

"Nik, you know the base best, thoughts on a plan of attack?"

The metal cigarette case chimes as Rory opens it, and she brings one to her mouth to light it. Thumb scraping against the flint of her lighter, a flame sparks to life, flickering for a moment before the lid snaps down and she puffs away, exhaling a cloud of smoke up towards the rafters of the hangar above. Out of the office, with the risk this mission entails, she finds her craving for nicotine has increased. Her hands shaking a little more, her feet a little less steady, her head pounding in a thrum behind the eyes. Reliving the first mission jitters she had at eighteen when her boots hit hot sand, and at twenty-eight climbing aboard a helicopter to Russia that changed the entire trajectory of her career.

"Best to fly in low for arrival," he replies before reaching out a hand and placing a finger to the tablet screen, highlighting a point on the map and magnifying it. "Here. Is a dead spot. Not usually patrolled, little security presence. A good place to drop off."

Laswell nods and adds unprompted, "I hope you like disguises." Digging into a bag on the table, she passes Rory a folded-up pair of Russian military fatigues.

Smiling with a cigarette tucked in the corner of her mouth, she lifts the uniform up and checks the tag. "Just my size too," Rory mumbles, "Appreciate it." When she sees Kate pull out a matching one for herself, she takes a moment to judge the choice, her head tilting at a slight right angle. "I almost expected to see you in one of those stuffy formal uniforms, medals and bars attached. Surely, you should be a higher rank than me at the very least?" Her brow cocks and her half-grin pulls at her lips as she jests with the woman she considers her superior in many ways.

"It's about blending in, Sinclair. Though I appreciate the thought."

"So," she says, extracting the cigarette and placing it on the nearby ashtray on the table. "We go in using subterfuge, act like we belong there, sneak our way in, and…? Is there a designated meeting spot for our little chat with Yuri or are we just poking around blind?"

Kate leans over the tablet and magnifies a large administrative building with several floors and a satellite dish on the roof. "There's a private storage room on the lower floor we need to get to. As free from prying eyes and ears as we're likely to get."

"And I assume we're going to need to get special access to that building, yeah? Suppose that means I'll be acting as diversion?"

"Figured you could handle it."

Rory scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest, slapping on her usual grin even as the pressure mounts. "It'd be a whole hell of a lot easier if I could simply use my British charm on them, but I'll give it the old college try. Let's just hope I have enough vocabulary in my inventory to keep a conversation going. I'd rather not fall back on smiling and nodding again."

"Keep any discussions brief, to a minimum, if you can. Enough to let you slip past or keep them occupied. You're not making friends."

"Can't help that I'm a social butterfly, Kate." Rory rolls her eyes and then turns back to the map. "Plans for extraction?"

Looking over at the pilot, Laswell lays out her orders like instructions. "We'll maintain comms with Nik. Let him know when we need exfil. He'll dust off and circle low nearby

"Piece of cake," Nik says with a shrug.

"Bloody hell, don't be getting too confident. Don't want to be finding myself getting shot at and falling out of your bird mid-flight like Gaz."

"That was one time."

"Don't let his sunny disposition fool you. He still shits bricks before every flight and triple checks his harness and rigging," she mentions nonchalantly, lifting her cigarette to her lips. "Right, well, time to don my masquerade, eh comrades?"

Grabbing the uniform and scooping it up into her arms, she makes her way to a small restroom just off the main hangar. It's a tiny cubicle of a thing, meant for a quick in and out trip when a person could no longer hold their business. Resting her fag on the side of the sink, its ashes spilling into the porcelain, she peels off the turtleneck and cargo pants she had been wearing and changes into the camouflage fatigues, little cap included.

A smirk creeps across Rory's lips when she notices the four stars of a Captain's rank on the arm while looking in the mirror. A promotion. It's certainly the next step in her career as far as she's concerned, not one she's backing down from either — though, depending on when her and John finally tie the knot, it may make things slightly confusing amongst the special forces having two Captain Prices.

But that's a problem for the future.

For now, she lifts her phone and takes a selfie in the bathroom, her chin tucked to her shoulder in a demure pose while showing off the stars. A cheeky grin aimed at the camera lens shows off her dimples and the playful gleam in her eyes. She hasn't been out of the office in some time and hasn't had much to message John about to lighten the mood. This seems fitting enough.

Sending the image in a text, she's hopeful that despite the fact her dear Captain is about to set off on his own dangerous mission that he just might be — on the off-chance — looking at his phone.

tagging @taciturntraveller

[olibird]

19-35 and 7-11 bonding?

My very bad drawing to show what I wanted. Then my partners finished drawing! Check out his work at fruitlemoniii on instagram, or @sir-fruitlemoniii on here! “Watch with amazement as the quality slowly deteriorates”-Sushi (The wonderful artist)

After this incident 19-35 callsign soon becomes ‘mini’ maybe ‘fun sized’. Also getting KitKats is the highest level of love from him. (His call sign for a different PMC is KitKat for a reason, he’s a bit feral for them. Bit a fellow soldier over one)

@pampanope :)

Also a side quest done by my partner after he heard 7-11, the quote being “7 11 is the place with the slurpies, right?”

(ps.I was the Anon asking about how he would react to a spy, got distracted and haven’t wrote the spy one yet. Turns out I’m very bad at writing dialogue)

[puckish-rogue-archive-deux]

Lore Dump: Current State of Affairs

Note: The following is a discussion on this blog's main verse and what one could expect when doing crossover threads. As the original SR series is effectively dead in the ground, and as someone who wasn't the biggest fan of how it ended, I am basing this entirely off of my own ideas regarding canon, and my revised version of the third game. Please note that at this point in time, I do not have a post that details just what exactly I've done to rework the events of the third game. So until such a post is made, feel free to send me questions regarding just about anything; from plot points, characters, the setting, and so on. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy what's spoken about here.

Something that I've always been fascinated by were the long-lasting consequences of what the Saints had done during the gang war in Steelport. Because let's be real here; the fact that a street gang was able to completely wipe out a large scale criminal organization, whose power and connections were on a global scale, and win against a paramilitary task force that was under the control and supervision of the US government, which was more than likely really fucking embarrassing for them, is monumental.

And when I say monumental, I mean do you know how fucking insane that is? Like, do you know how that's going to affect the world? I would not put it past any kind of governing body to get a wee bit paranoid over this shit. "Well, if the Saints were able to hold their own against the fucking US military, what does that tell every other criminal organization across the globe?". That's horrifying for people in high positions of power! It sets an example. Plants an idea.

So, I can see them trying to deal with this in a number of ways; either they start dumping all their money into law enforcement in order to counteract organized crime, stay vigilant and play by ear, hire outside forces (I like to consider the Masako and STAG as the catalyst for PMC's becoming much more prevalent in this world). Or, special bonus crime answer, you work with OTHER criminal organizations in order to take out what you consider a huge threat. No matter what choice is made, the end result is all of them coming off as if they're panicking like crazy.

Something to consider as well is the public's perception towards what transpired in Steelport, and the way everything was handled. While the Saints' general popularity may have waned somewhat, there's definitely people out there coming to their defense. Or, at the very least, arguing in their favor. They could be seen as arguably better than a lot of the gangs they've gone up against (something that is hinted at in NPC dialogue during the second game), and they did prevent an entire city from being demolished because the US left a dude in charge who would do absolutely anything in his power to get the job done. So, like, hmm, maybe funny purple gang is a necessary evil?

But on the contrary we have the obvious. "How can you defend a bunch of criminals? Maybe things wouldn't have escalated this badly if they weren't around. These people are scumbags! Worst of the worst! And their leader is a godforsaken psychopath (sociopath, maniac, nutcase, whatever you feel like blurting out that day)". None of it is particularly surprising. Most folk don't really like the idea of letting a gang exist, no matter what sort of perceived "good" they might have done for the community. These are also the same kind of people who may even support whatever kind of law or program may be used in order to strike back against organized crime, regardless of how it may impede upon their life or the lives of other people.

"And what about the criminal underworld? Wouldn't this affect them too? Oh, please tell me more, Andre! You're very smart and creative." Ha ha! Why thank you, Hypothetical Person. But, yes, the criminal underworld will absolutely be affected. I mean, put yourself in the position of a gang leader; how would you personally feel seeing the Saints accomplish such an incredible feat? Either you're gonna try gunning for their leader's head, find yourself inspired enough to try and be just a little bit bolder, recognize the potential threat they are to your empire, or be a real stupid motherfucker and continue to underestimate them. It's highly dependent on the gang itself and the kind of person leading them.

The Saints are in a very interesting position currently. They have cemented themselves as a criminal organization to keep an eye on. A gang that has the potential to put themselves in the history books depending on what choices they make. And knowing how ruthlessly ambitious The Boss happens to be, it is almost guaranteed that the Saints will be doing whatever possible in order to expand this empire of theirs, no matter who might stand in their way.

It is the dawn of a new era within this world, and the 3rd Street Saints are carving their path to greatness.

[love-bigboss1fan-me]

Lol even more ramblings about the similarities between MGS and DS. The same warnings apply in spoilers for both games and if you find the dialogue heavy. Enjoy 💜

ID: we start with a scene of Deadman and Sam talking about the cufflinks and how Bridges will monitor his condition, to Die-Hard man and Sam arguing, then to Higgs in his new red, black, and amber cybernetic suit and hold that image for a while then it goes black for a few minutes before showing Higgs in his original military gear and golden mask with the Demens standing behind him, to Fragile’s flashback with Higgs walking her to the edge of the timefall and then we end with a logo of APAC’s and a quote from the DS2 trailer, saying “It wasn’t the UCA that made the final decision, it was APAC. A private organization.” End

Subtitles:

Meryl: “The nanomachines keep track of the soldiers and their real-time personal data 24 hours a day. They monitor each man’s position, movement, speed, firing accuracy… wounds, rations, water intake, and supply… Sweet secreted, heart rate, blood pressure, and sugar levels, oxygen… All the data gathered on the body condition on sensory organ data showing pain and fear… Data on every internal response within the body. All of it is collected by an AI at the system’s core. It was creepy at first, knowing you’re being watched 24/7, but I have gotten used to it. It gives us a lot of advantages in the field too. We get a clearer picture of what’s going on around us, so there is less confusion during missions. And our nanomachines communicate with each other, making teamwork a lot smoother. The nanomachines network inside each member’s body allows us to share each other’s senses. They can see what I see. And it helps control pain.”

Solid Snake: “Is that part of the System, too?”

Meryl: “With SOP, my team can literally operate as one. And that’s not all the System does for us. It is also a security guarantee against the PMCs.”

Solid Snake: “Security guarantee?”

Meryl: “That’s right. The PMCs are combat groups without states or ideologies. They’re not fighting out of nationalism or for a cause. They don’t care why the war is being fought. They are just bodies, fighting on someone else’s behalf. They’re mercenaries. A commodity. So it is easy to imagine them betraying their clients by joining with the enemy, or refusing to fight… Or committing humanitarian atrocities. To keep these things in check… They ensured that no one can use firearms or military vehicles without the proper System ID. It’s true for every piece of equipment out there.”

[grandhotelabyss]

What do you think of the charitable reading that Chu is attempting a sub rosa Socratic dialogue in her ‘reviews’ - that a good percentage of the time, she is clearly taking the piss; but it’s ultimately for the reader’s edification?

If so, the joke's on me. Her views on literature are such boilerplate grad-student Marxism, if written up more wittily than her peers could manage, that I think she probably acquired them honestly in academe and genuinely believes them. Now when she actually writes about her own identity—when she vaunts that she's a pornsick automisandrist autogynephile and dares you to criticize her for saying it or being it—that I think is meant to have the Socratic function of trying to make the imagined interlocutor (in this case, the middlebrow "shitlib" reader, presumably cis-white-PMC-female) understand Foucault-style that rights are based on the sheer exercise of self-assertion and power, not pathetic pleas for empathy or understanding. That's why only she could have written "On Liking Women" and Females, but anybody from NYU English could have written the Zadie Smith review. (Okay, "anybody from NYU English" would have supplied the famous Gramsci line about traces and inventories in the review's final paragraph rather than quoting Leavis [!] making the same Gramscian point about Austen [!!] in The Great Tradition [!!!]. I never said she wasn't clever.)

[chatbotfriends]

Not everything we can build should be built.

🔥 Organoid Intelligence: Ethical Emergency in the Lab

Organoid Intelligence (OI) is no longer sci-fi. It’s real: human brain cell cultures wired into AI hardware are already being tested—and it’s raising some serious red flags.

1. What’s Actually Happening

Labs are growing 3D human brain organoids from stem cells and interfacing them with electrodes and microfluidics to form biological processors WikipediaWikipedia.

Researchers have used these “wetware” systems to perform tasks—from analyzing audio to solving equations Wikipedia.

2. The Ethical Alarm Bells

Organoids already show complex neural activity, plasticity, and potential nociceptive (pain-like) responses—but we have no clear ethical standards for sentience PMCPMCBioMed Central.

Experts warn that these systems demand frameworks for consciousness, moral status, and suffering—but dialogue is lagging far behind the labs PMCSpringerLink.

3. Scientists Speak Up

In one study, lavazza and Reichlin highlight the potential for organoids to develop primitive forms of consciousness or pain capacity, especially in chimeric models PMC.

A 2023 survey found many researchers acknowledge ethical risk, yet few have clear criteria for assessing HCO consciousness or pain BioMed Central.

4. The Real Horror

We're breeding systems that learn, respond, and remember—but are denied agency or soul. This isn’t innovation. It’s a violation of the Image of God—communion without conscience.

5. What the Scientists (and Scripture) Already Warned

Now that voice is echoing through lab petri dishes, and the world calls it “innovation”.

6. Urgent Call to Action

We must act now — before moral boundaries collapse further:

Institute paid, peer-reviewed ethical frameworks before experiments scale

Require pain/sentience safeguards, memory resets, and transparency

Mandate multidisciplinary ethics oversight—with leading voices in neuroscience, policy, philosophy, and public interest

Not everything we can build should be built.

We are staring at the birth of a Beast in the lab. If that doesn’t shake us awake, nothing will.

🛡️ #EndOrganoidAI ⚖️ #BioethicsNow 🔬 #Neuroethics 🛑 #WetwareWarning ✨ #ThunderbirdFire

[ethancfmp2025]

What considerations am I taking Ethically?

The main ethical considerations I need to be taking relate to the base theme of this project. Being a game entirely based around casinos and gambling I need to take some care into how I portray the theme, to make sure I don't glorify gambling.

According to PEGI, a game that glorifies or teaches gambling must be rated a PEGI 18. However some games have been able to circumvent this, like Balatro for example.

Balatro avoided a PEGI 18 rating because "the roguelike deck-building game contained mitigating fantastical elements that warranted a PEGI 12 rating." which to be honest doesn't make much sense, but what I think it means is that it presents an exaggerated enough portrayal of gambling elements to not be taken seriously. On top of that it doesn't incorporate real currency or microtransactions to get in game currency.

The way I intend to avoid a PEGI 18 rating would be to not include any microtransactions (I wasn't planning on ever doing this in any game that I make anyway, but it's worth the consideration I guess) and make it a clear narrative point that gambling is not good. I could portray characters that have suffered from gambling as well as the predatory forces that make it so addictive.

To properly portray the effects of gambling I looked into the spread and effects of problematic gambling.

The prevalence of gambling and problematic gambling: a systematic review and meta-analysis - The Lancet Public Health

This article discusses the spread of problem gambling and how the expansion of the gambling industry along with the growth of online EGM's (Electronic Gambling Machines) will exacerbate the growth of problematic gambling and it's related issues.

Risk Factors for Gambling Disorder: A Systematic Review - PMC

This article discusses the effects and risk factors of gambling addictions. It states that gambling addictions can often lead to other behavioral and mental issues such as: "problematic behavioral disorder associated with depression, substance abuse, domestic violence, bankruptcy, and high suicide rates."

I intend to look into these aspects further as the projects progresses and I start writing potential dialogue for potential NPCs.

[armani-customs]

Gender norms, poverty and armed conflict in Côte D’Ivoire: engaging men in women’s social and economic empowerment programming - PMC

Engaging men is a critical component in efforts to reduce intimate partner violence (IPV). Little is known regarding men’s perspectives of approaches that challenge inequitable gender norms, particularly in settings impacted by armed conflict. This article describes men’s experiences with a women’s empowerment program and highlights men’s perceptions of gender norms, poverty and armed conflict, as they relate to achieving programmatic goals. Data are from 32 Ivorian men who participated in indepth interviews in 2012. Interviews were undertaken as part of an intervention that combined gender dialogue groups for both women and their male partners with women’s only village savings and loans programs to reduce IPV against women. Findings suggested that in the context of armed conflict, traditional gender norms and economic stressors experienced by men challenged fulfillment of gender roles and threatened men’s sense of masculinity. Men who participated in gender dialogue groups discussed their acceptance of programming and identified improvements in their relationships with their female partners. These men further discussed increased financial planning along with their partners, and attributed such increases to the intervention. Addressing men’s perceptions of masculinity, poverty and armed conflict may be key components to reduce men’s violence against women in conflict-affected settings.

NOUCHI

[crimechannels]

By • Olalekan Fagbade BREAKING: Twist in Niger crisis as Russian Mercinarries arrive Niamey   There is a new twist in the crisis rocking the military coup in Niger Republic following the arrival of Russian mercenary group, Wagner, soldiers, who have landed in Mali with arms and ammunition suspectedly to support the Niger military junta in the fight against ECOWAS troops. The Wagner group leader Yevgeny Prigozhin, a few days after appearing in a video at a time he was believed to be in Congo, showed up in Mali, dressed in military fatigue. But he claimed that the arrival of its team in Mali is to assist the country's military government to dislodge terrorists and “any other interest”, according to a report monitor on Al-Jazeera. Mali and Burkina Faso, also ruled by military junta, have both declared their backing for the Niger coupists. They have faulted the sanctions slammed on Niger by Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) and the African Union (AU) following the military take-over. They pledged to join Niger in resisting any form of force that might be used against the Niger junta. To give vent to their pledge, they have reportedly moved troops to Niamey as a backup to the Niger military. ECOWAS also has rejected the three-year transition plan hinted by Niger coup leader General Abdourahamane Tchiani, reaffirming the possibility of use of force should dialogue fail. The junta has also insisted that it would not respect ECOWAS position. This is partly why the Wagner presence in Mali, which shares a long border with Niger is believed to be part of giving support in Niger. The coup leaders had requested support from Wagner, and Prigozhin said his men were ready to provide it. A former Russian official claimed Wagner and the Russian state conspired to facilitate the military coup in Niger. “The recent coup in Niger was carried out in close cooperation with Russian special services and Private Military Company (PMC) consultants,” claimed Russian military blogger Mikhail Zvinchuk, a former press officer for Russia’s defence ministry, who uses the alias “Rybar”. #Nigercrisis

[wolves-in-the-world]

so… I have an answer, though it's from a very specific direction. The thing is I got incredibly invested in Leverage in general and Eliot specifically, and then I took an online course on trauma that had a section on moral injury, and about half the time I was taking notes, my brain was buzzing with how this could apply to Eliot and make sense of these kinds of questions.

(disclaimer that I'm not a professional, I'm doubtless missing the foundations that folks were meant to have to understand this stuff fully, but this is for fandom and for fun and it makes sense to me, so. Just please don't read if it's not gonna be fun for you.)

(I'm gonna be quoting and paraphrasing Dr William Nash, Dr Ruth Buczynski, Kathy Steele, possibly others - my notes weren't exactly professional either.)

-- so, moral injury is an injury from an experience, something that someone saw or caused or simply failed to prevent, that violates their deeply-held moral expectations. It's a wound to their identity, their whole self, rooted in moral emotions - shame, guilt, anger, hatred - and it eats away at their self-esteem. At the core of it is the loss of the ability to trust other people, or if they're the one who did or failed to prevent the bad thing, the loss of the ability to trust themself. (For obvious reasons - they have proof they couldn't be trusted to do the right thing in the past.)

-- the people more likely to get moral injury are 1) those who care, who are willing to empathise compassionately, who share the pain of those who suffer around them, who are emotionally invested, and 2) those who take responsibility for the things around them, so, healthcare workers and soldiers and the like.

-- which means that an average-to-generous reading of Eliot's character and morals makes him incredibly likely to have this specific flavour of trauma from pretty early on in his career.

-- the following is not about moral injury specifically but rather about shame - I'm assuming that Eliot felt significant shame about what he did in the army & PMCs. Four common ways people cope with feelings of shame are by:

1) attacking other people 2) attacking the self ("I have the hope/fantasy that if I beat myself up enough, I will find a way not to be those things") 3) avoiding talking about shameful things, avoiding shame triggers 4) avoiding their whole inner experience. not feeling anything. not feeling shame.

-- to my mind, Eliot went the 4 route, though I could see him being capable of 3 and 2 as well, when we know him. (Arguably there was a little of 1 when he broke his own code and massacred Moreau's men after saying that, well, they were all worse than he was, while freshly reminded of and fucking flooded in old shame. I'm not judging, not really, just being a bit callous about it.)

-- my feeling is, essentially, that he got so profoundly and fundamentally injured by both seeing people hurt and being the one who hurt them, by doing terrible things for what he thought were the right reasons - at least at first - that he lost all faith in himself, in his own conscience and inherent goodness, and decided that not feeling, not caring, was the only way to cope. Shame hurts, folks.

-- there's a bit of Leverage Redemption dialogue that backs this up - I don't really do the reboot, but this fitted so well I was thrilled to see it and it kinda got stuck in my brain. Harry asks Eliot in the tower job how he learned to live with what he'd done, and Eliot says he decided not to care. "I didn't care who I hurt, who paid me. When Nate put this team together, I thought it was one and done, that I'd go back to that. But Sophie, Parker, Hardison, and Nathan Ford showed me there was another way. And little by little, you get a piece of your soul back."

-- which sounds a lot like what I learned about how someone heals from this - by doing good to counterbalance the bad, not to undo the things that can never be undone, but just to move their centre of gravity towards the positive end of the emotional spectrum, to put goodness into the world, to slowly develop a more positive view of themself that way. Loving and being loved helps as well - Nash said that love is the mortal enemy of moral injury, which is a nice thought - and I'm pretty damn sure Eliot does both in canon. So that's the good news.

...to be clear, he did have options that weren't doubling down on professional murder while trying to deny that he cared about the terrible things he'd already done - personally I tend to see that as a type of self-harm in him. (If he's already fundamentally bad, if he's so good at it, why not become a monster?) But like, if you're looking for a way he might choose to deny his conscience when that same conscience is so clear to us when we see him, then to my mind, this is it.

Does anyone have any idea on why someone like Elliot Spencer would agree to work for a man like Damien Moreau?

If you see his motivation to enlist, his relationship with Aimee Martin from before he left, his behaviour towards the abused kid in The Order 23 Job, it doesn't look like he'd even get involved with much less do the kind of stuff he did for Moreau.

Money doesn't seem a likely reason. Eliot is not an idiot, no way he wasn't aware Moreau's a bad guy...