Istg I am still working on my main fic, I was just listening to a song I found on youtube and it gave me an idea for a short Farah fic!
After almost her entire life spent at war, Farah finds herself laying in a field outside of the wreckage that use to be her home. During what may be her final moments, so many regrets and memories come flooding back, transporting her back to when she was just that lost little girl following her brother through the streets.
Word Count: 2606
It almost felt like cruel irony, back in the very hometown she hadn’t returned to in years. And there she was, weak and injured as she made her way through the empty halls of this forgotten building. The very schoolhouse she and her mother use to pick up her brother from. And yet, it was now nothing more than a hallowed memory, the children’s laughter had died alongside the children, the bright and welcoming classrooms either collapsed or coated in dust and debris.
Farah stopped in front of a doorway, the door discarded on the floor and absolutely coated in dust. She took a step into the classroom, desks and bullet casings cluttered throughout the floor. Her weary eyes softened at the sight of child-sized skeletons laid against the desks or behind what only could’ve been the teacher, who seemed to have died protecting the children.
Thank god Hadir didn’t stay late at school that day
She walked through the dust ridden classroom, a small cough escaped her throat as blood spat out. Her entire body trembled, she swayed as she made her way deeper into the classroom, her feet struggled to keep up with her. One hand remained over her stomach, where deep crimson blood seeped out from, it trailed after her, a nonstop trickle down her body. Darkness surrounded the edges of her vision, the words emitted from her comms had long faded into mere background noise, overpowered by the ringing that had been screeching through her ears. It wasn’t like she could really respond anyways, the comms crushed up and damaged from when she had gotten attacked. All she could do was listen to their static ridden voices, barely distinguishable through the broken speaker.
But her other hand reached out and brushed over a dusted paper. A shaky breath left her lips as the pit in her heart grew. The pigment from the crayons had faded into this odd dull version of the original colors, but she’d recognize her brother’s handwriting anywhere. His name was signed on the bottom left corner with what she could only assume was once a red crayon. The colors were almost grey from how faded they were, ruined by time.
It was one of those typical childhood drawings, stick figures representing her family stood outside a childish attempt at the very home she and Hadir grew up in. Another bitter reminder of what was no more, everyone she had lost all in one simple drawing. Her bloodied hand reached out as she took it with both hands and held it to her chest, and yet only that abrasive stench of dust and death penetrated her nose.
She could only imagine how Hadir looked while drawing this, how he was probably smiling that bright smile she loved so much, in his seat while hoarding all the good crayons from the other kids. He was probably so excited to bring it home, and so disappointed when the teacher said he couldn’t take it home until it was graded. But it never got graded, not with what happened in the following days.
With great reluctance, Farah turned around and stumbled out of the abandoned classroom. She refused to turn a place already so full of death into her final resting place. She spent so long surrounded by death, she didn’t want her final moments to be like that too. She just wanted somewhere nice and peaceful, somewhere that’d be better for her team to find her at.
As if she had much of a team left, given how many she had lost on this mission. How many determined and spirited individuals died following her orders, with that unanticipated trap completely ruining the mission. The few survivors of that attack had all separated, and that left Farah here, alone and bleeding out in this abandoned schoolhouse while the surviving members of her team were god knows where.
Dust flew everywhere as she shoved a lone door at the end of the corridor open and revealed the playground, with the sun basking over the horizon. Hints of purple and blue followed behind the sun and chased away the last remnants of orange. It was a large field, with a small playset forgotten in the center. Some flowers surrounded the area, the once beautiful petals had wilted and rotted away long ago. Except for one, one single flower near the swingset remained, though it didn’t seem much better. It wasn’t exactly dead, but the petals were dulled and had begun to wilt.
Farah didn’t make it very far before she too collapsed, a surge of pain followed through her spine as she shouted out. And shakily, she managed to roll herself over to face the sky. It truly was beautiful, how stars began to speckle the sky as the sun was chased further away by those different shades of violet and navy.
It was like she was a kid again, how she use to sneak onto the rooftop and lay down just like this with her brother. They use to spend hours staring into the night sky, they would laugh and talk about their future, and Hadir would always reassure her she could do whatever she put her mind to. His smile was always so contagious, as warm and fuzzy as the sun during the early hours of the morning. That was the only way she could really describe it, just warm. His hugs were warmer than the blankets they’d sleep in, he was like a living sunshine, brightening everything around him. Even after their parents died, he was the one who pushed her to keep going, to make it through their town and attempt their escape.
Or at least until everything changed, until he changed.
Farah’s eyelids lowered as she forced herself to hold up that old drawing and stare at it. Stare at the dried blood speckled on the paper and the dust that still lingered. The little indents from Hadir pressing too hard on the crayon, the small crickles on the edges of the paper, how the paper itself had yellowed with age. Time truly showed no mercy, not even to childhood drawings.
Hadir’s last words played over and over again in her head, how he had told her mama and baba would be proud of her. The way that familiar warm smile had come back only to be ripped away from her forever, that bright light that left behind nothing but despair, to never return and never warm her again.
But would they really be proud?
If they could see how many people died because of her, would they really be so proud?
She had been telling herself for so long that these deaths were worth it, that everyone died fighting for freedom and it would all pay off in the end, that she could grieve once this was all over. That as long as this all led to her people being free, it would all be okay and she’d be okay too.
But what if this was it? What if she was going to die here without ever changing anything? What if all these deaths were all for nothing? What if these deaths were just that; more death?
She tried to remind herself of Alex, of how he could easily take over after she’s gone. But did he even survive that trap? What if this fate was cruel enough to take him from her too? Who’s to say who was still alive at this point? She couldn’t even listen to her comms with all the words distorted by the static, her comms too damaged to even work properly. She couldn’t rely on them, couldn’t call for help. She was stuck here now, she had chosen this spot and couldn’t leave anymore.
A strangled sob escaped her throat as she dropped the drawing down onto her trembling chest. Her lungs were practically on fire and a small pool of blood had begun to form underneath her. She still remembered it, how that enemy soldier had grabbed her forearm and pulled her close, how he had trapped her between himself and a wall before he pulled the trigger directly against her abdomen. She remembered how it burned and the immediate pain that struck through her entire body like lightning.
Her head tilted back against the dead grass and flowers, the sobs she had held back for so many years finally free to come out, as she finally allowed herself to cry for every life she had lost, every life that had been lost to her cause. Every single person she had been forced to watch the life drain out of their eyes, every single loved one she had lost, all her friends and family, all gone for her sake. And yet she was still here, with a never ending flow of blood onto the patch of dead flowers. The one live flower she could just barely see with her vision going in and out.
Once she had no more tears to let out, after what felt like an eternity and the sun had fully set, Farah was left to stare at the dark sky with most of her energy drained from her body. The moonlight shone on her face, it illuminated the dead flowers that surrounded her body as she breathed in slow and shallow gasps. She tilted her head to rest on her cheek, her dark and hollow eyes drawn to the picture that rested in her limp hand. The paper slightly danced in the light breeze that passed by her, a cool breeze that brought some relief to the burning in her lungs and abdomen. The dead flowers also danced in the wind, they swayed back and forth with some petals carried away further into the field.
She wished she could be trapped in that drawing, back to that little girl who still had a family, who wasn’t constantly fighting for her life. Back when she still had a brother, back when she could still trust people. She use to look at the world with such glee, too young to understand the concept of dangerous people or understand why anybody would ever want to hurt another person. Right now, she missed that naive little girl, the little girl who didn’t need to understand, the little girl who had her parents to protect her.
She missed her parents, the parents whose faces were clouded and smudged in her mind, a distant memory she could barely recall anymore. Even Hadir’s face had begun to grow foggy in her mind, his features were more smudged each day, like the shape of his nose or where that little freckle on his cheek was. She didn’t even have the chance to think of that until now. She had thrown her entire mind and soul into freeing her people, and now that might’ve all been for nothing.
She felt so cold, and she knew that by now, her parents probably would’ve wrapped her up in a cozy blanket while Hadir told his stupid jokes to keep her spirits up. She could practically hear him, telling her that it wasn’t over yet and she needed to keep going. He’d probably be pissed if he could see her now, see how much she failed herself, her people, and him.
“It’s not your time yet, Sister” She could’ve sworn she heard him whisper from right next to her, his voice clearer in her head than it had ever been, the voice she had almost forgotten until now.
But there was no warm blanket, no parents or brother to comfort her. She was all alone, surrounded by dead flowers and stars speckled throughout the sky. She had nobody now. She was all alone and her body grew colder by the second.
She took another shallow breath of the cool air, she forced her eyes open as she looked back up to the sky. Each star shined so bright, so beautiful as if painting a picture in the dark violet sky. It reminded her of a painter who had once come to town when she was little, how he was selling paintings of starry skies just like this one. They were so gorgeous, but her family never had the money for any of those paintings, so she had quickly abandoned the idea of ever owning one.
“You would’ve loved this..” Farah murmured, “Just like when we were kids”
She tightened her grip around the drawing in her hand, the last piece of Hadir she had left, as she closed her eyes and finally let herself lay there. She couldn’t keep going, her entire mind felt so cold and fuzzy, as if a thick layer of snow had been set above her body.
“I’m sorry I never got to free them, Hadir..” She whispered out with another breath as the blood on her stomach grew colder and colder. The breeze grew faster around her and a petal from that surviving flower fell onto the dead grass below it, quickly picked up by the wind and carried away
A familiar lullaby played in her mind, a song her mother use to hum to her when she was little. Whenever she had a nightmare, her mom would come into her room, wrap her up in a blanket and hold her in a loving embrace while humming this song. Farah couldn’t even remember her face, but how warm and cozy her hugs were was something Farah would never forget. Her mother had so much love, and such a warm embrace that could heat up even the coldest days.
That familiar hum continued through Farah’s head, and it was like she was back home, wrapped up in that thick wool blanket while her mother held her on her bed. Her bedroom had been so small, but it was always enough for her. Her mother would always tuck a lock of her hair out of her face, that warm smile blurred in her mind as her mother tightened the embrace and this cinnamon aroma wafted through the air from her mother’s previous cooking. That wonderful aroma would always stick for days, a reminder of her mother’s delicious meals.
“You’re okay, Farah. The monsters can’t hurt you, not when I have you.” Her mother would whisper soothingly, a thumb would always wipe away any stray tears as Farah held on tightly
And once Farah eventually calmed down, her mother would just hold her, with Farah’s little head against her mother’s shoulder as her mother hummed that soft lullaby until she’d be lulled to sleep. She’d be set back down on her bed and tucked in once she was finally back to sleep, safe and sound in the comfort of her bed.
Her hand finally went completely limp, the wind blew the drawing away as her breathing grew slower and slower. This ringing sound grew in her ears, and almost drowned out the shout of a familiar voice, “Farah!”
Price had finally found her, he rushed towards the young woman as he kneeled down beside her and put two fingers against her neck, “Farah, do you copy?!”
He picked her up, minding the searing wound on her abdomen as he glanced back towards Alex, who had picked up that childish drawing as the final petal of that surviving flower fell. Alex stared at Price with baited breath, uncertainty in his eyes before Price’s own face hardened. Price nodded before he stood with Farah held in his arms, following Alex out of the playground with nothing but the moonlight to guide them back towards the evac site.
had chatbpt help me dig real deep into Captain Mactavish's journal entries (technical/military terms and all - recommend btw, v informative) but atp im tired of recycling the same entries so i asked the damn AI to write me something new ; just for fun really, been bored (got a whole big girl job so should be doing bigger things but here we are)
Tell me why the entry included this:
"Speaking of survival—ran into Nikolai again. Man’s still got the best gear and the worst coffee. Swear he’s brewing diesel. Had a cup, lost feeling in my left arm. He called it “Russian strength.” I call it “attempted murder.”
Somehow feels like it should be canon.
lost feeling in my left arm sent me
Well they're twenty now, silly. It's time for their true steps to becoming men. Nikita has proudly taken the role to succeed Vladimir Makarov (unless he has a kid, of course) and earned his notoriety after a brief stunt in prison. (Don't worry your pretty little head about what he did to get there...)
CW: Branding/burning below cut.
...As for Kolya, he's accepted his role in his life as well, unbeknownst to his twin and to everyone else. Nikolay finally gets to be important for once.
So the Zakhaev twins are aging on their way to become the absolute menaces in the COD : Aces AU.
I wish that the games utilized Arash for more than just a reason for Adler to scrape Bell off the Trabzon tarmack. I get why they leave the details of his beef with Bell blank, so that the player can insert whatever headcanons they have for their Bell's backstory but it still feels like they wasted a lot of possibilities here. Like imagine if Arash shooting Bell was instead of a seemingly unspecified personal grievance a part of a larger ideological schism/faction politics/civil war within Perseus. I think it'd open up a lot of new avenues with the plot. Especially in regards to player choice affecting the outcome of the game.
The second reason is that they made Arash's design too cunty to just waste after the start of the game. The moustache, the tiger jacket, the hair, the bandanna, the glasses it's all so 80's and funny as fuck. He should've stuck around longer in the game just for looks alone.
