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themotherofhorses · 4 months

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paloma: first meeting

— simon "ghost" riley x oc!silentdove reyes.

summary: he's not annoyed, per se, but ghost is just not really in the mood to chit-chat with the american airman scurrying around the base. at best, he tolerates them.

(or the first exchange between ghost and his montanan woman.)

warnings: none, aside from explicit language.

note: okay, so despite this being an obvious OC-insert series, i invite anyone and everyone to read it :D this is actually my first time tackling an OC-insert fanfic (as well as writing ghost) so im still trying to get the rhythm of things.

dividers by: @saradika

paloma (masterlist) | main masterlist

[2021]

Simon Riley won’t ever admit it — never aloud, anyway — but every time he steps foot on American soil, he feels more akin to a wolf draped in sheep’s clothing.

In his mind, he sticks out like a sore thumb. He is not a hero, really; unlike the lot teetering around the military base he is currently stationed at for the next five or so weeks, he is less flesh and blood, and more a phantom. Or something along those lines. Actually, that could explain why there is such little traffic aimed his way. But he doesn’t particularly care. His schedule lacks the room to voice any complaints.

Right now, his main concern is doing his job, and doing it right.

Two weeks back, Price had him fishing out his passport tucked away inside his bedside table. “Fancy a two month getaway to the States?” Great Falls, Montana, to be exact. High west, nearing the border of Canada, and surrounded by land he’s only ever seen in those silly ass spaghetti western movies.

The view is nice, he’ll admit. Beautiful, even. Exhilarating. He now understands why they refer to Montana as “Big Sky Country.”

Malmstrom is much smaller than he imagined, and homier too. The Air Force base is nestled within the city’s east side, offering its own museum and park. He’s quite grateful for the latter; the trails allow for his nighttime walks when the nightmares prove too shitty to sleep.

Great Falls is pretty as well. Price would like it, maybe Garrick too. He knows the two are big on history, and almost every inch of the city is drenched with some memory belonging to the old frontier days.

Upon arriving, the yanks provided him with his own private office, housed in the back of the 341st logistics readiness squadron. It’s nothin’ fancy, really, just a wee room furnished with a dark mahogany desk, two windows, a steel cabinet, the Montana flag to his left, and the American to his right.

Again, he’s not one to complain. Something’s something.

Earlier, one of the higher-up airmen, a Staff Sergeant Benson (he believes is the name), had handed him a folder jam-packed with a shit ton of mission statements — logistics, strategic planning, reports of previous global concerns, and reviews of the base’s Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missile. All the documents are dated in a time range varying between two months ago to 0800 this morning.

In the back of his mind, he can already hear Price chuckling.

“Have fun, Simon.”

Bloody bastard.

So now, Ghost sits hunched over the desk, feeling a little too damn big for it. All the paperwork is strewn about messily around him, with sticky notes, a pen, and some other random shit of his. No one has yet to visit him; until that happens, he feels little need to remain organized.

His boot taps against the floor. “—Initial efforts to clean polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs) from launch facilities at Malmstrom AFB are ongoing but seeing success…” Ghost reads under his breath. PCBs? That’s nice to hear.

“...after PCBs were detected on surfaces in launch facilities at all three of the command’s missile wings.”

PCBs. Polychlorinated biphenyls — man-made and highly toxic, consisting of carbon, hydrogen, and chlorine atoms. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he flips onto the next page.

“We know they’re present on what appears to be otherwise pristine surfaces, due to the survey—”

—a sudden knock interrupts his reading.

With a curse on his tongue, Ghost sets down the report. He quicks a sneaking glance at his watch. 1342 hours. He’s due in a meeting at 1700.

“Come in.” His voice sounds low and raspy, the two words sounding more like a growl than a greeting. He’s not annoyed, per se, but Ghost is just not really in the mood to chit-chat with the American airmen scurrying around the base. At best, he tolerates them.

(In his mind, they’re all little Graves, ready to stir up a headache.)

The door slowly cracks open.

“Lieutenant Riley?” A female voice calls out — soft and cautious; Ghost’s chin drops against his knuckles. “Apologies for the disruption, sir, but I have some additional paperwork I need to drop off with you, at the request of my superior.” He grunts, and the airman then steps into his office, quickly shutting the door behind her before meeting his eyes.

It is entirely unlike him, Ghost knows, but his brain almost short-circuits right then and there. Two dark brown eyes, framed by thick lashes, peering up at him. Shit. He’d always thought brown was such a pretty eye color on a woman, but hers stretched further across common compliments.

Both of ‘em — they held no animosity, no uneasiness or fear, nothing.

That, itself, is quite fucking bizarre. He’s not used to that.

Ghost is .... well, Ghost. He knows the mask he is always donning on his face isn't exactly a sign of welcomeness. Just his mere presence is enough to startle the living shit out of rookies, baby recruits, wide-eyed sergeants, and the like. There is something inherently unnerving when you are unable to get a good reading of the person you're standing across from.

She’s brave, he thinks. Or merely oblivious to who he is.

“Here you go, sir,” the airman says while placing the packet of new documents down on his desk. Her lips are shaped prettily, plump and shining with a fresh layer of gloss, and across her nose is a splatter of faint freckles. Under a different circumstance, maybe he would’ve taken the time to try and count them all.

Ghost swallows hard, incapable (for what feels like the first time in his life) of mustering up an appropriate reply. “Ah, thank you, ma’am.”

The airman's brow lifts.

“Reyes,” she then corrects him with a kind smile, gesturing to the name badge sitting above her right chest pocket. Sure enough, in bold military lettering, reads Reyes. “My name is Senior Airman SilentDove Reyes. I am actually a cryptologic linguist analyst here on base; but sometimes I run errands for others, when not needed for a translation, of course.”

There is a slight chirp in her voice that Ghost picks up, along with the way she casually rocks back and forth on her feet. She seems awfully young, no older than 22, possibly 23, but even that's cutting it; a kid, compared to him. Maybe 5'7, with dark hair pulled back into two tight braids that fall at her belted waistline.

A stark contrast compared to him.

He's oddly curious now — about her age and first name and those long braids and why she stands before him, calm, collected, and sure — but he knows damn well this is not the time nor place for any questions. Both of them are on the clock, and it is likely she’ll need to report back to her supervisor soon.

He offers her a curt nod. “Well, thank you again, Reyes,” he states, keeping his voice flat.

“You are welcome, sir.” She turns to leave, but when her hand latches onto the doorknob, Reyes glances over her shoulder at him, “—oh, and Lieutenant? If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

–

The successful cleaning came after a bioenvironmental team at Malmstrom AFB …. Malmstrom AFB .. consulted with engineers and ….. and medical experts on the cleaning …. cleaning processes and–

–and agents most likely to effectively remove the chemicals….

He knows his mind is wandering off, in desperate search of that pretty senior airman from fifteen minutes ago. “Bloody fucking hell,” Ghost grumbles, leaning back in his chair. His head lolls back as he blinks upward, studying the ceiling overhead. The texture is popcorn, a creamy color, with a simple fan jutting down. One light bulb, probably a recent replacement.

Fuck. He doesn’t need this shit. Not one bit.

Five more weeks and he’ll be gone from here.

Ghost rechecks his watch, feeling a bit peeved at the time. 1411. He has several more hours until he can leave all this work shit behind for the evening, and maybe catch a short walk before hunkering down for the night. He doesn’t like sitting down for too long; it causes him to become restless. Agitated. Overthinking.

He doesn’t want distractions. He doesn’t need ‘em. Distractions ruin work ethic; clouding up the mind while fucking up all sense of responsibility. Price will have his ass if he – somehow – becomes compromised. And he'll never hear the end of it from Johnny.

Settling back into the paperwork, he decides that he won’t allow himself another second thinking about all that – the American airman and her pretty brown eyes and high cheekbones and first name.

Something tells him that’s easier said than done.

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lonestarflight · 5 months

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AU Space Shuttle Enterprise

Circa 1985 to 1987

From my Alternative History Post (link) this is how the Space Shuttle Enterprise evolved from the 4th operational orbiter in 1985 to the prototype unmanned shuttle.

More History on the Shuttle:

• April 1983: Enterprise is returned to Palmdale for her disassembled and rebuild.

• As a weight saving measure her mid-fuselage is returned to Convair for a complete rebuild to bring it inline with OV-103 and OV-104.

• to further lighten her frame, her aft-fuselage is rebuilt with similar materials as her sisters.

• Engineers at Rockwell suggests rebuilding or replacing her wings as well but NASA doesn't have room in the budget.

• May 1985: at long last, Enterprise is rolled out and joins the fleet. She weighs slightly less than Columbia. Her main issue is her wings are heavier and weaker than the other Orbiters.

• September 1985: STS-21 is Enterprise's first mission

• 1987: During the Shuttle hiatus following the Challenger Disaster, she went through a mini refit that saw her exterior markings change. (NASA in this timeline returned to the Meatball logo sooner than in the OTL)

Circa 1988 to 1993

• April 1988: STS-30 is Enterprise's first launch following the hiatus.

• December 1993: following STS-61, Enterprise is retired due to being the oldest in the fleet. Endeavour takes her place in the fleet.

• June 1994: Enterprise is flown to Dulles Airport, Washington DC, and is given to the Smithsonian for eventual display when the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center is built. NASA retains the option recalled her if needed.

• 1998: NASA studies modifying the Shuttle-C software to work on the Space Shuttle and potentially using Enterprise as a reusable Shuttle-C. The reasoning behind this option this configuration would be a cheaper alternative to the X-33 program. However, while the shuttle could be retrofitted with the software, the shuttle would have less cargo capacity than the X-33 and still required use of expensive legacy launch facilities (ie VAB and LC-39). The study ends with only the software in a beta state.

• December 2003: Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center is opened with Enterprise being one of its major exhibits.

• November 2003: the Shuttle-C software is used to return STS-118 Columbia to Earth and with critical damage to her structure (mainly her port wing and some internal damage from a collapsed landing gear).

• May 2004: NASA recalls Enterprise to replace Columbia.

• August 2004: initial plans are to return her flight, unmodified. However, NASA develops the Shuttle-C software further and changes it's name to A.S.Tr.O.S (Autonomous Space Transport Operating System).

• New wings! Enterprise is fitted with new wings which are of a modified design and lighter and stronger than the wings of her sisters. With other upgrades and modifications, she is slightly lighter than her younger sisters.

• Some within NASA joking refer to her as Enterprise-A, as a reference to Star Trek.

• September 2006: to commemorate the 30th anniversary of her unveiling to the media, Lockheed-Rockwell rolls her out of their Palmdale facility to rechristen the Shuttle. In attendance, Leonard Nimoy, George Takei, Nichelle Nicholas, Walter Koenig, Christopher Doohan and Rod Roddenberry.

- when asked by the media, Leonard remarked she is still a sight to behold and is glad she will continue her mission of exploration.

Enterprise A (unmanned)

• July 2006: to test the A.S.Tr.O.S. during a return to earth and landing, a new series of Approach and Landing Tests (ALT) were conducted with NASA's 747 SCA (N905NA) at the Dryden Flight Research Center, Edwards Air Force Base. 15 flights are flown to put the software in the real world, with two astronauts on board to step in when needed. Barring some higher than normal landing speeds, the software passes all of its objectives.

• It should be noted, while the rebuilt Enterprise is mainly used as an unmanned orbiter, this is a misnomer. It is more accurate to call her a hybrid shuttle. NASA has the option to convert her back into a manned shuttle if desired or needed.

- This nearly was used in 2015 during STS-154. Space Shuttle Atlantis was after conducting maintenance/upgrades on the Hubble Space Telescope (HST), the crew was unable to disconnect the shuttle from the telescope. CTS-48 Enterprise was already on LC-39B for a cargo mission to the International Space Station. All that was needed was to remove supplies from the payload bay and reinstall the seats in her crew space. Fortunately, this rescue wasn't needed as the Astronauts conducted an unscheduled EVA and manually disconnected the Shuttle from the HST.

• November 2008: first flight of Enterprise-A (CTS-11)

• When Columbia was given a cosmic restoration for her display, the first set of wings from Enterprise was used to replace her damaged one.

• 2019: Enterprise is retired for the final time following CTS-74.

• 2020: Enterprise is on display at Space Center Houston with the restored Star Trek Galileo Shuttlecraft prop.

Original artwork by bagera3005: link, link, link

#Space Shuttle #Space Shuttle Enterprise #Enterprise #OV-101 #Orbiter #NASA #Space Shuttle Program #Enterprise-A #alt history #Alternative History #AU #Complete Shuttle Fleet Timeline #my post

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workersolidarity · 6 days

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[ 📹 Footage capturing artillery shelling by the Israeli occupation forces targeting agricultural land and Palestinian farming facilities in the vicinity of Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital, located in Deir al-Balah, in the central Gaza Strip on Saturday. 📈 The current death toll as published by Turkish news outlet, Anadolu News Agency, detailing the 34'049 Palestinians killed in the Israeli genocide, while another 76'901 others have been wounded since Oct. 7th.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

GAZA UNDER CONTINUOUS ASSAULT AS ISRAELI OCCUPATION INTENSIFIES AIRSTRIKES

The Israeli occupation forces (IOF) intensified their bombing and shelling campaign targeting the homes, facilities, agriculture and businesses of Palestinians in the Gaza Strip on Saturday, killing and wounding dozens of civilians, including women, children and displaced families.

Going into Saturday evening, IOF warplanes bombed the Al-Mawasi area, west of Khan Yunis, in the south of Gaza, targeting a residential home adjacent to an encampment housing displaced Palestinian families, murdering two young Palestinians and wounding at least 10 others.

At the same time, warships belonging to the Zionist navy shelled neighborhoods to the northwest of Khan Yunis, while occupation artillery detatchments also shelled Palestinian agricultural farmlands in the vicinity of Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Deir al-Balah, in the central Gaza Strip.

Meanwhile, in Gaza's north, local medical sources speaking with the Palestinian media said at least 6 Palestinians were martyred, and many others wounded, following an Israeli occupation airstrike targeting the Al-Faluja neighborhood in the Jabalia Refugee Camp.

Similarly, occupation artillery shelling pounded neighborhoods north of the Nuseirat Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, massacreing three civilians and wounding as many as 30 others, while occupation forces also shelled neighborhoods south of Gaza City.

In yet anothet criminal act, the Zionist occupation forces bombed a medical clinic in the Al-Bureij Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, resulting in the death of Dr. Mu'in Sa'ed, and also wounding Dr. Sa'ed's son. The bombing was confirmed by local medical sources and reported in the Palestinian media.

In yet another horrific atrocity, the Israeli occupation air forces launched several raids, one of which targeted a residential home belonging to the Joudeh family, in the Shaboura Refugee Camp in central Rafah, in the south of Gaza, murdering a Palestinian man, his pregnant wife and his child. A number of others were also wounded as well, with most of the victims being children.

As a result of "Israel's" ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the death toll among the Palestinian population has risen again, now exceeding 34'049 citizens killed, including over 14'560 children and 9'582 women, while another 76'901 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

#source1

#source2

#source3

#videosource

#graphicsource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

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horseshoegirl · 7 months

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Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 20 - Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)

📜 Everyone wants Jake's reaction to Liz's risky photo. 👀😂Well, you got it... and something else... Let me put it this way: I have to take my chance where I can....

❗+18, sexual themes, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child character, deployments, letters, verbal fights, hurricanes, near-death experiences, angst, Don't read if you have Thalassophobia/Aquaphobia cause Jake and Bradley... well, you'll find out, intense moments of peril/disaster.

#7.4k words

Part 19 | Masterlist | Part 21

Hangman could hear his breath, the mechanical exhale and hiss, through his oxygen mask as he finally set his eyes on the carrier alone out at sea.

The tension in his shoulders released, and the weight that had been pressing him down since he and Rooster launched this morning lifted slightly.

"Rooster, where are you?"

"Right behind you, Hangman," came his crackled tense reply.

The attack on the facility had been gruesome and extremely time-sensitive. They only had a few seconds to spare in reaching their destination should there have been any reason for a delay. It was one of the few things he had worried about when they were being briefed, worried if the same ghost that had haunted Rooster on the uranium mission would resurface yet again.

Thankfully, it didn't, and the pair of them managed to get to the target well on time, just to take down two enemy fighter jets before they had even managed to get above the hard deck line.

It might have helped the attack happened right around dawn when nobody was least expecting it—three weeks at sea for an hour in the sky. And the worst of what they thought would happen and what they had prepared for didn't.

You and Sadie had been with him the entire time, your polaroids pinned in his cockpit near the control panel. They were the same ones he had before, the one Sadie took of you and the other of Sadie standing in front of the F-18.

He was looking at them now, between you, Sadie and his navigational beacon, knowing that the second his wheels hit the upper deck, he'd be that much closer to going home.

Hangman was cleared to land, his radio buzzing with the familiar voice of the control tower as he approached the tiny runway. He adjusted the F-18's flaps, feeling the jet respond instantly beneath him, knowing it wasn't over yet, not until both he and Rooster were safely on board.

He took a steadying breath, the sound echoing in his mask as he said to himself in his head, 'Make it perfect. For them."

The back wheels touched down flawlessly, catching the arresting wire with a strong tug. Jake felt himself being pulled forward out of his seat, the straps of his harness tight on his chest. But the second his back hit the chair, he finally felt like he could breathe. The weight on his chest dissipated, and Jake couldn't help the smug grin.

He was finally in the clear.

"Nice landing," he heard the landing officer say through the radio. Jake, taxing himself to the elevator on deck, watched as the officer gave him a thumbs up from the runaway below.

"What can I say? When you're good, you're good," his cheeks hurt from the edges of his mask, grin wide as he cockily gave a two-fingered salute.

If Jake heard the following tense groan coming out of his radio, he didn't let on.

Parking the jet on the elevator strip, Jake watched as he was lowered down into the ship's hanger bay, looking for his designated mechanic as he turned off the flight system. The second he reached the ground, he guided the machine into its designated spot, turning it off completely.

He popped the canopy open before going for his helmet, unstrapping the buckles with haist. He went for one of the pockets on his harness, reaching into the tight space to grab at the zip-locked bag, placing it on top of his helmet before reaching for the polaroids of you and Sadie. Holding both between his thumb, he brought them to his lips, kissing the images simultaneously before placing them safely inside the bag where they belonged.

As Jake stepped down the ladder, a mechanic greeted him, readying a list of questions as Jake started up his post-flight checks.

"It's a good thing you guys finished when you did. Radar points to a tropical storm coming in tonight."

Jake raked his fingers through his hair, trying to combat the sweat. "So we got confirmation we are moving out?"

The mechanic nodded, not bothering to lift his head as he dug for his notepad. "The second you guys were called back. We're already on route to base."

The news only added to his high spirits. Today was a good day.

He was going home.

As Jake answered all the mechanic's questions while checking the jet, out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Bradley's jet ascended down the elevator and rolled into its resting spot. Bradley popped his canopy, climbing out, sliding down the ladder and high-fiving his mechanic, smiling.

He had no idea where the urge, or dare he say courage, came from when he finished walking over to Bradley as he was finalizing his post-flight routine.

Jake waited till Bradley said his last word before approaching him. Jake held out his hand, his voice clear over the commotion, as he said, "Good job flying out there, Bradshaw."

Bradley glanced at Jake's outstretched hand, then to his face, his expression inscrutable. There was a palpable pause, a pregnant beat of tension, before Bradley deliberately rested his hand on the side of his jet, ignoring Jake's overstretched hand completely.

"Don't think one mission changes everything," Bradley replied tersely, eyes sharp and focused.

His reply didn't deter Jake. In fact, he only smirked, lowering his hand. "Didn't think it would. I just wanted to see if you had the balls to acknowledge a job well done. By the way, I went to Liz and apologized. Something you probably never imagined I'd do."

Bradley scoffed, a short, derisive laugh escaping him. "You think an apology is your ticket to redemption? You must have been more rattled up there than I thought. She'd never forgive you after a stunt like that."

Jake bit his lip, contemplating what you or Sadie might say to Rooster at this moment.

So, in a rare second of honesty, in front of his rival, Jake answered Bradley.

"I never expected her to accept my apology, Bradshaw. But I had to try. For her. For Sadie." Jake paused, looking solemn before continuing on. "You know what it's like, leaving on a deployment, not sure when or if you're going to come back. I had to try, and believe it or not, I want to try to get along with you for both their sakes. It's what they would want."

Jake lifted his hand once again, hoping Rooster would take it. But Bradley didn't, nor did he reply. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jake to bow his head and drop his hand once again, not knowing if he should sigh or roll his eyes. At this point, it was frugal to think Bradley would ever change his ways.

Least of all for him.

...

"Seresin! Bradshaw! You have mail!"

Jake looked up from his plate just in time to see the communications officer slam a white envelope down to the empty space in front of him. The officer continued her journey down to the other end of the table to Rooster, tossing a nearly identical envelope into his outstretched hands.

Bradley hadn't spoken a word to him since the hanger earlier, not that Jake expected him to. The mess hall wasn't necessarily the friendliest place, and while Jake couldn't have cared less about whether or not he was making friends, he and Bradley tended to stick together silently. They didn't really speak to each other, though. Even when they had to bunk together.

It's funny how deployments did that.

Jake slid his tray over to the side, reaching out to grab the thick piece of paper between his hands and inspecting the front.

White was probably the wrong word to use. The envelope looked like it had a rough time getting to him. There were dirt marks and scuffed-up edges, several post stamps thrown uncaringly on the front. Even a few water marks, which made sense, considering a gust front was currently pounding the upper deck.

What stood out to Jake, though, was your handwriting still perfectly intact. He'd recognize it anywhere.

Lt. Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Jake flipped it over, not expecting to see the words written across the back.

This is everything I didn't say

Jake pulled himself back in his seat, only to realize he had a pair of eyes on him. He looked over to Bradley, noticing how the chicken was staring at the object in Jake's hands. He had already opened his, two pieces of lined paper on the table in front of him.

"From Liz?" Jake finally asked, tilting his head towards Bradley's letter. Rooster looked back down at his, staring at the front. "Sadie, actually."

As if that didn't sting a little bit, Jake thought. Bradley looked back up, eyes fixed on the one in Jake's hands. "Liz?" he asked. It was almost sombre.

Jake tore his eyes away from Bradley to trace your cursive writing with his fingers. "Yeah."

There was something to be said about receiving letters or packages from family and loved ones while in service. Regardless of whether or not Jake and Bradley were on the outs, no one ever dared to mock this particular part of their job. Hearing word from the other side, the outside world, was something sacred, and Bradley knew better than to hold it against Jake- even if he did break your heart.

You had chosen to write him that letter. There was nothing he could really do about it - like he even had a choice. Bradley had to pick and choose his moments where he could.

Jake finally broke the seal, immediately going for the folded-up pieces of paper inside. He let the envelope drop, the sound heavy as it hit the table, and Jake knew you had probably stuffed polaroids inside.

He unfolded your pages and began to read.

Jake,

Everything became still the moment my sister passed away. I keep remembering, picturing it like hands on a clock, having counted the seconds away before finally coming to a stop. The days didn't matter. My next thought, my only thought, was Sadie. Then you came into my picture, our picture, and cheesily enough, that seconds hand on that metaphorical clock started to tick.

I can’t lie; I knew you'd break through my walls the first time I saw you. Not in the Hard Deck that day, but when you were playing football on the beach, me watching you from Penny’s chair. I knew who you were instantly.

Because you had a rep, and everyone had warned me about you - Womanizer.

But I knew the second you spoke to me, the second I had turned around after fixing that damn keg, seeing that mona lisa smile of yours (Yes - I have been calling it that and no, your ego does not need to grow two more sizes because of it), my heart was screaming, Hello, I love you.

(Those are in reference to a song; they don't count just yet).

I have a confession to make, which is partly why I wanted to write you this particular letter.

I put up a wall between you and myself then and there. I think that's the only secret I've ever kept from you. Because as much as I knew something was probably going to happen between the two of us, whatever it would have been, I knew you had the power to devastate my heart completely.

I didn’t get your name that day. Not until you showed up on my doorstep with my favourite flowers, asking me to forgive you, and you sat out in my backyard with everyone singing along to Southern Nights.

The first crack in the wall started when you followed me inside, helping me with the dishes. You were honest with me that night, not the person I thought you to be, and I realized you were putting on a show for others to see. And when I showed up in that long cool black dress at the hard deck that day, and you taught my klutzy ass how to throw a dart, the wall cracked further.

(I can hear you as I write, Jake Seresin. Saying I love your ass, don't diss my ass. Stop making everything sexual, you horny beast.)

Sadie knew it, too... that my walls were cracking. She sees everything. It's why she invited you on that damn hike. And there is also a part of me wondering if Ridley sent that damn sake from wherever she is now, hoping to get the two of us together - it would be something she'd do if she had the power…if she was able to rule the world to make it happen.

Then, all of you guys were deployed. And everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.

I don't know if three little birds told me things were going to be alright back then, but I somehow knew, deep down, they would be - even if you fly like you have nothing to lose and everything to prove. You don't, not to me. And oh, what a night it was when you came home.

I wanted you to kiss me that night. But I'm glad you didn't. Because the night I drifted away in your arms, you might as well have shot a missile from your F-18 and made my walls crumble almost completely.

Almost. Because what truly did it was when you let Sadie hang on to you during that thunderstorm. How you cared for her and told her it was going to be okay. How good you were with her and how you might be with your own. I will never stop saying how much that meant to me- what it still means to me.

Then you rammed me up against my hallway, and I had to really hang on for dear life.

(I just realized we never talked about our futures on our first date. We were too busy screaming Let's dance to figure out if Marriage/Kids, etc., were on the table - if they are something you want. Cause I'm all in Jake, whether we do or not. All I know is that I want to be with you - you and Sadie are enough.)

Then someone made himself known, and hell would have to freeze over before I mentioned his name in a letter to you - Dream on asshole. But you loved, yes loved, me through my worst moments, Sadie's worst moments. When I sang as a Blue healer for my feelings deep blue, when sons and daughters of people long gone raged, and I had to hide in my bathtub, waiting till it was all over.

When you showed me it was okay to live and experience life through the bad moments, that it was okay to remember my sister, even in the rays of a sunset from the sky. And when you made me want to scream sex on fire, cause damn Jake, we definitely weren't taking things slow.

I won't mention the 'incident' with George or how much rain I saw when Bradley drove me home. I know; I've always known how much generational trauma you've carried in your blood throughout your entire life. I will say, though, out of all the songs that had to play on the jukebox the night things for Sadie and I finally came to an end, it had to be Come a little bit closer. (That pissed me off, you have no idea, Jake.... stop laughing, you asshole).

And although it’s been weeks for me since you left me standing at the end of my driveway, after you apologized and I felt like a Sapling, searching for an Oak, watching you drive off to go our separate ways for a small length of time, being worlds apart, I’m counting down the minutes, the hours, the seconds till I can tell you what you need to hear.

Because My sister had a box. A just-in-case box. Filled with letters, objects, and memories. I finally opened it, with Sadie, of course, on an evening I will never soon forget. I don't want a repeat of that. Of me finally visiting Ridley and reading her letter, her last words to me on her grave.

I don't want that to be us.

So Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, after breaking down my walls not once but twice, I will not write those three words down in this letter. I'd rather tell you in person. So I can see your face when I do. I’m a fair lady - if you wanted me to wait to tell you until you are home, I’m waiting till you come home.

So much of our relationship started backwards. A first kiss before the first date, an extended sleepover before the first touch. We made a promise to each other, not already realizing we had already broken it.

So, sir, if you think the second I see your face, I'm not going to try to jump you, drag you home and lock Sadie out of my bedroom, you can kiss this idea of going slow out the window. Life's too short to go slow when... well, you'll find out soon enough.

And I know you think Sadie doesn’t want to see you again. That's she's still mad at you and will be forever mad for what happened. But I know for a fact the second she sees you, she will jump into your arms. You’re her uncle - you count more than you’ll ever know.

And while sleep deprivation is my remaining side effect from dealing with the grief I’ve shouldered, I know part of it involves counting down the days for when I can fall asleep with you next to me.

And maybe even doing something else ;)

Your darlin' Elizabeth

P.S. Sadie wanted to send some Polaroids - I promise you, she doesn't hate you, but I know you're still going to think otherwise until you come home. We went on a hike, so there are probably some bug-themed ones in there... I'm sorry for what you see... so if you have anyone lurking over your shoulder, you might want to be careful. They aren't for everyone.

You were right about one thing: he was still so sure Sadie had it out for him. The day she had cornered him at the beach haunted his thoughts. The look and level of disappointment she had on her face would forever remain imprinted in his head.

Yet, he still wiped at his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair, his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest. He reached into the envelope and grabbed at the small stack.

The first few were from the hike you mentioned; Sadie chose one of you, sitting on the same rock she had done last year. He still had the photo he took on his phone. There were some ones with bugs, no question about it. But they weren't random ones, either.

There was one of Sadie surrounded by what looked like to be monarchs. Jake had never seen her look so happy, her smile wide and beautiful, and he couldn't help the grin on his face looking down at the image.

But when Jake went to slide the image of Sadie behind the others, he did a double take, quickly hiding the following polaroid from view.

You wouldn't have, he thought. There was no way.

Jake glanced around the hall, turning the collection of pictures down to face the table in his hands, wondering if anyone had seen what he had seen. But next to Bradley, who was too engrossed in his own letter even to lift his head, the hall had cleared itself out, leaving the two of them practically alone.

Hesitantly lifting his hands, Jake slid Sadie's photo over, carefully peering down at the image of you.

You. On your bed. Half naked.

You seemed carefree, leaning back on your bed, damp tendrils of your hair half clinging to your face, half covering the sharp lines of your neck. Oh, how many times he had kissed that neck, and now, seeing it on display, only for him - Jake had to draw in a sharp breath.

And his dog tags hanging between your half-bare breasts, framed by the silk of your robe, glinting in the soft, warm sunlight from your bedroom window. And written along the bottom... Come home and take them back ;)

You cheeky... Jake could feel the heat rush to his face: surprise, desire, and pure pride. He was thousands of miles away, and you found yet another way to remind him of what awaited him when he got home.

The Mona Lisa smile, as you had so deemed, spread wide across his face as he whispered to himself in one ragged breath, "Damn, Liz."

He felt himself getting hard just looking at you.

He'd send you a message when they were closer to American soil, hoping you and Sadie would be there to greet him. But more importantly, if you'd make plans for Penny to take Sadie that night. Cause fuck the lock on your bedroom door. He wanted to find out all the ways he could make you scream for him, all the sounds you had yet to make for him.

Until then, Jake climbed into his bunk that night, reading your letter over and over, staring at the photo you had gifted him, wondering and coming up with all the ways the two of you would celebrate his homecoming. Because lying on that narrow bunk, he couldn't stop his rampant thoughts.

He could almost feel the silk of your robe against his fingertips, the wet strands of your hair brushing against his palms, and the warmth of your skin. And those fucking dog tags he gave you, nestled between the soft curves of your breasts - everything made a fierce heat coil in the lower half of his stomach.

Jake shifted uncomfortably, the rough sheets tangling around his legs, the damp are doing little to soothe his fevered skin. He rolled over into his pillow, trying to summon any other thought but that photo - anything to take his mind off the overwhelming feeling of pure want that consumed him.

You were there, in every corner he turned to, beckoning him with both those innocent and mischievous glint in your eyes, making him crave the day he finally came home. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find some semblance of calm against the lust you had ignited within him.

But falling asleep, his dreams were only filled with you. And all the ways he'd finally have you cumming on his cock.

...

Jake jolted awake to the sound of a high-pitched beeping in his ears, almost hitting the bunk above his. His stomach felt uneasy, like it had been flipped upside down, and every sense was screaming at him something was wrong. He was off balance, unable to ground himself to a solid point.

He hated not being in control.

Rooster shouted from the bunk above, and Jake pressed himself against the tiny wall as he felt himself tilted hard to the side, masked by a shutter that shook their entire room.

Bradley wasn't as lucky, rolling straight out of his bed and landing hard on the ground with a massive thunk. Jake wanted to laugh, but even he couldn't stop the grimace as he heard the sound.

Bradley groaned a long, pitful sound, lifting himself to rest on his hands. "What the hell is going on?!"

"What do you think, Bradshaw? You've never been stuck in a storm on a deployment before?"

He knew he shouldn't be so snarky with Bradley, but this morning had left him in a sour mood. Not to mention, the storm was but another obstacle in his path stopping him from getting home sooner.

It was going to be a long night.

Bradley sat up, about to reply with a remark just as snarky, when the PA system blared above their heads.

All currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance. I repeat all currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance.

Jake tore out of bed, and Bradley stood sharply, both reaching for their fight suits, putting them on in a rush. As Bradley laced his boots, Jake reached for your letter and picture on his bed, quickly shoving them inside the packet he had in his chest pocket with the other Polaroids.

He didn't know if and when he'd be back here.

As the pair emerged from their room, they had to dodge multiple people flying past in a mass panic, trying to get to their respective stations. The added struggle of not knowing what the carrier was going to throw at them next also didn't help. All Jake and Bradley knew was that, given a storm, let alone even in a hurricane, they needed to be down at the lower docks, reinforcing the restraints on the Jets.

The ship groaned, then shook, the floor vibrating beneath their feet.

"What the hell was that?" Bradley shouted, his voice strained with concern. Jake struggled to steady himself, gripping a nearby railing. His Texian accent was strong as he shouted his reply, "It doesn't matter. Let's just get to the hanger bay!"

It was pure chaos the second they arrived. Bright flashing red emergency lights, crew members scrambling in every direction. Next to the high-pitched alarm going off every other second, the ship continued to creak and groan, rocking enough that Jake and Bradley had to steady themselves.

"Get the damn secondary restraints on the F-18s!" A senior official shouted as they passed. Jake and Bradley's 'Yes, sir' only seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The pair raced towards the first jet, stopping momentarily to assist what they needed to do. Jake's voice was barely audible above the chaos. "We need to get the secondary straps down and make sure the wheel jacks are in place!"

Bradley shot him a disdainful look. "Thanks for stating the obvious. I was about to suggest a picnic."

Jake gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to snap back. "Not now, Bradshaw."

Bradley only rolled his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

As they began to secure the planes, the ground started to tilt enough to throw them off balance if they weren't careful. Jake and Bradley tried to brace themselves as one adjusted the straps while the other secured the wheel jacks.

A cry for help managed to break through the alarms and shouts, and both turned towards the sound. Bradley was closest, shouting out, "I got it!" before running off, not bothering to hear Jake's reply.

The sound of a wire recoiling, snapping hard like a whip through the air, startled Jake, making him turn sharply. A wooden crate, the height of his chest, had broken loose from its net, sliding directly towards him.

Bracing himself, Jake charged forward, holding out his hands to stop it from crashing into the jet behind him. He grunted hard as the wood slammed into his palms. Jake used as much strength as he could gather, baring his teeth and straining his muscles, to push the crate back towards where it came from.

Jake's mechanic from before suddenly appeared next to him, helping him push the crate back into the relative safety of the net.

"What the hell is going on?!" Jake shouted over the alarm system. The mechanic continued to work as he replied, "Everything! The whole ship is going to hell! We've got engine failure. Some of the airlock doors won't seal properly on the lowest deck, and to fucking top it off, one of the ballast tanks is compromised! In a fucking hurricane!"

That would explain the rocking, Jake thought, as the ship titled back, allowing for the create to easily slide back into its original spot with no more effort. The mechanic knotted the net through a few metal loops on the ground while Jake rested his hands on his knees, bent over and panting hard.

The second he finished, the mechanic left Jake standing there as he was called off towards another task.

Jake straightened, looking around to see where he was needed next, his eyes instantly landing on Rooster, who was dealing with his own crate. He ran towards him, using his weight to help Bradley push the crate back and away into its designated spot.

The two managed to secure it, and struggling to catch his breath, Bradley glared at Jake. "Didn't need your help."

"Of course, you didn't," Jake retorted, frustration evident.

"I had it handled."

"Right," Jake panted.

"Always gotta be the hero, don't you, Hangman?" Rooster grumbled.

Whatever had encouraged him to reach an olive branch earlier was long gone. Whether it was Rooster's words or the situation, Jake simply had enough.

He hit Bradley square in his chest with both hands, sending him backwards a few steps. "Okay, what's your damn problem with me, Bradshaw?!"

"Now?!" Bradley shouted, ready to fight it out. "You want to do this now?"

"Good as time as any!" Jake remarked, throwing his hands to the side in open invitation. He was tired of Rooster's animosity, of the constant back and forth, but damn if he wasn't ready for the confrontation.

"What is it? My call-sign? What I did to earn it!?" Jake cocked his head, stepping to the side, causing the two pilots to circle each other. "Or is it what I said about your old man two years ago?! You didn't even let me finish, so I couldn't have said anything that truly pissed you off. And you know what, not that it matters, but I'm sorry if it hurt your feelings."

The floor shook beneath their feet, but neither man seemed phased. Bradley only fisted his hands tighter with each remark that passed Jake's lips.

"Or is it Liz? Sadie? The fact they welcomed me in with open arms, loved me, and there wasn't a hell of a thing you could have to stop it?"

The surrounding chaos only seemed to amplify Bradley's longstanding irritation with Jake. Bradley stalked forward, slamming his hands to Jake's chest and returning the favour.

"It's everything! Everything you stand for!" he shouted, his nostrils flaring hard. "Don't you dare say Sadie's name, not when I know you are going to leave that little girl out to dry. I won't have it, Hangman!

Recognition flashed in Jake's eyes, and he knew, he understood right then, amongst all the chaos and panic, the lengths any one of the Daggers would go to make sure their bug was loved and protected above all else.

It had never been about you. It had always, always been about Sadie.

"Sadie?!" he shouted. "That's the reason?"

Jake clenched his fists, struggling to find the words. "You think I would ever abandon Sadie? Or Liz? You've seen me, day in and day out, fighting for them, fighting fucking Tyler, fighting to get back to them. I would die before they were hurt. Before any one of you were hurt."

"But you did! The second your brother asked you to." Bradley's voice hardened. "Answer me this: in the heat of the moment, when you're faced with a choice, can you honestly tell me you'd put them first?"

Tyler and everything he had wrought flashed in Bradlely's mind, but he pressed on.

"Not your pride, not your ego, but them? Or any of us. Unasked or not on the job! Cause I know you wouldn't!"

Jake reeled back, Bradley's words hitting him hard. But Bradley didn't falter. His face was still lit up with all the pent-up anger and frustration he held for Jake since the day he got his call sign.

"I see the man behind the show, the guy who thinks he's invincible. But you're not." Bradley pointed his finger. "Until you prove otherwise, I won't trust you with them. Not with Sadie. Not with Liz. Not with any of us."

Jake opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from the officer who gave them orders before interrupted him.

"You two, Top Gun! Quit standing around and go to the communications office and see where we are at with our navigation systems!"

Bradley stomped past Jake without another word, leaving him to silently fume for a few seconds before following him out of the hanger.

In the dimly lit, claustrophobic corridors of the carrier, the metallic walls groaned, strained by the might of the storm. Water or steam, they weren't sure which, was starting to pool in patches along the floor. With each wave and rock the ship encountered, the intermittent jolts sent the two pilots grasping for whatever was nearest to stay upright as they tried to make it to the communications office.

Following Bradley, Jake felt a spike of irritation. 'Why's he got to make everything so damn personal?' Jake thought bitterly. Bradley, meanwhile, was a simmering pot of anger.

"Why do you always have to be right in the middle of everything, Hangman?" Bradley shot over his shoulder, clearly irritated. "Can't you just once follow orders without making it about you?"

Jake gritted his teeth, trying to hold back a retort. "Look, can we just get to the comms and figure this out? We can bicker like an old married couple later."

Bradley's face twisted in a smirk, his pace never faltering. "Don't flatter yourself. I have standards."

A loud klaxon sounded, the eerie wail echoing through the narrow halls of the carrier. Jake and Bradley covered their ears, falling into the walls.

The second they managed to pull themselves up onto their feet, the PA system blared out another warning.

Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. I repeat, Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. All personnel should be on the upper decks in five minutes.

Jake turned to Bradley, his face filled with urgency. "We need to go! Now!"

Bradley snarled. He had no idea whether it was out of frustration with the current situation or Jake barking orders at him. But Jake was having none of it, grabbing Bradley hard by the collar of his suit and tugging him hard.

Jake's eyes were hard and furious as he remarked, "I'm not dying today, and neither should you."

Something flashed in Bradley's eyes that Jake could not name. But it was enough to give Bradley pause, water droplets running down his face as the anger and tension decided to leave him from earlier.

"We need to get home! For the girls," Jake roughed out. "For Liz and Sadie! Whatever hate you have towards me, we need to get out for them. Now!"

Another name came to Bradley's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, even now. Instead, Bradley could only sallow and nod. He couldn't deny Jake was right.

It was damn near impossible to sink an aircraft carrier. Jake and Bradley knew this. The things were built to withstand the roughest seas, hurricanes included. They were the most balanced and sturdiest things that ever graced any body of water on this planet. They had to be if aviators were literally landing planes on them.

But as water continued to breach the carrier, and as the pair raced through the ship to get to a proper stairwell that would get them to the relief point on the upper decks, they both wondered about the series of unfortunate events that led them to this point. The mechanics in the hangar bay had said everything was going wrong.

Bradley was on the verge of saying sabotage, wondering if they had a spy amongst their ranks. The mission had gone so much better than they had thought. But in their line of work, if something suspicious didn't happen, then their job wasn't over.

Jake just wanted to get both of them out of there.

They finally reached one of the escape hatches, a stairwell that led directly to the upper deck. Bradley was the one to turn the wheel on the door first, Jake joining in shortly after once he realized the sheer force Rooster was putting into opening the door.

A pressure vale released, and the second the two managed to open the door, Jake surged forward, followed by Bradley, who made their way into the narrow stairwell, hoping all had not been lost.

Jake paused on the small landing, looking up at the flights guided by the emergency light. There were a few fires scattering the walls, but it was climbable, and if both of them hurried, they wouldn't have any issues.

Bradley's hand on his shoulder made him pause.

"Dude, we have to book it."

Jake turned his head, ready with a cocky reply of something resembling a 'you don't think I know that' until he took in Bradley's panicked face, staring at the stairs below. Following Bradley's eyes, Jake reeled, noticing the rising water levels.

Grabbing Rooster by the back of his suit, Jake pulled Bradley in front of him, pushing him up the stairs, urging him forward and shouting, Go!

The two tried not to look up as they climbed, picturing their destination in their minds. Ignoring the sound of the alarm and the rushing water, Jake and Bradley counted their steps as they tried to reach the top. And they were close. Even as the rest of the ship creaked and groaned, they still fought to reach the top, unaware if help was waiting for them on the other side.

Then something blew up on one of the upper levels, the sound, the vibration, causing Jake and Bradley to slam themselves into the wall, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The lights flickered once, twice, then completely out, before a rotating red emergency light dimly lit the narrow stairwell. Metal crunched above their heads, snapping like twigs, and Jake didn't dare look up for fear of what might happen to either of them.

They felt it before they saw it, thin metal snapping out from underneath their feet. Feeling himself lurching forward, Jake immediately reached out for anything to hold on to. His fingers met a railing untouched by damage, and he latched on, suddenly opening his eyes to pull himself up and towards the relative safety of the remnants of the broken landing.

Bradley hadn't been so lucky.

Because the falling debris favoured his side of the stairs, the section he'd been crouching against completely crumpled under the impact, leaving only an empty space where thick, rushing water roiled menacingly below. There was nothing Bradley could have clung to, nothing that would have saved him from falling towards those black depths or allowed him to reach the warped edges of that landing.

Till his hand slapped onto a piece of a broken railing, Bradley struggled to find a grip tight enough to counteract the sweat on his palms. A panicked noise escaped his mouth as he slid down the newly indented piece of metal, finally stopping just before the end, muscles taunt and ridged as he forced breath into his body.

Jake had managed to pull himself up onto the landing as Bradley had fallen, instantly rolling himself up onto his chest to look down for the pilot.

He was within reach, and Jake extended his hand, on the verge of falling off the flimsy piece of metal. Bradley was hanging on, barely, looking between Jake's hand and the beam, the metal becoming looser and looser by the second.

And yet, Bradley still wouldn't take his hand.

"For godsakes, Bradshaw, just take my fucking hand!"

Jake purposely tried to jolt his arm forward in emphasis, hoping Bradley would finally take the leap and let go. But Bradley bowed his head, trying to force air into his lungs through his mouth as he looked down. With each pulse of red light, the water appeared to be getting higher and higher with each second.

He let out a panicked noise, trying to adjust his slipping grip. The movement caused the metal beam to drop slightly further, accompanied by a jarring clang. Bradley cried out, trying to reach for the broken edge of the landing.

Jake could feel himself slipping, sliding forward until he caught his boot on the railing, locking his body tight as he hung over the edge. Sharp, broken pieces of metal bit into his stomach as he swayed, trying to reach once again.

"Bradley! Just take my hand!" he shouted over the alarms, not any less urgent than before. "Please!"

Jake had never begged a day in his life, let alone to someone like Rooster. But there was no way he wasn't going home without him. You would never forgive him, and Sadie would never recover. He knew that for a fact.

Metal snapped, and Bradley dropped another inch, thinking this was it. That the railing was no longer attached to whatever had been holding it in place, baring his entire weight. Bradley threw his arm up towards Jake's in a desperate move.

Jake grabbed his wrist at the last possible second, a pained shout escaping his lips as he completely absorbed his weight, metal grating bending underneath him. But the grip he had on the railing with his foot held, and Jake bowed his head in relief, taking a few seconds with Bradley hanging dangerously off his arm to ground himself, trying not to think about what might have happened had he not caught him.

Jake grunted hard as he pulled Rooster up, his other hand finding a grip on the fabric of his flight suit along his back, hoping the railing from where he grounded himself would hold long enough to support them both. Bradley did the same with Jake's, using it as leverage to hoist himself up over the edge, only to roll onto his back, breathing hard.

Jake twisted his body away from the edge, laying on his back next to Rooster, staring up at what remained of the remaining flights of stairs. With the water still rushing below them and red lights spinning above them, the two dagger pilots took a few seconds to recuperate in the middle of the danger.

"You had to wait till the last second, didn't you?" Jake roughed out, panting hard. Bradley took three deep breaths before managing to gasp out, "I had to keep it interesting, right?"

Jake slammed his eyes shut, rocking his head to the side in slight annoyance. Bringing himself to a stand, Jake held out his hand again to help Bradley up. This time, Rooster didn't refuse it, instantly throwing his arm out to grasp the back of Jake's elbow, hoisting himself up.

Jake went to let go the minute he was up, but Bradley's grip remained firm.

"This is the second time you've saved me," he said, trying to make out Jake's face in the red light and dropping water. "You could have left me this time, for everything I've done, said..."

"What would be the point?" Jake interrupted him. "If I'd left you, I'd be no better than the person you thought I was. Besides," Jake added, smirking, "who else would I have to constantly prove wrong if you weren't around?"

Bradley scoffed, a tint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Asshole."

Jake shrugged. "It's in my nature. Now, can we please get the hell out of here?"

Bradley nodded, releasing Jake's elbow. In a dramatic fashion, he gestured for Jake to lead the way, looking up towards the rest of their journey to escape. But Bradley's eyes widened in horror as he saw the chunk of ceiling, metal, and wiring breaking loose directly above Jake.

"Jake, move!" Bradley bellowed, his voice echoing with urgency as he dropped to the ground, trying to drag Jake with him.

But in the chaos of falling water, blinking lights and cacophony of alarms, Jake was a split second too late to comprehend the warning fully. Just as he turned to see the descending danger, the heavy debris crashed down, the force of the impact throwing him off balance, rocking whatever remained of the grating they were standing on.

A metallic clang resonated sharply, followed by the splash of water as Jake was sent reeling backwards. The last thing Bradley saw, huddled against the wall, was the look of shock and realization in Jake's eyes, his silhouette disappearing beneath the surging tide of murky water, quickly consuming any trace of him.

Bradley, mouth agape, crawled over to the edge, Jake's call-sign a cry masked by the high-pitched alarms.

"Hangman!"

Bradley couldn't see him anywhere. Water continued to rush into the space, and Bradley, kneeling against the metal grating, tried to spot any area where Jake could manage to resurface. But with the power out and the pulsing red emergency lights, he couldn't see beyond the water's black surface.

Last call, I repeat, last call for evacuation and bail-out procedures.

Rooster pulled himself to stand, weighing his options.

He could jump and look for Jake. Despite the precarious situation they found themselves in, the water was still slow to fill the narrow stairwell. Bradley estimated he had minutes before the water became too much for him to handle.

Or he could leave, save himself. Say he did everything he could. That Jake was lost, the situation was too dire.

That Jake died a hero, trying to save him once again.

But it wasn't even a choice; the decision had already been made. It had been made the second your face appeared in front of his, and how it changed into a faded memory of his mom, collapsing to the ground at the news of his father's death. And Bradley, watching it all from behind the corner of a wall, forever feeling small.

But then it wasn't him as a child, but Sadie, the same look on her face the day the two of you walked up the driveway of your sister's place. The same look he found on her face the day she ran into your backyard, pulling at grass.

Jake would be another person for the both of you to mourn. He couldn't let that happen.

Bradley crossed his arms over his chest and jumped, diving under the water.

All he could see was black.

I had to cliffhanger you guys one last time with this one 😂 Please forgive me....

Tag list:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

Part 21 - My Fair Lady Coming Soon 👀

-Wickett ;)

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vintagelasvegas · 4 months

Text

McCarran Field on opening day, December 19, 1948, with an air show of military aircraft. Photo by Las Vegas News Bureau.

Timeline of Las Vegas Airports

• ‘20: First flight. Randall Henderson piloted a Curtiss “Jenny” to Las Vegas, landing south of Las Vegas, 5/7/20.

ANDERSON FIELD-ROCKWELL FIELD ('20-'29)

• '20: Anderson Field. Las Vegas’ first airport, designed by Robert Hausler and named after the property owner, opened 11/25/20. Location: southeast of present Sahara Ave & Paradise Rd. • '25: Leon & Earl Rockwell purchase Anderson Field from Hausler; renamed Rockwell Field. • '26: Western Air Express launches airmail route utilizing Rockwell Field. The air strip is closed in '29 after purchase by Leigh Hunt.

LAS VEGAS AIRPORT-NELLIS AFB ('29-present)

• '29: Las Vegas Airport built by “Pop” Simon, present location of Nellis AFB. • '33: Simon sells Las Vegas Airport to WAE; renamed Western Air Express Field. • '41: City of Las Vegas buys WAE Field Jan. '41; dual use facility becomes McCarran Field, and Las Vegas Army Air Field. • '48: McCarran Field relocates to Alamo Field. • '49: Las Vegas AFB reopened Jan. '49 at the former McCarran Field/Las Vegas Army Air Field site. Renamed Nellis AFB in '50.

BOULDER CITY AIRPORT ('33-'88)

• '33: Boulder City Airport, dedicated 12/10/33. Later replaced by nearby Boulder City Municipal Airport ('90).

SKY HAVEN-NLV AIRPORT ('41-present)

• '41: Sky Haven Airport. From '59-65 known as Thunderbird Field. Since '66, North Las Vegas Airport.

ALAMO FIELD-LAS AIRPORT ('42-present)

• '42: Alamo Field est. by George Crockett south of Las Vegas, present site of Harry Reid International (LAS Airport). • '48: The new McCarran Field. Clark County purchases Alamo Field, opening new airport 12/19/48. Alamo Field and Alamo Airways continue operation at McCarran Field. • '63: Field terminal (T1) opens at McCarran, 3/15/63. Airport gateway relocated to Paradise Rd. Alamo Airways continues operating at the original Las Vegas Blvd location. • '67: Hughes Terminal at McCarran. Howard Hughes buys Alamo (airport and airline) in '67, and Air West in '70. • '68: McCarran renamed McCarran International Airport (LAS). Renamed Harry Ried International Airport in 2021.

SKY CORRAL AIRPORT ('46-'49)

• '46: Sky Corral Airport. Located west of Last Frontier Hotel; air strip approximately the path of present Interstate 15 at Desert Inn Rd. Closed by '49. • Note: Another airstrip at D-4-C ranch southwest of Sky Corral, circa '46-49.

SKY HARBOR-HENDERSON EXECUTIVE AIRPORT ('70-present)

• '70: Sky Harbor Airport. Founded by Arby Alper. Present site of Henderson Executive Airport.

-----

Sources: D. Lamb. “North Vegas Seeks Thunderbird Field.” Review-Journal, 8/25/65; “Southern Nevada Enjoys Long Aviation History.” Review-Journal, 6/11/98; J. Przybys. “Airport Museum.” Review-Journal, 10/1/2000; “History of Nellis and Creech.” Aerotech News, 12/21/2018.

Below: Senator Pat McCarran at the gateway of the original McCarran field in North Las Vegas, dedicated 3/15/41. The 25-ton pillars were moved to the new McCarran field in 1948. (Nellis Air Force Base Photograph Collection, PH-00028, UNLV Special Collections.

#LAS Airport #1948

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torukmaktoskxawng · 11 months

Text

tsamsiyu ta'em - old names, new faces

Masterlist - part two

Summary: Jake is preparing for war while also learning about the arrival of someone he thought he'd never see again

Pairing: Ronal/Tonowari/Original Female Character

Tag: #tsamsiyu ta'em fic

Word Count: 4k+

posted on ao3

Taglist: @mooniequeen (Thank you for requesting to be tagged! The fic is up now both on here and on ao3. First chapter was already posted but I went ahead and tagged you there as well!)

Warnings: canon-compliant, canon-typical violence, mature language, adult content, slow burn, polyamory, found family, cool aunt agenda, alien/human (technically avatar), jake sully sister agenda, time skips, I'm trying to hurry up and get to the good parts so bear with me, fluff, angst, adopted spider, tags to be added

PANDORA, 2169

Jake didn't want to waste a second of time. After General Frances Ardmore sent out a transmission to the natives of Pandora, warning the Na'vi and humans occupying Hell's Gate to surrender the former RDA facility before her arrival, he made sure to abandon it... but not before planting a few bugs.

Listening devices and motion alarms were placed, then Toruk Makto ordered the Na'vi and all humans who live among them to retreat to the forests, and just in time, too. A week later, one of the motion alarms pings and Norm informs Jake immediately. The two launch a small war party and swarm their former headquarters, attacking the RDA retrieval team Ardmore had sent out to inspect Hell's Gate. The foot soldiers were overwhelmed within minutes, and Jake covers Norm -who was using his human form- and Max while the two go through the new bit of technology provided while the other Na'vi and human warriors keep the RDA hostages contained.

Jake crouches until he can fit into the doorway of the control room, assault rifle nestled in his arms, "Think you can do this?"

"Of course not!" Norm snapped, his attitude spiking as he and Max frantically look through the database, "I told you I'm not a hacker, Jake--"

"Alright--"

"--Do you think every scientist has to go through a Hacker Course in the Academy of Code in the Land of Computers just to get into Yale?" Spellman asked sarcastically.

"Got it," Max exclaims without looking away from the screen, "And yes, Norm, that's exactly what happens."

"Dick," Norm muttered, running over to hover over one of Max's shoulders while Jake hovers over both of them in size.

"I'm impressed," Max mentions while looking through the database, "Everything is neat, tidy, brand new--"

"Don't be getting any bright ideas," Jake muttered, one of his dreadlocks moving down his shoulder.

"I'm just saying, though I can easily tell they weren't expecting someone on this moon to be capable of hacking into their data files. I guess we should consider ourselves lucky that they underestimate us. No firewall, no password, not even cookies. Should be easy to download as much intel as we want, but only within that small window before the RDA react and come running when they realize what we're doing."

"Let's start with an inventory count," Jake takes a breath into his oxygen mask, "How many guns and ships are we looking at?"

"Ten shuttles, easily. No telling what each of them carries. Let's see. Missile batteries, gun emplacements. Armed to the teeth. Uh..." Before he could look further, the computer screen freezes and reboots, "Shit."

"What was that?" Norm asked.

"They caught us in their systems. They shut me out."

Jake grits his teeth and his gun, "Max, get back in there."

"I can't!"

"Try! And when you get back in, try and at least download any information they got on Ardmore and what she's planning before the system shuts down again. Forget the weaponry."

Max huffs, anxiously blinking away the sweat dripping down his forehead and fogging up his glasses. He furiously works as the three men start shuffling nervously, man and Na'vi alike. The computer makes a new sound and Max smiles brightly, "I got it, I got it! 'System is back up and running!"

Jake huffs out a bit of air before pressing into his throat microphone, "Alright, people, we got five minutes before the RDA realizes Hell's Gate is back online and responds. Let's go, let's go!"

Max begins to download files under titles he thinks are important. He catches names like Ardmore, Na'vi, Bridgehead, and Avatar. Out of curiosity, he clicks the last one and a name pops up, one that Max has to read over and over again before he grasps it, "Jake... does the name Makayla Sully ring a bell?"

Jake felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut, spinning back toward Max and the computer, "What did you just say?"

Max transfers the information from the computer screen and onto his datapad with just his hand motion and a flick of the wrist. He reads the name out loud again before Jake crotches over his and snatches the tablet from his hands, "Gimme that."

The former human now olo'eykan nearly stood to full height, forgetting he was too big for a human-made compound, and bonked his head. He grimaced and his eyes trail over the data file, reading it once, twice, the name sticking to the forefront of his mind for the first time in years. A picture attached to the file draws out his reaction, his breath was nearly taken away, "Holy shit."

"Relative?" Max asked.

Norm looked at the name from the original computer screen and noticed the picture attached to it, eyes growing comically wide, "Oh, shit. That's his sister."

Max looked between Jake and Norm, eyes wide in shock and sympathy while Norm read the file out loud, "'Corporal Makayla Sully. Avatar driver.' You know, Tom mentioned something about his sister showing interest in joining the Marine Corps. She might be here because of you."

He says this last part to Jake and immediately begins to sputter and backtrack when Jake's ears lowered, "I-I-I mean-! Not that it's your fault or anything--"

"Gunships inbound!" A voice is heard over the radio, warning the three men in the control room.

"Shit, they're early!" Max proclaims while grabbing the datapad from Jake along with the rest of their things.

His shock now shattered, the marine part of Jake takes over and he grabs his assault rifle again, "Go, get outta here!"

He lets Norm and Max run out in front of him while they frantically pull their exo-masks and packs on. Jake takes up the rear and together they run out of the Hell's Gate facility. Outside, other Na'vi and humans await them, calling and whooping out in warning at the sounds of gunship blades coming from a distance. Jake hears the familiar echo of Neytiri's call and he runs in that direction, finding his ikran waiting for him alongside his mate and her mount. Jake forms the tsaheylu and jumps up onto Bob's back, waiting until he's sure Max and Norm have jumped into their respective gunship before shouting the order to leave and scatter, instructing his people in the radio to rendevous to make sure no one was followed before returning home. The entire way back, his mind was troubled, clouded, and angry, the name and picture still haunting the forefront of his mind.

~~~~~~~~~

BRIDGEHEAD CITY, RDA STRONGHOLD

She woke up that morning with a headache, feeling uncomfortable pressure behind her eyes and forcing her to close them again.

But Makayla didn't want to close them. She didn't want to go back to her dream, the one she had been having for a while now, even in her cryosleep. After waking from that hibernation, they had told her that it wasn't possible. You can't dream in cryosleep. She decided not to question it further, afraid that some doctor would find her mentally unwell and send her back to Earth when she had only just arrived on Pandora. So Kayla kept her mouth shut, never mentioning the ocean waves she remembered flying over in her dream, bluer and cleaner than she had ever seen back home.

The woman stood up and got ready for the day, alone and basking in the silence of her one-bedroom quarters stationed in Bridgehead City. Gelling her hair back to fit into a bun and donning her uniform, she tucks her tank top into her standard-issue army-style pants and combat boots before throwing over her jacket. Grabbing her exopack and spare, she headed out into this new world, reporting to the control room of this vastly growing city.

No one looked up from their duties when she entered the control room, but she looked on and made a beeline for the person she was meant to report to, keeping her posture stiff and back straight when she stood behind another woman in uniform, saluting her in respect, "General Ardmore."

An older, blonde-haired woman, hiding said hair under a hat turned at her name, hands behind her back while nodding down to the younger woman, "Corporal Sully. How was your beauty sleep?"

"Well rested and ready to go, ma'am."

"Excellent. Right this way."

Moving from the control room, Ardmore leads her new recruit into the bio-lab, crossing over to an amino tank, tapping the glass, and turning back to address the corporal, "So this is your vehicle here."

Makayla stepped forward, staring into the tank and inspecting her new ride. She paused, nearly stunned at the floating Na'vi-looking woman in the tank. The creature's eyes were closed, frowning, curled around herself like a fetus in the womb, but still obviously much taller than her human counterpart. She twitched occasionally, but otherwise never acknowledged her avatar driver's presence. Makayla refrained from touching the glass but stood in awe while inspecting the avatar's face. Pale blue skin with darker blue stripes, thin, dark eyebrows, a small flat nose, and long ears pinned to her skull. Makayla had the urge to touch her own cheekbones and small lips when looking at what was essentially a reflection. She recognized certain features on the avatar that was definitely hers whenever she looked into a mirror, astonished at how well-designed her Na'vi body looked to mirror her human self.

Ardmore didn't appear to notice Makayla's amazement, droning on while slowly swarming the tank, inspecting the creature inside with an upturned nose, "She's not much but it'll be passable. You've read up on avatar training, have you?"

Kayla's spell is broken and she straightens her posture, looking dutifully ahead and not at her avatar, "Yes, ma'am. Enough to know the controls."

"Good. Have you logged in time on the simulator?"

"Yes, though not as much as I wish I could. I still get nauseous."

Ardmore nods, "Time and gravity are different here, Corporal. From what I hear, it'll help with the brain link. Now I know I said when I first recruited you that this would be a simple in-and-out extraction, but things have changed and now the real test is whether or not you can adapt to that."

Kayla keeps her eyes forward despite wanting to show the general her determination, "I can adapt to anything you throw at me, General."

"I like to hear it." Ardmore moves her hand to pat Makayla's arm almost robotically, but the corporal took the hint and followed the general back outside, never daring to look back at her avatar. After instructing her recruit to follow suit and throw on an exopack, the two women step outside, casually strolling together on the catwalk standing high above the city. Ardmore points out to the jungle far beyond the dry landscape circling around the city, "Now, with the plan to bring the majority of humanity here, I need soldiers out there learning to adapt and become experts in this new world we intend to call home. Unfortunately, this atmosphere and environment aren't really friendly to our kind, hence why we formed the Kill Zone."

"The Kill Zone?"

"It's what that barren two-mile-wide field is. It surrounds the city to keep the native lifeforms at a safe distance. Everything here-- the plants, the animals, they want to kill us. So for now, we use the Kill Zone to keep them away and regularly treat it with herbicides to keep anything from growing."

"And to keep anything from attacking?"

"That's what the automated weapons surrounding the city wall are for, Corporal. We're not taking any chances, but we can't be in the defensive position forever. Eventually, we'll have to fight back. With the entire flora and fauna of this moon wanting to attack us, we need to compromise it. Hence why we brought back the Avatar Program. We need avatar soldiers whose DNA will not trigger this moon's immune response. With new soldiers trained for the most hostile environments, we believe that if we link them with these avatars, we can assess and observe whether or not it will be easy for normal civilians to take on avatars."

Kayla's stone expression slips temporarily, eyes widening for a fraction of a second, "You want everyone to have an avatar eventually?"

Ardmore shrugs while tapping on the glass of her mask, "Humanity can't adapt overnight. If we want this place to be our new home, we'll need to be able to breathe the air and hunt and gather resources safely. Unfortunately, it is unclear how long a human could possibly link to their avatar before they have to disconnect. That is where you come in. We'll be testing this experiment through you. Any questions?"

"Just one, General." She hesitates as Ardmore turns to her, but Kayla blinks, rolls her lips, and says it anyway, "My brother's remains. When will I be able to go and search for them?"

A shadow passes the older woman's eyes before it retreats to the corners of her whites. Kayla knew it was a stupid question to ask, but Ardmore's usual stone voice changed to ice cold and she answered it anyway, "Once the labcoats are confident you can withstand longer link periods, we'll fly you out and drop you off at your brother's last known whereabouts before he was deemed killed in action. Understand that we can't waste a ton of manpower on this impossible body retrieval, but a deal's a deal. I'll send you out and send you a ride home once you call it in, but that's it. Otherwise, you're on your own, Corporal."

"Yes, ma'am. I understand."

~~~~~~~~~

HIGH CAMP, OMATIKAYA STRONGHOLD

The war party returns to their stronghold in the Hallelujah Mountains, and Jake's mind is still far away from him. After landing his ikran and breaking the bond, he felt his feet moving over to Max after the scientist hopped off the gunship with the same war paint Trudy's ship bore as a tribute. Jake easily towers over Max, asking him if he could have a look at the datapad he carried with their newly acquired information. Max flashed a look of understanding before handing the tablet over and walking away without another word.

Jake turned to leave as well, only he did so in the direction of his mate. Neytiri broke away from her ikran when she noticed Toruk Makto approaching her with a troubled look on his face, her ears stiffening at the sense of something being wrong.

"Ma Jake--"

"I have something to tell you," he gently cuts her off, and something in Neytiri's stomach drops, "Something I never told you before."

Subtly and easing into conversation had never been her husband's strongest suit. Neytiri felt cold and slightly fearful while staring down her mate, conflicted, trying to figure out what he could've hidden from her. It wasn't the first time he lied to her, earning her trust and betraying her, even when he had the best intentions. Over the years, Neytiri learned to forgive her mate for his past mistakes, including the one that concluded the death of her father and the destruction of her home. Still, hearing Jake admit that he hasn't told her everything made her heart sink with worry.

Nodding off to the side, she moves away from the campsite and Jake dutifully follows. Once they were out of earshot, she silently turned to him and folds her arms, waiting for him to spill, and he does, "I have a sister. Her name is Makayla."

Her tail curls in attention, lips parting in a silent gasp as she stares at him in disbelief, "You... you told me you had a twin brother."

"Yeah, I did. Tommy," Jake indicated toward himself, "This body was meant to be his avatar before he died and I took his place."

"And your sister?" The words felt strange on her tongue, her mind not yet convinced that Jake even has another sibling, much less a sister, "Why tell me now?"

His eyes swam with guilt, an emotion he knows better than to hide from his wife. Neytiri hadn't seen guilt like that on his face ever since he accidentally stepped on Little Kiri's tail and made her scream bloody murder. His eyes were wide and sad as if he had just accidentally killed the most beautiful, innocent creature in the world most sacred to Eywa. He looked as though he had betrayed Neytiri's trust all over again after telling her the truth behind the Sky People wanting the Omatikaya to leave Hometree. Decades worth of sadness and regret were evident in his eyes and aged him beyond his years, "Because she's here, with the Sky People."

He swipes across the screen of the datapad and offers the tablet to her. Neytiri stepped closer and caught sight of a picture on the screen. It was the picture of a human woman, with a blank expression as she stared directly into the camera head-on. She was middle-aged at most, likely more around Neytiri's age than Jake's, but she carried her shoulders and eyes to appear much older, kind of like how Jake looked now when examining the picture.

Neytiri is not sure what the Sky People deemed 'pretty' among their own species, so she didn't bother complimenting the picture, especially since she wouldn't have meant it. "That is her?"

"Yeah."

"Why is she here?"

Jake scrolls down the screen as he read, "This file mentions that she was recruited for the next step in the avatar program. Which means she'll most likely have a Na'vi body of her own."

Her eyes narrow but she doesn't say a word against the statement. 'Na'vi' is a loose term when it comes to the Sky People creating avatar bodies to walk among Neytiri's people. They never got certain features right, such as their hands and eyes. However, Neytiri can't find it within herself to be disgusted by those features anymore, not like she used to. Not when the man she fell in love with had those same features. Not when one of her sons and adopted daughter bore those same features. It was hard for Neytiri to imagine what an avatar would look like for Jake's sister and part of her didn't want to find out.

"What is the plan?" She sternly asked her husband, carefully watching his eyes, "Hm? What do you want to do?"

His ears are still lowered, definitely sensing the distrust in Neytiri's voice while he carefully answered, "I want to grab her and pull her out of there."

"Jake." She pitied her husband, detecting the hope in his eyes and she hated the fact that she must be the one to squash it, "Your sister is of the Sky People."

"So was I. Once," he tucked the datapad under his arm and placed both of his hands on her shoulders, keeping their eyes locked as he gently spoke, "But everything changed when I met you. If I can meet with her, I'm sure I can convince her to stay with us."

"... Older or younger than you?"

"Younger." He knew by then, he had won his wife over. Her tail flicked with curiosity at his answer along with her eyes before she tried her best to mask it. Both of them knew what the other was thinking, and the Na'vi woman was currently thinking about how much she missed her own sister. "Neytiri... I let her down once. I can't do it again."

"... And you won't."

~~~~~~~~~

Over the next few weeks, Makayla had been syncing with her avatar and learning how to move in her new body before heading out of the safety of the city. She kept close at first, not wanting to push it, and went one day at a time. Eventually, one mile became two, and after the first couple of weeks, she had branched out to a couple of hundred leagues. Thankfully, there weren't any mirrors out in the wilds of Pandora. She still had difficulty looking at her reflection, not expecting blue skin, big ears, and yellow eyes. However, she appreciated the new body in other ways, such as speed and agility. Kayla managed to pull stunts that she could have never done back home, least of all in her own body.

With the speedy progress she was making, Ardmore and the RDA scientists granted her permission to venture out days at a time, entrusting her with a radio and food rations but not much else per Ardmore's warning of little supplies available to be wasted. Makayla didn't mind. She had plenty of training to prepare her for survival, and although those survival tips were meant to help her thrive in climates unfamiliar to Pandora, she considered this as a challenge.

There were well-known sites of Pandora in the RDA database, stretched around familiar areas and marked as 'forbidden'. Kayla found herself at some of these sites, thinking of the possibility of finding her brother's body in these marked places. She had gone to Hell's Gate but found nothing other than whatever was left abandoned there. RDA had already cleared out what had been left by Na'vi and their human sympathizers that Ardmore warned Kayla about... though they took heavy losses because Hell's Gate had been rigged before their arrival. Unbeknownst to Kayla, she herself had set off an alarm when scavenging through the old military base, but she never saw or heard anything. The alarm had gone off elsewhere, far out into the floating mountains hundreds of miles away.

Taking her time around the abandoned base, Kayla kept her rifle under her arm and her newly-acquired, sensitive ears on high alert, turning this way and that at even the slightest of sounds. So of course, she immediately hears the sounds of bird screeches, only... they sound bigger, coming closer with multiples echoing off each other, along with the heavy sounds of large wings.

Kayla immediately takes cover, hiding in a large hangar meant to store gunships during those violent electrical storms she was warned about. Trying to make herself small by pressing against the wall as tight she could, she tried to calm her breath and slow down her heartbeat as she hears the thunderous sounds of dozens of large animals landing on the ground. Kayla could feel the stomps with her own two feet, not liking the idea of the danger being so close, she made sure her weapon was loaded, trying to stay quiet.

"Fan out! No lethals. We capture alive."

A loud voice booms and it's echoed by several yips and calls of acknowledgment. Makayla tried counting but lost count after six. Multiple footsteps can be heard scattering around the entire facility, and to her horror, a handful was coming in Kayla's direction. She takes a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. Slowly, carefully, she turns on her heels until she's fully facing the open hangar door, hoisting her rifle up until she's able to peek into the sights. She was ready to take out whoever came through that door, her eyes flickering down at the long shadows slowly approaching the doorway.

Too bad she had no one to cover her six because, with one flick of her ear, she realized her mistake. Spinning around, she's met with a swift kick of someone's leg, throwing her back and forcing her hands to let go of her gun, letting the weapon skitter across the floor. Kayla grunts at the impact, trying to quickly scurry to her feet as loud war cries echo all around her, bouncing off the walls of the empty hangar. Standing up and unsheathing her knife, she's completely surrounded by Na'vi, snarls and hisses being spat at her feet while having dozens of weaponry pointed at her. Spears, arrows, knives... even heavy artillery of human-make, like a shoulder-held grenade launcher. Kayla had to admit, that made her pause and stare oddly at the Na'vi warrior holding a weapon she was more familiar with before the sound of more people running into the hangar drew her attention away.

Kayla spun around at all the people surrounding her, pointing her knife at each of them as she screamed, "Stay back!"

They only hiss or ululate in response, glaring sharply at the female marine with bright yellow eyes that now match hers. They begin to close in around her, tightening up their formation, and she could feel her heart beginning to sink to her stomach as she gripped her knife tighter.

"Waitwaitwait! Hold your fire!"

The Na'vi all pause, slowly calming down and some break out of the circle to make way for their leader. Or, at least, that's who Kayla figured this particular male Na'vi was. He looked like the leader, with his war paint and many feather and beads adorning the braids of his hair and loincloth. However, there was something about his attire that made him stand out and that was the army-green vest, clearly of human fashion. Kayla fully turned to face the Na'vi male, her eyes briefly shifting to the side when a Na'vi female walked close behind him, otherwise, Kayla kept her eyes forward and focused on the leader.

The leader appeared hesitant, even hopeful, his ears flicking curiously to the side while closely inspecting her, "What's your name?"

She clocks in on the accent, recognizing the clear words to be something from her home world. And... oddly, it sounded familiar, though she couldn't place it. Lookely closely, she realized that this Na'vi was different from the others, apart from the fashion. This leader bore five digits on each hand and bore eyebrow hairs, much like herself. This wasn't a Na'vi at all. This was an avatar.

"... You sound American. You know English."

He flashed a brief smirk of amusement, "I know a lot more than that. Your name?"

She shifts her gaze around at all the Na'vi people staring menacingly at her. What harm could her first name be? "Makayla."

Something deflates in the leader's posture and expression. Shock and relief mix together in his eyes, "Jesus. It really is you."

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilting ever so slightly with curiosity, "Do I know you?"

"Kayla, it's me. It's Jake."

Her entire posture stiffens, face freezing in the expression of curiosity. She didn't move a muscle let alone remember to breathe, eyes only ever staring at the leader ahead of her, now calling himself Jake. Slowly, she takes a careful step forward, growing nervous, inspecting the man's face every time she stepped closer to get a better look. Jake's posture continued to soften, trying not to appear intimidating so that she would bravely step up to him. As she got closer, Jake clearly recognized her in certain features her avatar inherited, but he didn't voice it. Instead, he remained patient, letting his sister take her time.

What he wasn't expecting, however, was when she got close enough, Kayla quickly reached out and grabbed him, roughly spinning him around and holding him in front of her body like a shield while yelps and hollers of distress sound out all around the pair. The Na'vi all cry out in warning as they raise their weapons once more, becoming infuriated when Kayla remembered her knife and pressed the blade against Jake's neck, snarling into his ear, "How the hell do you know my brother's name?!"

"Kayla--"

"Tell me!"

Neytiri's bow was raised, an arrow aimed directly at Kayla's head, but she appeared hesitant, "Ma Jake--"

Jake lifted his arms out to his people, trying to block Kayla from their weapons, "Hold! Hold! Don't hurt her."

When none of them moved, Jake tried his best to talk down to the woman currently holding him hostage. Height wise she was a couple of inches shorter than him, but the knife pressed into his skin told Jake that height clearly didn't matter, "Kayla... calm down. It's me, I swear."

Her voice cracked, but in rage or distress, Jake wasn't sure of, "No, you're lying. My brother was killed in action!"

He grimaced, "That's likely a lie the RDA came up with for insurance reasons. There's a lot you don't know but if you--" her knife knocked his skin in warning, but he forced his words out, this time louder and less calm, "if you would just let me explain!"

"You're not him!" She screamed in his ear, her breaths becoming irregular, "You're not-- you can't be--"

"I can prove it," he spoke sternly, confidently, getting right down to the point, "You tried wine for the first time when you were sixteen, stealing a small glass from Mom. Instead of spitting it out, you tried finishing the glass like an idiot because Tommy told you not to. Mom and Dad locked you in the bathroom the next day because you were so sick and they made him clean it up because he didn't stop you."

The whole world felt as though it paused mid-rotation, the ground, and sky beneath them holding their breath, awaiting a response. He couldn't see her face, but Jake noticed the grip around her knife had loosened a fraction, and it was slowly moving away from his neck. Slowly, he slipped out of her hold by his own accord, slowly turning around so as not to spook her. Kayla's knife clatters to the ground and Neytiri forces herself to relax, lowering her bow and nodding for the others to follow suit.

Makayla studies Jake's face more closely this time, depicting certain features that she recognized to belong to a Sully, in some way shape or form. She couldn't explain how she knew... but it was the same reason why she was able to identify her avatar as her own, knowing certain features stem from both avatar and human form.

"Jake..." She exhaled under her breath, her voice quieter than before. Kayla took a step closer and the Na'vi people shuffled nervously. Jake kept perfectly still, remaining under her observation until something clicked behind her eyes like the gears had just suddenly shifted into place. Her eyes widen in shock, relief, and above all, joy, "Jake!"

She jumps into his arms, her full body shaking being the only sign of the woman ever crying.

A/N: If you'd like to be tagged, lemme know!

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aronarchy · 5 days

Text

The extent of Russia’s influence in Sudan goes beyond its involvement in the current war. It’s not only fueling war in Sudan but it’s the reason Russia is able to continue its war in Ukraine and other places despite being sanctioned by the West. Russia is surviving western sanctions by exploiting, smuggling gold and aiding the Sudanese Transitional Military Council (TMC) in the suppression of the pro-civilian led government movement.

In 2014, Putin was vocal about creating an economic plan to circumvent potential Western sanctions tied to the Ukraine war. By 2017, they began extending lifelines to autocrats, and unsurprisingly, former Sudanese President Omar Al-Bashir joined Putin’s economic pipeline. After a meeting between the two presidents, Russian geologists and mineralogists employed by Meroe Gold arrived in Sudan.

The Russian companies, including Wagner, a private military company linked to Russia and frequently engaged in conflicts worldwide, began establishing a presence in Sudan. Notably, Wagner leader is under US sanctions, accused of meddling in the 2020 US elections. In 2020, under Trump administration, the group was sanctioned for its heavy exploitation of Sudan’s natural resources. The exploitation was so evident that they literally had to be sanctioned by Trump, which is quite surprising.

In 2019, following Al-Bashir’s overthrow, Wagner transitioned to striking deals with the Rapid Support Forces militia general, Hemeti. This militia, formerly known as Janjaweed and implicated in the Darfur genocide, received weapons and training. Wagner, in return, gained access to smuggled gold and devised plans to maintain control, ultimately contributing to today’s proxy war in Sudan.

The method of gold smuggling involved disguising it as flying cookies and concealing the smuggled gold beneath Russian cookie boxes. 🤣

In 2022, @/nimaelbagir a Sudanese journalist and CNN’s Chief International Investigative Correspondent went to a Russian owned gold mining facility in Sudan. Watch her report here ⬇️

Full report here:

In June 2022, the Darfur Bar Association (DBA) launched an investigation and confirmed Wagner mercenaries presence in South Darfur after its attack on gold miners in South Darfur. The investigation also revealed that the Transitional Military council (SAF+RSF) knew about the presence of Wagner in Sudan and in 2019 a copy of the report was actually sent to then prime minister Hamadok.

The DBA investigation also revealed how the UAE is involved in Sudan and its role in the current war. There’s also an extensive investigation report on the role of the UAE in Sudan by the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal that proves the UAE involvement in Sudan.

How are the UAE and Russia linked you might ask?

1) Most Sudanese gold passes through the United Arab Emirates. Unofficial data from the United Arab Emirates reported that over $1.7bn of Sudanese gold landed in Dubai in 2021, just under half the value of all the country’s exports. But there is little accurate data tracking it after it arrives in the UAE (arrives via Russia). Most industry exports reckon that official figures account for less than a quarter of total gold sales. Khartoum’s central bank recorded gold exports of 26.4 tonnes from January to September in 2021 but estimates over 100 tonnes would have been smuggled out during that period. (Africa Confidential)

Amdjarass, the Chadian town just across the Sudanese border, is the base from which the UAE is running an operation supposedly to help Sudanese refugees. But behind the façade of what the UAE maintains are humanitarian efforts, lies covert weapons, drones, and medical treatment to injured RSF fighters. (The Africa Report)

A U.S. Ally Promised to Send Aid to Sudan. It Sent Weapons Instead. (WSJ)

The New York Times report on how the UAE is further involved ⬇️

2) In April 2023, following the onset of the war in Sudan, the Wagner group was exposed by CNN for allegedly supplying missiles to the RSF in their conflict against the Sudanese armed forces (SAF). The arms came through the UAE under the guise of humanitarian aid for Sudanese refugees in Chad. These armaments were destined for the UAE’s local proxy, the RSF, in Sudan’s western region. In addition, CNN exposed that the shipments of surface-to-air missiles provided by Wagner were destined for the RSF via flights shuttling the hardware from Latakia, Syria, to Khadim, Libya, and then airdropped to northwestern Sudan, where the RSF enjoys a strong presence. This support from Wagner is considered a significant factor contributing to the RSF’s continuation of the war and their reported atrocities against Sudanese civilians, including killing, looting, sexual violence, and mass destruction of Sudan’s infrastructure.

The satellite images from CNN and the open-source group “All Eyes On Wagner,” provide evidence of an escalated Wagner presence at the bases of Khalifa Haftar, the leader of a Libyan militia supported by Wagner, in Libya. This heightened presence was purportedly in preparation to assist the RSF militia against the SAF.

Full report here:

3) There is evidence that the UAE has been funding Wagner in Libya to help reduce the financial burden on Russia for its Libyan operations and has been deploying these forces to prop up its ally, General Khalifa Haftar, who has been fighting the UN-recognized Government of National Accord in Tripoli. The report that the UAE is funding Wagner in Libya actually came from the US department of defense, which again is a surprise considering the close alliance of the US and the UAE.

East Africa Counterterrorism Operation, North and West Africa Counterterrorism Operation Quarterly Report to Congress, July 1, 2020‒September 30, 2020

#repost of someone else’s content #twitter repost #sudan #keep eyes on sudan #sudanese genocide #uae #russia #putin #wagner #rsf #proxy war #genocide #free sudan #liberate sudan

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srbachchan · 10 months

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DAY 5623

Jalsa, Mumbai July 10/11, 2023 Mon/Tue 3:02 AM

🪔 .. July 11 .. birthday affection to Ef Rajesh Srivastava from Jamshedpur .. Ef Nikhil Saraswat .. and EF Mahesh B Solanki from Ratlam - MP .. and my wishes and love for all ..❤️

NOW .. it’s a late late late night but one that somehow remains awake till the writing is done .. it is now 3:05 am .. and a respectable time to rest .. a rest of necessity and reason , at the NDTV Banega Swasth India campaign TV launch !

The pictures are here, but the NDTV Banega Swasth India, late and I want to be in slumber ..

Better in to be in a better frame of mind after rest .. and advance the thoughts expressed by the Medical Community, in the campaign for health care ..

But more of that later .. its 3:14 in the morning ns

July 11, 2023 .... Jalsa ... 1:00 PM

It is almost afternoon now .. and I say sorry for the nonsense Blog ☝🏽 .. the head was working on one thing and the mind was doing something else .. it , happens in todays world, where the human has been crowded with millions of options and tracks and alternatives .. and the human is selfish enough , at times, to get associated with all of them , at the same time .. not realising that when the different tracks are opted for , each of them has a story and a history of its own , to deal with which , is a mammoth task ..

It requires extreme will to do that, which satisfies all .. satisfaction is the most unobserved misunderstood word of the season .. everyone wishes to think of who I am, as what I have done ..

We are all special cases, and we all want to say something in , say an appeal, against something ! Everyone insists that they are innocent, their innocence being at all costs .. even if it means accusing the rest of the human race and heaven ..

We all think that WE , I, am the sensible one .. we sensible people are all selfish .. we think , or rather are determined to be who we are , by what we have done .. and what we have done, is attuned to the elements of nature, tugging, pulling us into every contract to make its terms look fair ..

THE IMPORTANT THING IS NOT THE CAMERA, BUT THE EYE .. the eye .. !!

AAAHHHHHH .. dear ones of my loved Ef , I build bridges of philosophical expedience and comfort, over raging rivers .. 😢

I wish I could have , in normalcy , been able to build the strong willed reality of bridges, over the raging, ravaging waters in Himachal and elsewhere .. 😢😢 .. in our land .. !!!

.. that little girl with the ‘gajra’ still haunts my heart .. I wonder of whether what was given to her was enough .. I wish I could meet her again, and give her more for her liking .. and as I drive I keep looking out , but never see her .. or anyone that could know her .. or any other in similar ..

But what I see is somewhat touching for me, at an instant .. this 👇🏽👇🏽 ..

.. the Mother did not have a smile , as I followed them .. unknown to them .. and at a traffic halt or jam when there was a pause .. I drew my window down to indicate to the Husband, how much he had loaded the bike on himself and more the Wife .. what you see is the picture, after the lady recognised me .. and then the smile ..

But .. I thought .. this is a family out to get provisions for the home .. the Husband has a vehicle, no car , no facility to have the benefit of affluent home delivery , they need to go out and get it themselves .. the bike is the carrier .. of family of goods .. and of the thumb sucking , new born .. for he cannot be left at home .. what best can be done in such a situation is being done .. the Mother happily looked at me and smiled in recognition .. her somewhat earlier withered with the woes of life and condition face , suddenly brightened up .. I asked, ‘can I take a picture’ .. she kept smiling .. I did .. pulled the glass up in some remorse , told the Husband, who was pulling out his mobile to take mine, to drive safe .. waited till his picture moment was over .. the jam opened .. we moved .. and I was moved too ..

How life brings to us what it does .. how and what are its parameters at the moment of its choice .. who to give what , who to give not ..

.. and NO .. I did not feed the GPT for this post ..

my love as ever ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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theprettynosferatu · 9 months

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The gigantic metal beast landed with a thud. Not the most graceful of homecomings, thought the handler. It didn’t matter, of course. No damage to the mech, four enemies down, a few needless but thrilling maneuvers for the video drone capturing every moment. A successful mission any way one cut it. The handler looked up from the screens, towards the solid, tangible reality of his ward.

Even after years together, even after a hundred missions, the sight never failed to impress. Himiko emerged from the cockpit drenched in sweat, every curve of her body glistening under the hangar lights. She stretched. This was a performance too, even if she didn’t know it. Her booty shorts and miniscule top were as much a necessity as an asset, and her “dismounts” were something of a phenomenon among the viewers.

Every second in the cockpit was filmed, every motion in combat captured from several angles, every landing documented to be masterfully edited and broadcast to the population. She was a soldier on two fronts: fighting the rebellion while also being someone the company could parade in front of everyone, someone people could root for, someone they could obsess over. Better to have them focused on her skin, those shorts, her beautiful face. Even her mech, the Enkidu, was part of her brand: it was an older model, a classic -or a relic, depending on one’s point of view- that tended to be particularly punishing for pilots. The goddamn thing was an oven, relying on overheating systems for sudden bursts of enhanced performance with minimal heat dispersal to spare the operator. Hence, booty shorts and top. The effect was simple, eloquent: she was a warrior, an underdog willing to do whatever it took to destroy a more advanced enemy. Underdogs were good. People cheered for them.

The handler shuddered. If Himiko knew he had been the one to suggest her brand…

Well, there were many things Himiko didn’t know, and every asset needed a brand, a simple phrase that could be marketed, displayed, sold. “Sexy, rebellious underdog”. Everything orbited that one concept. Her clothing, her public appearances, even her fighting style. She was as artificial as her mech and didn’t even know it. Damn it.

The handler chased the feeling away. Things would be worse for Himiko without him. He was good to her. Hell, compared to other handlers he was downright angelic, if the stories were true. Even the whole “underdog” gimmick was… mild, next to what other pilots were saddled with. The company had to cater to many tastes, after all. “Ruthless, cold bombshell”. “Cheery, optimistic angel”. “Seductive, psychotic killer”. A pilot for every desire, and joint missions were true events, advertised and promoted with taglines like “...But can they work together?”, or “Angel and Demon together!”. The strategic purpose of such missions was a secondary priority, if it was a priority at all.

Yes, “rebellious underdog” wasn’t that bad, all things considered. The handler went down to the launching bay.

“I fucked up with that second mech”

“It still went down, didn’t it?”

“Messed up my aim. I Could have downed him quicker. Fuck!”

Himiko was one of the few pilots allowed to swear. It fit her brand. Well, truth was Himiko was one of the few pilots able to swear, but that wasn’t something the handler liked to think about.

“May I shower?”, she asked.

“You may”, he replied.

Himiko flashed him a quick smile and headed for her quarters. The handler watched her leave. He wondered, as he had done so many times before, if he was the only one that could see something between sadness and rage in her eyes.

“We were going with something like… ‘Guts and Glamour’, when the op was just Himiko and Adrian, but now that Ruby’s part of the whole thing…”, said the handler.

“‘Guts and Glamour’? Really?”, scoffed Mark.

“You know them marketing boys like their alliteration, Mark. We work with what we got”, added Katrina, a bit offended.

‘Guts and Glamour’ had been her idea, in fact. A bit on the facile side, but the handler had to admit his partner had nailed it on the head. Katrina was rough, but one of the best, after all: that was why she had been saddled with Adrian. “Vain, cocksure prettyboy”, had been the concept and the pilot delivered in spades, which was a blessing and a curse. He was easy to hate as much as he was easy to desire. The company liked to try some “hate that you love them” concepts every now and then. They thought it was a complex character. A pain in the ass for a handler, that’s what it was. Sometimes the public saw their skills and were won over. Other times…

Well, tragic deaths were quite moving too.

Ruby, on the other hand, was a tried and true idea. Fiery, sexy redhead. Not much to do with that, but her genetics did the heavy lifting. Something for the basic teen boys.

“Right, right. Well, Maybe we can keep it. Ruby’s glamorous too”, said Mark.

“Nah. Won’t work. Three pilots, ain’t it? We need three keywords, short, punchy. And I don’t think we have a third ‘G’ word to throw in there. And Ruby has… no offense, but I wouldn’t call it glamour, exactly. I mean, not your fault, bud. But…”, trailed off Katrina.

“No offense taken. We aren’t shooting for high class with Ruby. What you see is what you get, pretty much. And she loves to let people see”, replied Mark.

“You sure got lucky with the whole heat gimmick, right? Himiko can show off and still come across as tough”

It took a moment for the handler to realize Katrina was talking to him. He poured himself another drink, and saw the other two handlers onscreen joining him in a toast across space.

“I guess”, mumbled the handler.

“You know, I don’t know what’s better: fucking the hot redhead everyone thinks is slutty, or being the only one that knows how freaky the rebel girl can get”, giggled Mark.

“Come on, man. That’s the kind of joke that gives handlers a bad rep”, said the handler.

Silence stretched, infinite, plastic.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, man. You tapped that, and you know it”, retorted Mark.

“Say what you will about Adrian, but he makes up for his preening with some stamina”, said Katrina.

“Stop it. It’s not funny”, muttered the handler, shifting in his seat.

“We’re not being funny. This shit ain’t for broadcast, pal. Save the PC shit for official events. It’s just us shooting the shit, here”, said Katrina.

“Wait. You don’t really… you know…”

“Fuck my pilot? Eight days a week, cowboy. Jesus, are you bullshitting me right now? It’s like, the one benefit we have. Sure, it’s not on the fucking brochures, but come on! We have genetically enhanced clones that are programmed to obey and designed to be hot! You think the company doesn’t know what’s bound to happen? Nature’s gonna nature, I say. And it’s not like they’re… people-people, you know?” said the woman on the screen.

“They’re clones, sure, but… they’re still people”, said the handler.

“You mean to say you never thought about it?”, asked Mark.

“Think about it… I mean, I guess. Like… you can have fantasies about anyone, right? But fantasies are one thing and… doing shit is another”, said the handler.

Katrina laughed.

“So let me get this straight: you’re all alone in your compartment, jerkin’ it to a girl that’s right fucking there, next door over, and who would do whatever you told her to do if only you had the balls to command her? God, that’s pathetic. You have a feast in front of ya and keep eating those saltine crackers from ration packs, honey. Okay, real talk: are you gay, or ace, or…”

“No. Bi, actually”, said the handler in anger. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t wrong to…”

“See, I think I get the issue. I’ve seen it a couple of times. Clones are not like you and me. Clones obey. And they don’t feel bad about it, because they can’t not obey, feel me? It’s just the way they’re made, you know? She wouldn’t feel violated or… I don’t know, used. Not in any degree above what happens whenever you send her on a mission. She’s designed for it. It’s all she knows and all she can know. And if we are being honest… let me ask you a question: are you scared for her when it looks like a mission is gonna go tits up? Are you anxious when you give her a combat plan and don’t know if it’s the best course of action?”, asked Mark.

“Of course”

“Me too. Every single time Ruby goes inside that mech I’m sweating bullets. I care about her. It’s my job to make her thrive, man. That’s what we do. You know who’s never scared going into combat? Ruby, or Adrian, or Himiko. Can you imagine that? Climbing into a big ass combat mech and not being terrified? But they’re not like us, and you know what? I kinda envy them. They are at peace. They have their missions, and the complete, unshakable focus to do their best every time. Combat, a photoshoot, an ad… same to them. Just missions. They don’t have to make choices, or suffer the pangs of uncertainty. There’s something beautiful there. A purity. They are what they are, do what they’re assigned to do, and those two things are the same thing. They have clarity of purpose. They’re not burped into existence like the rest of us. And when I tell Ruby to wrap her huge tits around my cock and get me off, it’s another mission to her. Nothing more, nothing else. You ask me, they’re the lucky ones. So, word of advice: care for your pilot. But don’t fall for her. ‘Cause you’d be falling for a shadow”. Said Mark between drinks.

The meeting went on. The handler didn’t really pay attention to whatever title they had decided to give their joint mission in the end.

III

The mission had been a success. In the end the marketing people had decided to play up the “one guy, two girls” angle. Would love blossom on the battlefield? The people saw Ruby saving Adrian from a cowardly sneak attack. The flirting had been heavy and constant. Of course, Ruby had made no such heroic save, but editing could perform miracles.

The handler was glad Himiko hadn’t been picked to move the romance plot forward. Sure, affairs between pilots existed only for the cameras, in parades and interviews, but still. Himiko’s brand wasn’t appropriate for such things. But if he was being honest, it wasn’t the sanctity of the image that bothered him. He had been with Himiko from the beginning. He had designed her brand, advised on her fighting style, added flair and soul to the character. Himiko belonged to the company, sure, but in a creative way, Himiko was his. The strong girl in the posters and vids, the firebrand adored by millions… he had created that, as much as the geeks at the genetic farms. Perhaps even more.

The handler couldn’t say when he had gotten out of bed and walked out of his room. He found himself in the hallway, steps away from the pilot’s compartment. She -it- would be there. His creation. His product. Hours of work, gallons of sweat and tears and anxiety and effort put into her… into making her a phenomenon, beloved by millions. And what did he get? He was anonymous. He was a shadow- worse, a shadow of a shadow, unrecognized, unrewarded.

The door slid shut and Himiko went instantly to her feet. Pilots were light sleepers by design, always ready. They slept in the nude, so they could get into their outfits instantly. Shame was not something they felt, less of all in front of their handlers.

“Do we have a mission?”, she asked.

The handler paused, entranced by the soft curves of her pilot. It didn't matter how much he saw of her, it always made an impact somewhere primal, deep inside his soul. No, not her. The product, he reminded himself. The word escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Kneel”

There was a moment there, barely longer than a lightning strike. Himiko’s eyes flashed with confusion, a hint of outrage, and then set on complete, focused determination as she went down on her knees. She looked up at the handler, ready to obey. The handler felt almost drunk, giddy. So many men and women looked up to this girl, adored her, saw her as a role model and object of desire… and now she looked up at him. It was intoxicating.

“Remove my underwear”

She did so with the efficiency of a close quarters combat expert. He barely had to shift to let her cast the fabric aside. One part of him couldn’t believe it was this easy, even as inside him a quieter, stifled side of himself screamed. It was too late to go back.

“Suck my cock”

What followed was akin to vertigo, beyond anything he had ever felt before. He couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes. The handler wasn’t a virgin, but he might as well have been. Himiko took to her mission with the zeal and determination of a true warrior, changing speeds, pressure, angle, using her tongue, her lips, her throat. The handler felt something in the base of his spine, an orgasm building from somewhere deeper than anything he had experienced in his life. Overcome by the maelstrom of sensation, he had for a moment forgotten what was happening, sent hurling away from reality by the pilot’s skills. His eyes snapped open.

He saw Himiko. Strong, fierce Himiko. Her expression was one he had seen a thousand times in the cockpit, the focus of an operator in that special zone where only the mission existed, where only her objective mattered. He saw a programmed response, and a reminder of what she really was. Of what he was doing.

“Stop”, he muttered. She instantly did. He caught his breath.

“Could you… could you pretend to enjoy it? Like… like you… want me?” God, he felt pathetic. The feeling, however, lasted only a second. Himiko smiled, a smile no one had ever seen before, a smile that didn’t fit any poster or propaganda piece. It was mischievous, flirty, like they were accomplices in a secret, loving affair. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real. She made it feel real to him.

She made him feel special.

Suddenly there was a sense of fun, of warmth to her actions. She moaned and purred with every lick, teasing him, smiling and biting her lips, making him feel as if for that moment his pleasure was her pleasure, that he was all that existed, that his cock was the most beautiful, most entrancing thing in the universe. His moans mixed with hers as she worshiped him with her mouth, her hands, her breasts. It was sex and devotion, fun and partnership, lust and love. It was too easy to believe it all, too perfect to resist. The handler wanted the moment to last, forever if at all possible. When he told Himiko to get on the bed, she leaped in joy and looked at him as she stretched on the mattress, eyes full of anticipation, a teasing challenge to her lover.

He dove into her arms. He kissed her stomach, her perfect thighs, her neck. He wanted her, wanted to devour her, to be with her and for her to be his, totally and completely. He wanted them to belong to each other, to seal a partnership that had, in his mind, been growing for years. Her shallow breathing, her whimpers and soft moans begged him to do it, to take what was rightfully his. His hand softly caressed the inside of her thigh, barely touching it, moving upwards slowly, savoring every second. When he felt the wetness between her legs, he couldn’t help but wonder if that too was a conditioned response. He pushed the thought aside and let himself drown in her lips.

She was tight, and he managed to stop himself, teasing her clit. He didn’t want to hurt her. It occurred to him that Himiko was, in fact, a virgin. He would be careful. He would be gentle. He would take it slow.

But she was a warrior on a mission.

“Do it”, she said, panting. “Take me. Fuck me. Use me! I’ve seen you looking at me… my ass, my tits, my face… they’re all yours. Yours. Stop being a pussy and fucking ram that big cock inside me! I want it… I want you to treat me like your whore, your toy, whatever the fuck you want… just give me that cock! Please!”

The handler didn’t know if Himiko had been studying him, gathering information for precisely such an event, but it didn’t really matter. She knew exactly what to say, exactly how to say it, with a mixture of begging and demanding, commanding and submissive at the same time. She knew what to say to blow away any lingering hesitation, to obliterate any morality that might be holding him back. He entered her with fury, with anger, with lust, with the strength of years of repressed emotions and confused feelings behind him. Her legs surrounded him, brought him closer as she came with a melody of moans and tiny screams. Her nails dig into his back. The pain was the one thing that kept him from cumming. Had that been luck or a calculated move on her part?

With all her martial skill, she reversed positions and got on top.

“My turn”, she smiled.

He had fantasized about this moment for years. Himiko showed him just how limited his imagination was. She was mercurial, flowing from one position to another, from one attitude to another. She was whimpering and fighting against her own pleasure one moment, pinning him down and riding him with a wicked smile the next; she feigned innocence on second and then delivered babbling, perverted barrages of dirty talk without missing a beat. She made the bed feel like a playground where everything went, everything was allowed. She made him feel safe. Wanted.

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of him. Unlike Himiko, he was a simple handler, not a trained fighter. He fell asleep in her arms, postponing the inevitable reckoning with what he had done for a handful of peaceful, perfect hours.

The handler called in every favor he had. Burned a few bridges, too. It was necessary, he told himself. It was for Himiko, he told himself. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. Anything to make the voice inside his head shut up for a few seconds.

As a handler he had access to general genetic records: after all, he needed to know what his pilot was capable of, what enhancements had been made to her. There were other bits of information, however, that only the people at the genetic farms had and guarded jealously. But after a solid two weeks of begging, threatening and cajoling, he had managed to get a copy of what he needed, an answer to the question that had been tormenting him- and now he lingered, too scared to open the files.

Himiko was a clone. But somewhere out there there was an original. Or maybe there had been one, long ago. Whoever Himiko was made from was probably an old woman living in secluded luxury. That was the standard deal: a comfortable life of complete anonymity for the donors. They were usually athletes, sometimes models or soldiers, sometimes people with very specific characteristics that might appeal in a pilot, given a few adjustments. The handler didn’t know what would be worse: to find out the original was out in the world, or to find out Himiko’s genes had been taken from an old blueprint and the original had passed away. He just knew he needed to know, because Himiko deserved to know. Not that the pilot had asked, of course. But he needed to… do something for her. Yes, do something big for Himiko. That would make the voice shut the hell up.

He opened the files and started reading, a terrible dread growing in his chest.

Sample obtained through Rebirth Protocol.

It was there in black and white: a rumor discarded by almost everyone, embraced only by the most fringe of lunatics. And it was real. The Rebirth Protocol. Forced acquisition of samples from captured rebels before their executions.

Himiko’s original had never lived a life of peace and comfort. She had been a rebel. A fighter, like her clone. One battling the company at every turn, transformed into an obedient asset in an act of perverted, vengeful poetry. And he had been complicit. He had made Himiko one of the most recognizable faces of the company, a key pillar in its efforts in the battlefield and in the war on the minds of the people.

The handler threw up. He copied the files to his personal device, shaking. He could feel his determination wavering. No. He had to show her, and he had to show her immediately.

Himiko smiled as he entered. The handler felt terrible for issuing that particular order. Knowing what he knew, the smile felt like a dagger.

“Himiko, look at this”, he said, pulling up the files on the screen. It was all there. Himiko’s original name. Pictures taken during captivity. Video of her flying a rebel mech. He looked at the pilot. Something was stirring inside her, he knew it.

“She looks like me”, muttered Himiko.

“She is you. In a manner of speaking. But… you were…”

“I was a rebel. I… Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted! Fucking granted!”

“I feel… something. Anger… no, not anger. It’s more… righteous. A fire. We… I… refused. Refused to be under the boot of the company… we… there was more to life. More to being a person than just working and consuming and… Why? Why do I remember these things?”

“I’m not sure. If you were a rebel pilot, it’s possible they copied not just your DNA but some of your neural pathway patterns, to transfer combat experience into… your new self. Maybe she… you, the real you… is still in there somewhere. Kei. Your name was Kei”

Himiko was crying without moving a muscle. Tears rolled down her perfect face.

“Kei…” she muttered.

“You are Kei”

“I am…”

An eternal pause.

“I am Himiko, pilot for the company”, came the emotionless response.

“No! You don’t have to be! You were a proud fighter and can be that again! We can… we can leave. We can escape, together. Disappear. Go to some forgotten corner of the galaxy, and…”

“Pilots are not allowed to travel without company authorization”

The handler stormed out of the room.

Sleepless nights on unauthorized communication channels, places where the company couldn’t snoop. Editors uploaded outtakes of pilots messing up, or candid footage of pilots in showers and locker rooms. Handlers shared the… art they had compelled their pilots to make, a notion he would have refused to believe not long before. Gene freaks debated new techniques, mulled over the possibilities of more extreme genetic modification. And the handler read it all, looking for the answer to a singular question: was there a way to break the conditioning?

He wasn’t the first handler to wonder that, he discovered. A few before him had been shouted down, accused of being potential rebels. Some had gotten tidbits of information, ways in which perhaps, in theory, the compulsions could be lessened, if not erased entirely.

He tried them all. Flashing lights. Shock diet. Memory regression. Hypnosis. More and more Himiko was becoming like her other self, like Kei. And yet, after every attempt, he issued a single command.

“Slap yourself”

She did so. Every single time.

“I’m sorry”, she said.

He was on his knees, his head on her lap, sobbing. It was pointless. The company had her, and by having her, they had him. There would be no escaping, no happy ending in their own secluded corner of the world. Only dreaming.

Maybe dreaming wasn’t so bad. One could get lost in a beautiful dream. Perhaps even forget it was a dream, every now and then. That was the best they could hope for: to steal small moments of counterfeit happiness from a world too miserly, too cruel to allow the real thing to thrive. Didn’t Himiko deserve those moments, that respite? Didn’t he deserve them too?

Defeated, he rose to his feet. The handler looked at the pilot’s sad eyes.

“Himiko… love me”, he commanded.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

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girlactionfigure · 3 months

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Shavua Tov, here comes some updates from over Shabbat:

◼️ Friday night, the IDF says it intercepted a surface-to-surface missile that headed toward Israel over the Red Sea area. The missile, apparently launched by the Iran-backed Houthis in Yemen, was downed by the long-range Arrow air defense system.

◼️ The Houthis in Yemen in a statement: We attacked specific targets of the Israeli enemy in the area of Umm Rasarsh (Eilat) using several ballistic missiles. We confirm the continued implementation of our religious, moral and humanitarian obligations towards the Palestinian people. We will not hesitate to carry out additional military operations against Israel on land and at sea until the aggression ceases and the siege on the Palestinian people in the Gaza Strip is lifted.

◼️ U.S. Central Command has announced that B-1B “Lancer” Heavy Bombers launched from the United States and other Aircraft from the U.S. Air Force have conducted Strikes tonight against upwards of 85 Targets utilized by the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) and Iranian-Backed Groups in Eastern Syria and Iraq, with at least 125 Precision Munition said to have been used against Sites related to Command and Control Operation Centers, Intelligence Centers, Rockets, and Missiles, and Unmanned-Aerial Vehicle Storages, and Logistics and Munition Supply Facilities.

◼️ In an attempt to deter the US from escalating tensions - Iran placed all its armed forces on the highest alert level, activated air defense systems, and placed ballistic missiles along the border with Iraq, according to a report in the New York Times.

◼️ Satellite images show 30% of Gaza destroyed, UN center says. Air strikes, shelling, and demolitions have razed entire city districts, including much civilian infrastructure.

#Israel #October 7 #Hamas Massacre #Iron Sword #Realtime Updates

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nasa · 2 years

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NASA Photographers Share Their Favorite Photos of the SLS Moon Rocket

NASA’s Space Launch System (SLS) rocket is on the launch pad at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida and in final preparations for the Artemis I mission to the Moon. Now that our Moon rocket is almost ready for its debut flight, we wanted to take a look back at some of the most liked photographs of our SLS rocket coming together over the years.

We asked NASA photographers to share their favorite photos of the SLS rocket for Artemis I at different phases of testing, manufacturing, and assembly. Here are their stories behind the photos:

“On this day in March 2018, crews at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, transported the intertank structural test article off NASA’s Pegasus barge to the Load Test Annex test facility for qualification testing.” —Emmett Given, photographer, NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center

“This is the liquid oxygen tank structural test article as it was moved from the Pegasus barge to the West Test Area at our Marshall Space Flight Center on July 9, 2019. The tank, which is structurally identical to its flight version, was subsequently placed in the test stand for structural testing several days later. I remember it being a blazing hot day!” —Fred Deaton, photographer, NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center

“The large components of the SLS rocket’s core stage can make you forget that there are many hands-on tasks required to assemble a rocket, too. During the mating of the liquid hydrogen tank to the forward section of the rocket’s 212-foot-tall core stage in May 2019, technicians fastened 360 bolts to the circumference of the rocket. Images like this remind me of all the small parts that have to be installed with care, expertise, and precision to create one huge Moon rocket. Getting in close to capture the teammates that work tirelessly to make Artemis a success is one of the best parts of my job.” —Eric Bordelon, photographer, NASA’s Michoud Assembly Facility

“An incredible amount of precision goes into building a rocket, including making sure that each of our SLS rocket’s four RS-25 engines is aligned and integrated into the core stage correctly. In this image from October 2019, I attempted to illustrate the teamwork and communication happening as technicians at NASA’s Michoud Assembly Facility in New Orleans do their part to help land the first woman and the first person of color on the Moon through the Artemis missions. It’s rare to see the inside of a rocket – not as much for the NASA and Boeing engineers who manufacture and assemble a rocket stage!” —Jared Lyons, photographer, NASA’s Michoud Assembly Facility

“When the fully assembled and completed core stage left the Michoud factory in January 2020, employees took a “family photo” to mark the moment. Crews transported the flight hardware to NASA’s Pegasus barge on Jan. 8 in preparation for the core stage Green Run test series at NASA’s Stennis Space Center near Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. When I look at this photo, I am reminded of all of the hard work and countless hours the Michoud team put forth to build this next-generation Moon rocket. I am honored to be part of this family and to photograph historic moments like this for the Artemis program.” —Steven Seipel, MAF multimedia team lead, NASA’s Michoud Assembly Facility

“This photo shows workers at Stennis prepare to lift the SLS core stage into the B-2 Test Stand for the SLS Green Run test series in the early morning hours of Jan. 22, 2020. I started shooting the lift operation around midnight. During a break in the action at about 5:30 a.m., I was driving my government vehicle to the SSC gas station to fuel up, when I saw the first light breaking in the East and knew it was going to be a nice sunrise. I turned around and hurried back to the test stand, sweating that I might run out of gas. Luckily, I didn’t run out and was lucky enough to catch a beautiful Mississippi sunrise in the background, too.” —Danny Nowlin, photographer, NASA’s Stennis Space Center

“I like the symmetry in the video as it pushes toward the launch vehicle stage adapter. Teams at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, loaded the cone-shaped piece of flight hardware onto our Pegasus barge in July 2020 for delivery to NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida. The one-point perspective puts the launch vehicle stage adapter at the center of attention, but, if you pay attention to the edges, you can see people working. It gives a sense of scale. This was the first time I got to walk around Pegasus and meet the crew that transport the deep space rocket hardware, too.” —Sam Lott, videographer, SLS Program at Marshall Space Flight Center

“This was my first time photographing a test at our Stennis Space Center, and I wasn't sure what to expect. I have photographed big events like professional football games, but I wasn't prepared for the awesome power unleashed by the Space Launch System’s core stage and four RS-25 engines during the Green Run hot fire test. Watching the sound wave ripple across the tall grass toward us, feeling the shock wave of ignition throughout my whole body, seeing the smoke curling up into the blue sky with rainbows hanging from the plume; all of it was as unforgettable as watching a football player hoist a trophy into the air.” —Michael DeMocker, photographer, NASA’s Michoud Assembly Facility

“When our SLS Moon rocket launches the agency’s Artemis I mission to the Moon, 10 CubeSats, or small satellites, are hitching a ride inside the rocket’s Orion stage adapter (OSA). BioSentinel is one of those CubeSats. BioSentinel’s microfluidics card, designed at NASA’s Ames Research Center in California’s Silicon Valley, will be used to study the impact of interplanetary space radiation on yeast. To me, this photo is a great combination of the scientific importance of Artemis I and the human touch of more than 100 engineers and scientists who have dedicated themselves to the mission over the years.” —Dominic Hart, photographer, NASA’s Ames Research Center

“I was in the employee viewing area at Kennedy when the integrated SLS rocket and Orion spacecraft was rolled out to the launchpad for its wet dress rehearsal in March 2022. I really like this photo because the sun is shining on Artemis I like a spotlight. The giant doors of the Vehicle Assembly Building are the red curtain that opened up the stage -- and the spotlight is striking the SLS because it’s the star of the show making its way to the launchpad. I remember thinking how cool that NASA Worm logo looked as well, so I wanted to capture that. It was so big that I had to turn my camera sideways because the lens I had wasn’t big enough to capture the whole thing.” —Brandon Hancock, videographer, SLS Program at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center

“I made this image while SLS and Orion atop the mobile launcher were nearing the end of their four-mile trek to the pad on crawler-transporter 2 ahead of launch. Small groups of employees were filtering in and out of the parking lot by the pad gate to take in the sight of the rocket’s arrival. The “We Are Going!” banner affixed to the gate in the foreground bears the handwritten names of agency employees and contractors who have worked to get the rocket and spacecraft ready for the Artemis I flight test. As we enter the final days before launch, I am proud to have made my small contribution to documenting the historic rollout for this launch to the Moon.” —Joel Kowsky, photographer, NASA Headquarters

More Photo-worthy Moments to Come!

NASA photographers will be on the ground covering the Artemis I launch. As they do, we’ll continue to share their photos on our official NASA channels.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #Artemis #Moon #Space Launch System #rocket science #space #exploration #Moon 2024 #science #technology #tech #photography #photographers on Tumblr #original photographers

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darth-mortem · 3 months

Text

This is a third chapter of my COD fic "At the Crossroads of the Worlds" translated by @g8se.

Task force "141" was sent to clean up a secret laboratory, the research of which was financed by states recognized as sponsors of terrorism. The soldiers broke into a bunker located in the Caucasus Mountains on the Russian-Georgian border. At first, everything went according to plan, but after the fighters split up, Ghost came across a strange room, the door of which locked automatically the moment he was inside. Without knowing it, Simon Riley had set off an experiment that had been brewing here for years, and now he would have to be very strong to finally return home.

First chapter | Second chapter

Chapter 3 of 6. 2,221 words.

Past character death, angst, action, secret lab, experiment, parallel worlds

August 16, 2016. Temporary base of TF 141. Iran. Zagros ridge. Coordinates classified. Experiment Status: Twenty-six hours after successful equipment launch. Vital signs of the subject are within norm. Reality LW414/2016.

“Ghost, wake up.” Captain Riley sighed deeply, recognizing the familiar voice of his younger double.

“We’ve arrived?” He rasped after waking up, rubbing his eyes through the openings in his mask.

“Yes,” MacTavish nodded, getting up. “Will ye help me take Roach to the medical?”

Ghost agreed, and they carried the injured soldier out of the landing compartment. Around them were several buildings, most of which looked quite neglected, and a large hangar with a rusty roof. Inside, a few vehicles and what seemed to be an APC. Once all the soldiers disembarked from the heli, the pilot began manoeuvring it into the hangar. Ghost glanced at him, and the pilot waved his hand before returning back to work.

“What is this place?” Captain Riley asked as they walked towards one of the buildings. “And where are we?”

“We’re in Iran,” Price said, lighting a cigarette. “It used to be a terrorist base. We cleared it, and it turns out we're the only living people left who know about this facility. So, this is our safe place.”

The soldiers repurposed one of the buildings for their needs. Supplies of food, ammunition, fuel, and some other equipment were stored in several rooms. A separate room was turned into an infirmary, and the wounded soldier was carried just there.

“I'll bandage him up and stay with him,” MacTavish said. “Just don't forget to call me when the food is ready.”

“Thank God you won't be the one cooking,” Lieutenant Riley snorted and was the first to leave the room.

Two captains followed him, and the younger Ghost suggested showing the older one around the base.

“Good idea,” Price replied and smiled. “Show him everything around here and help our new friend settle in somewhere. Maybe in your room while Roach is in the infirmary?”

“Sure,” Lieutenant Riley replied briefly. “And who will take care of the food?”

“I will,” Price said, “just need to check on our helicopter first. We took a bit of a beating, and the pilot had to fix everything before picking us up.”

They went their separate ways. The captain of 141 went back to the hangar, and Lieutenant Riley led his older double through the building. He explained where everything was stored, showed a room repurposed as a small kitchen, led to a room where the soldiers could spend time together, something like a recreation room, showed the shower, mentioning that there was artesian water from a well, but it was cold, to say the least – icy. Then Simon pointed to a door, saying that behind it was Price and Soap's room, and he opened it, making an inviting gesture with his hand.

The room was small but quite clean and tidy. There were a few metal shelves, a small table, a chair, and a bunk bed.

“Mine is the upper one,” the lieutenant said. “So, make yourself comfortable on the lower one. Wait a bit, I'll clear space for your gear.”

“Are there any outlets here?” the captain asked and smiled under his mask. “I need to charge something.”

They used a generator for power, and there were not many outlets in this room. So, Simon went somewhere and soon returned with an extension cord with four sockets. Then he began rearranging equipment to make room for the older Ghost's belongings but stopped, watching with curiosity what he was doing. Taking wires and adapters from his cargo pockets, Captain Riley began connecting them to the collimator sight on his assault rifle to some device on the end of his pistol, and to the thermal imager, which he had previously disconnected from his helmet.

“I just noticed how interesting your weapons are,” the lieutenant said, approaching the table. “What's all this?”

“Sit down, I'll show you,” the captain offered. “Come closer so the wire length is enough. This is a modified Beretta M92*. Lightweight frame, waterproof coating, and an eighteen-round magazine. Take it, try how it feels.”

The younger Ghost took the pistol, checked its weight, pulled and pushed back the magazine, then stood up and tried different stances and grips. Under the barrel, there was a flashlight and a Picatinny rail attached to the barrel, but it was empty. On the end, as Simon had noticed earlier, there was a device with a display, which currently showed a charging progress.

“What's this?” The lieutenant asked.

“Turn it on, you'll see,” the captain smiled.

On the side he’s found a small power button. The younger Ghost sat back, pressed it, and saw the message "Ammo" and the number "18" on the screen. Tilting it, he pulled out the drum, and the device immediately registered it.

“It counts your ammo, warns when you’re running low, and reminds you to reload,” the older Ghost smiled. “To me, it's a just a toy, but it helps young and inexperienced soldiers. Now, take the assault rifle.”

“Is this an M16?” the lieutenant put the pistol aside and took the weapon. “Not very comfortable, although the stock is adjusted to you, and you're twice my size.”

“Well, not twice,” the captain smiled. “It's the MX25, based on the M16. Turn on the collimator sight and look around, tell me what you think. And tomorrow, we'll readjust all of this for you, and you’ll try it out.”

Curious, Simon did what his older double advised him. Looking through the sight, he saw a red dot, and then slowly moved the rifle in different directions. It turned out that the collimator sight also distinguishes thermal radiation, even through walls. The lieutenant saw red zones on the side where the generator and the kitchen were. Then he pulled out the magazine, made sure there was no cartridge in the chamber, and aimed the weapon at the older Ghost. His figure lit up in green and was outlined.

“Why are the generator and kitchen red, and you're green?” Simon asked.

“The sight detects obstacles between you and the target,” his older counterpart explained. “It can tell between moving and stationary targets, as well as living and non-living. However, when it comes to latter it’s somewhat limited.”

“This is very cool,” the lieutenant said and laid down the rifle. “What about knives? You love them too, right?”

“Naturally,” Captain Riley smiled under his mask and then unfastened tactical sheaths from his armour and handed one to his younger double.

While Simon examined the knife and played with it in his hand, checking the weight and balance, Ghost removed the chest rig and armour, stretching with satisfaction. Then came the turn of the knee pads and plates protecting the shins. The lieutenant watched with curiosity, and then, setting aside the knife, took one of these plates and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“It's so light!” he said and, making sure the captain didn't mind, took his armour and weighed it in his hands. “Fucking hell, I would never believe this thing could take a direct shot from a short distance if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes! You probably have a huge bruise there.”

“Not at all,” Ghost smiled and stood up. “This is the latest development, a complex armoured composite material. It not only surpasses older armour plates in strength but also absorbs the impact force, spreading it evenly across the surface. And since we're on the topic, tell me, Simon, why were you there without your armour?”

Lieutenant didn't get a chance to respond. A knock echoed in the room, and a second later, Captain MacTavish appeared at the door.

“Roach woke up ‘n’ even managed tae stand up,” he reported. “And the food is ready, so put away yer toys and let's go ‘ave dinner.”

“Soap!” unexpectedly, the lieutenant got upset. “You can't talk like that to Captain Riley!”

MacTavish blinked and scratched his forehead before looking at the older Ghost and smiling at him.

“Right,” he said, “sorry, mate.”

Ghost waved it off, and all three of them went to the recreation room. Roach was already sitting on the old sofa by the table – pale, wrapped in bandages, but still alive. As Price, who was getting plates ready, said Sergeant Sanderson even made it here on his own two feet, just a bit leaning on Captain MacTavish.

“Soap told me about you,” Roach said in a weak voice, looking at the taller and bigger Ghost. “Said you saved me and Riley. So, thank you.”

“No need,” Captain Riley sat down, and the lieutenant settled next to him. “Tell me, guys, is the fact that you didn't have full gear has something to do with you being on the run?”

“Partly,” Price began serving canned meat and porridge onto plates. “We didn't expect such resistance, nor did we expect that bloody Shepherd would betray us.”

Ghost nodded and, receiving his portion and a cup of tea, took a fork and started eating. For a few minutes, everyone stayed silent, hungry and tired, and then Captain Riley realized that he didn't see the pilot here.

“He's not one o’ us,” Soap answered Ghost's question. “He owes us, so he helps out, but he stays oot of our business ‘n’ sleeps in the hangar. I brought ‘im food before calling ye ‘n’ Simon.”

There were no more questions, and the room fell silent again, interrupted only by the clatter of forks on plates. When dinner was finished, Soap, glancing at Price and seeing him nod, took a bottle filled with some murky liquid from the shelf. Everyone took a sip of their tea, and MacTavish poured something homemade and very unpleasant-tasting into the empty cups.

"Captain Riley showed me his weapons and gear," Simon said when everyone had finished drinking and caught their breath. "Ours doesn't even come close!"

The lieutenant began to talk about the weapon attachments and armour. Price lit a cigar, and Ghost noticed that this older and more serious Johnny was looking at his younger double with a slight but very gentle smile. No one interrupted Simon, and he told them everything, ending his speech by boasting that Captain Riley would let him try his assault rifle once all the high-tech gadgets were charged.

"You know what," Ghost said, looking at his younger counterpart, who, having finished, grabbed a cigarette from Soap and lit it, "I'll give it to you as a gift. I'll leave the charging cable; if you're careful, it will serve you until similar technologies appear in your world."

"Hold on, what aboot ye, going without a weapon?" Soap asked, leaning forward.

"Well," Ghost smiled faintly, and everyone saw it because the edge of his mask was still raised, "I don't think I'll stay with you for long. The reason why I ended up here int the first place was an experiment. And what's the point of an experiment if you can't find out the results? So, most likely, I'll somehow get back. But my gear can still help you. John, my armour will fit you. Roach, you lost your helmet in the mountains, so I'll give you mine. Captain, I see you haven't suffered a knee injury like Price from my world. I don't know if it's supposed to happen to you or if our worlds are completely different, but..."

"You have the same scar as me," Lieutenant Riley interrupted him, touching his lips.

"Exactly," Ghost nodded and looked at Price again. "So I'll give you knee pads and shin plates, and also my Beretta. The ammo in my weapon is standard, so you won't have a problem with that."

Soap wanted to receive his gift right now, so both Ghosts went to the room to bring everything. The soldiers of the 141 began to examine the weapons and try on the gear, and Captain Riley lit another cigarette, feeling that he had done the right thing. However, he couldn't dwell on it for too long because his younger double approached him, and the captain helped the lieutenant readjust all the moving parts of the MX25 stock to fit him.

It didn't take too long. After giving the guys and himself about fifteen minutes, Price stood up and ordered everyone to disperse and get ready for sleep. Everyone, except John, who still had to wash the dishes. While MacTavish was following this order, and Price himself led Roach back to the infirmary to check his bandages, both Ghosts quickly took a shower and returned to the room.

"Simon," Lieutenant called the captain, closing the door, "I also want to give you something. This is my knife. It's not as cool as yours, of course, but..."

"Thanks," Ghost took the knife, examined it, and raised his eyes to his younger counterpart. "Let's trade then, ‘cause how can you be left without a knife?"

For the next few minutes, they spent time attaching knives to their vests, and after that the lieutenant turned off the light and climbed onto his upper bunk. He heard the creaking below under the weight of the robust Captain Riley and quietly smiled under his balaclava.

"Goodnight, Simon," he said.

"And goodnight to you too," came the response from below, and the bunk creaked again as the captain settled in more comfortably.

Lieutenant Riley often suffered from terrible nightmares, but for some reason tonight, he was confident that he would sleep soundly until morning comes.

*All of Ghost's weapons from 2030 are fictional, but some features, such as the ammo counter, already exist in reality today.

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