Ajay Ghale was beginning to question the correct pronunciation of his surname at this point. For all his life in America he had pronounced is as Gale, but everyone around him in Kyrat tended to say it as Ghaljee, or something. So which way was right? Culturally speaking, the Kyrati had the final say, since the surname was Kyrati in origin, but Ajay always preferred his way, not just because he was used to it, but because it sounded like a strong gust of wind, very symbolic in nature. He was just like his namesake, or as far as his imagination could stretch the term. He was a wind of change for Kyrat. He has felt it from day one. There was nothing worse in life than stagnation, and without him... Ah, screw it. Who knows what the hell would happen to Kyrat without him. Ajay hasn't met a single person, aside from his mother, that even knew Kyrat existed. Ajay found it very difficult for himself to care about it. He cared about the individual people, sure, but the nation itself, with its culture and struggles? Preserving the Kyrati way of life felt like an uphill battle. Ajay wasn't stupid, though he tended to feign slight dimwittedness. He has learned that people would always underestimate him that way and unknowingly show their hands, and Amita and Sabal sure looked like they did. He knew that even if they won the war against Pagan Min, those two would probably turn out just as bad.

Oh, don't get me started on them, Ajay thought to himself, as he pulled the handbrake on his blue pickup truck. He parked way off the road, right in the middle of a clearing in the trees that adorned the side of the mountain. It was already dark, and, with the truck's lights off, the world was draped in darkness like a tender velvet sheet. This is where Ajay chose to spend the night, deciding against pushing for the nearest Golden Path safehouse. It was a good couple of hours' worth of travel, and Ajay simply didn't have it in him. Kyrat wasn't much more dangerous at night than in daytime, but a slight twitch in his eyes made it plain that his journey was likely to end in a very stupid death by parking his car into a tree or tumbling off a cliff when he finally fell asleep behind the wheel. He was tired. Not just physically. He was so goddamn sick of the whole Golden Path business.

He produced the urn with his mother's ashes out of his hide rucksack and set it on the dashboard. Let it sit there for a while. Take in the view.

The night was absolutely gorgeous, as always. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the lush green grass and foliage bathed in the moon's reflected light, colorful plants dyed in ethereal bluish illumination. It was almost bright enough to read, but the books, which he'd traded looted odds, ends, trinkets and wolf pelts for earlier, were all finished and put down, adorning the dashboard like a display of trophies. His mother, in fact, stood on some trashy noir detective novel that proved surprisingly entertaining for the last couple of days.

The thing was, Kyrat was surprisingly boring when there was nothing violent and rebellious to do. Ajay was hoping he would overthrow the cruel regime in a week or two and get on with his search for Lakshmana, but reality proved to be way more tedious. Operations took meticulous planning, arms deliveries were far from instantaneous, Royal Military's reaction time was way too slow as well. That left him plenty of time to run errands for displaced and starving families, hunt, gather herbs, and spend a lot of time with his gear. His truck was his loyal companion, so he had to search for parts and tools, not because it was in disrepair, but because tuning it up was a distracting enough hobby. He would hone his alpinism skills for days on end, not because they were getting rusty, but because there was simply nothing else to do. Ajay wished his tours in Iraq and Afghanistan were as relaxing, but now he found the lack of momentum mind-numbing. He could understand written Kyrati enough to make sense of little notes here and there, but, considering how everyone in Kyrat spoke very decent English, it was surprisingly hard to track down literature in it, so he couldn't even teach himself the language of his ancestors. Even frolicking in the stunningly beautiful nature, hiking and tracking big game got old after a while.

It were those moments of reflection that found him looking at the night sky. He would get lost in it, forgetting his troubles for a minute, remembering his little home in the States, and his little sweetheart from the army that could bench press him, and how everyone found it very amusing when she did, and how they'd drink to the fallen and share life stories under another, much less beautiful, sky, and how he didn't have to sew his own holsters from honey badger skin, and how he'd raise hell when he was young and stupid, and how he'd get in trouble, and how his mother would scowl him, but he knew that she loved him more than anything in entire world. He would shed a little tear, but all his tears were gone, and there was nothing in their place anymore. Besides, those were happy memories.

He set his rucksack on the bed of the truck and leaned against the back of the cab. His tired limbs said thanks for putting some sacks with animal hides, clothes, and whatnot on it, so he didn't have to lie on hard metal floor. If he was going from one end of Kyrat to the other, he might as well run some supplies to the villagers while he was at it. He cracked open a can of preserved pineapples that was nearing its expiration date and sipped the brine. After some rummaging in his bag, he also fished out roasted pheasant bits wrapped in brown greasy paper that were long cold, but at least fresh. They became his for two clean carpets this morning in a little hunter's shack. They were not particularly tasty and very dry, but he was peckish, and they went well with sweet pineapple brine that bit into his tongue.

After his late supper he stretched on the soft bags and stared upwards. The void above him beckoned, and he felt like he had answered the call. If this wasn't freedom, he didn't know what was. He could do anything in Kyrat. Sure, there were people who wanted to kill him, but there were also people who wanted to help him. Or, rather, they desperately needed his help, and if he refused, they'd be as disdainful towards him as the soldiers of Pagan Min.

With these thoughts, he began to drift asleep.

...

I said, he began to drift asleep.

Damn it.

Too much on his mind to nod off. Nobody to talk to. Not a good situation to be in. Ajay wasn't distressed. His perpetual calm, in fact, was unsettling to some people. But it was... Not nice.

He took his radio-phone out of his inner pocket. He sewed a lot of those into his trusty old jacket, along with leather ammo pouches and kevlar scraps. The phone was pretty much useless for anything other than relaying tactical information, of which Ajay had none. Amita was probably looking at maps and making endless notes in her chicken-scratch. Sabal was probably drinking and shouting at someone, or patching up his soldiers. At any rate, Ajay didn't want to talk to either. Sabal might be all friendly and brotherly, but he made it very obvious that it all was an act, and that he was very quick to get irate if things didn't go his way. Amita, being the more level-headed of the two, also stirred some sort of inexplicable dread in Ajay, a gut feeling he couldn't ignore, but couldn't do anything about either.

There were others he could call. Longinus? Not in the mood for religious ramblings, thanks. Chiffon? Plenty inspired to be fierce already. Rabi Ray Rana? Just no.

Pagan Min?

Ajay stared at his phone. Why would he want to call Pagan Min? The man was a psychopath and a dictator with some weird fatherly stroke, but at least he was honest about it. There was no ulterior motive. The man was a bloody dictator, how much more could he want? To kill Ajay, maybe, but... No, Ajay's gut didn't breathe a word of warning about Pagan Min the way it did about the Golden Path siblings. Ajay trusted his gut. It was the only thing that kept him alive so far, aside from his truck and his weapons.

"H-hello?" He pressed a button and spoke apprehensively. This was a bad idea this was a bad idea this was a bad idea this was a bad idea this-

"Ajay, my boy!" Came a reply almost instantly. "So good of you to call your old Uncle Min! I trust, the night treats you well?"

"Uhh... Yeah, I suppose so. Uhh..." Ajay rubbed the back of his head. "Shit, this is awkward."

"Well, you don't say. Is there a particular reason you called? Frankly, I never expected you would, it's like you sometimes forget I even exist." Pagan chuckled. "I don't hold it against you, Ajay, don't you worry your little head. So?.."

"So, yeah, I guess I just needed to talk to someone. It does get lonely out here."

"I know exactly what you mean, my boy. I've been alone for more than twenty years here in Kyrat." Pagan sighed almost wistfully. "But what of your friends? I thought you had found a good company with the Golden Path, no?"

"Well, they're alright, I guess. Saving lives and such. Trying to overthrow a dictator that keeps killing people for barely any reason." It was very hard to keep vitriol down. "But they're not exactly what I'd call friends, you know? They're... Weird. Selfish. I think you have a lot in common."

"My boy, I'm hurt!" There was a crisp gasp from the phone. "Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

"I..."

"Those ruffians have no fashion sense! They wear blue, cyan and golden with gunmetal and wood! They look like peacocks! No, I refuse to acknowledge any commonalities between me and those miscreants. Teach them to clothe themselves with some taste, then maybe, just maybe..."

Ajay gave a small laugh despite himself. He never really had a chance at friendly banter. Most people wouldn't believe it, but he was quite shy, and the constant praise, quests and comparisons to Mohan Ghale weren't helping him to connect with anyone.

"I heard that! It's good to see you finally break the tough guy character. You know, I always wondered if you were actually capable of smiling."

"A bag on your head will probably do that for you."

"Yeah, apologies about that. But you must understand my caution. Seeing as you were on the same bus as the Golden Path terrorists, I had no way of knowing if you were indoctrinated." There was a telltale click of a Zippo and a relaxed sigh. "Don't mind me, just didn't have a lot of time to relax and enjoy a smoke. Do you smoke? Those Royals are surprisingly good."

"I don't. And why do you keep calling them terrorists? I know it's your official propaganda line, but you can't seriously believe that yourself."

"Oh, you're a clever one, aren't you?" Pagan chuckled. "Of course, I don't really think they're terrorists. They're just ignorant and mislead. They are fighting the change they desperately need. I won't say anything more on the matter, though. You'll learn in due time."

"Learn what?" Ajay stretched in the truck. The stars glistened. He wondered if Pagan Min was watching them too. He was probably used to them, though.

"About your family. Your parents. Mohan. There are a lot of things you don't know yet, but you will soon enough."

Ajay was silent for a moment.

"Why are you trying to kill me? You don't really hate me. You call me from time to time."

"Dear boy, I'm not trying to kill you. Come on! If I wanted to kill you, I'd have put a blade in your gut when I first saw you." He sounded vaguely hurt by the insinuation.

"Then why do you keep sending soldiers at me? They shoot to kill."

"Yet here you are. Those goons can't harm you. I knew it when I first laid my eyes on you. You are Ishwari's son, and Ishwari... She was strong. Intelligent. Bold. It's what I most admired about her, and also what I see in you. Those soldiers are just my gift to you. You have the potential to become even more fierce than her, someday. You need something to grind your teeth against."

"They aren't toys. They're people. I'd rather not kill them." Ajay sent another pineapple piece into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Although..." He swallowed. "Some of them are real assholes."

"They all are. Do you think good people serve in the Army? Please. Half of them are convicts promised amnesty. Killing them is a favor to Kyrat. Why would I pit decent people against decent people?" That stung. Ajay recalled how he was forcefully enlisted after a life of petty crime. Pagan must have known about this. "I would rather have the Golden Path as my regular army. But that ship has sailed years ago. You can thank your late father for that. Now I just don't have a choice. But I knew that you'd come soon enough. I knew it, Ajay."

"So, what, I'm some sort of a bringer of justice?" Ajay laughed again, but then abruptly stopped. "Wait, you're serious, aren't you?"

"Well of course I am, my boy. Why would I joke about that? There are funnier jokes to be told. For example, why did Ajay cross the border?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"I don't either. You not knowing why you're here is the joke." Pagan laughed. "Don't you find it funny? I do. It gets funnier every time. Let's go again! Why did Ajay cross the border?"

"You're a bit... Not all there, aren't you?"

"Well, what did you expect? A perfectly sane and benevolent king? Fat fucking chance!" He snapped, making Ajay jolt. "I've been dealing with Kyrat for decades, and there hasn't been a good day, not once! Not fucking once!" He breathed deeply for a couple of seconds. "Well, not until you showed up, anyway."

"If you care so much about Kyrat, why are you so violent? Killing people isn't something that will gain you much respect."

"You can thank the Golden Path for that as well. If I lower my guard for a second, the citizens will throw a coup, or a strike, or a diversion, or whatever. Maintaining iron-clad control is the only way for me to remain in power and not let those deranged children ruin my country. You know they can't be trusted."

"I do." Ajay was surprised with how easy he agreed. Amita and Sabal weren't to be trusted. Such a simple truth. It just never occurred to him before to question them openly. They always seemed like the lesser evil, but perhaps they weren't. "But what else can we do? Give up?"

"That would be nice. If I didn't face such strong opposition, I wouldn't have to resort to such draconian measures. But, again, that ship has sailed. The rebellion is something that children are born with today, they get it with mother's milk. No, it's way too late to stop. One must destroy the other. And you, my boy, are the wildcard. You'll see to it, won't you?"

"See to what? Are you asking me to kill Amita and Sabal?"

"What? Of course not! I'm asking you to help them and keep them in line. You know how dangerous they can be if they rise to power."

"I guess so." Ajay put the phone down on his chest. This will require some pondering. Sleep was entirely out of question by now.

"Are you looking at the sky?" Pagan's tinny voice came from the phone. Ajay picked it back up again.

"Yeah. It's beautiful."

"I know. I just wish Ishwari could see it one more time." Pagan sighed again. There was another click of his lighter.

"I have her with me. I think she's enjoying the view." Ajay glanced into the dark interior of the truck. Moonlight gleamed against the battered urn's polished surface.

"Good. Good. Keep her safe. You'll find Lakshmana soon enough."

There was silence.

"Thank you, Pagan." Ajay finally said. "Never thought I'd say it."

"I may yet surprise you again, my boy, if you give me a chance. Stay fierce, we'll meet soon and all your questions will be answered. If you don't find your answers by yourself before that, of course."

"What is it with men in suits telling me to be fierce?.."

"Ah, I see you've met that motherfucker. Well, if you ever see him again, tell him that I'll crucify him when I find him, why don't you?"

"I'll be sure to pass it along. Goodbye."

"Later, Ajay. Call me again sometime. As you said, it does get lonely here."

"It does."

Ajay pressed a button and the connection was severed.

Was it, though?

He chewed on another piece of pineapple. Things were looking up. Of course, the conversation left Ajay with a lot more new questions and not a lot of answers, but those were good questions to be asked. Perhaps there was a purpose for him being here, besides rescuing helpless Kyrati villagers. Perhaps he'd wander much less aimlessly from now on. Perhaps Ajay knew why he crossed the border after all.

The joke was still not funny, but it made him smile a little.