Somehow, Farid found himself just gazing. There was nothing in particular in his focus, no, his eyes half-liddedly, and almost glassily stared down at the pattern of his pants, the texture of the metal floor... His grasp of reality had significantly lessened with the silence that held the room waiting to be broken.
He knew he was in his cabin - he could feel the cot beneath him, the air flow from the AC, and the warmth that came from Chloe beside him - but he didn't believe it. No, he wasn't there at all. He wasn't in that tiny cabin. He wasn't on the aircraft carrier or even in the Gulf. None of that was real to him.
It wasn't real. Not the cot, not the AC, not even Chloe. It was hazy like a distant dream that'd be quickly forgotten the second he would snap to consciousness. He cared about it as much as it was vivid: not really at all.
But there were things that did seem real. Oh so painstakingly real. There was quiet, distant shouting, and smoke... it was almost suffocating, as if it threatened to cut off his airways and starve him of precious oxygen. It burned at his skin, his face, forcing sweat to the surface. At first the words were unclear, seeming to blend in one droning. That just kept getting louder. Louder and louder. No end to the chanting. And as it became louder, the many voices seemed to form real words. Punctuating every syllable.
"...cordis die... cordis die... Cordis Die... Cordis Die... CORDIS DIE... CORDIS DIE... CORDIS DIE...! CORDIS DIE...! CORDIS DIE! CORDIS DIE!"
As quickly as the words became intelligible, they turned into a loud racket. There were no words, just a mindless droning of sounds. Like bees... the words buzzed together in a deafening wail, and soon even the definite sound was lost and turned to static that trembled the air around him like thunder.
"Farid!"
His eyes went wide then at the voice. No. No. Anything else. Not that man. Never again...!
"Farid. Hey come on."
Blinking with shock, he found that the voice didn't match the person. Something in his mind clicked that it was just him; none of the smoke, the buzzing, the person he thought was there just then was real. All in his head. It was all in his head. The street scene broke away like a rock to a pane of glass.
The cabin was real. The AC was real. Chloe was real - as was the hand of hers that gripped his arm. That contact was like a tether, roping him back down to this reality. Away from his rampant imagination.
He sat up a little and stared at the hand holding onto his wrist. His thoughts were mixed and jumbled right then, and all he managed was a quiet hum of acknowledgement before he collected those fragmented thoughts enough to throw together a curt response. "What?"
Chloe sighed and held her touch pad up to him, letting go of his arm so he could take hold of it. He settled it on his lap and realized that she had been watching a video on YouTube, already ended and ready to be replayed.
A feeling pulled at his stomach. Could this be another one of Menendez's videos? He pressed the replay, and watched as Menendez appeared on the screen.
He felt his hand beginning to tremble. No. No.
"...Opulence is sinful, and we all pay for it. Los Angeles was the flagship of their absurd materialism, so I destroyed it. They thought I wanted to kill the Presidentè, I could have buried you a million times over... No... I wanted you to see it, to feel what it's like. Today, two billion people exist in abject misery," - as he said this, video feed from New York appeared where drones were almost clouded the sky like a haze of loci - "tyrannized by war."
"His plans..." Farid said in hardly a murmur. If he knew this man at all, he knew where this was going.
The video showed the drones exploding over the city, and then went to Shanghai and Washington DC. All those weapons gone in a little over a million vibrant explosions, splashing into the water. Menendez continued then, "Madame Presidentè, your war machines are no more. Your military is crippled. You cannot stop us now. Cordis Die, rise, and strike when they are down. Strike now, and strike deep!" Then the screen when dark and the replay video button showed up.
That silence he knew from before came back and clutched the room. He knew that would probably be his plans for the drones. After all, it got rid of both superpowers at the same time. But what could he say? What did he even want to say?
Finally, he found the nerve to break the tense silence. "How long ago did he post this video?"
"About seven minutes ago." Chloe answered.
"And has there been any word about the mission in Haiti?" He asked.
She shrugged and said, "We could go check. ...You're worried, aren't you."
"The mission is kill or capture Raul Menendez," Farid reminded, "considering the fact that no one has succeed in a task like this before - unless that was what he wanted - I doubt he will make things any less complicated this time around."
Chloe sighed. "Alright, get up. We're going to ask the Admiral if he heard anything."
Farid nodded slowly and got up after her.
162 seconds. That's how much time he counted getting to the war room. Why was he counting those short seconds? Why do something as unneeded as track the time?
A distraction. That's what he needed. Something to pull his mind of the track of questions that only would lead him to imagine the worst has happened. It didn't help much though. That was how much time it took for his heart to start pounding, and soon twisting under his ribs; for his panic and worry to build.
Would he hear the very words he dreaded to hear? Was the last person he knew as a friend dead at the hands of Menendez?
A sort of nervous nausea forced his throat to tighten. No. No, that would not happen. Please, please let that not be it. Not 'Section' too.
They found that Briggs was leaning against the holo-table with a crutch beside him, staring down at the darkened screen. It wasn't even on. Why was he here?
"Admiral? How's the mission in Haiti?" Chloe asked stepping in the room. Farid came in just behind her.
The Admiral looked up at them, with the remnants of shock leaving his face...
...to be replaced by a wide, ear-to-ear smile as he said the following words, as if unsure whether reality would stay this way if he acknowledged it. "We got him."
"They killed him?" Chloe asked.
"No. We got him. Alive."
For a moment they all stood they as if unsure how to react. Well, Chloe did, a grin came to her face. But Farid didn't care about that bastard's fate, not right now anyways. "And the team that went in?"
"We've taken a significant amount of casualties," Briggs answered, "I'm sure that 'Section' can fill us in on that when he gets back here."
"He's alive," Chloe said, giving voice to the obvious.
Briggs nodded. "He said Menendez tried to taunt him into killing him - for the Cordis Die movement. That's why he didn't shoot his brains clean out."
There was some clear relief that came to the youngest's face when he heard this news. It was like having some weight being pulled off his chest, and he had room to breath again. In one day, he lost so much, but finally, finally there was something he didn't lose. There was something for him to hold onto.
"Most people carry that pain around inside them their whole lives, until they kill the pain by other means, or until it kills them. But you, my friends, you found another way: a way to use the pain. To burn it as fuel, for light and warmth. You have learned to break the world that has tried to break you. "
― Lev Grossman
Water was always so captivating, so calming. He was never entirely sure why, but the small waves quietly lapping against the sides of a boat always felt so peaceful. In some spots, it was shallow enough to be explored, but others contained many mysteries that people were only just beginning to investigate in higher detail. Water was the substance that became an element to many old cultures; the sign of healing and purity.
Even now, as he gazed down into the depths of the Gulf, he found himself a little bit soothed by that one small bit of peace despite all the wreckage and destruction around him. They had docked for repairs, and he stood on the flight deck watching people move up and down the portal ramp to take away the damages.
By now, the sun was setting on the water, staining it many shades of orange. That very star they knew for as long as life had existed, was tinted copper by the atmosphere.
June 19th. This day could finally be over. He could see it finally close, and he could try his hardest to recover.
He wasn't out here to help - no, his shoulder kept him from that. All he wanted right now was some air - some privacy if he could help it - while he waited for the JSOC team to return.
On the metal deck, he heard footsteps behind him, and he glanced back to see Admiral Briggs hobble his way with the crutch. The Admiral came beside him and stopped. Looking down, he acknowledged the higher up with a quiet, "Admiral."
"Farid," Briggs returned. "It's been a long day, for all of us."
He nodded. "I know."
"Section told me what happened in Yemen," the Admiral continued, "you can always try and find a normal life - you know that. The man you played the role of doesn't need to follow you."
A deep breath. "You make it sound like it can be that easy to let that go. I hate to say it, but I know it won't."
"It was only an alias," Briggs pointed out, "you can just go back to your old name."
"I could pretend that 'Farid' wasn't me, but he is." He looked up at the sky, as it transitioned from copper in the west to deep blue in the east. "When I chose that as my cover name, I gave up the rights to my former name. I would rather not tarnish that person by returning to his life. He's dead, and that is it. 'Farid', the man who became a mole for the CIA and shot his friend to protect his cover, is me and I cannot pretend that he wasn't."
Briggs sighed. "So I take it you want to continue using that name."
He nodded. "It's the only name people know me as now - it might be the only name people know me in history. I doubt there will be any changing that."
"If you're staying as Farid, then does that mean you plan on staying with the CIA?" Briggs asked. "Because now that they can't use you as a mole, I'm not sure what sort of damn desk job they'd hand you. All I know is that it seems like a waste."
"How is it a waste?" He returned. "Do I look like I can still fight?" He laughed a little, even though it hurt, and pressed his thumb to each of his fingers in the sling. "Let's be realistic, I can hardly feel my fingertips. All I'm good for is computers."
With a smile, Briggs chuckled. "Well, let's see about that in a few months when your shoulder's healed. Given everything that's happened, you've more than proved that you're the kind of man I need around here."
"What? A computer nerd?" Farid wondered.
"No, an honest soldier." Briggs answered, earning a bit of a surprised glance. "Like I said, we'll give you a few months to recover, and then we can see how things are looking."
At the offer, a part of him almost wanted to hug the Admiral in some massive display of gratitude. It probably showed too. Of course, it was unprofessional, and they both had wounds to worry about. "Thank you, Admiral. I will consider it."
Briggs grinned a bit and looked up to the sky, where a VTOL was coming into view. It flew over their heads to the landing pad on shore, and they walked down to meet it - Farid helping Briggs down the ramp.
The aircraft opened and out came the tired, worn men with their bumps and bruises. As Crosby came down the ramp of the VTOL, he pulled his balaclava off his scarred face and regarded the Admiral and Farid with a few tired blinks and a tired "Admiral."
Behind Crosby was David, who stepped down and gave an exhausted smile to them both. "Menendez is on his way to the tightest security prison we got."
"You've done good, Section. That son of a bitch is finally taken care of," Briggs replied. "We'll be staying on base here until the ship's repaired. Best make yourself comfortable, we'll be here a week or so."
"Sure thing, Admiral. Now if you'll excuse me," David said, and led Farid away. Making some distance from Briggs, he weakly laughed. "I can't believe you're alive right now."
"I find it a little unbelievable myself, Section," Farid returned with a weak grin, "So does this mean that this whole mess is finally over?"
David nodded. "Finally. When the last of the riots die down, what we lost will be repaired and we can try to get past it. It's not going to change things for me aside from the fact that that bastard is finally locked up. But what about you? Are you staying with the CIA, or are you leaving?"
Farid looked down. "I couldn't face my family, not after what I have done. I might not stay with the CIA either, at least not for long after this virus problem is solved. However, the Admiral had offered me a position under his command once my shoulder is healed. So there is always that option."
That smile on David's face became so much more lively. "That'd be great. And until then, will you be helping Chloe?"
"Sounds like it," Farid confirmed. After a little it of silence, he added, "I really am happy to see you are alright."
"Same here," David agreed. "I don't think I can take any more losses today."
So here you all go, another chapter. I would have had a time skip, but I figured that this would be a better way to have it all develop. And yes, I know it sounds mean, but I'm really just letting Farid have some relief now before I completely squish him to the dirt with guilt from a few different people. I won't say who though.
Another thing I'd like to point out is a little fun fact that I noticed while playing. In Achilles's Veil, Farid's name is spelled 'Farid' with those little quotation marks, like it's just a code name or a nickname - like Nikolai in the Modern Warfare series. But, since I don't want to make up a name for him (for simplicity's sake), I'm keeping his code name.
Next chapter will be Harper's funeral - maybe, I guess.
Thank you everyone who followed the story (you know who you are) and please don't forget to review!