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Chapter Text

Private Jacob Emmett Seed missed the taste of fresh-picked sun kissed peaches. Warm to the touch, soft at the bite, and juicy as all hell.

Through the bleakness of his upbringing, the fuzzy fruits were a momentary beacon of hope for himself and his brothers. When his fridge was empty, and it often was, Jacob learned of an orchard not far from home, where he could help himself to a day’s supply of fresh fruit without anyone noticing, and he only ever took enough to last a few days.

It simply wasn’t just the sweetness of peaches that would breathe warmth back into him, but the way the flesh tore apart beneath his incisors, and the accompanying ferality when peach juice would drip down his chin. Jacob imagined it was blood, like the wolves he watched on television. The sensation made him feel powerful even though he lacked control over his life.

Often enough, Jacob remembered being sick of living on peaches. Yet, in the miserable desert heat, a fresh-picked, palm-sized Georgia peach would have been utterly refreshing.

Under his helmet, a puddle of sweat began to collect in the rough lining. A voice in his head reminded him to drink from his canteen every twenty minutes to replace the sweat. His resources were finite at his spotting post, two miles from base. His crossover was due to arrive within the hour to take the nightshift patrol. Private Seed hoped that Private First Class Miller brought some extra chow and water.

In fact, Miller was due to check in with him shortly. It would be much welcomed human contact, as the radio had been silent all day. For that matter, everything had been silent all day. Private Seed peered out from the lookout through his rifle’s scope as wave after wave of dry valley wind wisped the desert sand and made it dance in silent harmony. This was undoubtedly the longest, flattest stretch of earth he’d ever seen. Out here, there were no apartment complexes and office buildings, no traffic, and no noise. Just wind, sand, and the blistering heat.

Just as he’d protected his own brothers, it was nearly effortless for Private Seed to welcome a sense of responsibility for the safety of his new brotherhood, the taxpayer-funded family that took him in and reciprocated his loyalty. All the same, thousands of miles away from home, Jacob tried to forget how without him, his brothers were forced to fend for themselves.

Jacob swore he wouldn’t fail his brothers in arms the way that he failed his siblings.

Static from his radio broke the silence, bringing Private Seed back to the bleak reality of war. “Charlie Bravo, this is Private First Class Miller with Squad Lima, advancing past Waypoint Charlie Echo. Is everything okay in your hiding spot, my brother?”

“Copy, PFC. All is good in this ‘hood. Have you eaten your cockmeat sandwiches yet? I left a stack of them in your sock drawer. I meant to remind you to wash your thongs on occasion, you dirty fucking slut.”

“That’s a negative, Private. I’m saving those sandwiches for later, just for the extra crunch and zest. But thanks for the reminder, ‘cuz I forgot to tell you that your sister needs more granny panties. The ones she gave me were covered in skid marks.”

Private Seed gagged and laughed. Having only been in active service for five months, Jacob quickly came to enjoy the crude camaraderie of the 82^nd Airborne Division. Private First Class Miller was one of few other guys he learned to trust right away. “Make sure the mice don’t get them first. They’ll pair well with the Eatmore Bar I’m about to leave on your cot. Extra peanuts, just the way you like it.”

By now, Jacob could barely see the convoy a few miles out; the only visible indicator at this distance was the whirling dust cloud being kicked up by the powerful rotors of three decked-out Blackhawks which would soon be visible to the naked eye. Still, he could hear them loud and clear.

“Copy that. You’re so good to me, Private.”

“I know, baby.”

“Are we within visual?”

The dust cloud was growing. In front of the cloud were three distinct black objects glinting in the sunlight. “Affirmative, I have a visual. Can’t wait to see your ugly mug. Over.” The radio went dead with static as the roar of the Blackhawks dominated the surrounding airspace. The noise echoed up the canyon walls, making everything vibrate and shudder. Jacob even felt the vibration in his chest wall, and like always, the sensation was invigorating.

Soon, three Blackhawks passed overhead, and Private Seed sighed with relief. It was finally time to pack up and hitch a lift back to the massive pseudo-civilization built in the middle of the goddamn Arabian desert, King Khalid Military City.

From outside, Private First Class Miller entered his passcode and waited several seconds for the door’s mechanical lock to disengage. Once through the door, he would meet and exchange intel. “Private Georgia Belle, you’re being ordered to see the Sergeant as soon as you land. Better bust out some kneepads. And maybe trim your berry bush.”

Private Seed snickered as he shook his buddy’s hand. “I’ll need to borrow yours, then. I wore through my third set last week. Been earning favours from the Sergeant six ways to Sunday.”

Miller playfully clamped Jacob’s shoulders and wrestled him back into the bunker’s atrium. “Have some shame for sucking up tax dollars, you cocksucker. Think of our country’s taxpayers!”

“They know what they’re paying for.”

“Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but since you’re about to become my honorary equal, you’ll have to ask the Sergeant for a set with titanium plates. You know, so you don’t wear ‘em out so fast.

Before long, the deafening roar of the chopper convoy returned after circling the Charlie Bravo perimeter. Typically, only one of the three Blackhawks would have landed while the other two completed the perimeter sweep, but tensions were steadily mounting in the area, and too many ground and air vehicles were being fired upon by hostiles.

The Coalition could not afford any unnecessary losses.

Just six weeks before Private Seed arrived in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, King Khalid Military City was shelled relentlessly for almost a fortnight. Dozens died and hundreds more were seriously injured, causing more bad news to be delivered to thousands of waiting families back at home. Fortunately, Private Seed hadn’t yet experienced a shocking loss of any member of his squad. At least, not yet during his short time in service. He hoped to keep the streak going, but times were growing more and more volatile every day.

As much as Jacob enjoyed a moment or two to socialize with one of his only pals in his unit, something was certainly amiss. There were supposed to be two guards for night duty, but Miller came alone.

Per his training, Private Seed couldn’t let Private First Class Miller attend night patrol alone. By 1900 hours, if the second guard still hadn’t shown up, one of the two would radio base comms and request Private Seed’s extension.

Private Seed heard Miller set his heavy pack down upon his cot in the bunk room, separated by a doorless frame, as Miller settled in for the night. “Any word on Private Saqqar?” Jacob asked, as he leaned on the doorway, watching Miller unpack his infrared rifle scope and binoculars. “I figured he’d be here with you, unless he’s fucking around outside.”

The unperturbed soldier shrugged. “Saqqar was in the convoy. I’m betting he got out at the wrong station. Or maybe he got cold feet once he figured out there’s a possibility of firing on his own people.” Private Saïd Saqqar was what Jacob’s unit referred to as the ‘last loose end’ of the ongoing tensions between the Iraqi army and Coalition forces. His commanders, the decorated men in charge back in Washington, believed Private Saqqar was the perfect insurgent with nearly priceless intel.

 In normal times, enemy defectors like Private Saqqar were to be vetted rigorously. However, these were far from normal times. Someone with a lot of military experience might argue that the tactics employed by the Coalition to vet defectors were more than a cunt hair below the standard security minimums. Allowing Private Saqqar to sit in on briefings for Operation Desert Storm, which was scheduled to kick off in nearly two months’ time, didn’t sit well with many, including Private First Class Miller. “I never did trust that fucking guy,” Miller grumbled.

Nonetheless, 1900 hours rolled around, and Saqqar was nowhere to be found. In frustration, Miller picked up his radio and attempted to hail the base. At first, he was unsuccessful, so Miller waited a few moments before making a second attempt. Albeit strange, radio silence from base wasn’t cause for concern just yet. “Base, this is Private First Class Ryan Miller at Charlie Bravo. Private Saqqar is MIA. Requesting duty extension for Private Seed.”

This time, Miller hailed some success. “Private First Class Miller, stand by.”

Alas, Miller scuffed his boots impatiently against the concrete floor. There were only a few minutes left before the squad of Blackhawks needed to make their way back to base. “Looks like you might have to get cozy here with me, pal. You should try and get some shuteye.”

Though it already crossed his mind, Private Seed rolled his eyes as he tried desperately not to think of the implications of being stranded for the night. He was starving and exhausted, worn down from a day of peering through his binoculars at a barren desert wasteland.

The radio came back to life, startling him. Jacob waited, stoic and calm. “Private First Class Miller, this is Base. We can’t reach Private Saqqar.”

Miller sighed and turned back to Jacob. “Something ain’t right here, man.”

Jacob then realized he could no longer hear the squadron of choppers from above. Where the convoy had gone, he hadn’t the faintest idea. What he did know, however, as much as he didn’t want to admit that Miller was right: something wasn’t right at all.

The radio crackled again. “We’re dispatching a team to your location, standby.”

“Affirmative.” Miller turned to his teammate and recognized the subtle panic in Jacob’s eyes. “We’ll have to keep a low profile in case we’ve got eyes on us. No lights after nightfall like the good old days.”

The good old days. Jacob couldn’t remember what that meant at all.

Chapter Text

At 2230 hours, Major Saoirse Kingston sat quietly at her desk in the confines of the Army’s genetic research lab, watching her patients as their chests rose and fell with every breath.

Each of the nine volunteers were already fast asleep in anticipation for the Major’s genetic tests the following morning, comprised of not only obtaining various blood and hair follicle samples, but several invasive tissue biopsies, which were scheduled to commence the following morning at 0500 hours. After a long day of preparations, Saoirse felt the procedural preparations were complete, though she wished more gurneys had been filled to allow for a broader clinical study group.

These nine volunteers wouldn’t provide a lot of genetically diverse information. In addition, not every volunteer carried the genetic variation she was searching for, either, which reduced her data even further.

The prevalence of the variation was already incredibly rare. So rare, in fact, that even after more than thirty years of relentless searching, Saoirse found no more than three or four dozen people with a weak genetic presentation. She had just enough data, or a lack of data thereof, to theorize that such a mutation only began to surface within the last several decades at most.

Saoirse sought to find a notable, life-changing event which could have sparked the gene’s sudden, spontaneous presentation. The Chernobyl disaster, for instance, occurred in Ukraine just four years prior to the Persian Gulf War. However, despite how catastrophic the effects of radiation were on the eastern European countries, Chernobyl wasn’t the catalyst Saoirse had in mind.

All the same, she quickly ruled out the inclusion of individuals presenting with the variation who were previously exposed to radiation. With respect for the lasting biological and ecological damage caused by the catastrophic nuclear meltdown, Saoirse felt it was exceptionally unethical to subject them to highly invasive testing.

If her theories checked out, those with an Augmentus mutation could survive an apocalyptic event. Reflecting on the anomaly’s inactive phase, Saoirse noted, a human being presenting with the Augmentus variation was, for the most part, unremarkable. There was nothing special or unique that she could usually notice, except for a scent, one which only she could identify. In the presence of anyone with the mutation, Saoirse immediately experienced an overwhelming feral urge to sink her teeth into flesh. To taste blood. To lose control.

There was a time not long ago when she felt jealous of them, of humans. How they lived with such simplicity. Their senses stunted. Their abilities limited. Now she only pitied them. She was a god walking amongst mortal men, and mortal men knew it.

Yet, they did not fear her. Nor did they revere her. They treated her as a contributing member of society. After all, she made a promise to the people of earth several decades ago that even though she could do so, she would not bring about their destruction. Not without good reason, anyway.

However, Saoirse had reasons to do so. Plenty of them.

Her entanglement with the American military and involvement with various intelligence agencies throughout the 20^th century came with great personal cost. In short, they used her. Not without reasonable compensation, of course, but what amount of money could ever compensate for such atrocities, such as being strapped to a post in the middle of the Mojave Desert prior to the testing of nuclear devices?

Saoirse remembered the day as if it were yesterday. She remembered nothing but intense heat and blinding light. The shockwave hit her before darkness took her.

She remembered waking up some time later to find her flesh had fused to the steel frame of the chair. Her skin was blackened like barbecue where it hadn’t been vaporized from her bones. She remembered the agony of standing, peeling herself from the metal. Letting her blackened flesh and blood spill into the desert sand.

It took two days to regenerate her tissues and organs to normal functionality, and another day to cross the desert to Nye County, Nevada, where she would be scrubbed of any remaining fallout and radioactive debris. To everyone’s astonishment, she was completely healthy. Save for, her hair, of course, which hadn’t yet grown back. Headline news chattered for weeks about how Corporal Saoirse Kingston survived a direct nuclear blast.

For her immense suffering, she was gifted with limitless funding from the black sector, which entailed billions of dollars at her disposal. Saoirse had no higher chain of command, save for the Department of Defense. In agreement, Saoirse then became an independent contractor for the Department of Defense. She was, in every essence, free.

Of course, such provisions would continue if she ensured no harm came to the American people. Furthermore, if she provided the DoD with valuable intelligence on her work, they would simply turn a blind eye.

Freedom, however, did come at a great personal cost: Saoirse spent a great deal of her time feeling lonely, especially once the stories of her miraculous survival hit the mainstream. The American people feared her, as did the rest of the world, and it was only natural. Saoirse was the world’s greatest superweapon, and on top of that, she was virtually indestructible.

No other nation in the world dared to engage in conflict with the Americans, with her, which kept the peace. That is, until Saddam Hussein became interested in her current mission: to create an army of super soldiers.

Reflecting on how dangerous she would become if given an opportunity to sink her teeth into something so tantalizing, so mouthwatering, Saoirse had yet to determine the consequences, if any, of an activated Augmentus gene. Only through controlled testing would she be able to build a solid hypothetical foundation and build on it from there.

Realistically, there was a 50% chance of success, implying an observable reaction between the volunteer’s DNA and her own. Should the tests spectacularly fail, it would potentially mean the end of Saoirse’s government bankroll.

Even after sinking billions of dollars in black budget money into her research over the past several years, genetic testing and manipulation technology was still in an extremely primitive stage. Despite such limitations, there were still many promising hypotheses to piggyback from and familiarize herself with.

Since the 1950s and 1960s, scientists studied the infinitesimal pieces, the building blocks of DNA, called nucleotides. They found that each nucleotide had a complementary pair. Nucleotide pairs linked together to become a block, or chain, of polymers, which performed a vital function in the body.

At its most basic level, DNA provided instructions for cells that would become organs, connective tissues, and bone, as well as how the many different types of cells would converge. Saoirse respected the intricacies of genetic structure and appreciated its autonomy and biological drive to continue building, growing, and adapting.

Saoirse ignored the garbled radio chatter while she reviewed the debuting Phase One testing methods. Her focus needed to stay where it was needed—in the quiet isolation of the lab. Albeit exhausted, she forced herself to stay awake, yearningly watching the nine sleeping bodies as she waited for the hours to pass and finally commence the preliminary testing. 

From the materials cabinet behind her desk, she acquired a 21g butterfly needle and ten empty vials, along with the necessities for sterility. Alcohol swabs, gloves, a rubber tourniquet, a sample collection tube, and some gauze. Taking ten little vials of blood wasn’t detrimental in any way; she wouldn’t need to fill each vial anyway. Just a few droplets would do the trick.

She placed the supplies in a basket in her desk drawer with her notebook before locking it up. It was chow time, after all, and while she wanted to make further preparations, spending any more time in the lab that evening would have driven her crazy.

The collective scent of all nine test subjects, even the ones without the marker, started itching at her throat. The telltale sign of that ravenous, insatiable hunger. “Good night,” she sighed. The lab door opened and relatched in total silence, save for the rhythmic, synchronized blipping of the nine heart monitors.

Chapter Text

Just before 0300 hours, Jacob stirred upon his cot and shivered in the cold night air. In pitch blackness, he stumbled out of the bunk room to find Miller staring down into the valley through infrared binoculars.

Eventually, Jacob’s eyes would adjust to the darkness, so he didn’t bother rifling through his pack to find his own. However, Jacob retrieved his water canteen and finished what little was left in it. Upon hearing Jacob rummaging through his pack, Miller broke away from the binoculars before he slowly turned to face Jacob, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Anything exciting happening?” Jacob quietly asked, although his husky voice still shattered the dead silence of the pillbox.

Miller shook his head, morose. “Not a peep. Even base is quiet.”

“I wouldn’t think too much into it,” Jacob muttered in reply. As he motioned towards Miller’s hand, Jacob grabbed the binoculars to conduct his own scan of the valley floor.

Nonetheless, Miller remained tense. “They’re probably losing their fucking minds. A missing defector scares the hell out of me, bro.”

Until that moment, Jacob hadn’t allowed himself to fully consider the implications of an Iraqi defector missing in action. Truthfully, it ought to have spooked him to his core. “Any word from Sergeant Michaels?”

Miller exhaled slowly, although his breath came out shakily. “Sarge was in the other chopper with Saqqar. I waved at him before roping down.”

“Shit, I thought he was flying in front with the recon squad.” It wasn’t Jacob’s responsibility to babysit his Sergeant, yet Jacob still found himself concerned with the lack of communication with the rest of his unit, especially his direct commander. He clenched his fists as his stomach slowly tied itself into knots. Don’t be weak, Jacob thought. “God, I’m fucking starving. Any meal pouches left? Even fucking egg powder?” In that moment, Jacob found himself yearning for some Georgia peaches.

“I think there’s a few packets in my locker. Go nuts.”

Without hesitation, Jacob stumbled through the dark, feeling along the wall for the doorway leading to the bunk room. Upon entry into the bunkroom, Jacob’s muscle memory would kick in, which would allow him to maneuver carefully around the cots and avoid making excessive noise.

Miller’s cot was closest to the far concrete wall, closest to the lockers. Three feet to the right lay his cot, his pillow facing towards the door into the atrium. Since his childhood, Jacob couldn’t sleep unless he was facing the door.

As anticipated, Miller’s locker was the first he stumbled upon, still unlocked and packed full of junk, which included some spare clothes, a few mementos from home, and the slowly waning supply of MREs. Between the two of them, there were enough for three days at most. “There are only a couple packs left,” Jacob softly called over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” Miller whispered, before resuming his reconnaissance of the valley below.

Jacob was used to eating his meals cold. All he needed to prepare the foodstuff was to add some water, and Miller usually had a couple of unopened bottles stashed somewhere in his pack. There were some reusable dishes and cutlery in Jacob’s locker. One set for every soldier. A knife, which was dull and serrated near the tang, a short fork, and a crooked spoon. He used the spoon to mix the powdered egg with the tepid water and waited a moment before wolfing it down.

As he ate, Jacob took note of what little food and water he had found, then roughly calculated how the men might ration the supplies between themselves with respect for their precarious circumstances. Worst case scenario, they don’t eat for a day, and they drink the remaining water at a careful rate of a few sips per hour. Just enough to keep their lips moist. He hoped that in daylight, he’d find a miraculous stash of food and water in their bunker somewhere, but he knew the odds were stacked against him.

A southeastern wind picked up over the past hour, which blew a cloud cover in from the west. What majestic moonlight had illuminated the sand dunes and hilly landscape was now total darkness.

In silence, Private First Class Miller and Private Seed waited for the hopeful light of dawn. Jacob kept himself awake to monitor the radio while Miller’s gaze remained fixed on the valley.

The minutes slowly crept by, until Miller tapped his compatriot on the shoulder. “Private, I need a second set of eyes. I’ve got something, eight o’clock. About two hundred yards out.”

As his imagination took off, Jacob snagged the binoculars and peered down at the anomaly with great curiosity. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but Miller was right. There was something down there. Something bipedal, dashing across the bottom of the hillside. Jacob’s heart skipped a beat. “Shit, do you think that could be Private Saqqar?” he asked before he handed the binoculars back to Miller.

“Man, I don’t know, but he’s really boogeying.” Miller paused and clicked his tongue. “Well, we have nothing but time. We could watch him for a while. See if he has any friends hanging around.”

And so, they did. After about an hour, the anomaly ran across the valley, covering fifty miles or so. It seemed innocent enough. Jacob desperately wanted to believe it was innocent. Miller, on the other hand, knew better.

Eventually, Miller started to doze off against the pillbox wall, slumping over the binoculars. Jacob couldn’t blame him. The desert drained energy like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Basic training could never prepare a soldier for this level of exhaustion.

Soon, it became too pathetic to watch Miller trying to fight to stay awake. “Go catch some shuteye,” Jacob whispered, as he shook his companion by the sleeve of his jacket. “I’ve got things covered.”

In agreement, Miller nodded sleepily and handed Jacob the binoculars before he slunk off to his cot to rest. “Promise you’ll wake me if shit hits the fan,” he muttered from the doorway.

“Scout’s honour.” Jacob quietly retorted.

Moments later, Jacob heard the cot’s frame groan under the weight of Miller’s body. Sighing to himself, the young Private scanned the hillside below for the roaming entity in hopes of keeping a stern eye upon it until it finally disappeared from his frame of vision.

At this distance, it was already difficult to make out the finer details of the bipedal wanderer. Jacob couldn’t tell if the entity wore farmers’ rags or Iraqi army gear. The two materials were, irritatingly, the same shade of sandy brown, which didn’t contrast well with the environment, especially in the dark.

Suddenly, the radio came to life at his feet. “Help!” a distorted voice cried out. “Help! Help!” The voice cried out for help half a dozen more times before it fell silent again. This night kept getting weirder.

Nervous, but curious, Jacob bent forward to retrieve the hardware from the floor where it sat lifeless for hours. An odd feeling in his gut persuaded his decision not to respond or engage. No matter how nervous he became, Jacob’s instincts kept reminding him to ride it out. After all, his priority was maintaining perimeter security, and like his other brothers and sisters in arms, Jacob trained for months to maintain his discipline position in the face of the unknown.

Except, the unknown scared the shit out of him.

Between himself and Miller, they only had two rifles, two sidearms, and a limited supply of ammunition to share. In the face of the enemy, if they were outnumbered, they would’ve been in trouble.

The radio came back to life again, this time causing Jacob to jump. He had to focus to pick out the garbled transmission, but he didn’t think it was English, and it certainly wasn’t the cries for help he’d heard only moments earlier.

With heightened anxiety, Jacob scanned dozens of frequencies in hopes of hearing something. Anything. Yet, nothing came through except dead air. Normally, at least static was something he would have heard. “What the fuck?” he whispered to himself as he switched the radio off.

A muffled popping sound quickly caught his attention from the valley below. This time, Jacob didn’t need binoculars to see what he determined to be muzzle flashes. Bursts of bright light in multiple directions.

Gunshots.

Through the infrared binoculars, he could easily make out six targets camouflaging with the desert floor. Out of curiosity, Jacob continued to watch, careful not to draw attention to himself. As far as he could tell, the assailants were unaware of his presence as he watched from above.

Miller woke at 0630, just as the sun began to rise between the mountain peaks. Jacob still sat watching the fireworks display. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he goaded, although his eyes didn’t stray from his point of focus.

Miller was never a lover of mornings, but he seemed a bit more chipper than usual. “Good morning, yourself. Anything getting your panties in a bunch?”

Jacob motioned to the valley floor, towards the spot where six bipedal figures hadn’t yet ceased fire. Hearing the gunshots, Miller grabbed his infrared binoculars from the cluttered table to the right of the loophole. He winced, as it was almost too bright to use them. “Huh. I mean, it could be farmers having a little fun. Teenagers letting off steam. Shit, it could be a band of Kuwaiti rebels getting some target practice in. What they’re doing all the way over here is odd, though. I’ll make sure to include it in my report.”

Though his nerves were on edge, which usually killed his appetite, Jacob suddenly felt the pangs of hunger beneath his ribcage. “What time are we hitching a lift out of here?”

“Great question. It’s almost 0700 and we haven’t heard jack shit from base comms.” As he scrunched his face, Miller crouched on the floor and fumbled with the radio receiver. He started scanning frequencies, when immediately, a piercingly loud message came through in Kurdish, though the message was barely comprehensible.

Listening intently, though he didn’t speak a lick of Kurdish, Jacob watched his partner’s face lose all its colour. Miller wasn’t playing around. “What?” Jacob demanded. “Ryan, what?”

“It’s the Iraqis,” he muttered. “They said they’ve got Saqqar.”

Chapter Text

Miller hadn’t gotten up from the floor since picking up the Iraqi transmission. Jacob wasn’t sure if his partner was shutting down or hatching a plan. Either way, his concern continued to rise. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Miller’s instincts, but Jacob was always overly careful, as history would have it. Jacob was forced by his tumultuous childhood to become a vigilant survivalist and defender of his family, always prepared to do what was necessary to ensure their survival, and without hesitation or remorse.

Jacob recalled a memorable handful of physically lacking enlistees from basic training who, regardless of being roughly the same age, referred to him as “papa bear”. He remembered those four men dropped like flies, one by one, from exhaustion during the last quarter mile of the daily mile run, and how he had doubled back for each man and carried them on his shoulders to the barracks, even if it earned him some unnecessary discipline. Leave no man behind. He never learned his lesson the first time, either. That was something Jacob prided himself on.

There was no sense in panicking, Jacob decided. A single radio message didn’t necessarily mean anything. Every living body in the region had their own radio, and the odds were that there were some assholes out there with transmitters, too. American and European tech was being seized by locals and Iraqi armed forces all the time.

His attention was abruptly brought back to Miller who’d found his footing and picked up his radio with trembling hands. Jacob couldn’t tell if the shake was from fear or rage. “Base, come in. This is Private First Class Ryan Miller, awaiting orders from Charlie Bravo checkpoint.” After Miller let off the mic, they waited anxiously. Thankfully, moments later, the crackle of static replaced the deafening silence.

Jacob found himself clutching the wooden rosary he kept in his back pocket. It was a birthday gift from his younger brother, Joseph, something in which he never saw a lot of value until deployment. In that moment, Jacob felt weak. Unsure. Afraid. And fear made him angry. “What exactly did the message say?”

Instead of answering his question, however, Miller repeated his broadcast. Jacob’s stomach sank once he realized his superior was quickly losing his wits. “Jake, I’m uh… I think I’m out of my depths. Base is not responsive. We’re stranded with little food and water.”

“Things don’t look too great.” Jacob’s voice was sullen. His eyes were fixed on the floor. “You need to eat something. Get that brain power going. Maybe take a breath, too. We’re not in dire straits. Not yet anyway.”

“I’m trying, man. I’m trying. We need to stay calm. We need to stay quiet.” Miller hesitantly approached his locker and found the last pouch of dehydrated potatoes, into which he poured some water and began squishing the contents around, before squeezing the cold, tasteless product into his mouth. “But thank you. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re the one who’s lucky enough to be stuck here with me.”

Jacob disregarded Miller’s comment and asked for a water bottle.

As they shared a moment of silence to eat and drink, the radio came to life. Startled, Miller almost choked on his food. “Private First Class Miller, this is base. Please advise the status of Private Saqqar.”

The men exchanged glances. “Uh, base, Private Saqqar and I were given orders to relieve Private Seed at Charlie Bravo. He was in the convoy, but he did not check into his post at 1800 hours.”

“Negative, Private First Class. Private Saqqar checked in at 1900 hours at Charlie Bravo.”

Jacob groaned impatiently and seized the mic from Miller. “Base, this is Private Seed. We’re requesting immediate relief. You’ve been MIA for almost twelve hours. I would appreciate a fucking ride home, please.” Now visibly rattled, Jacob threw the mic back to Miller. As rarely as it bubbled to the surface, Jacob’s anger was nothing if not unsettling. He probably won’t be getting his fucking PFC pin after that shit, Miller lamented.

“Private Seed, stand by.”

Jacob paced as he quietly reminded himself that survival required patience. Cool, calm, collectedness, even in the desert, amidst the devastation and uncertainty. Over his dead body, Jacob was not going to let himself break.

In the back of his mind, though, Miller was right: something was very wrong. The sinking feeling in his gut grew more prominent as the sun rose higher between the mountain peaks.

“Private First Class Miller, there’s a helo on the way. Get to the roof and hold your position for a hot rollover.” The two men sighed with relief and jumped into action, gathering their belongings and what sensitive equipment and data they could pack up. All Jacob wanted was to sleep in his bunk, shit in his toilet, and shower away the dirty sweat. And most importantly, fill his belly.

At 0800, the sun was hot. Unwelcoming. The wind had picked up and began whipping dust around. Jacob knew the sound of helicopter rotors anywhere. His keen hearing could pick up the distinct drone of a Chinook. “Country steak and potatoes,” he muttered to himself.

“Sorry, what?” Miller asked.

“I’m going to ask Specialist Williams for some of her best country steak and potatoes. If she’s sweet on you, she’ll make just about anything.”

Miller chuckled, debating on making a crack about Specialist Williams being appalled by Jacob’s ugly mug, but he instead mulled the question over. “You know, I’d probably ask for macaroni and cheese. With bacon.”

Jacob smiled widely, allowing himself to momentarily forget just how stressed this situation had made him. “Always bacon. Good choice.”

From the horizon, Jacob could see the CH-47 Chinook, the enormous gunmetal grey death machine, probably just a click or two away, its mighty tandem rotors beaming rays of sunlight across the row of mountain peaks. For only a moment, Jacob swore he could hear the roar of his stomach over the rotors.

Miller waved the pilot down and made for the safety of the bunker’s doorway, allowing the Chinook as much room as it needed. But in a mere fraction of a second, all of Jacob’s hope was torn away as a rocket hit its rear rotor. As the massive machine began to descend rapidly into a blazing nosedive, another rocket rang out and struck the cliffside several feet above the doorway, sending Jacob and Miller forward into the air.

Before succumbing to unconsciousness, deafened by the awful drone of tinnitus, Jacob watched the footfalls of a man in military boots approaching slowly before coming to a halt just inches away from his face. When the man spoke, Jacob recognized his voice immediately. “No one is coming for you.”

Without warning, a searing pain erupted on the back of his head as a loud CRACK rattled his skull. And all the light in the desert faded to black.

Chapter Text

At 0400 hours, Saoirse’s eyes shot wide open. Approaching dawn, the light on the horizon still lingered behind the mountains to the east of the base at King Khalid Military City. Awake and alert, she sat upright and stretched her arms towards the ceiling before pulling the wool blanket and cotton sheet away. The wooden floor felt cool as she found her footing, rising from her bed to neatly make it, get dressed, and begin her day.

Like most of the base’s commissioned officers, she began her day with a brisk run around the base perimeter. Three laps totalled roughly two miles, which was plenty to get her blood pumping. Next, she would shower and don her lab clothes before making way for the quiet sanctuary of the lab. Saoirse never drank coffee prior to working in the lab, nor did she eat breakfast. This routine worked for decades. As always, she would eat after completing the tests.

Saoirse trusted few others with her work, save for one medical officer, with whom she’d worked in various deployments for several years, taking a keen shine to the servicewoman and the reputable skills she offered. Corporal Katrina Jackson, the smoking hot, green-eyed blonde with a respectable attitude entered the lab to assist Saoirse with the monotonous task of drawing several vials of blood from each patient while Saoirse worked on drawing a dozen or so her own.

The patients were no longer unconscious; many of them were socializing amongst each other, moving around the lab with IV poles and cardiac monitors in tow. “Corporal Jackson, thank you for joining me this morning. For the record,” Saoirse spoke, gesturing to the recording device sitting in the corner of her desk. “Phase One, the preliminary testing phase for identifying the presentation of the identified mutation will begin shortly.”

As always, the Major spoke clearly and confidently. “For anyone listening, this could be a singularly momentous occasion, should the tests yield the results we’ve been looking for.”

Corporal Jackson grinned. She reciprocated a great deal of respect for her prestigious mentor.  “Thank you for the opportunity, Major. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Katrina Jackson was a shining star that prominently stood out among her peers. She was fond of biological science and gene research, and prior to her enlistment in the military, Katrina structured her thesis around the occurrence of pheromonal interactions between humans and animals, specifically Canis lupus, colloquially known as the grey wolf.

In 1986, Saoirse came across one of Katrina’s papers and contacted her with an opportunity to study the sweeping discovery of Augmentus, which at the time, existed only in coffee room gossip and baseless anecdotes within the medical community. After forming a highly successful partnership, the Corporal and the Major experienced breakthrough after breakthrough together over the years, and Saoirse only hoped their streak wouldn’t fizzle out that day.

Once the blood samples were collected, the donors were released for reassignment. The easy part is over, Katrina told herself. But the exciting part comes next. “How should we divide the work?”

The Major shrugged. Due to the potential of any one of the samples having a volatile reaction during testing, she felt hesitant to give Katrina the honours of handling the samples both during and after their integration. The last thing that Saoirse needed was her underling risking any unnecessary exposure to a biohazardous substance that could seriously injure or kill her.

Then again, Katrina was a soldier, trained to fire deadly weapons with the intent of killing. Surely, she could handle a bursting vial or a splash of bodily substances. However, the voice of reason held strong. Saoirse simply did not wish to risk Katrina being cut and infected with the samples, especially if she didn’t yet have a strong control baseline established. This kind of research was what Saoirse called ‘Wild West Science’, where the rules had yet to be written.

“Katrina, with all due respect, I’d like you to leave mixing the samples to me.” Saoirse’s tone was firm but caring, nonetheless. “I can’t lose my best asset.”

Katrina scoffed amusedly. “If you say so.”

It took until 0830 for the last of the vials to be mixed and for any immediate results to be observed and documented. At first, only one sample stood out, which behaved similarly to water and oil. Peculiar, Saoirse commented, as she marked the sample for further observation and stowed it in a separate test tube rack in the lab’s fridge.

In the meantime, Katrina seemed to be looking for something to do, so Saoirse instructed her to take the preliminary notes she had prepared and record them in her case study files. Nine test subjects, nine files, and a million different possibilities.

When Saoirse checked the samples again that afternoon, she was pleasantly surprised; seven of the nine mixtures had reacted positively, behaving the way the noticeable mixture did, yet not so apparently. At this stage of testing, Saoirse would next use the lab’s brand-new toy, a DNA sequencing machine, which was essentially a computer with a built-in electron microscope, to run a test called a homology analysis.

This new, groundbreaking type of examination was designed to isolate identified genetic anomalies in comparison to a donor’s baseline. After decades of manual analysis, the computer would take care of the worst of the tediousness.

Yet, Saoirse’s work was still cut out for her. As it wasn’t an automated procedure at the time, Saoirse needed to sift through thousands and thousands of genetic segments, logging hours and hours under the microscope to find her needle in a haystack, if it existed at all. And, if she knew what she was looking for. At least Katrina can assist with this part, Saoirse decided.

Hours later, as Major Kingston and Corporal Jackson set out to sift through the homology reports, the base around them had slowly erupted into frenzied chaos. At first, Saoirse didn’t notice the steadily increasing volume. She had tunnel vision driven by years of desperation and her fervent need to prove her hypotheses. Slowly, her attention was pulled away from her work as the noise continuously escalated. Finally, frustratedly, Saoirse rose from her chair, stretching her aching back muscles, and left the lab.

From what she could tell, there was a rapid mobilization of forces on the base. Were they under attack? Under siege? She stormed down the main corridor, past the mess hall and officer’s quarters, to the general’s quarters to find him and a dozen or so other high-ranking officers huddling around a radio, shouting unintelligibly at each other.

“General Thomas!” she shouted over the commotion. The room fell to a lull and all eyes fell on her. Despite being a commissioned officer of lower rank, Saoirse had experience and tenure over each of those officers. She was used to being the most important person in the room, and in fact, she often expected such. “General, what is going on?”

“Major.” As his eyes fell upon her, he almost sighed with relief. “This morning, on a sortie to Charlie Bravo to retrieve two scouts, a Chinook was shot down just four clicks past the waypoint, according to radar data. The two men at the bunker are now missing in action. The pilot and crew are all presumed dead, too.”

Saoirse stopped in her tracks. The solemn expressions upon the face of every soul in the room were all-telling. “What would you have me do, General?” It had been ages since she was last in the field, after all. Katrina could tie things down in the lab while she stretched her legs.

The General gave her a grateful pat on the shoulder as he walked past her. “Find those boys.”

The Major saluted General Thomas and left his quarters immediately, receiving muffled applause as she made her hasty departure. She always felt like she could have been more helpful to the infantrymen on the ground, instead of staying holed up in her lab for days on end. She’d seen her fair share of dead, dying, and wounded men and women. Just more meat to feed the war machine. 

After informing her of the development, Katrina was more than happy to continue Saoirse’s work. “I don’t know when exactly I’ll return,” Saoirse huffed, “but whenever that might be, I’m hoping to come back to find you’ve made some kind of discovery.” She then put a firm, reassuring hand on Katrina’s shoulder.

Nonetheless, Katrina’s attention didn’t break away from the microscope. Their work was too important for salutes or praise. There was no time to waste. “I’m taking a few days off when you get back!” Katrina shouted over her shoulder, as she heard the lab doors slide open and closed.  

Moments later, the droning noise of a Blackhawk echoed through the lab. “Go knock ‘em dead, Major,” Katrina muttered to herself, before focusing her gaze back through the lens.

Chapter Text

Besides Saoirse, the only other bodies in the Blackhawk were its two pilots and Sergeant Michaels, the non-commissioned officer in charge of Private Seed and Private First Class Miller. Against every air sortie protocol, the chopper flew solo, straight into enemy territory. There was no time to mobilize a task force, after all. Two men were in danger, and this was, of course, part of what the Department of Defence paid her so handsomely to do.

Her mission, the details of which she was briefed by the Sergeant en route, was to extract or recover the bodies of Private Seed and Private First Class Miller, and report back the status of the pillbox once she reached it. “Major, you are authorized to use whatever force necessary to retake the pillbox if it has been taken by Iraqi forces.” The Sergeant lowered his voice. “We don’t know if Miller and Seed are alive, but if they are to be avenged, please don’t do it gently.”

The Major nodded solemnly while she watched from the chopper’s open cabin door as the unremarkable desert ground passed beneath them in a blur. “Yessir.” It didn’t take a behavioural specialist to see that Sergeant Michaels was beside himself, but his attention was certainly fixed on getting his men back. Alive, if fate would allow it. The odds of which grew slimmer with every passing hour.

Typically, commissioned officers did not take orders from their insubordinates, but Sergeant Michaels held a lot of high regard at the base. He himself was an unparalleled marksman and asset to the Army. That was, of course, until rumours began to spread that Private Seed was hot on the Sergeant’s tail for his prized marksmanship record.

It took almost forty minutes for the Blackhawk to cross the vast desert landscape and enter the newly established Charlie Echo region, which was only a few clicks short of Charlie Bravo, the pillbox. Saoirse’s gaze was rigidly fixed on the landscape, hoping to spot signs of life. Any sign at all would suffice, even if it were the enemy.

What few tracks that were left in the sand the night before by the bogey that Private First Class Miller had spotted in his binoculars were soon blown away by the wind. There was little hope to find an adherable trail, but Saoirse was nothing if not determined to see her mission’s completion through. “Sergeant Michaels, there’s debris and wreckage at your ten o’clock. Looks like our downed Chinook.”

He gazed down intently to the debris field below and behind their helo, his heart sinking as he realized Saoirse was aptly correct. That debris field did, in fact, belong to the Chinook that base dispatched earlier that morning to retrieve his men. “I reckon there aren’t any living souls to rescue, Major. But once we drop you at Charlie Bravo, we’ll come back and do a recovery sweep.” Sergeant Michaels hated those godawful missions, the body recoveries. They were, unfortunately, a necessary evil. He hated giving bad news to the waiting families back home.

“Drop me at the pillbox!” She shouted to the pilots. Following the pilots’ acknowledgement, the cabin grew solemn as Saoirse waited for the Blackhawk to ascend the jagged hillside. No one said a word as an obvious tension rose within the cabin. Aside from Saoirse, the three other occupants quietly wondered if they would even make it back to base that day.

As the carefully Blackhawk ascended above the pillbox, she leapt down to its domed roof and turned back around to wave the pilots off. “Don’t come back for me. It’s too risky out here.” She called over her radio, clipped to her fatigue jacket. “I’ll find some wheels. Good luck out there.”

“Godspeed, Major Kingston,” one pilot replied, saluting her from behind the controls. The Blackhawk ascended further and yawed backwards, circling back towards the valley floor to retrieve the bodies of the Chinook pilots from the debris field.

Once the roar of the rotors faded, Saoirse inhaled sharply as she began gathering her bearings. Glancing out across the valley, she soberly acknowledged that she was completely alone in the scathing desert heat, and she had just waved off her ride home.

Before entering the pillbox, however, something subtle caught her attention in the sand. Saoirse bent down to inspect the spot in the sand, her suspicions confirmed once she caught the telltale whiff of copper: it was most definitely blood, and only a couple of hours old at most. She sniffed at it again, hoping to catch onto a trail of it somewhere.

The blood itself was mundane. There was nothing special about its appearance, despite the fact it was soaked into the sand. Its scent, however, was alarmingly recognizable.

Saoirse always enjoyed the scent of blood, but this scent was especially tantalizing. Akin to the first delicious drag from a cigarette, the scent itched the back of her throat and made her mouth and eyes water. “Oh Christ,” she muttered, realizing suddenly that whomever this blood belonged to had a very strong presentation of the Augmentus mutation – stronger than any sample she’d taken back at the lab.

All the same, there was only one small pool of blood that she could see, leaving no trail for her to follow alongside the rocky mountainside. That was, until she crossed over a flattened rocky plane behind the pillbox and found what appeared to be a rendezvous point for a dozen different boot prints. “Bingo,” she muttered, carefully following each set of boot prints until they all converged towards one direction, due west. Towards Al Jahra.

Her stomach sunk.

Al Jahra was a strategic ‘landmark’ city which was taken by the Republican Guard only five months prior. The Army’s intelligence, she recalled, considered the entire area as enemy territory. Who knew what horrors from hell awaited her? Nonetheless, Saoirse fearlessly marched on. After all, she’d been down this road many times before.

Between her current position on the mountainside and the city of Al Jahra, Saoirse estimated she’d have to travel fifty or so clicks through the barren landscape before encroaching upon the city’s heavy Iraqi military presence. Getting in would be difficult enough, but getting out with the two men, dead or alive, would be next to impossible. Yet, after more than three thousand years of fighting in other men’s battles, Saoirse simply did not believe in impossible. Her mere existence was impossible, and there she stood, alone and unarmed under the relentless Iraqi sun.

By nightfall, even at her steady sprinting pace, Saoirse had only covered seventeen clicks. Exhausted, but by no means ready to stop her advance, she estimated that she would reach the outskirts of Al Jahra by midday or mid-afternoon the following day. She carried little food and water, only enough to feed the two missing soldiers if she were lucky to find them alive.

In her experience, extra gear was useless and would only have slowed her down and exhausted her sooner. Unlike everyone else, Saoirse didn’t need multiple gallons of water or thousands of calories per day. She was quite used to fasting for several days on end, finding it more efficient in the lab of all places. However, this mission was already proving to be taxing in the blistering heat. Yet, it would not stop her or slow her down.

Saoirse did, however, require at least some rest. At most, a few hours, just enough to get off her feet and regain her strength.

Before dozing off, she sipped on some water from one of her three bottles and checked her watch, wondering if Corporal Jackson still sat in the lab at 0230, picking apart the intimidatingly dense wealth of raw homolysis data. The likelihood that the young Corporal had completed her task already was slim, but Katrina was just as tenacious as her beloved mentor.

After only an hour of sleep, Saoirse gave up the effort to try for more. Ultimately, she would cover more ground and accelerate her timeline a little faster if she resumed her mission. The clock on Sergeant Michaels’ men’s lives was quickly running out if it hadn’t already.

It was difficult to tell how many parties had walked the single-file path in the sand, especially after several strong gusts of wind partially erased each footprint. There was one thing Saoirse noticed, however, which would prove worthwhile. Like most species of cats, both domestic and wild, those who walked the path followed only a single set of tracks. Much like the Tusken Raiders, Saoirse pondered, having seen George Lucas’ ‘A New Hope’ after its release in theatres back in 1977.

Under the pale moonlight, in the cover of absolute darkness, Saoirse gathered the few belongings she carried into her small pack and continued her journey. Sergeant Michaels’ men, if by some miracle that they were still alive, could have been anywhere in the world. Regardless, Saoirse wouldn’t dare allow such a discouraging possibility to hamper her vehemence of finding them. Come hell or high water.

Yet, it dawned on her that if the Sergeant’s missing soldiers were wounded at the pillbox, having lost that much blood may have already proven deadly.

Nevertheless, if all else failed, there was the option of compelling a captured Iraqi soldier to give vital information on the whereabouts of captured prisoners of war. In that endeavour, Saoirse was spoiled for choice, but her goal was to infiltrate the city undetected and, upon finding the men she sought, she planned to leave the very same way.

Such high-risk occasions made Saoirse wish that she was blessed with omniscience.

Footstep after footstep, her pace consistent and unwavering, Saoirse reached the outskirts of Al Jahra just before 1700 hours, a few hours earlier than she had previously estimated. The sun lingered in the evening sky and cast a picturesque array of colours across the valley, which Saoirse took a moment to appreciate.

After crossing into an obvious residential part of the city, Saoirse carefully plucked a sand-coloured thobe, a traditional Kuwaiti attire, and a headscarf from an overhanging clothesline. As dusk fell upon Al Jahra, she concealed all but her eyes before she donned the thobe over her attire.

The streets, Saoirse noticed in passing, were unusually quiet. It was nearly time for the Asr prayer, the third of five mandatory Islamic prayers, and in normal circumstances, the streets would have been chock full of passersby. However, most of the Kuwaitis living in Al Jahra had evacuated or were imprisoned, if not outright executed after the Iraqi invasion a few short months ago.

Saoirse used the emptied dwellings to her advantage and advanced into the city by jumping from rooftops, building to building, landing as silently as rough clay would allow while wearing combat boots. Wandering around the streets would surely attract unwanted attention from Iraqi armed guards, and the tried, tested, and true secret to a successful rescue operation was the challenge of remaining undetected.

As she approached the city centre, Saoirse caught a very strong, incapacitating whiff of the blood she discovered on the mountain. A strong scent could mean only one thing: she was close to its source. She sighed with some relief, as she didn’t yet know the identity of the person whose blood had been spilled at the pillbox.

Unfortunately, the tantalizing Augmentus scent was heavily shrouded by an overwhelming stench of decay. In turn, Saoirse adjusted her facial covering to pad her mouth and nose, hoping to block out the worst of the acridity.

Without peering over the rooftop parapets, guards could be heard passing by on foot. Saoirse pondered for a moment on the possibility of encountering an Iraqi soldier who presented a strong Augmentus mutation.

Given just how irritated her throat had become after catching the scent of the mutation within the blood spilled outside the pillbox doorway, Saoirse’s concern grew over her longing for bloodshed: such a powerful scent might entice her to eliminate hostiles, therefore giving away her cover. Should her cover be blown, if the American captives were still alive, it was highly likely they wouldn’t be for much longer.

All things considered, from a scientific standpoint, if an Iraqi soldier were the source of the bleeding, it would certainly be a shame to put down such a valuable specimen.

Saoirse stopped in her tracks when she heard a vehicle approaching below, likely a patrol doing its routine sweep. Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard several men conversing in Kurdish.

Although an incredibly risky move, Saoirse concluded that it would be most efficient to tail the patrol from the ground, which she hoped would quickly lead her towards the source. In hasty preparation of her pursuit of the patrol, Saoirse first confirmed that there were no spotters or gunners watching the rear before she dropped to the sandy ground several hundred yards behind it. She could keep pace with the vehicle for as long as she needed, her fervour fueled by adrenaline and her burning desire to find the bleeding individual.

Much to her annoyance, which quickly became amusement, her pursuit of the patrol wasn’t long lived. Saoirse spotted a heavily guarded commerce building about four hundred yards south of her position, within which her instincts told her she would find the two American soldiers.

Upon further observation, it quickly became evident that there was no way she could remain unseen if she advanced from the building’s front. However, there was still hope.

Saoirse groaned in annoyance while she climbed up to the roof of a building adjacent to the heavily guarded one. Once she planted herself behind the clay parapet, Saoirse eyed the building across the empty street, in search of an unguarded entrance on the roof of the commerce building.

From across the street, she also noted that the pungent iron smell was getting noticeably thicker, and the back of her throat had started to burn. As if on cue, Saoirse felt her hands begin to tremble as a dreadful, familiar gnawing began deep within her belly. The closer she came to the source of the scent, the stronger her hunger for living flesh grew. She wasn’t hungry, per se, but her instincts demanded her to consume.

At 1830 hours, Saoirse counted a dozen armed men at most inside the commerce building. The infiltration, she inevitably decided, may have to wait until dusk. Waiting, of course, would allow Saoirse the time to develop an in-depth plan, one which included a calculated exit strategy from the city itself.

Furthermore, the chances of crews switching out after nightfall were high, which would give her a short window to advance and infiltrate unseen.

When night finally fell, around 1945, the guards began to dissipate almost as quickly as she anticipated. With fewer guards in her way, Saoirse skilfully circled the block from the ground and approached the commerce building from its rear before she made quick work of eliminating the Iraqi guards, one by one.

There were two guards manning machine guns out front. She targeted the soldier on the left of the entrance first. His immediate weakness was his throat. Approaching from his rear flank, she jabbed her short, but sharp nails into his throat before she ripped his carotid artery open and punctured his windpipe. The guard made a horrible gurgling noise as he collapsed to the ground, hot blood spraying in every direction. Covering Saoirse from head to toe.

To the right, the second machine gunner somehow saw and heard nothing of the attack, other than the sound of his fellow clearing his throat. He ultimately met the same brutal fate. As quietly as she could, Saoirse carried both bodies behind a truck parked in an alley behind the commerce building, just in time before another patrol slowly passed by. In the darkness, save for the few lights that illuminated Al Jahra’s empty streets, the pools of blood she’d left soaking into the sand wouldn’t be immediately noticeable, except to a well-trained eye.

Determinedly licking away the blood which dripped from her fingertips, Saoirse continued through the doors and immediately spotted an elite trooper at the back of the open foyer. The elite didn’t appear to have weaknesses in his armour, at least from the angle in which she saw him.

There was no way she could approach him head-on without making a big scene, but to her relief, Saoirse spotted an open window a few metres above him.

Once she circled around the building’s exterior, Saoirse scaled the plaster wall and carefully climbed through the window after she checked to ensure the guard still stood beneath it. Without hesitation, she released her grip on the window ledge and fell straight down, landing square on the guard’s shoulders.

The moment the guard collapsed under her weight, Saoirse heard the crunch of his spine as his vertebrae compressed and compacted from such force. She then rose from his fleshy heap and snapped his neck for good measure, watching as the life slowly faded from his eyes. Once satisfied that the last of the hostiles were taken care of, at least for the time being, Saoirse moved the body into an empty room near the foyer and quietly closed its door.

As long as she stayed silent, Saoirse could manoeuvre through the building. She couldn’t be sure how much time she had until the nightshift crew assumed their posts, but for the time being, she was free to proceed with caution.

While she crept through the maze of unmanned hallways, her head constantly on a swivel, Saoirse soon found the source of the stench of decay. Fortunately, its source wasn’t the bodies of either of the two men she was searching for, and to her relief, she sensed that they were closer than expected. Although the decay was strong, it didn’t overpower the sickeningly sweet allure of Augmentus. Saoirse swore she could feel it.

At the sound of chatter from down a hallway, somewhere in the distance, she paused and stood behind cover of a wall. For a moment, while standing perfectly still, Saoirse thought she could hear the rasp of a man’s laboured breathing amidst the quietness.

It was time to move. Saoirse crouched and passed a small handful of doorways obscured by darkness and uncertainty, the sounds of raspy breathing intensified, to which she instinctively slowed her pace. All the same, she knew she was running out of time.

Panicked, Saoirse stepped into the darkness of one of the rooms and began to search blindly for signs of life.

“Help!” a hoarse voice cried before a wet, clammy hand grabbed her ankle.

Once she stopped dead in her tracks, Saoirse turned around and glanced down to find a heavily bloodied, grime-covered man in an Army jacket, more red than green. Despite its utterly deplorable condition, inscribed upon the jacket’s right breast pocket read J. Seed, and on his left shoulder, 82^nd Airborne, confirming he was one of the two missing men.

The source of the heavenly scent came from a gash on the back of his skull. He had lost an unfathomable amount of blood, and Saoirse could tell from the empty, sunken hollowness around his eyes. The only noticeable feature among the streaks of muck were his stunning blue eyes, a stark contrast against the filth that coated every inch of him. “You found me,” he choked, before losing consciousness.

In addition, the distant chatter steadily grew louder with each passing second. As far as she could sense, there was only one source of active bleeding in her midst, which didn’t bode well for the other missing soldier. Although Saoirse was desperate to find the second man, the dying soldier at her feet needed medical attention immediately. With a sigh of despair, her heart lurched with guilt and shame while Saoirse made the impossible decision to get out with the man while she still had time.

To her surprise, having forgotten about her curiosity over who possessed such a potent scent, Saoirse felt the familiar tickle in the back of her throat as she picked the blood-covered soldier up from the floor and carefully draped his limp form over her shoulders. Another sinking feeling began to brew within her gut as she felt the return of her gnawing hunger.

This insatiable craving became Saoirse’s special hell, indeed.

As he felt the world move beneath him, Private Jacob Seed woke for a moment to find himself suspended helplessly upon the shoulders of none other than Major Saoirse Kingston. Despite his disbelief that against all odds he was being rescued, Private Seed laughed—which sounded more like a pained wheeze—at his realization before he slowly slipped back into unconsciousness.

Yet, while he bled out in Iraqi-seized territory, under the Major’s charge, Private Seed hadn’t the faintest idea of how much danger he was in.

Chapter Text

Saoirse felt like she was suffocating from the intoxicating aroma that emanated profusely from the gaping wound on the back of the young Private’s head. She had made it this far, trekking through miles of the desert landscape to find two missing soldiers, one of whom was still alive to boot, only to be paralyzed and brought to her knees.

“It’s you,” she hissed, as she fought back tears of hunger. Agonizing, merciless, ravenous hunger. “Private, if you can hear me, I need you to hang on a little longer. There’s been a slight hiccup with the extraction and I’m still working it out.”

Although his vision was blurry and obstructed by blood, mud, and debris, Jacob watched the Major’s jaw muscles tense. The finer, more complex details of her face gently calmed him. He’d never seen her so close.

Saoirse clenched her teeth and gathered what little strength she could muster to continue ignoring her appetite. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you’re going to be okay, you hear me? Don’t you die on me, Private Seed. I didn’t come all this way for you to die on me.”

Though, Jacob was too weak to give any kind of response. He must have been delirious from the blood loss. It had to have been a dream, because the Major wouldn’t ever have crossed the Arabian desert to carry out a rescue mission.

Saoirse broke free of her trance and pulled the large man into her arms as if to comfort him in his dying moment, yet she wasn’t about to let him slip away. Hearing nothing but the furious pounding of her pulse, Saoirse felt the world slow down around her.

Needing a break from her weighed-down sprint, Saoirse found another empty room and gently set the dying man down on a floor mat. Outside the wooden bifold door, a patrol passed by. It would be a miracle to find a way out without being spotted.

Observing the paleness of his skin and the lifelessness in his eyes, Saoirse knew well enough that Private Seed was quickly circling the drain, and worse still was that there was nothing she could do to help him.

When all hope seemed lost, Saoirse had an idea. A Wild West Science idea.

Without missing a beat, Saoirse removed her belt and folded it in half several times. She then tore the fabric of his cargo pants from his mid-thigh, just a few inches above the knee. Saoirse noticed that Jacob’s skin was grey, cool, and clammy. “Private, eyes on me. Eyes on me. I’m about to cause you the most unbearable pain you’ve ever felt.”

Even though he couldn’t register her words, all Jacob could do was nod.

Without a moment to spare, she ripped a strip of cloth from the borrowed thobe and bound a knot tightly around his upper thigh. As she leaned over him, Saoirse palpated a small area of his leg to find a spot with good blood perfusion. Unfortunately, the significant blood loss caused Jacob’s blood vessels to sink deep into his thigh muscles, and the blood vessels in his arms were no better.

“Oh, fuck it,” Saoirse growled before she blindly sunk her teeth into the soft flesh of Jacob’s inner thigh. As her incisors penetrated his skin, a faint trickle of what little blood Jacob had left pooled around her lips. With an enraged snarl, Saoirse released her bite and tore away, pushing herself off Jacob’s broken body.

If her theory of activation held true, her bite would fuel his mutation. She had to be right, or Jacob was certainly going to die.

Immediately, to her relief, the wound closed over and a pale pinkish colour returned to the flesh of his exposed thigh. Having held her breath in anticipation, Saoirse exhaled and took in a breath of stagnant, acrid air. In addition, the wound atop his head slowly closed over as well.

Now that the sources of his bleeding had been stemmed, Saoirse felt Private Seed was in a safe enough state that she could leave him unattended for a few moments while she secured their exit. Yet, she feared the worst if she left him. The last thing the young Private needed was an Iraqi guard bringing him to his immediate demise after his life had been precariously saved.

It was time to move. Saoirse carefully hoisted Jacob’s bulky frame over her shoulders once again. Jacob groaned in pain and shifted against her shoulder’s bony protrusions. It seemed there was more life to him now, even just several moments after the fateful bite. “Hold on, Private,” she whispered, and patted his calf with feigned reassurance.

While she made haste for the front entrance of the commerce-building-turned-tomb, Saoirse cautiously entered the open foyer in anticipation of more guards approaching her from around the corner. Their heavy bootsteps echoed within the foyer’s walls, which gave a rough estimate of time to run for the door before the patrol discovered her.

Weighing the seriousness of Jacob’s condition against the amount of usable time she had to do so, Saoirse then decided to bolt. Steadily clutching his torso and knees under each of her arms, Saoirse rushed to the door, while she recalled having seen the unattended truck in an alley behind the building.

To her dismay, all four tires of the truck in the alley were completely flat. However, as she glanced several yards down the alley, Saoirse laid eyes on a Jeep, presumably one which belonged to a patrol.

She gently set Jacob down against the truck’s rear left tire and caught herself glancing down at his bare chest between the torn fabric of his bloodied undershirt to find a rabbit’s foot hanging from a chain next to his dog tags. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Saoirse muttered. Luck seemed to be on their side, after all.

To her surprise, its engine was left running even though the patrol was nowhere to be found. As much as Saoirse wanted to give credit to the rabbit’s foot, she had been around long enough to appreciate and understand that she, and she alone, made her own luck.

That was almost too easy, Saoirse thought, as she slid behind the wheel and slowly pulled away.

Nonetheless, this was the only chance she’d have, and it was now or never.

Saoirse didn’t immediately shift the Jeep into gear, as she had yet another ace up her sleeve. Behind the truck, a stone’s toss from Jacob, laid the undiscovered bodies of two machine gunners, whom she made quick work of dispatching. Dead bodies made for perfect crash test dummies. Or, in this case, perfect patrol squaddies.

There was no need for Saoirse to rush through the empty streets of Al Jahra. The dead men’s heads would flop around lifelessly and limp, but she doubted the other guardsmen were paying close enough attention to notice. Her rudimentary unit only needed to appear convincing enough to the other patrol units at a passing glance.

Once she buckled the two corpses in and loaded Jacob into the passenger’s seat, by the luck of the rabbit’s foot, the Jeep and its occupants passed every patrol completely unnoticed. On the outskirts of the city, Saoirse slowed to a crawl before she shut off the headlights and drove past dozens, if not hundreds of burned-out scrap metal frames.

This was the Highway of Death, which had claimed the lives of many over the years.

Even outside of signal range, the Jeep’s radio began picking up garbled transmissions. For a moment, Saoirse panicked, fearing the radio’s chirp would alert snipers or scouts in the area. She tore the short-wave receiver from the console and pitched the heap of hardware over the door frame and into the sand. Thinking back, Saoirse didn’t recall seeing a radio on Jacob’s body, but she hadn’t checked the bodies before loading them carelessly into the vehicle.

The Jeep abruptly ground to a halt before Saoirse frantically crawled into the back seat to toss the bodies to the side of the road. Her gut instincts nagged her to abandon the Jeep and walk back to the base with Jacob upon her shoulders, but Saoirse only carried one bottle of water, and with his weight, she’d take nearly three times longer to reach the pillbox, the only survivable shelter within a thousand miles. Therefore, Saoirse decided it would be far more practical to drive the Jeep as far southwest as she could before it ran out of fuel.

Eventually, they would be forced to walk. When such time came, given how unstable Jacob’s condition was, and with consideration for their critical shortage of food and water, Saoirse knew they would be pushing their luck, the rabbit’s foot be damned.

To Saoirse’s disappointment, a cloud cover had dusted the sky over the course of the evening. Without navigational tools, the likelihood of finding the route back to base camp was akin to finding a needle in a stack of needles within the vast stretch of monotonous, sandy terrain. Such a task demanded a hell of a lot more than luck.

Trusting her gut, which never failed her before, Saoirse calculated the approximate direction which would lead to Charlie Bravo, and following a hasty prayer for mercy from the merciless Arabian sun, she carefully took the Jeep offroad. The ride to the southwest would be a bumpy one, but at least in the open desert, she wouldn’t risk encountering an IED.

At a steady velocity of sixty miles an hour, it took almost two hours for the gas tank to run dry. Albeit disappointed to begin their journey on foot, Saoirse was thankful nonetheless to have covered such a vast distance in the refuge of the vehicle.

Jacob had rested for several hours, and Saoirse hoped that he’d be able to walk unassisted. However, she knew that when the sun inevitably rose above the horizon, the temperature would quickly become unbearable, but they had no other choice but to endure the hostile environment. This is what they were trained to do.

Fortunately, the cloud cover had dissipated, which allowed Saoirse to find her bearings. She was pleased to determine that they had at least managed to travel in the right direction. Before resigning herself to abandoning the vehicle, however, Saoirse hopped down from the driver’s seat to check the boot for a supply of fuel. Alas, to her lack of surprise, she came up empty handed.

To the east, much like the sunset the evening prior, a stunning sunrise painted the sky. Saoirse once again took a moment to soak in a very-much-needed reminder of what beauty still existed in a world ravaged by war.

Every attempt she made to wake Private Seed was fruitless, which only used up precious seconds she couldn’t afford to waste. There wasn’t a lot of time left before total sunrise, and the morning temperature was already well on the rise.

The only choice she had left was to carry him, which would take thrice the time, thus exposing him to an unrelenting sun without water, food, or shelter. Nonetheless, the feat had to be done. No one was coming to rescue the rescuer. So, with Jacob grappled tightly over her shoulders once more, Saoirse focused on the horizon, fixing her gaze upon the ever-reliable primitive methods of navigation. One foot in front of the other, Saoirse reminded herself, as she allowed her mind to go blank.

When the sun crested the mountains only a few hours later, Saoirse felt it was finally time to take a short rest. Alas, the only cover from the sun she could see was the bank of a river that had long run dry. It will have to do, she lamented, before carrying on her perilous march.

As Saoirse bent forward to set Jacob down beneath the riverbank, he stirred, showing the first signs of life since he grabbed her ankle in the commerce building. “Mmm,” he groaned, his eyes clenching tight from the shock of the sun beating down in his face. “Fuck.”

“Good morning,” Saoirse whispered softly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever wake up.”

“Major Kingston,” Jacob rasped, incredulous. “I was convinced you weren’t real.” He then began to desperately pat himself down. “Where’s my radio?”

While she felt the creeping tendrils of guilt over Private Seed’s apparent weakness, Saoirse studied him carefully. There was fear in his eyes she hadn’t seen in decades. “The Iraqis nabbed it when they captured you.”

Frantic, Jacob muttered something unintelligible as he continued to assess himself and his surroundings. His fear only intensified, which soon developed into crippling panic. “Dead. He’s dead.” Jacob choked, before quickly falling back into unconsciousness.

“Who’s dead?”

Though the panic gripped him by the throat, Jacob still gathered what little strength he had to lift his head off the sandy embankment. Unlike the last location he remembered seeing, the grim interior of the prisoners’ repository, he found that there was nothing remarkable within an endless wasteland, which stretched in every direction, and as far as the eye could see. Jacob said nothing more before closing his eyes and slumping back down into the cooler sand.

Saoirse tore another piece of fabric from the thobe, which now hung from her in tatters, and wrapped the strip around his head to give his unprotected skin some reprieve from the sun. Before resuming the perilous journey, Saoirse gave him another once-over in high hopes that his condition hadn’t worsened.

As time dragged on, Saoirse felt her anxiety continue to swell.

Though his wounds healed prior to their departure from the city, and Jacob was no longer losing dangerous quantities of blood, Saoirse noted an evident reduction in his skin turgor, a dangerous sign of severe dehydration. Jacob was her first miracle. No matter the personal cost, she could not let him die.

Taking her bearings once more, Saoirse quickly realized that she could now recognize some features of the landscape. If she weren’t mistaken, the pillbox was only a few dozen clicks ahead. Like she’d done several times already, Saoirse loaded the man atop her shoulders and carried on.

She no longer felt the excessive weight of his limp body. It was a matter of life or death. If she could just reach the bunker, there’d at least be the comfort of shade and, hopefully, a radio to call for extraction. However, as the sun raged higher and the temperature steadily climbed along with it, Saoirse swore she could hear the hungry cries of buzzards circling them from above.

In the distance, Saoirse spotted Charlie Bravo and shrieked with joy. A second wind lifted her sails, and her determination skyrocketed before Saoirse sprinted towards the jagged hillside, dreaming of how refreshing a cold shower would feel upon her exhausted, sun-scorched body.

It was just past 1400 hours when she crossed the pillbox entranceway, where immediately, her knees collapsed beneath her, and Jacob’s unconscious body hit the ground with a heavy thud. He didn’t stir.

Saoirse crawled desperately to the open atrium in hopes of finding a radio, but to no avail. There was, however, an unopened bottle of water on an unfolded cot in the centre of the bed chamber. While the refreshing water would taste heavenly, Saoirse didn’t drink any herself. She instead propped Jacob against the bunker wall and poured little sips into his mouth. He woke up only long enough to graciously drink the water, careful not to spill a drop. After Jacob finished the water, he collapsed. Relieved, Saoirse quickly surveyed her surroundings, and once she was satisfied that they were safe, she slumped beside him and closed her eyes.

Despite knowing without a doubt that they were stranded, Saoirse believed that they would make it back to base. And just before she slipped into unconsciousness, she solemnly vowed that once she crossed the base’s perimeter, she would never partake in a rescue mission ever again.

Chapter Text

Sometime throughout the darkness of night, Saoirse woke with a jolt and clutched her chest. Panting, she winced, as she couldn’t tell how long she’d slept, but the soreness in her shoulders and hips told plenty enough of a story.

As she peered around to get her bearings, slowly realizing that she was within the safety of the pillbox, Saoirse exhaled with diffident relief.

When she slid to the side of the cot to find her footing, Saoirse noticed that she had been moved to a cot from the floor, against the wall, where she clearly remembered collapsing.

In the atrium, Saoirse heard the shuffling of cloth against metal, which piqued her curiosity. When she finally found the strength and steadiness to stand on her feet, she made for the doorway and ran head-on into Jacob as he sharply rounded the corner.

Jacob saluted, as per military custom. “Major,” he muttered.

When their eyes met, Saoirse was instantly lost in his sapphire blues. “Private Seed. I’m glad to see you up and moving.”

“Speak for yourself. Never seen someone sleep for four days straight. I thought you might actually have died.”

Four days . Her stomach somersaulted. “Everyone at base must be losing their fucking minds.”

Alas, Jacob shrugged before returning to the atrium to continue his watch. “Unfortunately, I reckon we’re on our own. Base has probably written us off as deserters by now.”

At first, Saoirse didn’t appreciate the bitter coldness in his voice, but deep down, she knew Jacob was probably right. Not that she’d ever let the Army down before, but this wouldn’t have been the first time she’d been presumed dead.

“I bet you’re starving,” Jacob muttered, gesturing at several prepared pouches of powdered eggs atop the table. “I’ve eaten a few packs over the last couple of days, but there’s enough rations to keep us both tied over for a few more days, at least.”

Saoirse shook her head. She was hungry, yes. Famished, in fact. But not hungry enough to deprive the young soldier of a meal sometime down the line. “You’re not going to starve yourself for me. That’s an order, Private.”

Jacob shrugged again. “Ma’am, I mean no disrespect, but did you already forget we’re on our own?” There was an undertone of disapproval in his voice. “You might be virtually indestructible, but you still need to eat.”

“I do appreciate your concern,” Saoirse argued. “I can go months without even a nibble. It sucks shit, but it’s doable. You’ll die of starvation. I won’t.”

Still dissatisfied with her stubbornness, yet charmed all the same, Jacob pulled up a chair and straddled it, leaning forward against the backrest to face his acting commander at eye level. “So, if we can’t agree on how to split the rations, I guess we can at least agree that we’re going to be stuck here a while. We’ll only waste energy if we sit here and argue over trivial bullshit. Why don’t we do something more productive, like maybe figuring out how to get back to base?” 

Saoirse had to give Private Seed some credit for being such a young man of above-average emotional intelligence. While she spent four days unconscious, he had plenty of time to process the circumstances in which he found himself. 

All the same, regardless of the circumstances in which she was trapped with him, Saoirse needed to maintain control. For what little good it would do. “Private, I was dispatched by General Thomas himself to bring you and Miller home, dead or alive. There was no time to plan a proper extraction.”

“I don’t blame you at all, Major. You did your best. I just… If they’d sent you in a fucking Bradley, we’d be back by now, drinking sweet tea in the mess hall.”

Saoirse scoffed. “Given that there are three days of rations left, at most, my best isn’t good enough.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. Saoirse cleared her throat, and Jacob offered her a water bottle, which she politely declined. “I had no idea what I was walking into when they dropped me here. Didn’t find much at first, except a little bit of blood in the sand. Usually, finding blood spilled isn’t a good sign, but there was something special about it. So special, I was able to track it for almost two hundred miles. After all, this nose…”

“The Bloodhound of Baghdad,” Jacob muttered with a smirk. “I’ve heard a few stories.”

Saoirse scoffed, unamused. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure what I should have expected to find in Al Jahra. No matter what, I knew it wouldn’t be good, because I picked up on the smell of death about a mile or two outside the city.”

Jacob fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly finding himself plagued by combat stress mixed with a healthy dose of survivor’s guilt. Despite an abrupt onset of anxiety, in the Major’s presence, Jacob felt a sense of security he’d never felt before. And as much as he appreciated someone having his back for once, it scared the fucking hell out of him. “I thought I was a goner. Even made my peace with God.”

“For what it’s worth, finding one of you alive was the closest thing to a miracle I’ve ever witnessed.” A comfortable silence fell between them for a moment as she reflected on the minute details of his rescue. “You were on the brink, Jacob. Between starvation, dehydration, and blood loss… When I found you, or I guess, when you found me, it was surreal.” Saoirse exhaled as her memory of the overpowering scent felt as if it had gripped her around the throat once again. “Then I heard this voice in the back of my head.”

“You heard a voice?”

She nodded. “I did. It told me everything was going to be okay.”

Jacob froze and fell silent. He seemed distracted, haunted even. However, he quickly snapped out of it when Saoirse waved her hand in front of his face. “Sorry,” he sighed. “You just reminded me of something my brother used to say.”

Saoirse cocked a curious eyebrow, but quickly moved on. “The voice told me I had to bite you, so I did. Sorry about your pants, by the way.”

With amusement, Jacob casually glanced down at the tear which ran along the inseam of his pants. “It’s breezy. Kinda growing on me.”

“You’re not going to question me about the bite?”

Following a shrug, Jacob exhaled calmly. “It obviously fixed me. It’s impolite to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Saoirse smiled and nodded, almost with relief. “Touché.” Although she wasn’t looking at him, Saoirse could sense that Jacob’s gaze hadn’t shifted away from her. With a raised eyebrow, Saoirse gave him the floor. “Is there something on your mind, Private?”

As much as he hated being put on the spot, Jacob exhaled calmly through his nose. “Look, I’m grateful for you coming to find me, but you’re fucking insane for bringing us here, of all places.”

Though shocked by his bluntness, once she had taken a minute to ruminate his words, Saoirse nodded in acknowledgement. “Go on.”

“Strategically speaking, we might have been better off hoofing it straight back to King Khalid.”

Saoirse snorted in amusement. “With limited rations and water? That would be insane.” 

A scowl quickly formed on Jacob’s face in response. “Here, we’re sitting ducks. Waiting for the next ambush. Running out of food and water. Out there, we have a fighting chance. You crossed how many miles of desert already? What’s a few hundred more?”

Saoirse spun back around, her eyes locking onto his with fiery intensity. “From here, King Khalid is almost two hundred miles away. Even if we left in the middle of the night, traveling that distance on foot with what few resources we have is nothing short of suicide. I cannot stress this enough. You will die if you walk out that door.”

“I’d much rather die from the consequences of my own decisions than idly standing by.”

Alas, nothing else Jacob could say would matter. The Major’s decision had been made. “Before we get back to base, we need to discuss what happened to Private First Class Miller.”

Jacob’s heart palpitated at the thought of his deceased friend. He had spent the last four days trying desperately to forget the painful truth, and now it had returned to bite him in the ass. “What about him?”

The two sat in silence, neither daring to break the uncomfortable eye contact. “You watched him die, didn’t you?”

Jacob remained silent. The smouldering sadness in his eyes intensified.

Nonetheless, her relentless barrage continued. “You were being held captive, powerless and afraid. Weakened from dehydration. Uncertain of what might happen.”

His breath hitched violently, and a tremor erupted in his hands. Soon, Jacob broke the silence. “Miller didn’t last long. He was weak.” Jacob dropped his head down between his shoulders. “I had to do what I needed to survive.” Jacob’s voice quaked before it grew quiet. “I had to .”

Saoirse’s back straightened as her eyes widened. Perhaps there was much more to this story than she initially thought. “Private, what is said between these walls will stay here. You have my word.”

Alas, silence ensued. The young soldier gasped, unable to hide the quiver of his lip and chin. “They were starving us to death.”

“What did you have to do, Jake?” she gently probed after several minutes.

He didn’t need to answer her question, because she already recognized the sullen look in his eyes. Saoirse watched the darkness grow as guilt continued to chisel into his soul, a feeling which was all too familiar. “I’m so sorry.”

“Listen, I know exactly what you’re feeling.”

Accompanied by a growl of disdain, Jacob’s eyes shot up to meet hers. “No, you don’t.” Without uttering another word, Jacob rose to his feet and rounded the corner past the atrium doorway. He didn’t dare look back at her out of shame. 

Sensing the pain in his anger, Saoirse wanted to follow him, to comfort him as best she could. Alas, sometimes the only thing a person needed most was some space.

Chapter Text

It went without saying that even though Jacob’s admission left a heavy cloud lingering in the atrium, he found that having the opportunity to freely speak his truth, no matter how dark, was soul-cleansing. Respecting Saoirse’s compassion and understanding for his moral predicament, in some ways, Jacob felt justified to have done what he needed to survive.

The part that bothered him the most was how, in the moment, he stared down at his fallen brother and thought almost nothing of what he was about to do. Jacob had to keep his strength up. Eat or be eaten. Human beings were the only species on planet earth that didn’t live by that rule. Yet to Jacob, after years of relying on his survival instincts, such a rule made perfect sense. That’s all it was, survival.

Yet, his shame refused to loosen its suffocating grip.

Jacob pondered his last miserable words he spat towards Major Kingston before shutting her out and internalizing his misery. While Jacob sincerely appreciated that he wasn’t entirely alone with his demons, he wished the Major had left him in Al Jahra to rot.

There, alone in the bunkroom, Jacob lay on his side atop his cot, facing the wall opposite the atrium as he contemplated his actions and the consequences thereof. After revealing the secret which he swore he would take to his grave, Jacob found himself at the Major’s mercy.

The Army was highly effective when it came down to uncovering even the deepest buried truths. If Saoirse could keep her word, Jacob would eventually return to base and appear before the court-martial to receive a dishonourable discharge at best. There was no use hiding behind a lie either, so Jacob wasted no time fabricating one.

If he were lucky, he’d face a firing squad and be relieved of his lifetime of misery.

Back in the atrium, having nodded off once more against the wall under the loophole, the Major stirred and suddenly woke. Jacob heard her footsteps slowly approaching his cot before he felt her hand on his shoulder. “Major.”

“Chow time, Private. Let’s go.” Saoirse’s hand immediately slipped away from his shoulder, and he heard her soft bootsteps retreating to the atrium. For a moment, he felt alone, abandoned. All the same, he was starving, and wallowing in self-pity on an empty stomach wasn’t conducive to handling his shit.

Jacob said nothing as he joined Saoirse at the table. There was one plate of food, he noticed. Nor was she making a second plate. “You eat first,” he demanded, finally breaking the silence.

Cracking a half-smile, Saoirse shook her head. “I already ate.”

Yet, Saoirse knew Jacob wasn’t stupid. As he approached the table, he counted the remaining meal pouches before sitting down. “No, you didn’t. I’m not eating unless you eat.”

“Tough titties, Private. I’m not hungry.”

His felt his stomach drop into his pelvis as his temper flared. There it was again, that familiar, gnawing hunger that made his teeth itch. “Fine.”

Saoirse cleared her throat and watched as he reluctantly picked up the fork and proceeded to push the reconstituted eggs around the plate, much like a picky child. “Jacob, you know what they’re going to expect when you give your briefing. It’s up to you how far you want to go down that road. I’m willing to back you up. We just need to get your story straight while we have time.”

He nearly choked on the first bite he took. “You want me to lie to the fucking court-martial?”

“You think you’re the only soldier in this shithole with a few secrets?”

It seemed she’d struck a nerve. Jacob swallowed hard and eyed her warily as he wolfed down his plate of food. “Alright, so you know my secret. What’s yours?”

“Right,” Saoirse chuckled nervously. “Mine goes back to the forties, to Nazi-occupied Poland. You probably know where I’m going with this.”

Jacob’s eyes widened as he swallowed another mouthful of reconstituted eggs. “Don’t tell me you banged Hitler.”

“No! God, no,” She cackled. “I never met Hitler. I was a spy for the British Secret Intelligence Service, also known as MI6. My primary duty was to run time-sensitive messages between Allied commanders who were stationed in trenches and fortresses across no-man’s land.”

“That’s a shame. It would’ve been a hell of a good secret.”

Saoirse snorted. “Thinking back to all that blood, the soot and ash. The smell of death and expended gunpowder. The despair that hung over Europe like a fucking black cloud.”

Captivated by her story, Jacob nodded.

“A loss of hope is a very dangerous thing. Back then, hope was one amenity that none could afford.” Saoirse tensed in her chair as she recounted the long-repressed memories. “My unit was stationed in Italy sometime in November of ’43, if my memory serves. One snowy night, while trying to run a message to the Italians, I mistakenly happened upon a bunker that we didn’t know had been taken by the Wehrmacht earlier that day. I was captured and tortured in every way you could possibly imagine. For months on end.”

Jacob’s imagination ran wild as he watched her face scrunch up with disgust.

“I won’t go into much detail, but the Krauts had their fun. I was a woman after all, and those boys were pumped full of meth, fuelled by testosterone, away from the comforts of home for months at a time.”

She could tell he was uncomfortable, but Saoirse needed him to hear the whole story to appreciate the lengths she was willing to go to bury even the ugliest of truths. “At first, I was reluctant to accept my fate. Eventually, I lost hope of being released back to England. I began to tolerate the violence, and before I knew it, I no longer feared it. I welcomed it. Even yearned for it. At one point, such gruesome violence was the only comfort I looked forward to.”

Jacob wanted to tell her to forget it, to avoid dredging up the horrors of another war. Yet, he wanted to hear it. He needed to hear it. He bared his deepest shame, and it would only be fair for her to return the favour. “Jesus Christ, Major. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, this is just the beginning. For weeks prior to my release, I had somehow convinced myself that I was proud to become nothing more than an enemy soldier’s five-minute morale boost. In return for my…services…the Germans promised eternal glory and a place amongst the Reich. I would become a hero. But I had to turn on the Allies and bend the war back in the Axis’ favour.”

Saoirse had Jacob’s full attention. “You did what you had to do,” he remarked.

“From the beginning, the Allies had one contingency in the event I was captured.” She sighed and took a brief pause. “The first time I met the Allies’ leaders, Winston Churchill most notably, I was given his express authorization to utilize what resources I had when the time came. In other words, I was expected to provide the enemy with misleading information to allow the bastards to think they had the upper hand.”

“I heard about this. Operation Martyr, or something to that effect.”

Though surprised, she nodded. “A thousand men volunteered for the purpose of dying. In exchange for my freedom, I signed the death warrants of a thousand men. In the end, it saved the lives of hundreds of thousands more. Yet, even fifty years later, I can hear the cries of those men wishing for their wives and mothers.”

Jacob’s lack of shock was a surprise. “I appreciate you sharing that.”

Saoirse said nothing as she felt the tears of old pain welling in her eyes, but nevertheless, she stifled the feeling before it bore fruit. “When I enlisted, my history of service in the CIA had to be disclosed as one of the requirements of a commissioned officer. I was careful about which of the many terrible things I would disclose. Those cocksuckers know just enough that they’d be nothing short of fucking hypocrites if they punished you in any way for what you’ve done.”

“That’s comforting,” he muttered. And although he nodded in agreement, Jacob knew deep down that no punishment by the Army’s metaphorical hand could even remotely compare to the guilt which skulked deeply within his soul.

Chapter Text

Nine days had passed since the Major left King Khalid to rescue Sergeant Michaels’ captured men. To her greatest frustration, the mission came to a grinding halt after they reached the pillbox, despite what reprieve the concrete dwelling offered from an unyielding sun. As time continued to pass, the odds of being considered missing in action also steadily climbed.

The next two days passed uneventfully, which was always better than the alternative, of course, concerning their lack of any means of defense. Additionally, they lacked any means of entertainment, save for the countless hours of sharing stories and getting to know one another. While they bonded easily over past traumas, Saoirse and Jacob were unwaveringly convinced that without each other’s company, they might’ve lost their minds.

Nonetheless, both parties were pleased to become closer than mere acquaintances. In fact, a new breed of tension quickly blossomed, one which left an air of desperation within the cool, concrete walls.

The tension began on the sixth night, when the temperature plummeted to freezing. While Saoirse rested, Jacob kept watch. Not that he needed to keep watch, save for keeping his sanity and a sense of duty fulfilled. To Jacob’s mild irritation, what broke the peaceful silence and, in turn, kept him awake in the dead of night was the chatter of her teeth and her woeful whimper while she shivered atop the uninsulated canvas cot.

Given that the bunker lacked a supply of blankets, save for a handful of awful, uncomfortable emergency wool blankets from various first aid kits lying around, Jacob briefly considered the gravity of abandoning his post to donate some of his body heat to his freezing commanding officer in the bunk room.

Huddling for warmth was a survival tactic which Jacob had practiced his whole life. He was no stranger to the idea. Yet, with the Major, Jacob felt it wouldn’t only be for survival, but for her comfort. And although such comfort was something Jacob hadn’t felt before, and therefore had no basis for comparison, he swore he practically craved it.

There was no way the cot would hold their combined weight, but Jacob had to try. What kind of man would he be if he turned a blind eye to her suffering? What havoc would it wreak on his already guilty conscience?

However, to his pleasant surprise, the cot held their combined weight just fine. The old steel frame creaked and groaned, but if Jacob didn’t abruptly shift his bulking frame, he felt confident the cot would hold, at least for the rest of the night. Tomorrow night was tomorrow’s problem.

For a moment, Saoirse woke from the sudden sensation of his body heat against her back. Propped up against his wrist, Jacob froze as he watched her eyes open, expecting her to react in shock, or anger. Instead, however, Saoirse sighed contentedly and quickly fell back into a peaceful slumber.

Once the initial shock faded, Jacob lay paralyzed upon Saoirse’s cot, taking in the serenity of the moment with newfound awe and infatuation. Miller would’ve fought tooth and nail for such an opportunity.

Jacob soon remembered that every story he’d heard about the Major only painted her as a vengeful, bloodthirsty killer. Albeit relieved that she had fallen back asleep so calmly, Jacob felt his nervousness creep through and fester in the back of his mind. At any given time, she could tear his throat out. And without much effort, to boot. What might elicit such an action he wasn’t sure, but Jacob wasn’t about to go out of his way to find out, either.

Yet despite the stories, she seemed almost fragile in his arms.

Almost. 

After six days, the possibility of returning to base grew slimmer and slimmer, a realization in which Jacob had already made his peace. The reality should have slapped him in the face, but Jacob didn’t care. In his arms lay a very beautiful woman and nothing else seemed to matter.

To further Jacob’s torment, the final nail in the coffin was the way Saoirse sighed as she pressed her backside tightly against him. With a stifled cry, Jacob fought to smother the surging tightness in his pants, which unfortunately proved to be a losing battle.

After what felt like an eternity, Saoirse stirred beneath the weight of his forearm, which only reignited the engorgement of his manhood, and thus began the cycle of humiliation all over again. Nonetheless, Jacob quickly reminded himself that there were far worse ways to spend his time, of which he seemed to be in ample supply.

With a frustrated sigh, Jacob closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing mind in hopes of catching some shuteye himself. Alas, he already knew sleep wasn’t coming for him anytime soon; his thoughts, perverted by his budding desire, danced around endless possibilities of a future—one with the Major, he hoped.

Don’t kid yourself, Jacob brooded in scorn, with a condescending scoff so loud he was sure it would’ve woken the Major. You’d have better chances of getting head from Sergeant Michaels. Not to mention, Saoirse was thousands of years old, and Jacob was barely on the cusp of nineteen. A kid. A nobody to boot. He’d have been insane to believe he stood a chance of wooing her.

Finally, the young soldier fell asleep, but his final conscious thoughts soured his dreams and left a bad taste in his mouth when he woke the next morning.

Somehow, without Jacob taking notice, she had woken and climbed from the cot to prepare a lean breakfast. Unlike himself, Saoirse was in a remarkably cheerful mood, and Jacob couldn’t help but wonder what dreams she had while she slept cozily in his arms. “I suppose I owe you my sincerest gratitude,” she muttered with a wry smile. “May I ask what possessed you to do something so…precarious? Feeling particularly brave, perhaps?”

Despite his foul mood, Jacob smiled as he shook his head. “You’re a member of the U.S. Army, Major. I’d have done the same for anyone else.”

“You’re so full of it, Private Seed.” She sneered, which she punctuated with a wink. “I don’t believe you’d have gotten so worked up by snuggling one of your pals.”

Jacob raised a querying eyebrow, which only served to mask his mounting panic. No matter the cost, the Major could not know about his late-night descent into naïve, yet optimistic desire for her. Nonetheless, he found himself speechlessly stalemated.

Alas, Saoirse said nothing; her stone-faced glare told all.

With an impatient but amused sigh, she gestured towards the plate of cold, reconstituted egg protein. “I don’t mean to sound cliché, but I’ve been around long enough to learn when an unarmed man is packing heat, if you catch my drift.”

As the words rolled off her tongue, Jacob felt his cheeks flush. “I uh…” he nervously cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the floor between his feet. Yet, once again, Jacob found himself speechless.

“We can blame biology.” Saoirse retorted. “Pardon my crassness, but I give off pheromones like a bitch in heat, and you’re a healthy male of breeding age. Don’t sweat it, Jacob.”

All Jacob could manage to do was laugh and cover his face in embarrassment. Unfortunately, keeping a secret from the Major might’ve proved to be impossible.

“And now that I’ve made it weird,” Saoirse continued, “it’s probably worth pointing out that the situation we’ve found ourselves in would make a great porno plotline. If I were you, I’d keep that in mind. You know, when you’re back home. Wherever home is for you.”

Between fits of laughter, Jacob managed to choke out “Georgia” before taking a seat in front of his unappealingly bland breakfast. “Okay, now that’s out of the way, for the sake of my sanity, can we go back to the part where I’m supposed to respect you as my commanding officer? Not that I’m not enjoying this.”

Saoirse shrugged. “You seemed a bit glum this morning. I’m hoping to fix that.”

Believe you me, I can think of a million ways you can make my day, the young soldier thought to himself. “It’s appreciated, but unnecessary.”

“Hey, I’m stuck here with you, remember? I’d much rather be in this pleasant company than whatever you were feeling earlier.”

Though amused with how persistently she seemed to care for him, Jacob rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that no one should expect you to stick around.”

Despite his pessimistic jab, Saoirse’s toothy grin made his heart flutter, as if he knew exactly what she was about to say. “Well, you’re also a member of the U.S. Army, Private Seed. I’d have done the same for anyone else.”

Once more, Saoirse’s words were punctuated with a playful wink, and whether it was the fatigue or his unfamiliar longing for comfort, Jacob couldn’t tell if she was being friendly or if she, too, had gotten worked up at all during their huddle. There’s no chance in hell she wants to fuck you, Jacob scornfully reminded himself.

Jacob shook his head to clear his thoughts and refocus on the moment. This moment. “For what it’s worth, I do appreciate you sticking around.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I just left you here.”

It was the way her eyes met his that made his heart thump and shudder. He needed to change the energy, or he would probably implode. “I mean, if I’m going to die of starvation, at least I won’t die alone. Just promise me that if you’re going to eat me, make sure I’m already dead first. Please.”

For as much as he wasn’t expecting it, Jacob swore that Saoirse’s deep belly laugh could’ve been heard all the way back at King Khalid.

Chapter Text

Much later that night, just past 0200 hours, a smitten Jacob lay contentedly atop the bunker’s concrete roof upon a shoddy cushion made of safety blankets and spare clothing. Neither Jacob nor Saoirse could have known how long they’d sat there, sharing stories of their lives under the moonlight glow.

Although Jacob felt gravely ashamed to miss every word she had spoken that evening, when the sun had finally set, which cast a beautiful crimson hue across the cloud-kissed sky, it made a perfect silhouette of the red-haired, violet-eyed beauty before him.

He refused to acknowledge such, but before long, there was no doubt left in Jacob’s mind that he had become entranced by the Major. He ached for the delicious sensation of her warmth against him. Even so, after swearing off women and relationships at a much earlier age, Jacob couldn’t put his finger on why he allowed her to break so easily through his walls.

Perhaps, he contemplated, it was because it provided him with comfort too, given how he would slowly die of starvation and dehydration once the gravely finite supply of food and water had inevitably been depleted.

In that endeavour, Jacob swore he could sense her disarming permutations of wit and charm, which only served to sanction her passage into his open arms. Without either of them knowing, their comfort of one another had already formed the foundation of a perfect synergy.

Despite the grim odds of returning to base, especially as time continued to drag on, it didn’t matter. He lay inches from this strikingly beautiful individual, whom he’d grown indescribably fond of, and in very short order.

Saoirse was and always would be the woman who saved him. The woman who promised to bring him back to civilization, no matter the cost. She was the one woman in his entire life who had ever cared about him, and though it seemed surreal, his realization brought some comfort in the face of certain death.

Jacob couldn’t be completely certain of his suspicion. However, as the hours passed quickly by, it appeared she reciprocated his feelings, which prompted Jacob to allow himself to become vulnerable to an outsider for the first time in his life.

At first, the mere thought of blindly trusting an outsider so deeply ought to have scared Jacob to his core. If Saoirse were anyone else, such a notion would have stopped him in his tracks, but Jacob felt drawn to her the way moths were drawn to light. His trust in Saoirse was instinctual, innate.

Yet, after a few days of getting to know her on a more intimate level, it seemed his trust was justified. Eventually, his anxieties washed away, only to be replaced by nothing other than a sense of peaceful bliss.

Unlike the night before, the outside air hadn’t plummeted to an unbearably cold temperature, which eliminated the need to cuddle for warmth. Despite repeatedly telling himself that huddling as close to Saoirse as he did was for her comfort, not his pleasure, a nagging voice in the back of his mind said otherwise. For once, Jacob hoped to be dead wrong. In fact, he needed to be wrong.

All the same, it took Jacob’s breath away when Saoirse inched towards him and pressed her face into his chest. This time, she wrapped an arm around his torso and pulled herself as closely into him as she could without causing any discomfort. “Have I lost you?” Saoirse asked him with a giggle. “I think I’m boring you, my dear.”

“Hmm?” With flushed cheeks and wide eyes, Jacob’s attention snapped back to the present, back to her. “Sorry, I uh…I got lost in thought.”

Saoirse sighed and rolled her eyes but kept her cheeky grin. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

Although embarrassed, Jacob snorted in amusement.

At a certain angle, the moonlight gave Saoirse’s eyes a vivid violet glow, and despite how entranced Jacob had become by watching her recount stories of her past, he couldn’t seem to get a good enough look to tell what colour caught the light the clearest.

Nonetheless, he could no longer stave off the persistent thoughts of kissing her and, without hesitation, Jacob allowed them to swallow him once more.

The vacant stare on his face was a look Saoirse had long recognized. Jacob’s infatuation was certainly no secret, and at that point, she was curious how long it would take him to finally break the ice and make his move.

If, of course, he had the cojones to even try.

Saoirse rolled away from him to stretch and yawn freely. “I think it might be time to hit the hay. What do you think?”

A slow exhale rushed through Jacob’s nose as his arm suddenly wrapped around her waist. “Those cots aren’t much cozier than where we are, is what I think.”

“Is that what this is? Cozy?” Saoirse raised a querying eyebrow, but his words seemed innocent enough given just how tired her company appeared. “Domestic, even?”

Before his grip around her tightened, Jacob snorted into her shoulder and sighed. “I don’t want to disappoint, but uh…I’m not the domestic sort.”

“Lucky for you, neither am I.” Feigning defeat, Saoirse melted back into Jacob’s rigid chest, resting her chin upon his shoulder while she stared into his eyes. “You can relax, you know. Despite the stories you’ve heard, I mean you no harm.”

He smirked and shrugged with his unencumbered shoulder. “I’m pretty relaxed.”

Following a snort of bewilderment, her eyes opened wide with intensity before pressing a palm against his chest's centre. “Even without enhanced senses, I can hear your muscles tensing. I see your jaw clenching. You are tense, Jacob.”

The way she enunciated his name made his jaw slack, which only strengthened his longing to vault across that line and never look back. This is your moment, you big, dumb ape. “Right,” Jacob muttered, as he propped himself up by his forearms and mentally prepared to shoot his shot.

While Saoirse’s palm still lay pressed against the sweat-dampened fabric above his sternum, she heard Jacob’s breath hitch as her hand slid down to his diaphragm.

“I know a couple of relaxation techniques,” Saoirse breathed, but it was evident that his focus was somewhere far away, and consequently, her words fell upon absent ears. “I’ll even do a few with you. Let’s start with a nice, deep breath—”

Without expecting such, Saoirse found her head swiftly cradled by Jacob’s hands before his lips pressed lightly into hers. Soon, Jacob’s kiss became driven by a ferocity Saoirse hadn’t seen in years, and the spark between them had ignited into an inferno.

Chapter Text

For the second consecutive night, Saoirse slept soundly in Jacob’s arms, the sole difference being that they both collapsed atop the makeshift mattress, only to doze off under the night sky.

That morning, Saoirse and Jacob woke in unison and greeted one another with another kiss, a mere echo of the passion-filled night before. “Good morning,” she murmured, as she rested her head upon his chest once again.

“Hi,” Jacob whispered back with a sheepish smile, hoping he wouldn’t draw her attention to the flagpole beneath his boxers, although he knew goddamn well it was impossible not to notice.

Saoirse smiled and gently kissed the bare skin of his collar. “I could get used to waking up like this.”

With a gentle smile at the sensation of her lips on his skin, Jacob nodded in reply. “I’ve been telling myself it’s only a dream. Can’t get used to something that can’t last.”

Her head lifted from his chest with a raised eyebrow. “According to whom?”

“Army rules, for starters,” Jacob bluntly retorted. “No relations between members. Especially of different ranks.”

As Jacob might’ve expected, however, Saoirse rolled her eyes. “You are painfully naïve.”

In turn, Jacob raised an eyebrow before he shook his head. “Speak for yourself, ma’am.”

“I don’t suppose you would believe I’m the only exception to the rules, would you?”

Jacob scoffed amusedly and shook his head once more. “I’d be surprised if that was true.”

Saoirse’s scornful gaze softened before she propped herself up and planted a parting kiss on the tip of his nose. “Mark my words, Private. If you wish to share my quarters from here onward, I will make it so.”

As she attempted to shuffle and climb to her feet, Jacob’s arm wrapped around her waist once more and pulled her back down into his arms. “And if you can’t?”

“In all my time, failure has never been an option,” Saoirse playfully growled. “Nor will it ever be. And if I fail… Well, I would have to make it up to you somehow, wouldn’t I?”

Although Jacob’s sunrise salute had quietly dissipated in the background of their pillow talk, the sensation of Saoirse’s hips grinding against his during her feeble attempts to stand up had served to rile him up all over again.

He tossed around the possibility that her actions were wholly intentional, not that it would’ve bothered him if that were the case. However, the more intimate they became, the harder it would be to return to their indifferent baseline if Saoirse failed to work her magic. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Major.”

Now straddling his waist, Saoirse hunched over and held Jacob’s face between her hands, her nose pressed against his forehead while his chin sat just above her cleavage. “Have a little faith in me.”

“I will,” Jacob whispered into her collar. Though his face sat inches from her breasts, Jacob’s eyes remained locked within hers. His discipline, Saoirse silently remarked, was unmatched. “I could get used to this, too.”

A smile stretched across Saoirse’s lips before she finally rose to her feet and hopped down over the side of the bunker. All Jacob could hear, save for the creak of the bunker’s metal door opening from the outside, was the muffled slap of Saoirse’s bare feet hitting the concrete pad from eight feet above. Jacob wanted to remain in his makeshift bed for the rest of the day, but the sun would soon become unbearably hot, and his supply of water was already dangerously low.

Furthermore, Jacob’s survivalist experience reminded him that despite what heavy feelings and thoughts he began to have, the dangerously low supply of water was one good reason out of many to refrain from engaging in any activities that might induce excessive sweating.  

Cuddling Saoirse was one thing. Kissing and swapping saliva with her was another. Given how the sensation of Saoirse’s hips grinding against his was enough to make his forehead sweat, Jacob had no choice but to draw a line in the sand.

Jacob gathered the blankets and spare items of clothing and hopped down from the bunker roof to join Saoirse inside, where the air was much cooler, and the shade was a welcome reprieve from yet another brutally hot day.

As he eyed the remaining few packages of MREs, Jacob’s stomach growled on perfect cue. With a forlorn sigh, he resigned himself to another cold powdered egg breakfast before mixing a small portion of water directly into the pouch to mix and pour straight into his mouth.

After his time in the Army, Jacob vowed to steer clear of eggs if he could help it.

While he ate, the sound of a toilet flush grabbed his attention. Jacob then realized that if he grew so desperate, there was always that source of water. However, there was no way to ensure its potability. Furthermore, he lacked any means of boiling the water, even with all the supplies at his disposal.

Before he allowed himself to spiral, Jacob quickly pushed such thoughts out of his mind and instead focused on spending another day inside the bunker with Saoirse.

The moment Saoirse stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes grew wide, and a horrified shriek escaped her lips. Jacob spun towards the open bunker door to find none other than Saïd Saqqar aiming a shotgun at his midriff, a deranged smile upon his face.

“You’re the last person I expected to find here, Private,” the Iraqi defector snarled, completely still, save for the obvious tremor in his hands.

From behind Jacob, Saoirse slowly approached as she snarled in turn and revealed her saliva-coated pristine teeth, each equally razor sharp and ready to tear flesh from bone.

Jacob froze, but felt his wrath slowly take hold. “Miller was right,” he growled, as he stared down the barrel of the shotgun. “We should have sent you to Allah when we had the chance.”

Private Saqqar only cackled and racked the shotgun. Before the first shot went off, however, Saoirse tackled Jacob to the ground and shielded him from the blast as best she could. At close range, most of the pellets hit her in the left side of her chest and belly, but blood slowly began to soak through Jacob’s muscle shirt and pants. 

A second shot went off immediately, which opened a gaping hole in Saoirse’s back, turning most of her flesh and muscle tissue to mince. Hot blood sprayed and coated the walls behind Saqqar, leaving a familiar, coppery scent in the air.

Regardless of the graveness of her injuries, Saoirse slowly crawled to her feet and steadied herself to prepare to bring a swift end to this giant, walking thorn in their asses.

The shotgun racked once more, but before a third shot rang off, Saoirse sprung forward and tackled Saqqar to the floor, which knocked the shotgun from his grasp. However, given that Saqqar had a week to regroup with the Iraqis, the odds were dangerously high that he possessed other concealed weapons on his person. Saoirse’s only priority was to ensure Private Seed’s safe return to King Khalid.

To both Saoirse and Jacob’s surprise, however, Saqqar’s head impacting against the concrete floor had knocked him unconscious.

“Holy shit,” Jacob murmured under his breath as the buckshot pellets dropped from Saoirse’s flesh one by one. He watched with curious fixation as the flesh around her wound repaired itself as it expressed each pellet from deep within her muscles. In addition, Jacob knew he had taken a handful of pellets himself, but a surge of adrenaline blocked most of his pain.

Wild with rage, Saoirse’s gaze snapped towards Jacob. “I’m inclined to give you the honours of killing this man,” she snarled. “It would greatly please me, but you’ve earned it.”

Jacob winced as he realized it wasn’t Saoirse’s voice that came from her mouth, but a guttural snarl, one he swore belonged to a male if he hadn’t known better. Jacob sensed a presence within her, a darkness accompanied by the unfathomable horrors of hell. Without a doubt, Jacob sensed Abaddon, the bringer of the end of man.

According to the stories, Saoirse’s illegitimate father.

Just seconds after falling unconscious upon the floor, Saqqar woke and grabbed his knife before jerking upright and plunging it deep into Saoirse’s belly. Yet, while he still clutched the knife’s hilt, as blood dripped to the floor beneath him, Saqqar realized in absolute horror that his attack on the Major didn’t have the desired effect at all.

Though impaled by the blade, Saoirse remained unfazed, her wrath rising to the surface after years of dormancy.

Jacob stood, paralyzed, watching Saoirse’s every move. In the moment, he didn’t care about his own safety. This was a mere taste of her power, which he’d only heard of in stories. Power that should’ve scared him but entranced him instead.

Accompanied by another enraged roar, she punched through the young Iraqi’s belly, an inch or two below his ribs, and broke through his diaphragm to take hold of his beating heart before he could realize what was happening. Following another guttural bellow, she abruptly twisted her wrist and retracted her hand, and removing the beating, blood-gushing organ with it.

His eyes wide with fear and pain, several tears slowly trickled down Saïd Saqqar’s cheeks. A wet gurgle erupted from his throat, which Saoirse presumed to be a desperate last prayer. Before he could spit out the words, however, Saqqar began to choke on his own blood.

The last thing Saqqar saw was Major Saoirse Kingston viciously biting into his still-beating heart before the world faded to black.

Hunched over the lifeless body of Private Saqqar, and covered up to both elbows in hot, fresh blood, Saoirse panted angrily. In one hand, she clutched the remaining cardiac muscle tightly. Typically, she wouldn’t have waited to finish her snack. However, the deadly combination of adrenaline and rage had quashed Saoirse’s hunger.

In normal circumstances, there were consequences to removing a living person’s heart. It was a shame, really, because a beating heart was the only way she liked them.

“Jesus Christ,” Jacob muttered, his hands shaking uncontrollably. “Are you alright?”

Saoirse nodded breathlessly. “That wasn’t as satisfying as I hoped it would be.”

As his heart continued to hammer within his chest, Jacob took a few calming breaths to regain his composure. “But still, problem solved. Got closure.”

“No,” she murmured, tossing the rest of the uneaten heart atop the body. “That won’t be the last we’ve seen of Private Saqqar.”

Despite her words giving rise to his curiosity, Jacob quickly dropped the matter entirely. Not today, he decided with great resignation, while his thoughts shifted back to the corpse laying in a pool of blood next to his bare feet. he glanced at the lifeless, mutilated heart, and swore he felt pangs of hunger deep in his belly.

Chapter Text

Following a moment of sudden realization, with great regret, Jacob began to fear the woman with whom he’d grown so carelessly infatuated.

Though it pained him to see what Saoirse truly was, to truly accept the fact that she wasn’t the gentle, loving creature he had become so closely acquainted with, Jacob needed to remind himself that Major Saoirse Kingston was an unstoppable, indestructible death machine, and he was merely fodder.

Just two months shy of nineteen years, having already been through hell and back, Jacob sat paralyzed upon the floor, wholly convinced that he had witnessed the ungodly work of a demon. And consequently, it didn’t take long before a gut-wrenching tension took hold of the bunker, lingering in the air as if it were a noxious cloud of contempt, or perhaps, fear.

At the time, Saoirse couldn’t bring herself to look Jacob in the eye. She could appreciate how jarring it might have been to watch her consume a man’s heart with chilling nonchalance. In such cases, given that Saoirse had already spent centuries working hard to conceal her inner evil, the unquenchably bloodthirst so meticulously intertwined with the very fibres of her being.

In prior situations, her shame alone should have forced her into exile. However, Saoirse’s determination to complete her mission of getting Private Seed safely back to base alive, and in one piece, most preferably, had prevailed.

Though speechless, Jacob somehow found the strength within to compose himself and regain his footing. He stepped over the lifeless body sprawled across the concrete floor and approached the Major to take her hands in his.

At first, Jacob said nothing while he stood there before her. As she followed his gaze into nothingness, it seemed he sought a way to compartmentalize the massacre he’d witnessed or had begun to ponder a bitter sense of closure. Either way, Jacob was lost in thought for a moment, but Saoirse didn’t mind the silence.

Saoirse’s sole worry was being rejected out of fear, like others had done time and time again. It was the same fear that drove her into the isolation of northern Siberia. Her heart couldn’t be broken if she prevented its attachment to another.

Jacob was supposed to be different. She needed Jacob to unconditionally accept her. Yet, if he couldn’t…

So far, despite his momentary reaction of fear and panic, Jacob didn’t seem to mind that she was covered in gore from head to toe. “I’m truly sorry you had to see that,” she muttered quietly, while ignoring the fact that her attempt to wipe the coagulating blood and flecks of cardiac tissue from her face was in vain. “I told you that the stories you’ve heard about me were true.”

“I know they’re true, Saoirse,” Jacob whispered with closed eyes. There was a subtle tremble in his voice, but neither paid it any mind. “Knowing they’re true should scare the shit out of me, but I’m not running. I’m not a coward.”

While his words warmed her heart and lessened her worries, Saoirse grew melancholy and pulled away from his grasp. “Being afraid of something doesn’t make you a coward, Jacob. That’s what makes you a human being.”

Alas, Jacob sank to his knees, pressing his furrowed brow against her warm belly beneath the blood-soaked shirt. A sturdy, reassuring finger tucked under Jacob’s rugged chin and firmly but gently pulled his head upwards so Saoirse could look into his sapphire eyes.

Jacob then met Saoirse’s intense gaze with a similar ferocity before he continued. “I’ve always faced my fears head-on,” he muttered. “Growing up, I learned to replace my fear of something with a need to challenge and overcome it.”

“That’s reasonable, especially if you’re the man of the house,” Saoirse muttered.

His upward stare intensified, as did his grasp around her waist. Until then, Saoirse hadn’t noticed his hands resting just above her buttocks, which allowed him to anchor his chin against her navel. “I refuse to let myself feel afraid of you to avoid getting the urge to challenge you.”

A smug grin curled her lip upward. “I’m sure you would put up a good fight.”

Jacob snorted amusedly. “You know I love a good scrap, but I don’t think I’d enjoy being on the receiving end of that.” He gestured at the corpse at his feet and shuddered. “I just can’t help but wonder if that’s what’ll happen to me down the road.”

“I don’t think you could piss me off enough to make me do that to you.”

“No, that’s…that’s not what I meant.” Jacob felt his face flush as he cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “I meant…what are the odds that I’ll be a danger to civilians? To my brothers?” An air of panic re-entered the room, which discharged any lingering electricity between the two.

“I hear your concerns, Jacob,” Saoirse whispered, as she pressed her open palm into the centre of his chest, the same way she’d done the night before, and waited for his dread to dissolve. “In truth, there’s no way to tell what will transpire. We can only wait and see.”

The young soldier groaned in exasperation. “That’s not comforting, Saoirse. At all.”

“It wasn’t meant to be comforting,” she flatly retorted. “It’s the fact of the matter. I won’t know much more than I do now until I study your genome. Back at my lab on base. Which is where we need to be. But until then, we need to sit tight and figure out a way for us both to make it there, alive.”

“That’s easy enough for you to say,” he muttered, just loudly enough for Saoirse to hear him. “Sorry. The heat is already getting to me.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Listen, Jake, I know you have more questions than answers, and I know the uncertainty is frustrating. Terrifying, even. I promise you we’ll find those answers. I won’t stop until we do. I just… I’m the one that should apologize.”

As he exhaled slowly through his nose, Jacob had nothing left to say as he lowered his head upon her midriff and fought to make peace with his frightening new reality.

Once again, he’d been thrown headfirst into a world with one rule: kill or be killed. Above all, through his trepidation, Jacob still felt lucky to have the Major on his side, especially after witnessing first-hand a fraction what she was capable of.

Chapter Text

In Jacob’s eyes, survival was a fight between the fittest, and from early on, he respected life’s more unpleasant guarantee: even the fittest would one day fall. Throughout his childhood, Jacob grew accustomed to toughing his way through hardships.

Much like a carrot on a stick, the means of returning to civilization seemed feasible, but with little water and hundreds of miles of endless desert landscape to tread, Jacob knew better than to make the attempt.

Furthermore, the irony of having consumed the flesh of his brother at arms to survive, only to die of starvation a mere fortnight after his rescue, was not lost on Jacob.

Not in the slightest.

All he wanted to do was apologize to his friend, Miller, for squandering the gift of life.

Even after days where Jacob’s closet full of skeletons dragged him into a downward spiral, Saoirse had shown endless patience, cultivating within him a sense of inner peace, comfort, and companionship. It might’ve been love, but Jacob worried his heart might not have understood love in its complicated entirety.

Nonetheless, in the face of certain death, Jacob’s mood became and stayed elevated, and even when all hope seemed lost, he could admit that Saoirse’s affections made him feel deserving of continuing his fight for survival. “It’s in your blood to survive against all odds,” she vehemently argued, to which he only rolled his eyes.

To Jacob’s frustration, his feelings of worthiness were accompanied by feelings of carnal desire. Each day, they sat together in the shade, napping whenever possible, and each night, they lay in each other’s arms, either atop the bunker roof or upon the conjoined cot. As his desire grew, Jacob could barely keep his hands off her, let alone his lips. His teeth.

God, he wanted her. From what he could tell, Saoirse wanted him, too.  

And yet, from a logical standpoint, she would’ve argued the importance of not wasting precious energy on frivolous activities. Gentle displays of affection were one thing, despite how his frustration grew with every little kiss she left on his mouth, cheeks, and chin; regardless of how much he longed to pin her against the wall and ravage her, Saoirse was right. He would be a fool to waste what little food he had left.

That is, until the vultures began to circle above the dead Iraqi, whose body lay baking in the sun at the bottom of the jagged rocky cliff. Initially, the very idea of feasting on fresh vulture meat made Jacob gag, but all in all, he had eaten worse. If human flesh could be considered worse than the flesh of a bottom feeder, that is.

All he needed was a means of catching or incapacitating the birds. Between the heat, the little water he’d drank, and minimal food in his belly, such a feat seemed hopelessly impossible.

“They’ll land eventually,” Saoirse reminded him, recognizing the look of determination that did surprisingly well to mask his weariness. “The question remains whether you want to wait for them up here or down there.”

With a grunt, Jacob shook his head and resigned himself from the very idea of a fresh, protein-dense meal, despite the intensifying growl from within his belly. “How do you do it? Go days without eating?”

Saoirse shrugged, watching the circling scavengers. “Couldn’t tell you.”

“Bullshit,” he growled. “You said you’re built different.”

She then smirked. “I had to die for my power.”

Silently admitting his stymied argument, Jacob pursed his lips and shook his head. “I’m not that committed.”

“You don’t trust me?” Saoirse taunted.

“I didn’t say that. But I’ve seen the way you take a life. It seems…unpleasant.”

The swirling hues of her irises grew vibrant as she belted a rich laugh. “You really think I’d do that to you?”

Jacob tried to hide his grin with another shake of his head. “I bet you would if I pissed you off enough.”

“I have as much interest in killing you as I have in watching you starve to death.”

“And I’m not desperate enough to escape my hunger by dying for it.”

Once more, Saoirse smirked. “I’d happily kill a vulture for you, if you weren’t feeling keen on attempting yourself.”

An annoyed grunt from the overheated Private silenced them, but Saoirse’s grin persisted as she backed towards the atrium’s exit. “Well, I don’t think they’ve landed yet, but knock yourself out,” he grumbled, and only then did it occur to him that she could easily jump from the bunker roof, catch a bird mid-air, and plummet to the ground, sustaining minimal injury in doing so.

Maybe it might’ve been worth it to die for that kind of power.

I’d be unstoppable, Jacob remarked, as he drifted off into contemplation.

The sound of the bunker doors swinging open brought him back to the present. There, atop the table, lay two dead vultures, and a third held firmly in Saoirse’s grasp by its neck. “Let’s enjoy a meal together,” she proffered, lowering her frame upon the chair she pulled out with her blood-smeared free hand.

“I’d like that,” Jacob agreed, the dimples in his cheeks deepening as his smile widened. “Does this mean we can try to make the trip to base?”

Silently, she nodded, her grin slowly fading. After a slight pause, while Jacob sat himself at the table with her, Saoirse gazed through the loophole and sighed. “Well, it’s not entirely out of the question.”

“But?”

“But…” she sighed, “We need a plan. Night’s on its way in a few hours. I’ll be honest, though, Jake. We have little water and there were no clouds on the horizon. I’m not fond of our odds.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean my odds.”

If Jacob were consciously trying to get under her skin, it was working. “If something happens to you out there, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Whether from the heat or his hunger, Jacob groaned in irritation. “What fucking difference does it make if I die out there or in here? I want to die on my terms. At least out there, it’ll have been my choice to fucking try.”

“Fine, Jacob. Fine. We’ll fucking try. Now, eat. Before it spoils and goes to waste.”

While he emitted a slow exhale, Jacob’s gaze dropped to the carrion before him. He retrieved his knife from its sheath fixed around his thigh and sliced open the bird’s flesh as a fresh ripple of hunger eagerly sapped away the remnants of his energy.

The vulture’s blood was still warm, tickling his chin as it trickled down onto his filthy cotton undershirt. Pleased to watch him eat, Saoirse then followed suit, ripping the bird’s chest open with ease before indiscriminately sinking her teeth into it.

Together, for the first time since taking refuge at the Charlie Bravo pillbox, they ate in silence, their hunger-fueled tensions melting away as each of their bellies slowly filled, bite by bite.

In no time at all, Jacob had picked the first bird clean and discarded it through the loophole. “Thank you,” he uncomfortably muttered, after meeting Saoirse’s cool gaze once more. “And I’m sorry. For being short with you.”

“I’m sorry, too. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

Jacob paused, his knife in hand, its tip pressed firmly against the second vulture’s flesh. “If you’re going through hell, keep going,”

As if Jacob knew how she’d react, Saoirse couldn’t help but smile.

Although tensions were still high, ceaselessly exacerbated by the heat, it was the way her eyes lit up when she smiled that reminded him that no matter what, everything was going to be okay. And when his hunger had finally been satisfied, Jacob remembered why he’d placed his blind trust within her in the first place.  

Chapter Text

When the raw vulture flesh failed to turn Jacob’s stomach, which came as a pleasant surprise, save for a fleeting moment when he thought he felt green in the gills. For all Jacob knew, his stomach was suffering from shock after nearly two weeks of eating nothing but coarse, tasteless powdered eggs, let alone the psychological effects of consuming raw vulture meat to evade death by starvation.

Then again, it didn’t break his mind to have consumed the flesh of his friend, either, but the less he thought about it, the better off he was. The last thing Jacob needed was to violently empty the contents of his stomach. He needed to keep up his strength to make it to King Khalid, and there was no way in hell his pride could handle being carried there in Saoirse’s arms.

Even if he’d cheated death, Jacob knew he’d never live it down.

All things considered, living conditions in the bunker weren’t deplorable by any means. His biggest complaint was how uncomfortable it was to sleep on a jerry-rigged cot for nearly two weeks. He knew his budding affection for Saoirse was doomed the minute they returned to base, and despite how uncomfortable the cot was, he dreaded the idea of sleeping alone.

Nonetheless, Jacob was grateful to have her companionship, and in the scarce times of silence, when Saoirse managed to catch the sleep that evaded him, Jacob quietly contemplated how he might repay her for fighting so hard to give him a chance to live.

On the flip side, it also churned his stomach to wonder if Saoirse would easily forget about him. He was a nobody, a pawn at the bottom of the totem pole. Besides the augmentation, there was nothing about him that she might have found valuable.  

He demanded an answer, yet he feared asking the question. The last thing he wanted was to lose what respect he’d gained, and a surefire way to do that was by assuming the worst.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Saoirse asked, abruptly breaking the silence. “Or are you still trying to stomach our lunch?”

Jacob shrugged, finding himself tongue tied by a range of anxieties. “We’re still leaving at sundown?” he quietly asked, shifting his weight atop the cot in hopes of finding one of very few comfortable positions to get some gainful rest. “Assuming that’s still the plan.”

“I’m a woman of my word, my dear,” Saoirse muttered into her armpit, while trying to ignore the familiar stench of days-old body odour. “Unless you’d rather not leave, but the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we won’t have to live like animals anymore.”

Saoirse watched as Jacob sighed with relief, despite an air of hesitation about him, and drew nearer to wipe a smear of dried blood from his lower lip. Cracking a half-smile, Jacob’s arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her closer into him. “I’d like to stick to the plan.”

“Great,” she chirped, resting her head upon his chest. “It’s just past 1400 hours. Sundown is around 1900 hours. We ought to get as much rest as we can, and soon. I’d hate to waste precious hours of cool evening air.”

The young Private nodded as he released her from his embrace. “What’s the first thing you plan to do?” the question rolled effortlessly off Jacob’s tongue, despite his sense of dread over her answer.

“A hot shower would be fucking divine,” Saoirse mumbled, her words slurred heavily by a lethargic drawl. “Most of all, I want to get back to the lab. God knows what might have happened since we’ve been here.”

“Yeah, I’m heading straight to the mess hall.”

Saoirse snickered. “You’re going to the mess hall in those clothes? The clothes you’ve worn for two weeks, filthy with sweat, muck, and blood?”

Jacob scoffed, half-offended, yet amused, nonetheless. “Well, I guess you’ll have to order me to wash up first, Major.”

Raising an eyebrow, Saoirse stepped back from the young man before her and sized him up from head to toe. “You wouldn’t care to shower with me, then?”

Blood rushed into Jacob’s cheeks and ears and his jaw suddenly slacked. “I didn’t think that was actually an option.”

“I’ve been quite upfront with my advances, haven’t I?” Saoirse asked, rolling her eyes.

“You said you were trying to cheer me up. I wanted to keep things respectful.”

“That’s funny, because later that evening, you kissed me. You kissed me.”

Biting his tongue, Jacob dropped his gaze to the floor. “I did, yeah. I did kiss you.”

“Where did you think that was going to lead, Jacob? Did you seriously think we were going to go on with our lives like none of this even happened?”

Now red-faced and flustered, Jacob sighed as his smouldering gaze shot back up and met hers. “I didn’t…I don’t want to get my hopes up. Look, if we go back there and carry on with this, Sairs…”

She scoffed and stepped away from him, her arms folded protectively across her chest. “You don’t get it, do you? The Army’s rules don’t apply to me. For Christ’s sake, I could wipe out every soul on base with a bat of an eye if I had reasons to do so, and there’s nothing in their power they could use to stop me. If I want to be intimate with you, Jake—and make no mistake, I do—they cannot stop me. Only you can.”

“If they court-martial me…”

Once more, Saoirse scoffed and shook her head before a condescending laugh erupted from her. “Let me ask you point-blank: do you want to be intimate with me, Jacob?”

As Jacob extended his arm to take her hand, he nodded. “Yes, I do.”

Nothing short of satisfied, Saoirse grinned and intertwined her fingers with his outstretched hand. “So, it’s settled, then. The Army won’t come between us, over my dead body.”

“I’m hardly worth the trouble, but I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

Saoirse gave one last heaving sigh before making her way to the cot in hopes of catching at least a few hours of shuteye. “You know, you ought to shut your mouth before you catch the back of my hand, Private. Save me the trouble of picking your ass up off the ground.”

“I knew you liked it rough,” Jacob muttered with a wink as he claimed his place atop the cot next to her: closest to the wall, facing the doorway. A habit he’d developed during childhood, Jacob refused to sleep with his back to the door.

Once they were comfortable in each other’s arms, and although the song of somnolence called to them, Jacob felt his excitement rise, a sensation in which he knew with certainty that Saoirse also felt it. As the tension continued to rise, they quickly realized how impossible it would be to get the rest they so desperately needed.

Chapter Text

From shadows cast by the setting sun, Abaddon, the fallen angel destined to bring the world to its end, slowly manifested.

On cloven hooves, the demon approached the cot and towered over his daughter, slumbering peacefully in the arms of a mortal man, whom Abaddon hadn’t yet been introduced. “Awaken, child.”

The unholy beast’s deep, raspy voice shook the bunker walls, stirring Saoirse from her restful slumber. “Father,” she whispered, her head still resting upon Jacob’s chest. She then glanced upwards to ensure he remained asleep. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We have much to discuss,” the demon prince uttered as quietly as he could. “It appears you’ve taken another human for a lover.”

Saoirse scoffed and rose from the cot, careful not to jostle the sleeping soldier’s limbs. After everything he’d suffered as of late, the last thing Jacob needed was to meet this unholy entity face to face. Mortals rarely kept their faculties intact after facing such horrors of hell. One day, Saoirse promised. One day, you’ll have a proper opportunity to meet my father. “He’s not my lover.”

Abaddon grinned, baring blackened teeth and a forked tongue. “You’d be wise to not take me for a fool, daughter. I sense the bond you’ve forged.”

“And you’ve come to pass judgment on his character?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” the beast regretfully declared. “I’ve come to talk some sense into you.” Abaddon followed Saoirse out of the bedchamber to the unoccupied atrium, his hooves leaving a trail of smouldering soot in his wake. “The winds whisper of your plans to cross the desert this night.”

Nodding apprehensively, Saoirse folded her arms. “With full bellies and a renewed sense of hope, yes.”

The creature’s goatlike eyes shifted to the loophole, through which he scanned the horizon, exhaling a small cloud of smoke and ash as his horned head panned to the right. “Full bellies or not,” he began, “you won’t make it far when the rain comes.”

“The rain?” Saoirse echoed, disbelievingly. “The sky was clear this afternoon. Fuck.”

Abaddon’s grin became a grimace. “Your plan contradicts your extraction.”

Once more, Saoirse scoffed and lowered her gaze to the floor. “Right, yeah. And what, we’re supposed to keep waiting here forever, then? Surely, that’ll go over well with my friend in there.”

The demon prince nodded solemnly. “That human is too weak to make such a journey, daughter. His pride overshadows his common sense. You must be the voice of reason.”

A heavy sigh accompanied Saoirse’s fingers as they ran through her long, unkempt hair. “He’s just antsy about getting home. I can’t blame him. We were supposed to be extracted almost a fortnight ago. I figured they’ve written us off by now.”

The creature lowered his head and paused. “I’m afraid the military city has suffered a barrage of artillery strikes. To my knowledge, they refused to send any patrols out of fear of ambush.”

Saoirse’s eyes grew wide. “Air strikes?” As her realization began to take hold, her mounting disdain swiftly transformed into guilt. “For Christ’s sake, you should have started with that!”

“And give you more reason to send the soldier to his early grave? What kind of father would I be to stand aside and watch your pride blind you?” The demon snorted amusedly and leaned forward, his forehead just inches shy of hers. “Did I not teach you better than that?”

Following an annoyed sigh, Saoirse acquiesced. “Yes, you did, father.”

“So, compose yourself, daughter. There are other matters to discuss, and time is running short.”

Though she could still hear Jacob’s soft snore coming from the bedchamber, Saoirse silently crossed the atrium floor, where she peered through the partially closed door to find him still asleep atop the cot. Undisturbed by the spiritually disturbing presence of an infamous visitor.

“Well, I’m all ears,” Saoirse quietly remarked, her gaze not leaving Jacob’s motionless form. “As long as it isn’t another lecture about with whom I choose to keep company.”

“It is no coincidence for you to cross paths with the soldier.”

Breaking her gaze from the sleeping soldier, Saoirse glanced over her shoulder to look her father in the eyes. “Revelation.”

Abaddon nodded.

“How long do we have to prepare?”

Once more, the beast snorted. Only this time, he did so with a degree of pitiful resignation. It wouldn’t have been the first time he would witness his daughter’s inevitable heartbreak over the loss of a mortal lover. Rather, in this case, a destined lover-to-be.

 “No longer than a quarter century, I reckon.”

With wide eyes, Saoirse gasped. “Prior to his enlistment, Jacob told me his younger brother used to speak to him about the Collapse. Says he allegedly talks to God.”

“Yes, Joseph. The Chosen.”

The Chosen. “Chosen for what, exactly?”

From the bedchamber, Jacob stirred, bringing the discussion to a grinding halt. Before her eyes, Abaddon had once again dissipated into the unwavering safety of the shadows, which now dominated the atrium as the sun sank below the horizon.

In the distance, flashes of lightning lit up the evening sky in fascinating canvases of swirling, black clouds. Petrichor blew in on a sharp gust of wind, and the first few drops of rain soon followed.

Following another lightning strike, this one much closer to the bunker than the first handful, Abaddon reappeared in the bedchamber doorway, facing outward into the atrium. “God chose Joseph to lead the faithful into Eden.”

Saoirse rolled her eyes. “With all due respect, father, by my very nature, I would be nothing more than his antithesis.”

“Were it not for the moral decline of this already unpleasant scourge upon earth, one might believe the fundamental concepts of good and evil became…muddied.”

“I suppose you raise an important argument,” Saoirse uttered monotonously. “What would you have me do, then, Father? Aside from waiting here to be rescued?”

A gust of hot air swept across the floor, tickling Saoirse’s bare feet. It seemed as though the shadows moved simultaneously with the demon prince, shrouding him as though it were a cloak. “You must ensure the soldier survives, daughter. He must fulfill his purpose to keep the gates of Eden safe for those deemed worthy of walking the path.”

Lowering her chin to her chest, Saoirse slowly closed her eyes and ignored the familiar burn of Abaddon’s touch against her bare shoulder. “Yes, father.”

Chapter Text

After a particularly loud thunderclap, Jacob violently shot upright with a panicked gasp, his brow covered in beads of sweat. “Saoirse?” He frantically shouted, finding himself blind in the total darkness of the bunker, having woken to an empty space next to him. “Saoirse!”  

“I’m here,” Saoirse called back from the atrium, which gave him enough reprieve to catch his breath.

With a sigh, Jacob collected his wits and slowly rose from the cot, half-undressed. He shivered amidst the cool evening air, worsened by his profuse sweating. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Are you alright, Jake?” Saoirse cautiously asked from the bedchamber doorway.

Alas, the young soldier shook his head. “No, I’m not. I saw something, in a dream. Something about you.”

Intrigued, Saoirse entered the bedchamber and pressed her palm over Jacob’s heart, making note of the clamminess of his skin. Whatever it was he saw, it left him in a state of utter terror. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jacob nodded and slowly exhaled, placing a shaking hand atop hers to anchor it to his chest. “I need a minute.”

A calm, reassuring smile stretched across her lips, though only as visible to Jacob’s naked eye as the waning light on the horizon could allow. “Take your time.”

His attention shifted to the outside atmosphere, where a harsh disappointment swiftly took hold. A bolt of lightning in the distance made him wince in what seemed to be fear. “Well, so much for our plan, huh.”

“I’m afraid so,” she quietly replied, pulling her hand away. “I’m sorry, Jacob.”

The soldier shrugged, as his attention shifted back to Saoirse. “It’s not your fault, Sairs. You shouldn’t apologize for things you can’t control.”

Recognizing his sorrow, Saoirse sighed and lowered her gaze to the floor. “I know how badly you wanted to get out of here.”

“I still do.” Jacob’s brow furrowed and his fists clenched at his sides. “I can’t help but feel like a fucking caged animal. My unit needs me. We need to mourn Miller.”

“And you will,” Saoirse reassured, but to no avail. Another thunderclap rattled the bunker walls around them, and Jacob recoiled once more. All the same, he offered no reply. There wasn’t much else left to be said, anyway.

A few moments of silence slowly passed before a much closer bolt of lightning illuminated the bedchamber. As his attention shifted to the floor, Jacob gasped in horror when he spotted a trail of scorch marks across the floor. He knelt to get a closer look at what appeared to be hoof prints circling the room before the trail abruptly ended in the middle of the atrium. “He was here, wasn’t he?” Jacob asked, his tone cold and filled with dread. “Your father?”

“Yes, he was.”

A shiver then rippled down Jacob’s spine. “What did he want?”

“For starters, he revealed why we haven’t been extracted yet.”

Jacob scoffed incredulously and folded his arms across his chest. “Oh, so they didn’t forget about us?”

Despite her best efforts to remain patient, Saoirse rolled her eyes and exhaled through her nose. “King Khalid was hit by an artillery barrage the night we got here, Jacob. I would imagine that command has bigger fish to fry than bringing us home.”

As if he were a young boy scorned, Jacob hung his head in shame. “Right.”

“Father assured me that we would be rescued. It could be a few more days, but we have a source of fresh water, at least.”

Nonetheless, his blank expression remained. “What else did your father tell you?”

With a single finger, Saoirse pulled his chin up, and her amethyst eyes instantly locked with his. “You dreamt of Abaddon, didn’t you?”

After a brief pause, Jacob shrugged. “I’m not sure. I dreamt of a voice. A hoarse voice, talking about…the apocalypse. Revelation.” He paused once more, scratching his scalp beneath a carpet of unkempt, red hair. “It was so vivid. I remember I was at home, in Georgia, with Joe and John. We were grownups, probably in our thirties and forties. We were working on some repairs on my folks’ place. Then out of the blue, the radio cut out, and I saw a flash before a mushroom cloud rose above the trees at the back of the property line.”

All the colour quickly drained from Saoirse’s face. “Jesus,” she mumbled, turning away from a wide-eyed Jacob.

“That’s how it ends, isn’t it? In nuclear fire?”

“Yes.”

Jacob nodded, as if he were already convinced. It chilled Saoirse to see him keep so calm. “So, Joseph was right.”

“Yes, he was.”

“Okay,” Jacob sighed, while continuing to stare out the loophole, into the storm. Several more deafening thunderclaps rattled the bunker, but the soldier seemed unfazed, his mind occupied by more pressing matters: the Collapse was real, and the clock was already ticking.

Notwithstanding, Jacob knew he owed his brother a very sincere apology.

Chapter Text

Several hours of comfortable silence had elapsed since Jacob became aware of impending nuclear holocaust. To Saoirse’s surprise, his spirits remained elevated, nevertheless. His thoughts, on the other hand, dwelled on his brothers. Namely Joseph, whom Jacob chastised and berated before he shipped off to boot camp, never to be seen or heard from again.

An empty water bottle landed softly in Jacob’s lap, followed by several others, which stole his attention from his bittersweet daydream. “Hmm?”

After setting an armful of empty bottles upon the table, Saoirse began removing the caps to set them aside. “We ought to take advantage of this rain before it lets up.”

“And you plan on doing so, how exactly?” he queried, gesturing at the narrow mouths of the bottles. “It’ll take forever to fill them without some kind of basin. Or tarp, maybe. Neither of which we have, remember?”

Saoirse smirked as she crossed the atrium towards the closed bathroom door. “Au contraire.”

Jacob raised a doubtful but curious eyebrow. “Who am I to question your ways?” he asked sarcastically, even though his tone only served to widen her grin.

“Smart man,” she countered, tossing Jacob a pert side-eye over her shoulder.

The same look that drove him fucking insane.

The bathroom door then swung open with great force, and Jacob wondered if the resounding bang could have been heard miles away. Means food or transportation, and I’m fine with either, he mused.

From within the shoddily plumbed lavatory, Saoirse tore the fibreglass sink basin from the wall with ease and retreated to the table, flipping the sink upside down upon it. Whether credit was owed to dumb luck or Saoirse’s finely tuned hunch, the mouth of the empty bottle fit perfectly inside the sink’s narrow drain tube. “Voilà,” she proudly announced. “It’s rudimentary, sure, and perhaps a bit gross, but it’ll do.”

All Jacob could do was smile as he watched her in awe.

“What?” she asked with a giggle, after catching him staring from the corner of her eye.

“Just admiring you, is all,” he muttered.

Another smile stretched across her lips. “Am I admirable?”

“That, and more.”

Choking back a giggle, Saoirse rolled her eyes and picked up the sink basin. “Come on, we need to set this up. Bring both chairs, please.”

Following an acknowledging grunt, Jacob followed her through the unlocked doorway and immediately tensed at the feeling of cool rain hitting his skin. “Oh, that’s nice,” he muttered, and set the chairs down upon the concrete pad.

Once the basin lay secure atop both chair seats, Saoirse positioned the mouth of the first empty bottle in the drain’s pipe socket and secured the bottle in place with some rocks and sand. “We’ll have to monitor the bottles in shifts,” Saoirse remarked. “I’m hoping to fill at least two of them in the next hour or so.”

Looking skywards in unison, they agreed it was highly unlikely the rain would stop before dawn. It wasn’t quite a torrential downpour, but the rainfall was steady, and the raindrops almost stung when they hit bare skin.

“It’s going to be a long night,” Jacob mumbled. “I’m taking advantage of a free shower.”

“Probably won’t be much of a shower without soap,” she playfully retorted, suddenly unable to help but watch as he peeled his sweat-stained undershirt from his body. “Still, you might be onto something,” Saoirse admitted, and without hesitation, did the same. Two filthy shirts landed in the muck at their feet, soon followed by two pairs of pants.

Mouth agape, Jacob approached the half-nude woman and anchored himself against her by wrapping an arm around her hip. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you.”

The rain had since taken a chilly feel, Saoirse noticed. However, the moment was far too savoury to give in to something so trivial. She had Jacob to keep her warm, and he took pride in doing so. “If only you knew what you do to me, Jacob Seed.”

“Goddamn it, Saoirse,” his eyes clenched shut, Jacob groaned into her collar and pushed her backwards towards the bunker wall. “I want you so fucking bad.”

All his weight against her, Saoirse whined for the unmistakable hardness that now pressed into her hip and lower belly. A yelp escaped her lips when Jacob sharply bucked his hips against hers. “Take me,” she growled needily, punctuating her words with another long, passionate kiss.

“Not here, Sairs,” Jacob snarled in return, wincing in utter agony. “As much as it’s killing me, we agreed not to let it happen here.”

“How fortunate for you that I am a woman of my word,” Saoirse snarled, rubbing a spiteful palm along the inside of his thigh, no more than an inch below his groin.

Following a frustrated groan, Jacob shifted his weight and released his protectress from the uncomfortable concrete surface. “You know, technically, we didn’t discuss boundaries.”

Jacob then swore he could feel the wickedness in her grin. “I believe you’re right, jackass.”

“I am,” he goaded. “And you’re freezing. Let’s go inside and warm you up. We can lay some ground rules while we’re at it.”

Like the very first night Jacob ever dared to crawl upon the cot behind her, the chattering of Saoirse’s teeth echoed through the atrium, despite her best efforts to self-regulate. Regardless of how annoying the sound had quickly become, it still served as a pleasant distraction from the awful throbbing in his groin—a bittersweet reminder of his sense of self-discipline.

As he inched himself closer to the shivering creature in his arms, his thoughts lingered on the absurdity and irony of how an undying woman could succumb so easily to the cold. She came out of a volcano, you idiot, of course she gets cold, Jacob recollected.

“I know I’ve already said it several times,” Saoirse murmured, “but I really could get used to this.”

“What, being told what to do?”

She snorted and shook her head. “I mean, that’s one way to put it.”

Jacob’s hold around her tightened as he exhaled into her neck. “How would you put it?”

“Being vulnerable for once, I guess. For as long as I can remember, people have believed I’m completely self-sufficient. That I don’t ever need help. And such an assumption is why I never let my guard down.”

Once more, his breath slowly washed over her neck and shoulders. “I hear you.”

“I’m grateful to have met you, Jake,” she whispered over her shoulder. “You truly are a breath of fresh air.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he teased. “And you feel a lot warmer now.”

Though her damp skin made a simple task of shifting against his somewhat difficult, Saoirse slowly rolled onto her back and leaned to the side and cupped Jacob’s face to leave a wealth of little affections upon his lips, cheek, and chin. “What would I do without you?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jacob reciprocated her affections and soon felt the dull, painful throb in his groin become slowly overtaken by his appetite for pleasures of the flesh. “I think the better question is, ‘what would you do with me’?”

Saoirse raised a coy eyebrow. “Here, or at home?”

A soft sigh fell from Jacob’s lips. “Well, I want to experience you, not imagine you.”

Flushed, Saoirse exhaled a quivering breath at the sensation of curious fingertips trailing her buttocks. “You’ve got a real clever tongue, you know.”

“A curious tongue, too,” Jacob growled into her ear.

Speechless, and ruinously spellbound, a soft whimper passed over Saoirse’s lips. After taking a moment to contemplate his words and compose herself, she watched as an unrecognizable fury emerged within Jacob’s eyes. “You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?” she asked, as her eyes rolled backwards.

Jacob grunted and shifted his torso, bending forward to kiss her navel, inching further and further downward after each one. Despite a lack of experience, he seemed comfortable in the heat of the moment. “I want to taste you, Saoirse,” he whispered, his attention fixed upon the rosiness within her cheeks. “Permission to engage?”

Although a silhouette of worry lingered in the back of her mind, concerning the lack of proper hygiene between her hips, through an unexpected chuckle, Saoirse nodded and allowed herself to relax. “Permission granted.”

Chapter Text

A rumble deep within Jacob’s stomach woke them from a sound slumber. Following a giggle, Saoirse sat up from his bicep which she’d used as a pillow for most of the night and wiped the sleep from her eyes. “You’re hungry for food this time, right?”

Following a yawn, Jacob snorted and nodded his head. “Apparently, I worked up a bit of an appetite.”

“There’s a proverb that comes to mind: appetite comes with eating.”

“A man needs to eat,” Jacob muttered, smiling fiendishly as he wiped the sticky remnants of Saoirse from his beard. “What surprises me is how willingly the ferocious predator became prey for a change.”

“For what it’s worth,” she began, as she trailed a finger down Jacob’s sternum, stopping just above his navel. “Eventually, we all fall prey to the hands of time.”

Jacob rolled his eyes and shifted beneath her weight, his smitten smile persisting, nonetheless. “I think the rain finally stopped,” he remarked, his gaze shifting from the scantily clad beauty in his arms into the cloudless sky above, through the lookout above his head. “How many bottles did we fill?”

Before climbing upon the cot in the wee hours of the morning to catch a few more hours of shuteye, Saoirse wearily checked the filling station, collecting their muddied, soaked shirts while doing so. “Last I counted, there were seven bottles.”

“Not a bad haul,” he commented. “Should last a few days. A week, maybe, at most.”

Saoirse only nodded in return. Though she hid it well, the news of the attack on base still left a sinking feeling in her gut, and the fear of uncertainty continued to nag in the back of her mind.

Alas, her silence didn’t go unnoticed. “Hey, they’re coming for us,” Jacob reassured, cupping her chin. “Something tells me your old man isn’t much of a liar.”

“You’re right,” she replied with a chuckle. “My father is many things, but he’s no liar. I wish his information was more concrete, is all.”

“They could send a squad any time now,” Jacob murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

A heavy sigh caused Saoirse’s shoulders to rise and fall. Her eyes slowly closed as she focused on each wavering breath. “That may be true, but you and I both know that hope is a dangerous, fickle thing. Without it, even the strongest will succumb to despair.”

“We can’t lose hope, Sairs. You said as much a few days ago.” Jacob’s smile breathed life back into her, and for a moment, Saoirse allowed herself to forget her anxieties and focus instead on where she was there and then: held tightly in the arms of a man whom she might have admitted she’d fallen for.

~~~

Under the Arabian sun, the clay-enriched muck took no time at all to dry and crack, forming a scabbed wasteland that welcomed travelers on foot. At least, that’s what Saoirse told herself, after she’d spent hours waiting for the previous day’s rain to soak into the earth.

Her desperation knew no bounds. Tired of waiting, it was finally time to channel her fury and uncertainty into action.

The plan was simple: she would trek alone to Waypoint Charlie Echo and attempt to initiate contact with base communications through any means necessary. Base comms might have called it tampering with necessary navigational equipment, but unsurprisingly, Saoirse didn’t care. Desperate circumstances required desperate measures.

While Saoirse made for the waypoint, he would watch the horizon from the bunker rooftop. The odds were higher of a patrol dispatched by air than by land, as targets on land were far easier to lock on and strike from a distance from a tactical standpoint.

A slow-moving target, such as a bipedal transient, could easily be taken down, which fuelled Saoirse’s anxieties about an unarmored Jacob crossing a vast, open area.

As she contemplated every angle of the plan, her father’s words then echoed in her mind: You must ensure the soldier survives. Without any doubt, she could survive a bullet to the head, but she wasn’t willing to gamble on whether he could, too.

Jacob knew he could’ve argued with Saoirse until his cheeks turned red, but he knew better than to argue with her father.

As expected, Jacob hated the plan from the start, and for several reasons. Namely, he felt he was missing out on all the action. “I yield on one condition,” he grumbled. “You’ll take a water bottle with you.”

“Fair enough,” Saoirse countered. “I should be back before sunset. If not, do not come looking for me.”

With an impatient sigh, Jacob rolled his eyes and acquiesced. “Yes, ma’am.”

In short order, with a single bottle of water in hand, Saoirse planted a tender kiss upon his bottom lip and made for the exit. “If all goes accordingly, we’ll be home by tomorrow night,” she whispered into his collar. “If there’s anything left of King Khalid to return to, that is.”

Merely grunting in acknowledgement, Jacob walked her out of the bunker door but tugged on her wrist before she pulled away and leapt over the jagged rocky cliff’s edge to the ground below. “Good luck out there,” he whispered between kisses. “Not that you’ll need it, anyway.”

“You be careful,” she retorted from over her shoulder, and turned her head back towards the open landscape.

Waypoint Charlie Echo was hardly a blip on the Coalition’s radar, but Saoirse was confident that a hardware malfunction would at least incite an inquiry by base’s communications division.

After several hours of marching atop the scorching sand, Saoirse reached the waypoint and began to scope out the surrounding area, seeking what hardware she could expect to find. Much to her disappointment, however, she only found a wooden signpost pointing northeast to Kuwait City, southwest to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, and north, to Al Basrah, Iraq.

Yet, from the corner of her eye, she spotted a single antenna jutted upwards from the top of the signpost, which she quickly determined to be hollow—a perfect means of concealing the cord or wire powering it.

It required no more than a little elbow grease for Saoirse to pull the signpost from its shallow aperture. Furthermore, she was pleased to find a thin cable jutting from the bottom of the shoddy wooden post, which she followed several dozen feet before stumbling upon a handful of small solar panels, hidden from plain sight by some dead brush.

The solar panels were hardy, but given their size, even a half-dozen couldn’t store enough energy to power the transmitter for a full day at most. After unplugging the cable, Saoirse began to calculate the amount of time they would need to wait for a patrol squad to reach the waypoint.

If her calculations were correct, all she and Jacob needed to do was wait another day before base dispatched a squad to investigate Waypoint Charlie Echo’s disappearance from radar.

Now, it was time to make the journey back to Charlie Bravo, where the pair would celebrate their imminent rescue.

Chapter Text

Another bead of sweat dripped from the tip of her nose and fell to the dirt below when Saoirse muttered incoherently about never again ascending the treacherously sharp rocky face. Beneath the freshly regrown skin of her palms, she felt trapped dirt and rocks and cursed her regenerative efficiency. The process of removing such foreign matter was painless after many centuries, but it didn’t mean the process wasn’t inconvenient, and a little gross, to boot.

As she stopped her ascent to take a breather, she peered upward and spied Jacob’s silhouette waving down to her from the roof. Now would be a great time for a little water, she decided, and proceeded to wet her whistle. It had been days since Saoirse felt cool water splash the back of her throat, and to her dismay, it didn’t seem to satisfy the way she’d hoped.

The way hot blood might’ve, especially when taken fresh from the source.

A southeastern gust of wind kicked up out of the blue, battering her sweaty skin with loose sand and debris. Along with the dust, the breeze carried a scent with it, one which spelled caution. In addition, the smell was accompanied by the faintest sound of chatter in the distance. “You’ve got to be joking,” she muttered, crawling back to her feet to follow the sound and scent, hoping not to stumble upon a squadron of armed hostiles.

Then again, a pile of bodies meant a handsome feast to indulge upon for the rest of the night.

To her surprise and concern, Saoirse drew nearer to the source of the sound of multiple, separate conversations in Kurdish—Arabic, even—and although she stayed carefully out of sight, she discovered vast cavern, inside of which with no less than a dozen groups of five or six people, huddled around several small cooking fires. At first glance, their allegiances were unclear, which brought a sinking feeling to Saoirse’s gut.

Amongst a handful of armed men, she spotted women and children of different ages, each expressing the same vacant stare amidst the filth that covered their faces.

The best case scenario, these people were Kuwaiti refugees, taking shelter from the hostilities that might’ve driven them southwards, towards the safety of the Saudi Arabian border. The worst case scenario, however, painted a much more ominous picture.

Regardless, Saoirse needed to carefully weigh her options. A diplomatic approach was the best approach, she decided, after taking a few extra minutes to watch the oblivious occupants from several yards away. From the looks of it, the ensemble possessed no shortage of food, and on a passing glance, Saoirse swore she spotted a ham radio amidst the assortment of possessions stacked together at the back of the cavern.

If only she had something worth trading…

I’ll come back for you, she then decided, retreating silently back to the arduous task of scaling the rocky wall face. If, by the following evening, there was no sign of a comms squad dispatched to Waypoint Charlie Echo, she would have to appeal to the mercy of the congregation with whom she’d been sharing the mountain.

Exhausted from the excursion, Saoirse stumbled into the bunk room and collapsed atop the cot, closing her eyes for a few minutes with a muffled groan.

Sensing Jacob’s approach, she smiled in anticipation of feeling his weight atop the cot next to her, but he hadn’t crossed the doorway from the atrium. Instead, he leaned against the doorway, admiring her resolution to find a way home. He thought it best to let her sleep, even if only for a few hours. The horizon wasn’t going to watch itself, and in the event a chopper might appear in the distance, he needed to remain vigilant, loaded flare gun in hand.

Of course, after countless monotonous minutes passed, each slower than the last, the sharp valley gusts eventually reached the bunker, bringing with it once more the unmistakable scent of cooking food. At first, Jacob thought to wake Saoirse, but what good would that have done?

Eventually, driven by ravenous hunger, Jacob’s curiosity quickly got the best of him. Against his better judgment, he decided to follow his nose, carefully storing the flare gun in his pant leg pocket before climbing down from the bunker roof.

The smell of cooking meat intensified as he drew closer, which further fuelled his tunnel vision. As his stomach’s growl grew louder, Jacob descended the hill as quietly as he could, even though a layer of sediment covering the hill nearly caused him to fall into peril, if not to his death.

He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when a collection of voices echoed loudly from a dozen or so yards away. Jacob froze in place, hoping he hadn’t become a victim of yet another ambush. And have Saoirse come to the rescue again? Absolutely fucking not, he contemplated, his heart and mind racing neck and neck.

So far, Jacob remained unnoticed by the unexpected ensemble. He wondered how long they’d been right under his nose. even further, he couldn’t believe the Bloodhound of Baghdad hadn’t picked up on them, either. From what he gathered, these people were civilians, doing their best to survive despite such unfortunate conditions.

A dozen heavily armed men stood guard in the background, which seemed unusual at first, until he identified a friendly weapon: a Canadian infantry carbine. “Kuwaitis,” Jacob whispered, as his pulse skyrocketed once more. He desperately wanted to approach the men with his arms raised and ask politely for some food, but the firelight reflecting on the shimmering carbines, which were most likely loaded with a round chambered, gave rise to his better judgment.

The last thing he needed was a hole in the head.

“They’re moving on tomorrow,” a disembodied voice whispered in Jacob’s ear, which caused the soldier to yelp loudly. Fortunately, his outcry hadn’t attracted the attentions of the armed men inside the mouth of the cave, but when the deafening sound of his pulse in his ears subsided, Jacob swore he could hear disembodied laughter.

“Who’s there?” he hissed into the cool evening air, his head swiveling in hopes of catching a glimpse of the mysterious speaker.

A wisp of icy air tickled his chin, and once more, Jacob froze in place. The icy sensation then drifted down Jacob’s neck to his shoulder blades, stopping in the small of his back, gently pushing him towards the direction he came from. “When they move on, they will leave a parcel of food for stragglers who might’ve lost their way.”

The voice was calm, clear, and came from inside his head. That’s it, Jacob decided. I’ve finally fucking snapped. “Who are you?”

Yet, no further reply came, and the chill in the air vanished as quickly as it appeared. Wide eyed and deeply unsettled, Jacob wasted no time scrambling back to the safety net of the bunker.

Chapter Text

Awake, with a scowl painted upon her face, Saoirse met Jacob in the bunker’s entrance, her hands folded across her chest. “Find what you were looking for, Private?” she asked flatly.

Jacob shrugged and slid past her, unwilling to make eye contact as he made for the lavatory, which suddenly had a lot more room without its sink. “No, ma’am.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“How’d you do that?” he barked from the bunkroom, rubbing his temples.

Taken aback, Saoirse lowered her arms to her sides and raised a curious eyebrow. “Do what, exactly?”

“Talk inside my head.”

Dumbfounded, and momentarily lost for words, Saoirse loosened her stance. “I can do many things, but I can’t do that.” From the doorway, she then noticed Jacob seemed to be in pain, and a lot of it. “What happened?”

With another groan, Jacob lowered himself upon the cot and covered his eyes as if to block out the light, even though the bunkroom remained dark. “I found a colony of fucking Kuwaitis near the bottom of the hill. Out of nowhere, I heard this voice in my head, as clear as day, telling me they’d be gone in the morning, and would leave some food behind for stragglers.”

“And what did the voice sound like? A man, a woman? A child?”

“Like…many different voices, all speaking at once.”

Wide-eyed, Saoirse gasped and seated herself next to him atop the cot. “Incredible.”

“Yeah, sure. If you say so.” His eyes clenched tight, Jacob moaned in pain and rubbed his temples. “Christ, my head is splitting.”

“Easy now,” Saoirse murmured, delicately trailing two fingers across his sweaty brow. This was completely uncharted territory, and although she didn’t want to worry the young soldier, her unease was obvious. “Try to rest if you can.”

Clenching his jaw, Jacob moaned before rolling onto his side to curl up in the fetal position. Between his splitting headache and rampant hunger, Jacob suffering was immense, which was only pissing him off. “I’ll get right on that.”

She scoffed and rose to her feet, only turning back to face him momentarily. “If the voice tries to speak to you again, beware of ill intentions.” Saoirse then slipped back into the atrium to don the dusty, crumpled remnants of the tattered thobe. There wasn’t much else she could do for him, aside from attempting to gather any food the transients could part with, if they could spare any. Not that she expected them to, of course. They needed it more than she and Jacob did.

On the other hand, borrowing the radio she spotted earlier was a much higher privilege. If it still functioned, of course.

The rugged condition of her Army trousers paired perfectly with the thobe’s poor condition. Determined to initiate contact with those who shared refuge the hill had provided, Saoirse tucked her auburn locks behind her ears and left the bunker once more, leaving Jacob to suffer alone in the dark.

At least, that was how he saw it.

The refugees were bunking down for the night when she reached the vast open mouth of the cavern. The firelight glow remained strong, however, casting silhouettes of armed guards in the forefront, who numbered no more than half a dozen at most.

Easy does it, Saoirse mused, before stepping into the open, her arms raised above her head. A commotion erupted when the first several men noticed her, which was then abruptly silenced by concerned mothers of restless, anxious children. Without recognizing her, once the men realized Saoirse wasn’t a threat, she was welcomed and offered a portion of bread and a canteen of water, which she gratefully accepted.

Her Arabic was subpar at best, but fortunately, she knew enough to ask to use the radio. However, one of the guards informed her that the radio was inoperable, as a stray bullet destroyed its battery. Still, she insisted, as there was a source of power a half-day’s walk from the hill. The armed men didn’t argue; they would journey to welcoming lands with or without it.

When Saoirse returned to the bunker, she was relieved to find Jacob asleep atop the cot. She wrapped the chunk of bread she’d preserved in her thobe and placed it conspicuously upon the table next to a bottle of water for him to discover upon waking.

During the darkest hour, she’d make the most of the chilly outside air to return to Waypoint Charlie Echo. If she recalled correctly, the solar panels could provide adequate power for a radio transmitter, even for a short time.

If communication by radio failed, Saoirse would have no choice but to trust her rudimentary knowledge of communications hardware to send a message to base comms by manipulating the waypoint’s transponder. Such a task was much easier said than done, of course.

Alas, failure was not an option.

Chapter Text

At the break of dawn, just as he was promised, the ensemble of refugees departed from their shelter at the bottom of the hill.

From the lookout, Jacob watched the exodus with a mounting sense of dread—he knew the dangers of the desert all too well, and thoughts of mass casualties plagued his mind. Though he wasn’t much of a man of prayer, he silently wished the best of luck for the war-stricken innocents. It’ll all be over in a few weeks, he lamented. And when it’s over, you’ll get your home back.

To where Saoirse ventured, he hadn’t the slightest idea. With consideration for what he’d passed along from the voice that spoke inside his head, Jacob hoped she had gone back down the hill once more to peruse whatever goods the group of transients should have left behind.

In her absence, all Jacob could ponder upon was his hunger, salivating at the thought of whatever edible thing he’d soon sink his teeth into. The bread he discovered upon waking was a pleasant surprise, of course, but eating the dried loaf end only worsened the gnawing in his belly.

Within the hour, a familiar echo of Saoirse’s footsteps grabbed Jacob’s attention, and his heart skipped a beat or two in restless anticipation.

At least, Jacob hoped he was correct to assume the footsteps he’d heard belonged to Saoirse, and not another enemy soldier with a vengeance.

Worse still, an enemy with a racked shotgun. Especially a shotgun pointed at Saoirse.

Perhaps, Jacob deliberated, his protective instincts were adapted through a palpable bond formed with Saoirse, or just another side effect of the bite.

Having witnessed such a miracle, he knew Saoirse could survive a shotgun blast to the chest. Nonetheless, it was the audacity of any living creature seeking to harm her made him seethe.

He hadn’t the faintest idea of love, but Jacob was certain this was it. If only you had the cojones to tell her.

Even the voice in his head made his eyes roll. “Thanks for the bread,” the sleepy-eyed soldier muttered when she entered the bunker. “Also, fuck you for going down there without me.”

“Good morning to you too, Private,” Saoirse huffed. “As for the bread, I know it wasn’t much, but you’ll be back in the mess hall in no time.” She smiled before pulling the thobe over her head and hanging it over one of the chair backs. “They lent me their radio, and I made magic happen.”

Breaking away from her kiss for a breath, Jacob masked his apprehension within his grin. “You went back to the waypoint too, didn’t you?”

Saoirse nodded, her grin firm and confident. “If anyone at base comms is remotely worth their salt, they will notice a new callsign over in place of Charlie Echo.”

“How’d you manage to do that?” Jacob queried, scooping her into his arms from behind.

“That’s what makes radar so beautiful,” she began with a giggle, fighting and writhing in Jacob’s firm, playful grasp. “I don’t often get an opportunity to address my commanders using crude vernacular, but my goal was to get their attention, and I’m fairly confident the word cunts will get the job done.”

Jacob couldn’t help but laugh, even though he’d clenched his eyes tightly shut, fighting the welling tears and quiver of his chin. “Does that mean we’re going home? For real, this time?”

Now back on her feet, Saoirse spun around, pulling Jacob’s head forward by his neck to kiss him once more. “Our fates are in their hands now, dove. We’ve done all we can do.”

“How much longer do you think we’ll need to wait?”

Alas, her solemn expression told all. “Could be a day, maybe two. Hopefully no more than three.”

“And by the fourth, god forbid, I’ll be hoofing it,” Jacob muttered.

Saoirse rolled her eyes as she got settled upon the cot. It was the perfect time of day for some shuteye, after the day’s toils under the sun. “There’s always the option of joining the exodus. I’m sure the Kuwaitis wouldn’t mind another trained gunman on watch.”

He scoffed, his eyes wandering to the lookout above the head-end of the cot. “I’d argue the crowd would draw unwanted attention to us.”

“Normally I’d agree,” Saoirse concurred, “but I’m itching for a fight, you know?”

In an instant, Jacob saw red at the thought of harm befalling her. Still, he kept his thoughts to himself while Saoirse rolled and shifted noisily atop the cot in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

Gently biting into his kiss, Saoirse held his neck in a firm grip and tried to pull him closer. “You’re sure you don’t want to join me? I’ve been sleeping much better with you.”

Alas, Jacob shook his head. “You know I’d love to, Sairs, but if your plan worked, one of us should man the flare gun.” His weight lifted from the cot, which caused a relieved squeak to ring out from its frame. “Try to get some sleep, alright?”

“I doubt I will, thanks to you,” she countered with a playful wink.

~

By noon, the skies were cloudless and blue, and the valley winds calmed to a gentle breeze. The sun, however, was too hot to endure from the rooftop, so Jacob watched the southwestern horizon from the lookout instead.

The loaded flare gun sat before him upon the table, prompting the soldier to ponder the irony of finding himself wishing for a reason to use it.

For a moment, Jacob contemplated descending the hill once again in search of food. Yet, he had a job to do, for all the good it was doing. Vacation’s over, big guy, he remarked.

Despite being told otherwise, Jacob still expected the worst upon their return to civilization: suffering heartache after being separated from the Major.

On one hand, and on multiple occasions, Saoirse asserted her unique exemption from the Army’s rules surrounding relationships. Specifically, inter-rank relationships. In the old, ornery eyes of Uncle Sam, burying his face in her cunt was forbidden, no questions asked.

Then again, on the other hand—after the court-martial, of course—he’d be a fucking legend amongst his squaddies. As if that matters, Jacob scrutinized, scrunching his face as if anyone else were present to witness his displeasure. You’re better than that.

Out of nowhere, the hairs on the back of Jacob’s neck stood up. When he spun around, he came face-to-face with a smoky, black mass—so dark, in fact, it seemed to absorb all light around it. “Soldier,” the legion of voices hissed.

Tongue tied by a wave of stupor, Jacob felt the cold stare of the eyeless mass rest upon him, finding himself powerless to look away.

Before him, the billowing blackness rose to the ceiling and fanned out, as if the entity intended to engulf him. “You mask an abundance of wrath, of pride. A powerful but dangerous blend.”

The soldier scoffed as Saoirse’s words echoed in his head. Beware of ill intentions. Clenching his fists at his sides, Jacob slowly rose to his full height and stood his ground. “You don’t scare me.”

“Don’t I?”

“Why would you? I’m already living in hell.”

If a mass of billowing smoke could laugh, Jacob was certain this one did. “Perhaps, then, you’re in hell after all,” the creature tutted, its mass swirling around the atrium. “Tormented by such reckless lust.”

“If you’re offering something, I’m not interested.”

A snarl came from the centremost of the mass, and an almost deafening snarl at that. One so loud it should’ve woken Saoirse from her sleep. While she remained unconscious, Jacob became wholly convinced his conversation with the entity was merely a disturbing figment of his fragile mind. “How dare you assume I’ve come with an agenda?”

Jacob shrugged. “Why else would you be here?”

“Humans…so closed-minded. I wager you believe I’m some bastard demon, don’t you?”

He raised a sceptical eyebrow. “If you’re not a demon, what are you?”

“A liar and a bastard demon, I must admit.” If a mass of billowing smoke could smile, Jacob was certain it did. “I come with a proposal, not a bargain. And not for you, but for Sister.”

His brow furrowed, Jacob leaned back defensively and wished he had his sidearm. Not that a bullet might’ve even injured this monstrosity, but god almighty, Jacob felt bare naked without it. “Well, she’s resting. I can take a message.”

As the smoke began to take a more consistently solid, humanoid form, its face still featureless, the demon drew closer to Jacob, as if to observe him with its other senses. “There is a great strength in you, Jacob. A strength my kind find most admirable. Charming, even.”

“Spare me the flattery,” Jacob growled, unable to meet the demon’s gaze amidst its twisted, disfigured face. “Get to the point.”

The demon growled frustratedly and turned away. “Must you make this so difficult?”

Save for the few sparse patches of wiry hair stemming across its semi-corporeal form, Jacob figured he might’ve mistaken this entity for a regular man—a thought which made his stomach flop and fold from within. “She would appreciate your discretion. We’ve had a few restless days.”

“You care deeply for Sister.”

“Yes. I do.”

An uncomfortable silence engulfed the atrium while the demon pondered Jacob’s words. “Has Sister told you of the Collapse?”

Jacob solemnly nodded.

“Have you met Father?”

Shaking his head, Jacob’s rigid gaze fell upon the barren floor, where he could’ve sworn, he’d seen the charred hoof prints left behind by the great Abaddon himself. Perhaps, Jacob considered, you’re finally on the brink of a rapid plunge into insanity. “Not yet.”

With piqued curiosity, the demon snorted amusedly. “Yet, you are aware of Father’s existence?”

Once more, Jacob nodded. “Saoirse told me everything.”

“And you willingly accepted her accounts?”

“Of course I did.”

The demon chuckled, spinning on its heels to face the soldier. “What do you know of the River Euphrates?”

Puzzled, Jacob paused to contemplate the question. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Another growl echoed from the depths of the demon’s belly. “Do not play coy with me, boy. We both know a great war is coming. The blood of men will spill into these sands and awaken evils long laid to rest.”

The soldier rolled his eyes. “So what? Wars happen all the time.”

“Beneath the River Euphrates, there are four Fallen angels bound in chains. They hunger and yearn for conquest, for death. If Sister’s blood were to spill into the River Euphrates, the Fallen angels would be released to wreak havoc upon the world.”

“What my brother is trying to say,” Saoirse muttered sleepily from the bunkroom doorway, “is I have been given a choice to initiate the Collapse in a month’s time or wait another twenty-five years to give humanity a chance to rise above their mistakes. The latter of which is where your brother comes in to guide the worthy to Eden.”

“Indeed,” the demon hummed, its mouth stretched into a toothy grin.

Following a yawn, Saoirse planted herself between the entity and the soldier in her charge, gesturing towards the bunker exit. “I met Father here several days ago, in this very room. If he wanted to exhaust the former option, he’d have instructed me to do so, Brother. He said nothing of the matter, which leads me to question if you don’t have an agenda after all.”

Beware of ill intentions. Her warning was utter nonsense at first, but Jacob’s eyes grew wide with sudden realization. “A liar, as well as a bastard demon.”

“Worth a shot,” the demon uttered before disappearing into a cloud of thick, black smoke.

Chapter Text

As if countless hours spent staring down to the valley below wasn’t boring enough, the mid-afternoon heat was making Jacob tired—so much so that all he wanted to do was sleep. Not for a lack of trying, for several hours after his jarring conversation with a demon, Jacob’s mind refused to slow down. Consequently, sleep refused to claim him.

He couldn’t know for certain what might’ve caused it, but he swore he felt a sudden coldness from Saoirse, as she leaned against the table’s edge, her arms folded defensively across her chest. It wasn’t a coldness caused by anger or resentment; in fact, Jacob was convinced that wasn’t the case at all.

Until today, he didn’t know Saoirse had siblings, if that’s what he could’ve called their most recent visitor. The topic surrounding her family wasn’t a topic she seemed enthusiastic to discuss, nor was Jacob one to pry. That said, a discussion needed to be had; it would’ve served them better to clear the air sooner than later. Jacob found it prudent to carefully approach such a conversation, if doing so was possible.

All the same, despite his need to address such a delicate topic, he was grateful for Saoirse’s approachability. “That was unpleasant,” he commented, his steel gaze fixed on the floor in the very centre of the atrium.

After a nonchalant shrug, Saoirse relaxed her shoulders and let her arms drop to her sides. “Encountering unearthly beings for the first time can be jarring, but you handled yourself well.”

“Is that your only brother?” He allowed himself to relax once he felt the tension in the room simmer to the familiar calmness. Still, Jacob couldn’t help but feel guilty for his conversation with waking her from a peaceful slumber.

Saoirse nodded, pensively biting the inside of her lip and cheek. “In the other world, for a lack of better phrasing, ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ are simply terms of respect used by those of us who were raised by Abaddon. But, to answer your question, I have many siblings. None, might I add, whom I thought brave enough to come face to face with a human. Especially in broad daylight.”

Jacob scoffed, shaking his head. “Of the two of us, I reckon the unearthly creature might be the bigger threat.”

“You’d be surprised,” she rebutted. “There are rules of engagement to be followed.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She paused with lips pursed pensively. “I missed most of your conversation, but I thought I heard mention of a warning.”

While he struggled to recall the minute details of his conversation, Jacob shuddered at the sensation of his uncovered skin brushed by a black cloud which seemed to have more substance to it than smoke. The entity’s touch almost seemed to burn and sting, although no blemish could be seen. At least, to Jacob’s eyes. “He asked me what I knew about the Euphrates. Said something about four fallen angels shackled beneath the river, to be released when your blood spilled into it.”

“Hmm. And that’s when I woke up, yes?”

Jacob nodded solemnly. “It’s true, isn’t it? How you have the choice to end the world now or in twenty years?”

“Yes, unfortunately. And you’re there, wondering where I stand, as if my choice isn’t already painstakingly obvious.”

“I guess I’m curious why you wanted to carry on for another twenty years of this.”

A calming smirk stretched across her lips. “I’ll admit I was determined to make quick work of laying waste to this world if I hadn’t met you when I did. My work was starting to feel like a colossal waste of time and effort.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jacob mirrored her smirk. “Oh, sure, make me the reason you decided to keep things status quo.”

A genuine laugh erupted from Saoirse, which made Jacob’s stomach do somersaults. “Maybe I want a chance to see where things go between us.”

“What if you wake up twenty some years down the road and suddenly feel like I wasted your time?”

“It would take much more than that to persuade me to doom the entire planet.”

Jacob sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I doubt heartache is outside the realm of possibility.”

“Why are you so quick to reject my affections for you?”

Suddenly, Jacob’s eyes darkened as his gaze met hers. “Why should you have affections for someone as broken as I am?”

In turn, Saoirse rolled her eyes. “For the umpteenth time, because you’re worth my affections, Jake.”

“Okay, wait.” The young man paused as his face flushed with colour. “Are you saying you love me?”

Saoirse unfolded her arms and slowly approached the silhouette of his frame illuminated by the unyielding outside light. “I am.”

Nervously clutching the back of his neck, it seemed Jacob couldn’t bring himself to maintain eye contact with her. “Huh. Well, that’s… I uh… Shit, okay. Okay.”

“I don’t expect you to reciprocate my words, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her tone was cold and harsh, but her eyes remained soft and kind.

He stumbled and cleared his throat in hopes of fighting the tightening inside his chest as the world began to close in around him. “I want to say it when uh…when we’re together, you know?”

Of course, she then realized in horror. “Right. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Jacob queried, accentuated by a nervous chuckle. “I’m the one who made it weird.”

“Yes, but technically,” Saoirse whispered, slowly closing the gap between them, “I’m the one who cut straight to the chase when I knew those words meant something to you.”

For the first time in several days, feeling her warmth against his belly made his knees weak. The conversation which Jacob hoped to have with her seemed to have strayed so far off course, he wouldn’t have been able to recall his initial inquiry if it slapped him square in the face. “For what it’s worth, I’ve told you in dreams.”

Eyes wide with curiosity, Saoirse found his jawline with her thumb and lips. “Which means, as I interpret your words, in those dreams, you’ve told me you love me when we’re, dare I say it, making the beast with two backs?”

Jacob groaned, feeling his pulse hasten beneath her touch. Her warm breath against his neck was doing him no favours, either. “You realize how painful it already is for me to keep my hands off you, right?”

“Without a doubt, sweetheart,” Saoirse retorted with a playful grin. “The truth is, I’m testing your resolve. So far, given how thick I’ve laid it on you, you’ve impressed me, Private Seed.”

A long, drawn-out sigh slipped through clenched teeth as Jacob suddenly found himself torn between an aching desire to pin her against the wall or maintain his crushingly torturous farce of self-discipline. “So, in other words, you’re challenging me.”

“Well, you’re half-right,” she whispered, gently brushing Jacob’s brow with the back of her hand. “I’m observing your responses to sporadic provocative stimuli, which I’ve found quite entertaining.”

When Jacob leaned forward to kiss her with a fervour he longed to embrace once again, his lips met her index finger instead. He only grunted in response, as his anticipation of her kiss visibly decayed into a smouldering frustration. “And you’re pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

“Before we do anything foolish,” she began, seemingly breathlessly, “ask yourself first if you can live peacefully tomorrow with the decisions you might make today.”

“I already made my choice.” As he fought wave after wave of boundless temptation to finally give in to such sinful desires, Jacob broke his kiss and rested his forehead against Saoirse’s collar. “And now, I want you to make a choice.”

Her eyes met the chaotic intensity within his, and for a fleeting moment, she swore she knew exactly what Jacob was thinking. “Alright, I’m listening.”

“On the table or against the wall?”

Chapter Text

With Jacob’s hardness pressed firmly against her inner thigh, as short, rapid breaths flowed past his lips, the heat of the moment was hopelessly ruined before their fervour had a chance to spark and ignite.

Ironically, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect: although it wasn’t her intention, the faint hum of helicopter blades in the distance made Saoirse laugh uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny?” Jacob growled, his cheeks profusely flushed by a mixture of perplexion and humiliation. “Seriously, what the hell are you laughing at?”

“You don’t hear that?” she retorted, her gaze breaking from his, fixing on the horizon through the lookout. The bunker atrium grew eerily quiet, save for the percussive pulsing waves of the approaching Chinook. “Listen. Look to the horizon.”

Jacob refocused upon the distant valley floor, where miles and miles away, he could barely make out a faint cloud of dust kicked up in the chopper’s wake. “You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

Again, Saoirse burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, despite her frustration over the situation. “Cockblocked by the United States Army. That’s a first, even for me.”

Annoyed, Jacob closed his eyes and tilted his head back, opening his eyes once again to the monotonous, stone-grey bunker roof. “Do they know we’re up here?”

“That’s what the flares are for.”

Without skipping a beat, Jacob made his way for the flare gun, which sat loaded on the top shelf of his otherwise empty locker, its orange hilt half-visible past the locker’s hinged door. There were three rounds in addition to the chambered round, but given the afternoon sun was still quite high, it might’ve taken all four flares to get the rear spotter’s attention. He refused to waste time and energy pondering the what ifs in the event the flares proved futile.

Still, the most dangerous thing a man could lose was hope, and Jacob didn’t have much left to hold onto. After climbing atop the roof, Jacob held his breath and aimed the gun upwards on an angle and fired the first round.

From such a distance, he couldn’t quite discern the chopper’s orientation, save for the cloud of dust that followed it, but after several minutes of watching the horizon, he concluded the chopper was approaching the waypoint. If the chopper reached the bunker, the odds of the flares being spotted would’ve been far greater.

A brief but sobering thought flashed through his mind: had he wasted the first flare? Jacob’s anxiety briefly spiked before he pushed the thought away.

Four minutes slowly passed as he continued to watch the approaching aircraft. He counted each of the two-hundred and forty seconds, hoping the pace of his count would slow his frantic heart rate, but to no avail.

Another seven minutes passed, and the Chinook was about half a click from the waypoint. Against his better judgment, Jacob shakily loaded the second flare and fired it, holding his breath in anticipation of rescue.

Still, it seemed the second flare had gone unnoticed, too. “This isn’t working!” he yelled to Saoirse from the roof, his voice echoing through the atrium chamber from the loophole. “There’s too much daylight!”

Through the loophole, Saoirse intently watched the chopper for signs of success, but her hope quickly began to diminish. She contemplated making a mad dash for the waypoint, weighing the odds of success against staying put. Perhaps there was no spotter on board. Perhaps the sortie to the waypoint was to investigate why the radar beacon’s designation was spontaneously changed.

Perhaps, Saoirse quietly contemplated, the aircraft was nothing more than a figment of their imaginations—a cruel joke played upon them by unseen forces. After all, Jacob had just become acquainted with Furfur, the demon known for playing tricks and telling lies. On the other hand, as much as he enjoyed stirring the pot and inciting chaos, Furfur wasn’t the sort to give a sense of false hope.

In the distance, the Chinook’s approach slowed when it reached the waypoint’s perimeter; a team of two rappelled to the valley floor, presumably to assess the equipment’s status, while the Chinook hovered above.

Saoirse assumed the pair would spot the inoperable radio she had delicately wired into the beacon’s hardware, if the pile of dirt left behind after exhuming the transmitting processor wasn’t plainly obvious on its own.

Then again, her faith in mankind recently sunk to an all new low and being stranded in the desert for the better part of a fortnight was just another nail in that goddamn coffin.

“Jacob, flare!” she barked, and moments later, a third magnificent arc of burning phosphorus shot into the sky before sinking below the edge of the cliff on the other side of the bunker. “Look up, you cocksuckers, look up,” Saoirse muttered in desperate exasperation.

A few minutes later, Jacob fired the fourth and final flare. As the red glow slowly followed its predecessor, he felt the remnants of his hope begin to starve and die for good.

This was their chance to go home, and it was lost forever.

Now enraged, Saoirse scrambled out of the bunker and leapt onto the roof, her furious scowl accentuated by the intensity in her eyes, within which Jacob recognized vibrant hues of swirling red—an indication that the fun and games, if that’s what one could call the last thirteen days, was long over. “Cover your ears,” she growled.

Kneeling next to her, Jacob complied without hesitation and braced himself against the coarse concrete. A noise then erupted from Saoirse’s impossibly wide mouth, a noise in which Jacob was certain the two soldiers standing hunched over the tampered hardware would hear. Even with his ears covered, Jacob wondered if such a sound would leave him temporarily deafened, if not a little disoriented.

The roar lasted nineteen seconds. When all fell silent, Saoirse collapsed to her knees, wincing in pain, but Jacob dared not get too close. The corners of her mouth had begun to bleed, and the colour slowly drained from her face. Still, she was breathing, and that was all Jacob needed to know.

His concern for her nearly eclipsed his urge to check on the situation below. Had the men scrambled back into the Chinook for a hasty escape? The possibility crossed his mind. In fact, Jacob wouldn’t have blamed them. If he had heard such a roar this deep inside enemy territory, he would’ve emptied his bowels without question.

Nonetheless, the soldiers had climbed back into the Chinook, and to his relief, the tandem rotor craft was finally making its way to Charlie Bravo. For a moment, Jacob thought he felt the tears of relief welling in his eyes. He needed to be strong for the men coming to his rescue. Yet, it seemed to be a losing battle.

Semi-conscious, Saoirse stirred and coughed, trying to lift her head from the bunker roof. Her throat burned from exertion, but she still tried to whisper his name, despite what little sound she could produce. “Did it work?” she asked softly, her hand stretching out to meet his bristly cheek.

Jacob nodded as he finally allowed himself a moment to unclench each tense, tired muscle. “They heard us, Sairs.”

Saoirse closed her eyes in relief and lowered her head back down upon the concrete. And when he was sure she wasn’t looking, Jacob allowed his tears to silently break free.

Chapter Text

Two nights following their return to King Khalid Military City, Saoirse woke in a haze to find Corporal Jackson at her bedside, securing her commanding officer’s IV line to her forearm with a piece of surgical tape.

In accordance with protocol, Saoirse found herself strapped to her gurney with wrist, ankle, and abdominal restraints. Regardless, Saoirse was too weak to bother struggling against them.

“Good evening,” Katrina whispered, noticing the obvious change in Saoirse’s consciousness. “Welcome back to civilization.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Corporal,” Saoirse groggily muttered once she finished clearing her throat.

Katrina smiled as she backed away to inspect her handiwork. “Speak for yourself.” She then gestured towards the second occupied gurney, which sat adjacent to Saoirse, upon which lay a familiar corporeal form. “I heard they found you both unconscious at Charlie Bravo. No one can believe you survived for so long out there.”

Despite the splitting headache which throbbed deep within her skull, Saoirse lifted her head from her pillow, and her gaze fell upon Jacob’s resting form. “He wouldn’t have made it if I hadn’t bitten him.”

“You bit him?” Katrina reiterated doubtfully. “Wait, is he…?”

Saoirse nodded. “He has one of the strongest Augmentus presentations I’ve ever seen.”

The Corporal’s brow furrowed as her adrenaline set in. “Where’s the bite?”

“Left inner thigh.”

Grabbing the bottom of the loosely draped blanket, Katrina pulled the cotton fabric towards his chest and leaned down to inspect the site, as faint as the scar was. “Minimal scarring. No signs of infection.” A few minutes of silence erupted as Katrina continued to assess the sleeping man. “Were his abilities immediately obvious?”

Clearing her throat once again, Saoirse shook her head. “I carried him on my shoulders to the bunker. When we got there, I set him down on the floor and collapsed from exhaustion. Passed out for four days, he said, even though it didn’t feel that long. I missed the entire transformation.”

“Jesus.” Katrina, slack-jawed, couldn’t believe her eyes. She met Private Seed in passing once or twice prior to the incident, and the difference in his musculature alone was all but unnoticeable. “How could he have put on this much muscle mass without proper sustenance?”

For as little room as the restraints offered, Saoirse tried to shrug. “There was still a limited supply of powdered eggs when we got there. Not to mention what supplies came with Private First Class Miller the night Jacob was supposed to come back here.”

“Jacob?” the Corporal teased.

Saoirse didn’t need to respond—her silence told all. “Jacob certainly made the many long, hot days a lot easier to stomach.”

A scoff fluttered from Katrina’s lips as a playful grin appeared. “So, you two had some time to get to know each other, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Major!” Katrina hissed, her eyes wide with bewilderment, and perhaps a splash of jealousy. “What if General Thomas finds out?”

“Let the chips fall where they may. And this goes without saying, but I trust what we discuss here won’t walk out that door with you. Right, Corporal?”

Though hesitant at first, the Corporal eventually sighed and nodded in agreement. “My lips are sealed, as always.”

“Just making sure,” Saoirse groaned, as she attempted to shift her weight atop the gurney’s godawful mattress pad. Still, the gurney was a vast improvement from the cot. “I heard there was an attack.”

Katrina nodded, solemn and muted. Her tongue tied by both crushing anxiety and survivor’s guilt, having taken shelter prior to the barrage of missile strikes when others in her cohort weren’t so lucky. “We needed you here that night.”

Saoirse nodded in solemn agreement. “I deeply regret not being here for you.”

“We can’t live in the past, though. What happened, happened. You’re here, and you brought a living, breathing experiment with you.”

“And he’s one of ours, to boot,” Saoirse added with a muted chuckle. “As for Private Saqqar, he has been redeployed to hell.”

A sigh of relief fell from Katrina’s lips. “I heard we lost Private First Class Miller.”

“He was already gone when I got to Al Jahra.” Saoirse paused and reflected on the events prior to being holed up in the bunker with Jacob, as if she didn’t allow herself the time to mourn the young man. “Truth be told, given what we can expect in the coming days, Miller was probably the lucky one.”

“I’m sorry. I can only imagine how you both must feel.”

A heavy sigh lifted Saoirse’s chest, and a long exhale then followed. “Well, like you just said, what happened, happened. I got my revenge. Maybe we can all sleep a little more soundly.”

“I hope you’re right, Major.” Katrina checked Saoirse’s restraints before she rose from the bedside stool and turned for the door. She then checked Jacob’s restraints before making her way to the examination room door. The hour was late, and it seemed she hadn’t slept much, especially since the night of the attack. “I’m glad you’re both back. Now, get some rest. We’ve got work to do.”

“Right back at you, Corporal.”

Chapter Text

The wee hours of the morning came and went, and sleep carefully evaded Saoirse, who had grown restless and bored counting the flecks of muck across the examination room’s ceiling tiles. Though still restrained, the sleep she’d gotten was restful.

Predictably so, her restlessness was soon accompanied by ravenous hunger, and although she was awake at 0200 hours, the kitchen operated twenty-four hours every day. Nonetheless, Saoirse was quickly reminded of her restraints.

As she shifted her weight upon the gurney to get comfortable again, Saoirse’s attention was drawn to Jacob’s gurney by an unusual whimper, which quickly evolved into an agitated growl. Although both the whimper and the growl ceased as quickly as they began, their occurrence left behind an inexplicable feeling in her gut, a feeling she couldn’t bring herself to pay it any mind, no matter how harshly it gnawed.

Moments later, though, the whimper returned, this time accompanied by jumbled, almost slurred speech, as if Jacob had been heavily sedated.

As per protocol, of course, as she lacked such precedent, there was no formula Saoirse could refer to predict how an augmented subject might react in the presence of inactivated subjects and therefore made sedation a precautionary measure for preventing a bloodbath.

When the room grew silent once again, Saoirse waited, listening carefully for a change in his consciousness. “Jake?” she called, unsure if she wanted to hear his voice in the dead of night, or if she’d feel better if he slept through until morning. But when he didn’t respond, Saoirse felt the cold touch of loneliness against the back of her neck.

This was going to be a long night.

That was, until whiff of a familiar, sulphurous odour caught her attention. “Furfur, is that you?”

“Am I so obvious?” a raspy voice called from the shadows, before a pair of bright, yellow eyes appeared within the blackness. “Sister, you’re bound. Shall I set you free?”

Saoirse pursed her lips when the winged stag entered her view, its smouldering, blackened antlers nearly scraping the ceiling tiles overhead. “Please, if you would be so kind. I would like to stretch my legs.”

Without a reply, Furfur drew closer to the bed and stood on his hind legs, cocking his head to the side and muttering unintelligibly to himself. Seconds later, the restraints around her wrists and ankles unbuckled, soon followed by the wider belt around her abdomen.

Once she had sat upright upon the gurney, Saoirse rubbed the chafed skin and sighed with relief. “Much better, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the demon countered, offering a respectful bow before backing away into the thickest of shadows.

“It’s curious to see you again so soon, Brother.”

The stag grunted and lowered its head, scanning from side to side, as if trying to hide his face from someone. Or something. “I’ve come to warn you.”

“Have you, now?”

“Azazil has awoken,” the demon announced. “Our brother seeks to challenge you, Sister.”

As another heavy sigh escaped her, Saoirse raised a sceptical eyebrow. “This had better not be one of your tricks, or mark my words, Brother.”

Offended by Saoirse’s rebuttal, Furfur scuffed his hooves across the concrete floor. “I respect you too much to dare lie to you, Sister.”

“Tell me what Azazil seeks and be specific. I have no time for your games.”

“Funny,” he muttered. “It seems you’ve no apparent shortage of time on your hands. Or perhaps you were intentionally being rude.” Furfur then raised his wingtip in the direction of the sleeping man, whose gurney sat only a pace or two from where the demon stood. “Our brother seeks your…pet.”

Saoirse laughed sarcastically, her grin disappearing as quickly as it emerged. “What business does Azazil have with him?”

“This mortal might care for you, Sister, but in time, you’ll see it’s a grave mistake. Under God’s decree, his very own kin will threaten your purpose. Should you dare let your guard down, they will lead you astray, and you will abandon the task you’ve undertaken. Azazil seeks to prevent such a betrayal.”

“Over my dead body will I let Azazil take him, and you can pass my words along.”

The demon smirked, if a demonic stag could smirk, and shook its head. “The matter is out of my hands now.” A menacing laugh echoed around the dim examination room as Furfur slowly retreated into the shadowy shroud, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.

~

Saoirse glanced towards the still-unconscious man, her heart vigorously throbbing against the walls inside her chest while she watched his chest rise and fall with each breath.

Having walked the earth for over three thousand years, a simple, undeniable truth remained, with which Saoirse couldn’t make peace: despite her unmatched power and strength in combat, she was no match for her eldest otherworldly sibling.

Jacob might not have presently been in any sort of danger, but she knew the day would one day come. And when the day finally did, there would be little she could do to stop Azazil in his tracks. My brother will never take you, Saoirse promised, as if five unspoken words carried any weight for a man who was none the wiser.

Alas, her words meant something to her and that was all that mattered.

Each time he stirred in his sleep, Saoirse readied herself for what she might say now that they were safe at last within the patrolled perimeter of King Khalid Military City. Her worries spiked each time the nagging voice in the back of her head told her things would be different from inside the bunker, and she dreaded the possibility of losing the excitement and tension they had fostered and shared, until just yesterday.

Cursing her eldest brother, Saoirse did everything she could to get comfortable in anticipation of anxiety-fueled insomnia. To her surprise, however, it took no time at all for Saoirse to fall back into unconsciousness.

At 0700, Saoirse was woken by the lab’s plexiglass doors sliding open and shut, followed by the familiar thumping of bootsteps upon the floor. Albeit annoyed from being awoken after such inadequate rest, she quickly resigned herself from getting further sleep and slowly sat upright to stretch and take in the world through each of her senses.

From elsewhere beyond the lab’s four walls, a small handful of overlapping conversations echoed faintly, gently reminding Saoirse of the comfortable communal ambience she’d once taken for granted. “Good morning, Major.”

“At ease, Corporal. And good morning to you, too.”

“I just came by to get your breakfast order.”

Raising a sceptical eye, Saoirse spotted Katrina glancing towards the still-unconscious Private with unmistakably heightened curiosity. “Aren’t you going to ask how I escaped my restraints?”

The Corporal scoffed and shook her head. “I figured Jacob might have given you a hand. You know, as a courtesy.”

Saoirse laughed sarcastically. “I would have asked him to leave them on.”

“Right, my mistake,” Katrina admitted, trying to hide her smirk as she rolled her eyes. “Now, what can I grab from the mess hall, Major? Something tells me you’re sick of powdered eggs and whatever else you might’ve gotten your mitts on.”

“I’ll take whatever scraps of meat the kitchen is willing to part with.”

Katrina’s hackles raised in response to her superior’s nonchalance in asking such a question. “With all due respect, Major, don’t you think attracting any outside attention might complicate keeping him under wraps?”

With a deadpan stare, Saoirse locked eyes with her subordinate, eyes unblinking and wide. “Jacob’s augmentation has nothing to do with my request. I’m starving, Corporal, and for reasons I’d rather not discuss at this time, I must maintain my strength. Respecting an immediate absence of living prey here on base, a predator such as myself would happily take a couple pounds of kitchen scraps off the kitchen’s hands as a reasonable alternative.”

A soft cough came from across the examination room, which brought Saoirse’s conversation to a sudden halt. “I wouldn’t say no to country fried steak and eggs,” Jacob muttered weakly.

“Good morning, Private,” Saoirse whispered, noticing him squinting from the ceiling lights. She didn’t have to gesture to the lights before Katrina flipped the switch on the wall behind her. “And welcome home. How are you feeling?”

“Ravenous,” he answered with a yawn. “How long have I been asleep?”

Saoirse shrugged, glancing back to Katrina. “A day or two at most.”

Only when Jacob attempted to wipe the sleep from his eyes did he realize he, too, had been restrained to the gurney. “Really?”

Katrina unfolded her arms from across her chest and cautiously approached the edge of Jacob’s bed to unbuckle his restraints. “It’s just protocol.”

Sensing his mounting unrest, Saoirse also approached the edge of Jacob’s bed, and Katrina respectfully backed away, watching her superior’s every move. “If it makes you feel better, I was restrained, too.”

The young soldier’s vexed brow furrowed, yet his demeanour relaxed when Saoirse’s hand squeezed his tightly against her palm. “I refuse to spend my time in here being treated like some rabid animal,” Jacob muttered through clenched teeth. “Just so we’re on the same page.”

Taking position once more next to the sliding doors, Katrina rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Private. Saoirse’s going to take real good care of you.”

“That will be all, Corporal,” Saoirse grumbled over her shoulder. “I believe you’ve gotten what you came for.”

Following a grunt in acknowledgement, the Corporal’s bootsteps receded from the lab, where behind her, the sliding doors closed, leaving Saoirse and Jacob alone together once again.

“Hi,” Jacob whispered, while his freed fingertips brushed a stray lock of hair from Saoirse’s face. “Corporal Jackson knows, doesn’t she? She had that look in her eyes.”

As she struggled to stifle a giggle, Saoirse nodded and closed the gap between her knees and the edge of his gurney’s mattress. “I neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions.”

A playful smile quickly took hold beneath Jacob’s bristly, unkempt beard. “I don’t reckon you would have let her leave if you thought for a second that she couldn’t keep a secret this big,” he inquired, glancing around the ceiling, seemingly in search of something.

“Corporal Jackson knows a great deal of things very few others know about, if that answers your question.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Jacob softly retorted, before his lips hungrily found hers.

Chapter Text

Jacob groaned loudly when Corporal Jackson’s return from the mess hall interrupted his kiss, even though she carried two takeout containers, the fragrances of breakfast making his mouth water. The Corporal knew exactly what she was walking into; in fact, Katrina almost expected it, had she not a greater sense of respect for her superior.

From the corner of his eye, Jacob spotted Katrina’s envious eye roll, and his smile broke their kiss. “Thanks a lot, Corporal.” Despite his ravenous hunger, however, Jacob paused and waited for Saoirse to join him once she finished pulling her freshly showered hair into a messy bun.

“Whatever you need, Private, within reason,” Katrina softly countered, quietly observing the emancipated young soldier salivating over his first meal. It seemed, she determined, Jacob lacked the Major’s appetite for raw meat, which immediately seemed to settle her nerves.

Once Saoirse sat upon the edge of the gurney, Jacob took his first bite, warily eying Katrina’s shoulders rise and fall as she sighed with relief.

“Jake, I know you’re hungry, but I wouldn’t eat too quickly,” Saoirse casually advised before biting into a scraggly cut of flank steak. “Starvation shock can be nasty.”

“Mm,” Jacob grunted, almost painedly so, as the flavours of home shocked his starved palate. “I guess I thought if I ate myself sick off country fried steak and peaches, I wouldn’t get homesick. Peach cobbler, too. God, what I wouldn’t give for some peach cobbler right now. With some ice cream.”

“I bet that’s not the only peach you’d like to munch on,” Katrina mumbled under her breath.

Flushed, Jacob tried to laugh off his embarrassment as best he could while he glanced towards Saoirse, who seemed unfazed, her cheeks stuffed with half-chewed flank steak. “I thought we weren’t telling anyone.”

“Corporal Jackson has been my right hand for over a decade,” Saoirse dryly answered. “If I can trust her with my life, we can trust her to keep a secret.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Katrina affirmed, placing her heart over her chest. “And don’t worry, I’ll be out of both your short-and-curlies soon. Just…uh…you know, speaking from experience, try to keep the noise down.”

Albeit unheard of in his neck of the woods, Jacob somehow found comfort in putting faith in someone whose name he’d only heard in passing. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to look Katrina in the eyes as she waved on her way through the sliding doors. “That was painful.”

All Saoirse could do was laugh. “I know what you mean,” she wheezed, “but Katrina grows on you.”

Nodding slowly, Jacob shoveled another forkful into his maw. “And you’re sure she won’t say a word? To anyone?”

Saoirse reached for his hand and gave a solemn nod. “I can’t help but think you’re afraid of someone specific finding out.”

“Sergeant Michaels,” he muttered.

Once again, Saoirse chuckled. “Paul? Are you kidding?”

Jacob wasn’t kidding, according to his scowl. “Sarge will bust my fucking balls.”

“Well, he’ll have to go through me,” Saoirse countered, still struggling to keep a straight face.

Rolling his eyes, Jacob knew he couldn’t argue. Nonetheless, his position still deserved to be heard. “There’s one thing worse than the thought of getting caught.”

Her hand still clutching his, Saoirse cocked her head inquisitively. “And what might that be?”

“Getting separated. Worst case scenario, redeployed on opposite sides of the world.”

“We’re living in the twentieth century, you know. The world isn’t as big as it used to be.”

Following a shrug, Jacob set his plate upon the bedside table. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t miss keeping you warm at night.”

Overtaken by her infatuated grin, Saoirse gently bit her lower lip and coyly lowered her head, embracing the sudden hammering of her heart. “I would be lying outright if I told you I wouldn’t miss your company, too.”

“Are we stupid enough to risk it?”

“I already told you: the Army’s rules don’t apply to me. Nor will they apply to you.”

Somewhat satisfied, Jacob sighed with annoyed pleasure and softly—but steadily—exhaled through his nose. “And you’re sure I’m even worth your time?”

“Private,” Saoirse groaned, trying to force back her grin. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you until you finish your breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jacob smiled to himself as the room quickly grew silent, save of course, for the sounds of chewing.

Only a few minutes later, Jacob set his plate down for the last time and waited for her to catch up. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“Not a whole hell of a lot,” Saoirse replied after struggling to follow one of the remaining few bites. “At least for you, anyway. You’re strictly confined to the lab as a precaution because we still don’t know how you’ll react in the general population.”

“Mm,” he grunted, his gaze falling to the floor. “I can still have a shower, right?”

A smile lit up Saoirse’s face before she stumbled through a coy chuckle. “Yes, of course. The decontamination room has a shower built in. Tried and tested, and the water’s warm, Private.”

“Is that…” Jacob tried to clear his parched throat, but to no avail. “Is that an invitation?”

Saoirse merely shrugged. “Sure, if you’d like it to be.”

Her lack of enthusiasm etched fresh throngs of heartache deep inside Jacob’s psyche, but he didn’t want to seem impatient or presumptuous. On the flip side, Jacob felt he wasn’t ready to be intimate with her.

Yet, given how often he daydreamed of everything he wanted to do to her, Jacob couldn’t fathom his hesitation and instead grew frustrated with himself. Maybe, he contemplated, you’re terrified of disappointing her because if you do, she’ll raze the earth and everyone upon it.

“Jake?”

“Mm?” he acknowledged, once he returned to the present. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to space out on you.”

“I figured you were hesitant. I would understand if you were.”

Taken aback, Jacob’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head ever so slightly. “Thank you,” he muttered, following a brief pause.

Saoirse’s eyes then darkened. “Jacob, I haven’t been pressuring you, have I?”

“Oh, fuck no,” he assured, choking back an uneasy giggle. “Believe me, woman, I want you. It’s just…I’m a little nervous.”

The upward curl of Saoirse’s half smirk matched her one raised eyebrow. “Just say when and where and I’ll be there,” she whispered, pressing her thigh into his groin.

Chapter Text

Like every time before, Jacob looked in the mirror and saw a spitting image of his father.

Each time Jacob saw his father, he always then remembered the flames engulfing the ornery bastard while he sat bleeding out from a shotgun slug Jacob fired from ten feet away. He remembered the nothingness of watching Old Man Seed silently clinging to life as he burned to death.

It was the eerie silence of his father’s death that haunted him the most. Jacob’s vain attempt to rationalize how Old Man Seed could’ve suffered something so agonizing without making so much as a whimper made him shudder and break his gaze from his reflection.

When Jacob remembered the flames consuming his broken home from the undeveloped lot across the street, he swore he could still feel the blistering across his forehead and cheeks. Scars which set him apart from the rest of society at just fourteen years old.

As much as Jacob despised his own reflection, today was different: he could somehow bear to catch a glimpse of the man in the mirror.

Simply put, Old Man Seed was a monster. And though Saoirse’s kindness seemed to know no bounds, she too was a monster. Yet, there wasn’t much about her that scared Jacob when it came down to brass tacks. Until the day Saoirse would commit the act of ending the world, he couldn’t be sure whether Furfur was a fiction inside his pitifully broken mind.

Jacob broke his gaze with a growl before wiping the steam from the mirror. He didn’t know why his fists were clenched at his sides while he stood there, half-covered by a plain white towel, shivering in the centre of the shower floor, staring into nothingness in the far corner.

You’ve seen how fucked up the world is, Jacob mused. Your old man made you strong, and she made you stronger. You’d be perfect for an apocalyptic wasteland.

A knock came upon the door, and Jacob nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jake?” Saoirse called, her voice muffled and tinny. “I’ve been invited to the commander's quarters for my pre-briefing.”

“That sounds fucking thrilling,” Jacob countered before he unbolted and pulled the steel door towards him.

Having donned a prim and proper officer’s attire while Jacob enjoyed his shower, he re-entered the examination room and found Saoirse using her reflection upon the plexiglass doors to tuck away several wayward strands of hair.

He then regretted not inviting her into the shower after all.

The world began to fade to black in tandem with the hammering of Jacob’s infatuated heart. “Major,” he uttered softly, taken aback by how gracefully she held herself in uniform.

Sensing his eyes upon her, Saoirse couldn’t help but blush. It had absolutely nothing to do with Jacob wearing nothing except a towel, of course. “Sergeant Michaels dropped off a duffel of fresh clothes for you. I left it on the gurney.”

“You’re all so good to me.”

“Well, Paul said he’ll make you really work for it. Eventually, anyway. I told him you’re mine for the foreseeable future.”

Although Jacob wasn’t too keen on having his balls busted by his commanding officer, and most likely the rest of his unit, the truth coming to light was simply an eventuality. Jacob could accept such, but his thoughts began to race. Would he be ostracized or revered when word of his involvement with the Major got out? “Guess Miller was right about the knee pads.”

“Yeah…I don’t want to know. Listen, I need to head out. If you need anything, the desk phone is programmed to call Corporal Jackson when you pick up the receiver.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll manage,” Jacob acknowledged with a troublesome wink.

Kissing him goodbye crossed her mind, but a parting wink would suffice, Saoirse decided, which seemed to work quite well, given how rosy Jacob’s cheeks became as she took her leave. “Don’t have too much fun without me, Private.”

You can count on it, his grin exclaimed.

In fact, Saoirse hoped he might take care of some business. Maybe more than once, if he was feeling adventurous. It would certainly loosen him up a bit.

Once the plexiglass doors shut behind her, Jacob made for his gurney and hungrily unzipped the duffel, tightly packed with one week’s worth of clean clothes. Nestled delicately inside the carefully packed clothing was a paperback trilogy by John Grisham, Jacob recognized, each of the books equally weathered and worn after years of traveling amongst Sergeant Michaels’ personal effects.

Jacob wasn’t much of a reader, but he lacked much of anything else to do for the next couple of hours. Given all he had endured over the past few weeks, escaping into a different reality, even for a short time, would surely benefit him.

However, within an hour, and just past the first fifty pages, Jacob began to doze off. He didn’t remember feeling tired, and upon waking a few moments later, he chalked his sudden nap up to the mounting monotony of a thrilling trilogy.

Check again, Jacob swore he heard something whisper in the back of his mind. The duffel.

Weird, he commented, but didn’t hesitate to comply with the voice.

To his surprise, he found a leather-bound yet otherwise unremarkable book at the bottom of the duffel. Unremarkable on the outside, at least.

The book itself was so old its leather had begun to degrade and wear down along its spine, but alas, the spine still withstood the test of time. From what Jacob could tell, after skimming over the first few pages, the book was written entirely in Latin and entirely by an anonymous hand. Its pages were thick and spotted with age and grime—much like the John Grisham trilogy, but this kind of filth felt almost too familiar.

The last page onto which he haphazardly flipped showed a symbol Jacob recalled seeing in several history textbooks which he would borrow from Rome’s public library to help his brothers with their schoolwork. The Crusades, he realized, after racking his brain for far too long.

This was certainly a strange book for Sergeant Michaels to carry around, at any rate. Without realizing it, this mysterious book had engulfed Jacob’s curiosity in its entirety.

Chapter Text

Many layers of soft chatter within the Commanders’ quarters quieted to a lull and dissolved when Major Kingston entered, carrying herself with a practiced solemnity.

“At ease, Major,” General Thomas grumbled as he rose from his chair to salute and extend a hand. “A bit soon, but we’re glad to see you up and moving. Thank you for taking some time to meet with us today.” He then gestured to his rear towards Lieutenant Colonel Heather Morris, a loathsome, ornery acquaintance whom Saoirse intended to fully ignore.

“With all due respect, I’d like to get one thing straight before we begin, sir,” Saoirse snarled back. “I’d like to know what the fuck happened to the extraction I ordered seventy-two hours post commencement of my rescue operation.”

Taken aback by the sharpness of his subordinate’s words, the General leaned back in his chair and allowed his jaw to slack. “Word of your extraction never reached us, Major. we wouldn’t have known you were there, were it not for what I assume was your manipulation of Waypoint Echo Charlie’s transponder signal.”

Saoirse scoffed indignantly. “Don’t you dare give me such a poor excuse.”

The General sighed. Major Kingston might have scared the others half to death, but after serving alongside her for the past fifteen years, General Robert Thomas didn’t so much as bat an eye. “A few days after you disembarked, we were ambushed.”

“I don’t think you understand, Major,” Lieutenant Colonel Morris sharply interjected. “The ambush came from the inside. Several dozen soldiers died that night. Dozens more were injured. We’re taking it a little personally.”

“Well, it’s personal for me, too,” Saoirse hissed. “On top of Private Seed starving half to death out there, we almost baked alive inside that goddamn concrete oven. And you’re telling me we waited for two weeks for an extraction that was never even meant to come?”

“The fact of the matter, Major,” the General snapped, “is the situation is under investigation by the Department of Defense. We have reason to believe a small unit of Iraqi Army defectors initiated the attack with the assistance of one of our own officers. Our intention of this meeting is to narrow down the list of parties who may have been in on it. Off the record.”

“We lose a dozen men in an attack and the soul responsible is still living? Walking around, breathing?” Saoirse snarled, following a drawn-out breath. She then closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. “Jesus Christ, the American Army has truly lost its fucking balls. Leave the investigation to me, General. I’ll have the bastard’s heart on a fucking silver platter before sunset, mark my words.”

In his chair, General Thomas tensed, instinctively reaching for his sidearm—as if that would stop her from ripping him limb from limb. “It isn’t my call, Major. Otherwise, it’d be all yours.”

“Right. Well, I suggest you contact the Department of Defense and rectify this, Robert. Surely, the souls of those who perished might be grateful you did. I’m willing to bet their families want answers sooner than later.”

“Your cooperation in the matter would be highly appreciated, Major,” Heather once again interjected. “Perhaps even mutually beneficial.”

The Major scoffed and shook her head. “Sure. Whatever.”

Lieutenant Colonel Morris rose from her chair and circled to the front edge of the General’s desk, against which she leaned back and folded her arms across her chest, her surly gaze meeting the disconcerting unpredictability of Saoirse’s. “Are you familiar with a defector named Private Saïd Saqqar?”

Following a short pause, Saoirse cracked a jaded smirk with a nod. “Prior to the ambush, I only knew of the program that accepted defectors. We made each other’s acquaintance at Charlie Bravo. He fired a shotgun at Private Seed and I. Once I caught my breath, I took a pound of flesh of my own.”

Neither General Thomas nor Lieutenant Colonel Morris seemed surprised. “You seem quite protective of this Private Seed.”

Saoirse’s grin quickly shifted into a scowl. “For good reason, yes. I am.”

“We’ll save that discussion for another day,” the General remarked. “Let’s focus, shall we? Major, was Private Saqqar alone when he engaged you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

With her tongue pressed against her cheek, Saoirse nodded. “He only addressed Private Seed. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but it was something along the lines of, ‘I didn’t expect to see you here’.”

The General and Lieutenant Colonel exchanged glances. “You weren’t very surprised to hear about the ambush,” Heather grilled. “It seems a little too convenient that you waited two weeks at Charlie Bravo before signaling for a ride home.”

“Don’t go there, Morris,” General Thomas warned. “Don’t poke the bear.”

Yes, please remind the Lieutenant to heed her slimy tongue, Saoirse mused. “Corporal Jackson filled me in on what I missed during my…inconvenient absence. While she awaited my return, she spent days volunteering in the trauma bay. Treating our wounded. Mourning our dead. You think I would’ve put her through something so psychologically distressing when we’re marching into battle in less than a month’s time?”

Lieutenant Colonel Morris’ eyes grew wide as a brilliant pink hue arose across her cheeks. “My apologies.”

The shrill ring of General Thomas’ desk phone then broke the excruciating silence. “Yes?” he snappishly answered, attempting valiantly to hide the unease in his voice. The call lasted just four seconds before the General returned the receiver to its base. “Major, you’re needed in the lab immediately. We’ll reconvene another time.”

General Thomas’ voice echoed inside her head, over and over. You’re needed in the lab. In the lab. Needed. Immediately.

After she’d sprung to her feet and burst through the door, into a corridor which felt so, so claustrophobic, a single thought lingered in Saoirse’s mind, as if it had meticulously implanted itself inside the walls of her mind: Jacob is in danger.

Chapter Text

Just as Saoirse rounded the corner to approach the lab, its plexiglass double doors slid open and from inside a breathless, hysterical Corporal Jackson came rushing out. “It’s Private Seed,” the Corporal huffed.

Accompanying Saoirse’s panic was unfiltered rage as she hastily assessed the young soldier for suspicious marks. “I was gone twenty minutes! What the hell could’ve happened?”

“I don’t know!” Katrina shrieked, sudden numbness gripping each limb while she watched her superior dance around Jacob’s gurney, searching for clues. “I heard a commotion from my office, so I came to check on him. I couldn’t find him at first, so I figured he was using the toilet. He must have heard me and kicked something to get my attention, and that’s when I found him prone on the floor. Unconscious and hot to the touch. And I mean, hot to the touch.”

“Ice,” Saoirse barked. “Go to the kitchen and get as many buckets of ice as you can carry. We need to cool him down.” Without a word, save for a grunt of acknowledgement, Katrina retreated from the lab and broke into a desperate sprint, hoping to reach the kitchen as quickly as possible.

While she waited for Katrina’s return, Saoirse meticulously pored over every inch of Jacob’s unclothed skin, unsure what she was even searching for. Needle marks, insect bites, something. Anything. Coming up empty handed wasn’t an option.

A lone observation stopped her in her tracks: as Katrina had put it, Jacob’s skin was scalding hot to the touch.

Deep within her gut, Saoirse sensed there wasn’t a simple explanation for this sudden change. For as old and as powerful as she had become, this development was far beyond her knowledge and from such a realization, Saoirse wondered if the situation was already beyond her control.

“Please, talk to me, Jake,” she pleaded, hoping the sound of her voice would bring him back to consciousness.

Alas, he remained unresponsive, save for a thick, wet gurgling in the back of his throat. Saoirse immediately rolled him onto his side in hopes of draining his airway. A dark maroon sludge with a consistency of molasses and coffee grounds poured from the corner of his mouth, indicating the alarming presence of blood in his digestive tract.

Eyes wide with utter horror, Saoirse took a step back from Jacob’s gurney. By a miraculous stroke of luck, she then set eyes upon the leather bound book wedged between Jacob’s pelvis and the gurney mattress.

The lab doors slid open behind her, but she failed to pay any attention to her surroundings. Katrina set two full buckets of ice next to Jacob’s feet atop the gurney, patiently waiting for her next instructions.

“What’s that?” Katrina asked from over Saoirse’s shoulder.

“No time to explain. Dump the ice on him.”

While Corporal Jackson complied with her orders, time seemed to slow down, which allowed her a moment to reflect on how she had never seen the Major so distressed as she flipped through a dozen or more pages before stopping on one page with a cross-like symbol scrawled messily in black ink, and an inch or so below were the words ‘mori quam foedari’. The air in the room stood still as she slowly mulled over each word which her eyes were never meant to read.

“Death before dishonour,” Saoirse muttered. “I would really like to know how Jacob came upon this book, given it’s supposed to be locked in a vault in California.”

Though tensions remained high for a short while, eventually the lab’s ambiance relaxed; the women watched with heightened curiosity and concern while Jacob remained unconscious.

When things seemed to have returned to normal, Saoirse broke the overwhelming silence by clearing her throat. “Corporal, this goes without saying, but whatever happened here cannot be discussed with anyone outside this room.”

Katrina nodded without hesitation. “With your permission to speak my mind, Major, you can’t suggest a book did that to Private Seed. I refuse to accept that’s what I witnessed today. I mean, seriously? How could a book do that?”

“These words possess a power even I cannot behold. Only those deemed worthy by God are meant to possess it, let alone open and read it. I was tasked with protecting it from the power-hungry.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Ah, Saoirse remarked, recognizing the nuanced expressions of those experiencing existential dread for the first time. Nonetheless, she continued whether Katrina was still listening or not. “This book represents the scroll upon which God wrote His plan to bring forth the end of mankind. In other words, I hold in my hand the very instructions to bring the world to its end.”

Saoirse gave resigned sigh, refusing to loosen her trembling grip on the leatherbound book. “And without knowing it, Jacob opened the first of seven seals.” She then carefully wrapped the book with the slack of her lab coat, as if the air in their midst needed to be protected from the book’s contents. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, she contemplated, quietly recalling a visit from Furfur, whose focus was fixed on stirring the proverbial apocalyptic pot.

“Major, I’m…”

“Taking a two-day leave, starting now. I’d like to see you in forty-eight hours, Corporal, but if you need more time, stay in touch.”

Between her puffy, watery eyes and flushed complexion, Corporal Jackson nodded gratefully and quietly backed away from Jacob’s gurney, silently weeping as she departed to her quarters.

Now, Saoirse could properly focus on assessing Jacob, fearing the worst and hoping for the best, peering down at the soldier limply stretched across the gurney. For the better part of an hour or so, she sat in her desk chair at his side, carefully monitoring for signs of deterioration.

For the time being, Private Seed was medically stable—at least as far as Saoirse observed—and maintaining his status became her next priority.

Chapter Text

At 2100 hours, after all the other medical staff had turned in for the night – or were otherwise dismissed to allow Saoirse some time alone with her companion in plight – Jacob had been worriedly pacing around the medical bay. Surely his commanding officers would be apprised of his waking and soon he’d be ushered off to the Forward Operating Base for debriefing. Whisked away from the only comfort of home he’d gotten to know very well. Away from the only kindnesses he received in his time in service.

Saoirse cleared her throat. “Private, you’re making me nervous. They’ll come and get you tomorrow morning, I’d reckon. Why worry about it tonight?”

“There might not be a tomorrow, Major. Didn’t you see the fires?”

Saoirse was dumbstruck. Of course she saw the fires. They terrified her. “Very well. But pacing isn’t doing you any favours, Private. Please, take a seat. Talk with me. I missed your voice. We thought you weren’t long for this world.”

He scoffed, hesitant to park his lumbering hulk to idly fret. There was no end in sight of the work he needed to do. Not that pacing was going to get the work done either, but it beat sitting on his ass with idle hands. His father used to tell him, after all, that idle hands were the devil’s playground. “I uh… I missed your voice, too.”

Saoirse’s violet eyes captured his as she cupped his unburned hand between hers. She realized she hadn’t offered him any time to adjust to his cosmetic changes. She wondered if he felt the scar tissues form. “We have a lot to discuss, Jacob. There are some new developments that have recently surfaced, and I fear the two of us are alone in it together.”

Jacob sighed, parking himself in the chair across from Saoirse, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t pull his hand away from her, but instead welcomed the warmth of her touch. He remembered feeling so cold during his slumber. “You have my full, undivided attention, Major.”

With as pleasant a smile as she could offer, given the heaviness weighing in her heart, she thanked him. “So, you saw the burning church? The countryside set ablaze?” she paused for effect. “That towering mushroom cloud?”

Solemn, he nodded. “My brother Joseph was the one leading its congregation. The last man standing.” Saoirse watched as the impermeable sadness clouded his sapphire eyes. “Joseph kept telling me about hearing this…voice when we were kids. He called it the Voice of God. I called him Full of Shit.” Jacob stifled his laughter. “But now, almost a decade later, I heard it, Saoirse. I saw it. The end, just the way he described it.” A lump formed in his throat, but he fought to swallow it down. “The last thing I said to him, you know, was that I thought he was a fucking nutjob. I told him to take the will of God and shove it where God couldn’t reach.”

“Jacob, you love your brother. You know you do. Even if it wasn’t the last thing you said to him, he knows you love him. And you’ll see him again, I promise.”

Jacob scoffed. His gaze fell to the floor. “You sound too sure about that, Major. I came here thinking I’d die and do my family a favour.”

Saoirse shushed him, scooting her chair closer. She could tell he was on the brink of the breakdown he needed to suffer for days. And only then could she rebuild him from a stronger foundation. “Not if I can fucking help it, Jacob Emmett Seed.” Truthfully, she was expecting a fight from him; she enjoyed a good, snide retort, jam packed with his southern sass and wit. However, that’s not what she got.

Instead, she watched him split and crumble apart.

His broad shoulders shuddered. His hands trembled. Saoirse knew she could hear his muffled whimpers and chose to focus on the flushing of the freckled skin of his neck. She extended an outstretched palm of her hand to comfort him, finding the soft tissue between his neck and shoulders to cradle. She slid to the floor and pulled her down with him. He put up no struggle, instead falling into her arms on the boot-scuffed floor. They sat together that way forever until his shoulders stopped shuddering, until his whimpers subsided to sniffles.

Saoirse dried the tears from Jacob’s eyes and planted a soft, kind kiss upon his lips, biting cautiously as she did so. She felt Jacob’s shoulders tense under her planted hand, meeting his gaze again before he took matters into his own hands. “Major, you know this is not a good plan.”

He raised a compelling point, but after the hell they’d been through together, it was the only thing Saoirse wanted that wouldn’t have ended in corporeal suffering. “Right now, I will not tolerate being addressed as a woman of rank, Jacob.” Her tone was curt. “We may have years left before it happens, but we’re celebrating the beginning of the end of the world together.”

Jacob broke his gaze but didn’t move his hand, or his lips, from her face. “Saoirse. I can’t do that to you. What if you…”

“Not another word, Jacob. Don’t make me pull rank.”

Finally, she watched as his face lit up with fierce vitality. His eyes perfectly captured the glow of the dim ceiling lights. Her attention quickly shifted to the lab door that she was certain had been locked for reentry after Corporal Jackson was the last to leave, but she refused to get up from his clutch to check. Never in her tenure as commander in chief of the medical bay had any soul graced that doorway after 1900 hours – unless they had a reason to visit, that was. She had Jacob all to herself, at his most vulnerable, and she would do everything in her power to ensure he woke the next morning feeling cared for.

Chapter Text

At 2100 hours, Jacob had spent his last three hours awake restlessly pacing about the medical bay. Surely his commissioned officers would be apprised of his consciousness, after which he’d be ushered off to the Forward Operating Base for his debriefing, whisked away once more from the only comfort of home he’d gotten to know almost cozily well. Away from what few kindnesses he had ever received during his time in service.

Saoirse cleared her throat to get his attention. “Private, you’re making me nervous. They’ll come and get you tomorrow morning. Why are you worrying about it tonight?”

“There might not be a tomorrow, Major. Didn’t you see the fires?”

Saoirse was nothing but dumbstruck. She saw those fires, alright. They terrified her, because she knew just how awful they burned. “Pacing isn’t doing either of us any favours, Private. Please, take a seat. Talk with me. I missed your voice. And your demented sense of humour.”

He scoffed, hesitant to park his lumbering hulk to sit there and idly fret. There was no end in sight of the work he needed to do before the world would be razed by hellfire. Not that his pacing was going to get the work done either, but it sure beat sitting on his ass with two idle hands. As a boy, his old man would tell him that idle hands were the devil’s playground.

Yet, once he sat on the gurney next to the Major, Jacob felt himself relax a little. “I missed your voice too.”

Saoirse’s violet eyes captured his as she softly squeezed his unburned hand between her fingers, rubbing her thumb over the fresh scars. Jacob winced at the sight of his skin. He hadn’t had much of an opportunity to adjust to his cosmetic changes in the few hours that he’d been awake. She wondered if he felt any residual pain from the fever. “Now that you’re seated, we have a lot to discuss.”

Jacob’s heart thundered inside his chest. “Like what?”

“There are some new developments that have come to the surface.”

Jacob sighed, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t pull his hand from her grip, instead welcoming the warmth of her touch. “You have my undivided attention, Major.”

With as pleasant a smile as Saoirse could offer, given the heaviness weighing in her heart, she thanked him and carried on. “So, in your dream, you saw the burning church? The countryside set ablaze?” She paused for effect. “That mushroom cloud?”

Solemnly, Jacob nodded. “My brother was the one leading its congregation. The last man standing.” Saoirse watched as an impermeable sadness clouded his sapphire eyes. “Joseph kept telling me how he would hear this voice when we were kids. He said it was the voice of God, and that he was chosen to bear the responsibility of guiding those willing to follow him to Eden after what he called the Collapse. Joseph called himself The Father. I called him Full of Shit.”

Jacob quickly stifled an outburst of cynical laughter, continuing his outward reflection on the many things he couldn’t change. “And now, almost a decade later, I heard it, Saoirse. I saw it. The Collapse. The end of everything, exactly the way Joseph described it.” A poignant lump formed in Jacob’s throat, but he fought valiantly to swallow it down. “The last thing I said to Joseph was that I thought he was a fucking lunatic. I told him to take the voice of God and shove it where God himself couldn’t reach.”

“Oh Jacob, your brother knows you love him. You know you do, too. Even if it wasn’t the last thing you said to him, he knows. And you’ll see him again, I promise.”

Jacob scoffed. His tearful gaze fell to the floor. “You sound too sure about that, Major. I came here thinking I’d die and by doing so, I’d do my family a fucking favour.”

The Major shushed him, scooting her chair closer to his gurney. She could tell Jacob was teetering on the brink of the major breakdown he been needing to suffer for days. Only then could she rebuild him up from a much stronger foundation. “Not if I can help it, Jacob Emmett Seed.”

Truthfully, she was expecting a fight from him; she enjoyed a good, snide retort, jam packed with his southern sass and wit. However, that’s not what she got.

Instead, she watched him split and crumble apart.

She watched his broad shoulders shudder and his hands tremble. Saoirse drowned out his muffled whimpers and chose to focus instead on the bright red flushing of freckled skin of his neck. She extended an outstretched palm of her hand to comfort him, finding the soft, tender skin between his neck and shoulders to rest upon as she cradled his head in her palm. Pulling his body into hers, Saoirse slid to the floor and pulled him down to the floor with her. He gave no effort to struggle, instead falling helplessly into her arms. They sat locked together on the dirty floor until his shoulders finally stopped shuddering and his soft whimpers devolved to sniffling.

When the moment felt right, Saoirse dried the tears from Jacob’s bloodshot eyes and planted a soft kiss upon his lips. She felt Jacob’s shoulders tense beneath her before meeting his gaze again. “Major, you know that’s not a good idea.” Jacob broke his gaze but didn’t move his hand or his lips from resting against her face. “Saoirse. I can’t do that to you.” He fought his temptation valiantly, but it was an obvious losing battle.

Finally, she watched as Jacob’s face lit up with fierce vitality as his wandering hands grazed her inner thigh and prompted an aroused squeak from the beautiful woman he couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Saoirse’s attention immediately shifted to the lab’s sliding doors that she wasn’t entirely certain had been locked after Corporal Jackson left for the night, but Saoirse refused to get up from his arms to check. Never in her tenure as commander in chief of the medical bay had any soul graced the doorway after 1900 hours, unless they had a legitimate reason to visit. At 2230 hours, given how empty of bodies the lab was, there didn’t seem to be any legitimate reasons for an unexpected attendee to pop in.

Safe in the desolate comfort of the lab, Saoirse had Jacob all to herself.

Jacob was certain he could read Saoirse’s body like a topographical map as his eager, trembling hands traced every inch of her. Her lab coat and their combined fatigues padded the floor beneath them as his hands continued finding more uncharted territory. She was, in every sense of the word, breathtaking. Jacob found his appetite for her was insatiable.

“Jake,” she paused from planting kisses across his chest and belly, allowing him to haphazardly brush several loose strands of hair from her face. “I hope you don’t feel pressured into doing anything you’re not comfortable with.” Saoirse could feel his face flush under her fingers as she brushed his cheek. “I have truly enjoyed my time with you, all of it. No matter where this night takes us.”

His palm rested on her hip and stayed fixed in place. “Saoirse, I still can’t think of what I did to deserve you. Our paths never crossed until last week. I only ever heard of you by name from the stories they told in basic training.”

Her hand found his planted on her hip and their fingers locked. She couldn’t help but give a sheepish chuckle. “How the girls wish they could be me and the guys wish they could have me?”

Jacob smirked. “No, I was going to say that the guys just want a fighting chance.” He exhaled slowly past a sheepish smile, his hot breath finding a small patch of sensitive skin under Saoirse’s jawline that he punctuated with delicate kisses. Saoirse moaned softly into his ear at the sensation. “I’ll never tell a soul about this.”

 “You are indeed a handsome gentleman, Jacob Seed.” She stopped mid-kiss to prop herself up on his chest, putting her ear against his heart to listen to its strong, rhythmic thumping. “Though, I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did, you know. I know how much the boys enjoy some hot, steamy gossip.”

“They’d strip you of your rank if they found out about this, Saoirse.” Jacob sighed, knowing his words fell on deaf ears. Saoirse listened only to his heartbeat, feeling his chest rise and fall with each staggered breath. It really did seem to Jacob that she felt nothing but peace and bliss in his arms. “I could never do that to you.”

“I know. You know things won’t be the same between us, either.”

He nodded melancholically. “Yeah. I know.” Jacob tried not to let her see his sadness, but Jacob found it grew harder to mask as the seconds slowly ticked by. His mind had become foggy with the flooding of dopamine and oxytocin, the deadliest chemical combination known to man. Jacob might have lacked experience in the romance department, but he still knew that love, especially the forbidden type, tended to get people killed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jacob whispered, watching her peel the last two layers of fabric from her delicate frame, revealing her breasts and… “Oh.” He groaned, feeling her hand reach below his boxers to find his swollen length. He felt his muscles tense only for a moment as the fabric of his boxers fell across his buttocks, then down around his thighs. He kicked them away across the floor.

Saoirse aggressively kissed him again. This time, Jacob was much more eager to reciprocate, securing his grip on her neck to keep her face locked tightly against his. She climbed into his lap, grinding her naked hips against his, teasing him. Jacob felt a warm, delightfully satisfying wetness against the length of his cock. He effortlessly flipped Saoirse onto her back, angling his hips downward into hers as he teased her. “Oh!” Jacob snarled breathlessly as his appetite for her grew ravenous. Desperate.

Without missing a beat, Saoirse flipped her lover over and straddled him again, taking his entire length in all at once, making him gasp sharply. Jacob panted as Saoirse bucked her hips, her soft moans fuelling the growing tingling that trickled down to his curling toes. He found that his eyes couldn’t lift away from the gentle bouncing of her breasts, watching her nipples harden to a point. Jacob playfully grabbed for them with one hand while holding her hip securely with the other.

The ecstasy burned deeply within him for so long, and he was ready. Jacob waited for the moment when her eyes locked onto his…

A rugged snarl escaped from his throat as he convulsed under Saoirse, who uttered a soft, passionate cry as she shuddered and crumbled around him. Under Saoirse’s delicate frame, Jacob sunk breathlessly into the gurney’s mattress, clutching this woman in his trembling arms. This was the forewarned point of no return, where he found himself utterly and happily spellbound.

Yet, Jacob knew that no matter how perfect, pristine, and sincere that moment was, the peace would end, and he would have to pretend none of it ever happened, forever.

He made sure Saoirse was asleep before he covered her with the warm, woolen blankets before sliding his boxers and fatigues back on.

Wiping many frustrated tears from his eyes, Jacob returned to his own gurney in the stall next to her. He forced himself to get some sleep to mentally prepare for the tomorrow’s gruelling hell where he would have to willfully ignore Saoirse, when all he wanted to do was crawl into the gurney next to her again. Jacob, after all, was finally ready to let his guard down.

Until sleep finally swept him away, Jacob stared longingly at her silhouette through the fabric drapes that segregated his stall from hers. He lay there and mourned, as tonight, Jacob feared, was the first and only night in his life that he’d ever feel sincerely alive again.

Chapter Text

After a nearly restless night of an internal battle with the looming shadow of regret, Saoirse resigned herself to sleeping at 0500 hours, finding herself alone upon a gurney. Her spontaneous affair with Jacob had left a swallowing, sinking feeling in her gut.

Saoirse feared that her own yearning was probably just as crippling as Jacob’s. For his sake, in looking towards the bigger picture, breaking it off now before feelings started running too deeply was the only way they’d survive the rest of their deployment with their secret still undiscovered and their reputations intact. Jacob was so full of youth and the rest of his life was still just a blank canvas in front of him.

Jacob was a young man, almost creepily so, but there was a maturity inside him that Saoirse admitted had taken her aback some. Then again, his familial history was troubled to say the least: from what she understood, Jacob became a parental figure to his younger brothers at a very young age, and with very little support from the society tasked with raising him. Jacob was, as objectively as Saoirse could assess, another unfortunate failure of society.

On a more personal note, after losing another significant other only several years previously, Saoirse swore that she would never allow herself to form any attachments to anything she would eventually have to let go. Yet, considering the evening’s series of spectacular events, Saoirse felt no shame whatsoever as she thought she could feel his trembling hands still groping her bare skin. The phantom sensation caused her breath to hitch and swiftly ended in a violent shudder down her spine. You really outdid yourself this time, Saoirse, she sneered inwardly, catching a glimpse of unkempt hair sticking out of her messy bun in the reflective pane of the lab’s sliding door.

Although she would refuse to admit it, Saoirse was helplessly flustered. She did her best to tuck the wayward tufts of hair behind her ears and smooth out the wrinkles in her fatigues and lab coat. It would be easy enough to explain away her bedraggled look to someone lacking a keen attention to detail, but Saoirse expected nothing other than Corporal Jackson to make a snide remark. After all, Katrina was mentored by the best.

Much to Saoirse’s lack of credit, Katrina was very capable of leaving others’ business well enough alone whenever she sensed something awry. This level of discretion stemmed from their rare sisterhood bond that Saoirse and Katrina both carefully fostered, and clearly for good reason.

Luckily for her sanity, however, Saoirse had the lab all to herself that morning. Much to her dismay, however, Jacob had vacated the lab sometime before she woke, presumably to fill his belly with breakfast in the company of his other squad mates for the first time since his unintentional absenteeism in Al Jahra. Saoirse hoped Jacob would attend the lab again that afternoon. While she enjoyed his company for different reasons, they were both quite eager to begin some preliminary testing on his activated abilities.

Truthfully, Saoirse couldn’t begin to fathom where to focus her experiments following Jacob’s abrupt genetic rewiring. All proper scientific studies required far more preparation than what she had done.

And the clock was ticking. In just under six weeks, Jacob and the rest of his platoon would be deployed to the frontlines of Operation Desert Storm. Like every armed conflict she’d witnessed, a small portion of men sent to fight wouldn’t return. Men go to war on steel ships and come home cold and dead in wooden boxes.

War never changes, Saoirse lamented.

Although the time she had with Jacob was limited, save for a miracle that would keep him in the safe confines of the lab, Saoirse swore she’d put forth her best effort make the most of it. She readily accepted that keeping him safe and away from the war machine also meant keeping him busy with something other than herself.

Saoirse didn’t want to think about it, but there was a very substantial chance that after briefing her commanding officers on Jacob’s augmentation, her research would be confiscated by the Army and the whole operation would be determined by a panel of appointed physicians and strategists as to whether Jacob would wind up as a lab rat or not. Property of the Department of Justice.

The Major decided that no matter the cost, such an outcome couldn’t happen. She would exercise what power she had to send him home to Georgia. Jacob was worth far more to Saoirse than being some test animal under observation through a microscope’s lens.

Her attention was seized by the hiss of the lab doors, followed by the repetitive thumping of heavy bootsteps. There in the doorway, Jacob stood, stuffing the last of his Danish pastry into his maw before wiping off his mouth with his undershirt. At first, he avoided the Major’s gaze and kept his distance when he gave a respectable salute. “Major.”

“At ease, Private Seed.” Waving him off, Saoirse turned back to her work: a stack of papers nearly two inches tall that contained the raw, compiled genetic data of the previous week’s test subjects. She simply couldn’t fathom that this was the product of all the information that Corporal Jackson had already vetted in Saoirse’s absence. I don’t pay her nearly enough, Saoirse mused, making a further mental note to assess the Corporal’s salary. “Was that a peach Danish by chance?”

Jacob snickered and immediately his demeanour relaxed. Yet, to prevent that ungodly yearning of temptation, he remained standing on the other side of Saoirse’s desk. “Hell yeah, it was. I should have snagged one for you, but you bitched at me the other day about having food in the lab.” He watched a smile creep across her lips. “So, are you ready to treat me like a guinea pig?”

“Indeed, that’s the plan, provided your health is, at minimum, up to par with testing standards. That means not even a sniffle can find its way into my lab, Private.” Saoirse looked up to meet his steely gaze. She was proud at his ability to keep a straight face, but she knew with confidence that she could break it. “I mean it. You sniffle, you’re done for the day.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Oh, there it was, she thought, watching Jacob fight the itch to smirk. “Just tell me where you need me to be.”

She motioned at the other chair and insisted he take a seat. “You’ll be here for a while yet, Jacob. You might as well get comfortable. Take a load off, stay a while.”

Jacob complied, offering the Major a gentle but honest rebuke as he did so. “I hope you understand that you make it extremely difficult to stay regimented when you don’t follow the rules. Setting a bad example, Major.”

“Right,” she began. “I do admit that I’ve been behaving unfairly. My apologies.” Saoirse cleared her throat and listened to the intensifying silence that quickly encapsulated the lab. “Jacob, I may have done some irreversible damage to you. Not just from last night, I mean, but in general, I became too familiar with you. Too close to you. In the real world, our working dynamic would be labelled a conflict of interest, and by rights, I should be conducting my research on you through Corporal Jackson. In doing that, it would save us a lot of headaches and hurt feelings going forward.”

She shushed Jacob when he tried to interject. “I don’t know what stories you’ve heard in the mess hall, or the barracks, or the showers, and I care even less about what rubbish the rumour mill continues to sling down the line.” Saoirse swallowed hard. “I am a hunter. A bloodthirsty predator. I hunt men for sustenance. You are my prey and I preyed on you. By rights, that should terrify you, not make you enjoy my company.”

Jacob growled, cutting her off before she could continue. “I might not be your biological equal, but I’m not your fucking prey, either. You changed that when you bit me.”

Immediately, Saoirse’s expression softened. Jacob swore he watched the reddish hues of her irises flare brightly before transitioning to an icy cold blue. “Well, that I did, didn’t I. God, Jacob, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to chase you away. I’m projecting my own insecurities thinking that I need to remind you of what’s at stake, because I already know what’s at stake, and the thought of losing you terrifies me. I said it was important for us to stay platonic, objective, and unattached after I broke the one fundamental rule in the biological science community: don’t sleep with your experiments.”

While he became fixated on Saoirse’s emphasis on her fear of losing him specifically, Jacob tried but miserably failed to stifle his laughter. “Look, Saoirse, I really enjoyed last night. It was mind blowing, every minute of it. I know you’re trying to keep a little bit of distance between us, and I respect you too much to jeopardize your career.” Jacob watched a smile creep across the Major’s lips, and he smiled in turn. He then scooted his chair several inches forward and hunched over the desk, dropping his hands palm-down to the metal surface, and reaching out to grab hers. “I don’t remember much about that night you rescued me, but what I do remember is waking up in the fucking pillbox, the last place I ever wanted to be, stranded with limited water and rations and no means of getting home. Yet, the entire time we were there, the only thing I could think about was that I had no other duty than to protect you.”

He paused to catch his breath. Saoirse waited patiently in silence. “I heard about you from the mess hall stories. About how you were a bloodthirsty killing machine that could wipe out a whole platoon without batting an eye, and that should have scared the fucking hell out of me, but it didn’t. I felt drawn to that sense of danger. I’d call it intuition, if I had to hazard a guess. The need to get to know you came about as naturally as the need to drink to quench thirst.”

“Well…” She muttered incoherently, messily scribbling onto a notepad in one of the desk’s drawers. “We’re on the brink of something huge, Jacob. You can feel it, can’t you?”

Jacob’s serene eyes shot up into hers, his comfortable, jovial expression shifting to discomfort. “What did you just say?”

She paused. “We’re on the brink of –”

“No, after that. You asked me if I can feel it.”

Saoirse watched something suddenly shift in the depths of his eyes, as though he was gripped by the throat and choked by that very same evil that attacked her the day prior. “My brother used to ask me that exact same question.”

Chapter Text

As she sat down upon the rocky bank of a vast, folding river that was teeming with aquatic life, Saoirse knew she was dreaming. It was a moment of tranquility that the desolation and destruction within Iraq failed to offer, so she allowed herself to enjoy the crispness of the misty, clean air. The landscape behind her was a denser forest than any forest she had ever seen. Although she didn’t recognize the area, there was a sense of serenity that she felt compelled to sit and enjoy.

Across the river, a lone adolescent wolf trotted along the muddy bank. Its maw was caked with fresh, vibrant blood as it carried a hare in its jaws. The wolf paid her no attention as she watched it lingered near the water. “It’s a beautiful creature, isn’t it?” softly came a man’s voice from behind her. The man’s footsteps grew louder as he drew closer, finally taking a seat next to her on a flat rock.

He smelled of wildflowers and mild body odour. His presence was peaceful, sincere. His movements and mannerisms were slow and calculated. Careful. “This is forest is home to a healthy population of wolves. It has all they need to raise their young before growing old and dying. They know no fear.”

Saoirse did not turn to face him or acknowledge him, and the man didn’t seem to mind. All she did was sit and watch the wolf eat its quiet little meal in serenity. And once the wolf was done, it lapped from the river and allowed the blood on its maw to wash downstream. As its eyes locked with hers, it seemed to smile at them.

Something is coming. You can feel it, can’t you?

Saoirse woke with a startled grunt, realizing she’d fallen asleep at her desk while absentmindedly picking through the last of the homolysis reports. She groaned at the stiffness of her neck and back, wishing Jacob or Katrina had been there to drag her somewhere comfortable and tuck her in for the night.

When the colour drained from Jacob’s face that day, she thought she knew what kind of animal she was up against. She was certain it was that djinn, intruding in business it knew it wasn’t welcome sticking its nose in. Though, something felt different this time. There was no choking fear, no reeking of sulphur. Saoirse, alone in her lab in the wee hours of the morning, sensed that there was something unseen in there with her, but it wasn’t something dangerous.

I see you have been busy, Saoirse, a voice softly spoke in her mind, the same way it did before she woke from her dream. Your work here is crucial. But surely you must need rest now, child.

“Show yourself.” She demanded, waiting with her gaze fixed on the darker corners of the lab. A chill rippled down her spine as she swore that she felt a hand graze the back of her head. “I don’t have all night. Reveal yourself, now.”

I’m afraid that won’t be possible, child. Fear not, I come simply as a visitor. A watchful eye in the darkest hours before the dawn.

“I fear nothing.”

The voice, the energy she’d felt, had shifted away from her. Her attention was then drawn to the row of gurneys left locked in place in the hall outside her makeshift office; she felt compelled to approach them, waiting in tense anticipation for someone or something to pop out from behind them. She felt her hand creep down to the sidearm strapped to her inner left thigh, popping the fabric clip to release the weapon from its holster. Every noise she made was magnified tenfold, but most of all, she felt deafened by the pulse reverberating in her ears. The only thing you fear is fear itself, my daughter. There is nothing to fear now, for I am with you.

Growing impatient, Saoirse moved the gurneys around in search of the entity she insisted was hiding from her, toying with her. once again, her attention was caught by an invisible energy that washed past her, leaving a trace of cool air in its wake that smelled of…frankincense. Saoirse gasped and closed her eyes. “You’re no djinn.”

Your senses are keen, my child. You already know what I am. You may deny or excuse it, but I know you can sense me, for I am here with you now. Feel the warmth of my light upon you. Let it be your guide.

“Your Divinity, you grace me with your presence in a time of utter devastation,” Saoirse muttered. “It cannot be. This cannot be possible.” Except she knew. The omnipresence of the Almighty had come before her. However, He was neither the Christian God, nor Vishnu. He was not Allah or Yahweh. He just was.

As silent tears fell from her eyes, into the dilapidated fabrics of her lab coat and casual fatigues, Saoirse stood amidst her empty workspaces. She was not a believer, yet there she stood, waiting for His voice to return in the stillness of the night. I have important work for you, Saoirse. I know you are ready. Take heed, for it does not come without sacrifice.

“I’m listening.” Saoirse felt her heart lurch in her chest as she felt the entity’s presence in her immediate vicinity. Merely inches from her. “What would you have me do?”

You will guide the soldier home, away from here.

She scoffed. “Yeah, and then what?” but she could no longer feel His presence, His light, within arms reach. She felt colder. Alone. “No, you will answer me. And then what?” She whimpered in the silence.

You will spill the blood of the heretics who work against you, and you will usher in the new dawn of the enlightened man.

The world faded to black around her. And then, moments later, Saoirse once again woke to the world set ablaze beneath her feet.

Something was coming.

Chapter Text

Over the past twenty-four hours, Jacob found himself frequently staring off into nothingness, just ambling onwards through the motions of his routine. His mind restlessly bounced between his many personal battles that hadn’t seemed to bother him so much before. Jacob was trying diligently to stop his little anxieties from creeping into his thoughts, which was a habit he had developed in childhood. Anxiety, especially at a young age, did well to prepare him for the stresses that he suddenly felt crushed under. Jacob’s biggest battle, he realized, was the one with his guilt.

While there weren’t many apparent changes in his physiology following the fateful bite from Saoirse, the most noticeable difference was his seemingly unending appetite. Since his enlistment, Jacob had put on some healthy weight. He noticed that his trousers fit better, and he had more energy overall. He was given freedom to exercise and pack some proper muscle onto his arms, shoulders, and back. He relied on carrying his gear to develop his leg muscles and build more endurance. 

Jacob was thankful in that regard for the Army’s endless supply of what he called a comfortable, American cuisine, as it was a comfortable reminder of home in the face of doom and despair. He found, however, that the more food he ate, the more his ever-present remorse seemed to intensify. He was raised not to be selfish, if being selfish meant having a full belly. Given Jacob’s hulking size, that is, in the eyes of his miserable old man, filling his belly was nothing other than greed. Gluttony. Jacob swore he could still hear that miserable old bastard spouting drunken vitriol at his sons. Old Man Seed wasn’t raising any goddamn sinners.

Jacob began to reflect on how he and his brothers suffered from food insecurity for as long as he could remember. He could never let himself to deprive the two younger boys of food he didn’t really need to eat. Guilt slowly turned into fear as his thoughts shifted to his brothers back home in Georgia. Where they were in the world, he had no idea. Were they together? Joseph would turn sixteen this year, and little Johnny would be six. Before going to juvie, Jacob did what he could in his power to keep his brothers together, but once he shipped overseas to Iraq, he felt sick at the thought that he might never see either of them again.

Above all, given his anxieties and hesitation to give himself a fucking break for once, Jacob felt lonely. He never seemed to have mastered the skills needed to make friends easily. He had a small, loose handful of people who were genuinely nice to him, of course, but Jacob never felt he that could really trust anyone enough outside his family to rely on them. He struggled mostly with trusting members of his community: doctors, schoolteachers, bus drivers, librarians… they all claimed the same bullshit about how they had the best interests of him and his brothers in mind, but in practice, Jacob mostly observed how society always fell short.

And then there was the law, and the shameful memories of how the makers and enforcers of the law had wronged him so early in his life. Being labeled a ‘troubled’ kid didn’t exactly encourage the members of his community to want to jump to the rescue to keep him and his siblings out of harm’s way. Instead, they all seemed to work together to turn a blind eye and leave the boys behind to figure it out on their own. Jacob and his brothers were never anything more than victims of misfortunate circumstances. The cards were stacked against them in utero.

Having grown up so misunderstood, so alone, Jacob had to learn how to make it through the day. Aside from being a guardian to Joseph and John, he sought purpose. A place in the world. It didn’t have to be perfect. It only needed to suffice. Jacob mastered the skill of building good, strong walls, following orders, and looking out for his family. After a youth of trials and tribulations, his survival mechanisms and protective instincts gave him purpose. He was a perfect soldier and that was more than enough to suffice.

His enlistment in the Army managed to catalyze the chipping away at some of his sturdy walls, which annoyed him at first, but once Jacob found his place among other broken, like-minded people, he allowed himself to slowly crack apart his hard husk and branch out from inside.

In his youth, Jacob never allowed himself to blindly open himself up to anyone. He wasn’t ashamed to acknowledge his lingering hesitation to trust someone, especially someone new. After meeting Saoirse less than two weeks ago, Jacob allowed himself to be vulnerable to her without hesitation. His relationship with Saoirse should have scared him, but it didn’t. There was something about her that made him feel less lonely, less anxious. Something about her brought peace and warmness to his soul.

In arguably the darkest time of his life, Jacob contemplated the implications of having found even one person outside of his close-knit family unit who might have genuinely cared about him. Duh, you complete fucking idiot. You’re a subordinate in her charge. Of course she cares about you. She’s paid to care about you. Her responsibility as a United States Army Major is to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.

Still, Jacob clung to his lifeline of hope that maybe this blossoming something with Saoirse was more meaningful to her than just part of their vocation. Maybe his just-shy-of-nineteen-year-long streak of grave misfortune had finally run its miserable course.

Realizing he’d been spaced out again, Jacob came to, finding himself sitting alone at a table in the back of the nearly empty mess hall, absentmindedly noodling with his plate of stone-cold fries. It was no wonder he was being treated like a pariah. The entire base could sense he was fighting all his battles at once. And all the same as the rest of his life had been, most steered clear of him.

Since his return to base four days ago, Jacob wasn’t given new orders, although he had been medically cleared for his return to service. It would come as no surprise to find out that the higher ups were keeping him close to home. Jacob wondered whether Sergeant Michaels had put in his two cents. He and Major Kingston were chummy. In that light, it made sense that she might have briefed the Sergeant in private on the more sensitive circumstances of Jacob’s rescue. It made sense if Sergeant Michaels worried about Private Seed returning to his post and eventually snapping after his horrible near-death experience.

Perhaps Saoirse was the one pulling the strings. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, anyway. The very thought that she might have kept him around, even just to poke and prod at him like a lab rat, gave Jacob a warm feeling in his gut.

More realistically, however, the commissioned officers were preparing to have him court-martialed. While he didn’t believe she would betray him so underhandedly, there was nothing stopping Saoirse from sharing the gory details he had divulged to her about Private First Class Miller’s horrific fate.

Miller. God, the thought of his friend hadn’t crossed Jacob’s mind until now. He selfishly ignored the guilt and shame for days. Why not let the floodgates open now? Maybe this bout of loneliness originally stemmed from the unnecessary death of one of Jacob’s few trusted companions in this godforsaken place.

“Private Seed,” called an unfamiliar voice from his rear, making Jacob jump at the immediacy of the noise. The unfamiliar voice was masculine, authoritative, and austere. “If you’ll come with me, please.”

Shit. That didn’t sound good.

Jacob turned around to meet the surly eyes of Lieutenant General Brad Becker, second in command to the respectable General Thomas, and a well-known bona fide disturber of the peace. Lieutenant Becker was what Sergeant Michaels referred to as “skilled in the arts of soul sucking”. Jacob hadn’t borne the brunt of Becker’s offensive yet, but he knew he was about to.

“Sir.” Jacob stood and saluted his superior officer before following him to a restricted area which was well known amongst the Army’s enlistees to be reserved for politics, bureaucracy, and all the other bullshit above his paygrade.

Lieutenant General Becker guided Jacob to his office, closing the door behind them, and motioned to a chair. “At ease, Private Seed. Have a seat. This won’t take long.” Becker sat at his desk and calmly clasped his hands atop the clean wooden surface. “As the unofficial word is saying, you spent some time as an Iraqi prisoner. The timing of the event was most unfortunate. We classified you as a deserter. A letter would have been sent home to your family, but you don’t have a fixed mailing address. Talk about a lucky break.”

If this was a disciplinary hearing, there ought to have been more bodies in the room. Jacob tried hard not to break his poker face, but he felt sweat pooling on his brow. “Sir, should I have someone present?”

“I’m not here to discuss the circumstances of your…incident…with you, Private. This is just an informal one-on-one to bring you up to speed on what’s been happening on base.”

Jacob swallowed hard. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, which was accompanied by a sinking feeling in his gut. “I’m all ears, sir.”

“Right.” Lieutenant General Becker leaned forward in his desk. His eyes seemed to darken as he drew nearer. “The Coalition is a month away from the ground invasion of Desert Storm. You’ve been carefully selected by Sergeant Michaels…” Becker exhaled the Sergeant’s name through gritted teeth, which made Jacob extremely uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t uncomfortable enough already. “…to receive a jump-step promotion. From Private to Specialist. In my experience, something like that is practically unheard of, but Sergeant Michaels has a fair amount of influence.”

Jacob felt the blood rush from his face. “Sir… Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

Lieutenant General Becker eyed him cautiously. Private Seed was starting to look a little green in the gills. Surely, he had enough excitement for one week. “Don’t go holding your breath, son. The Sergeant’s recommendation still must pass through the higher ranks, and with the Iraq invasion on the horizon, their priorities aren’t exactly set on promotions when we’re about to bulldoze all those oil refineries we’re squabbling over with Hussein.” Becker exhaled sharply as his stony gaze relaxed. He could see that Private Seed had also loosened up a little.

“I’ve also heard something concerning your new friend Major Kingston. Word has it around base that she’s working on something big. I wasn’t given many details, and you’re probably unaware, but whatever she’s up to, it’s generating a lot of chatter in the private sector.”

Jacob raised a curious eyebrow but said nothing.

Becker cleared his throat and continued. “There are whisperings of something in the works that might just turn things in our favour. For good.”

Jacob’s back straightened at the mention of Major Kingston. He was certain this was the beginning of being backed into a corner and normally, at least in Jacob’s experience, the outcomes of such situations weren’t usually in favour of those cornered. “Lieutenant General Becker, with all due respect sir, I don’t want anything to do with what you might be insinuating.”

“I see.” Jacob tensed at his tone, expecting the other shoe to drop. “Private, you can expect to hear from Sergeant Michaels on the progress of his recommendation on your promotion. Dismissed.”

Jacob saluted his superior officer and left straightaway, finding himself instinctively returning to the lab. The nagging feeling in his gut refused to let up until he crossed the lab doors to find the Major at her desk where he left her.

Jacob pulled up a seat and leaned over her desk with his head braced atop his forearms. “Private Seed, at ease. What’s happened? You look…unsettled.” He was at his worst when a wave of relief washed over him at her voice. If that wasn’t sufficient, the softness of her touch against his forearms made him unclench his rigid muscles.

After his uncomfortable conversation with Lieutenant General Becker, Jacob embraced her radiating warmth. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to tell her, but he decided she needed to know that she had potentially unwanted eyes on her, and likely for nefarious reasons. “Major, I might be out of line by asking you, but what do you think about Lieutenant General Becker?”

Chapter Text

As Jacob sat atop a gurney in silence, waiting for Saoirse to prepare an assortment of blood collection supplies, he couldn’t help but anxiously tap his foot while he continued to spiral. Saoirse had easily picked up on his distress when Jacob entered the lab. Despite his retelling of his encounter with a known pain in her ass, she wasn’t at all concerned about the subject matter he had nervously divulged.

“Tell me about the nightmares you’re having, Jake,” she queried, making a mental note that the Private didn’t appear to be getting a lot of restful sleep. “Be as detailed as possible, please.”

As she questioned him, Jacob felt the uncomfortable pinching of the rubber tourniquet tightening between his shoulder and elbow. She didn’t need to feel for a vein before effortlessly sticking the 21g needle into it. Jacob watched as his blood slowly filled the first vial of the six that she’d prepared.

Jacob grunted and leaned against the back of the chair with his arms crossed defensively against his chest. It was no mystery to Saoirse that he was unwilling to disclose what was making him feel weak. “It’s nothing new. They happen more frequently.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Jacob, don’t you think that after how many years I’ve walked upon this earth, I might have learned to tell when a man is lying to me? Though, I must say, I admire your courage. Not many would have such massive balls to lie directly to my face.”

It was a lost cause. Jacob knew it was futile to argue with her. He sighed and dropped his chin to his chest, refusing to look Saoirse in her captivating eyes. “It starts the same way. Every time. Exactly like what you saw. There’s a white church with a black cross on the sides. John is with me, playing in the garden like he does. Joseph is inside the church, at the pulpit, giving a sermon about Revelations. Things seem fine and normal. And then I watch the bomb go off.”

He paused and swallowed hard. “I see the shockwave come towards me from across the water, and it blows the church off its foundations. I feel every shard of glass cut me and every splinter of wood burning me. Every night, sometimes more than once a night, I watch my family die over and over.” Jacob exhaled slowly, refusing to lift his chin to allow him to hide the intensity of his fear from her.

Saoirse agreed with great pain how that scene, which she’d dreamt only once herself, was extremely difficult to watch. And it was even more difficult to wake up from. Staring across the lake at the immediate brilliant light, watching the wicked, growing ball of flame, feeling the maelstrom force of the shockwave in horror and resignation. To see it over again, on repeat to boot, must have been a special kind of hell. She commended Jacob for his fortitude. “We could try some sleep therapy exercises to help you in the short-term,” she offered. “Maybe you would benefit from a sleep aid too.”

“Not interested, Major. Please. They’re…a slippery slope.” He tried to choke back his tears. “My mom. You know? I’m sorry, I just can’t do it.”

Saoirse sighed with a disenchanted compassion. Private Seed was suffering from his nightmares, and it was obvious that their recurrence was steadily worsening.

Jacob, however, was nothing if not obstinate, even to his own detriment. Saoirse knew he wasn’t about to reconsider his position, and she didn’t dare push the matter, either. After reading his file, she was quite aware of the long, dark history of prescription abuse in his family.

Jacob hid his traumas well, especially for someone so young. But with age and experience, she was quite adept at picking out nuances of the more subtle complexities of emotions. “Sleep is important. And good sleep is imperative, and medication would help. It was a suggestion, that’s all. I understand.”

She watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took a few deep breaths to stifle his agony of old wounds. “Thank you, Saoirse. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” 

“You don’t need to apologize, my dear.” She extended her hand across her desk to take his hand and cross her fingers gently between his. “Your health and wellness are my top priority, Jacob. Must I remind you why?”

Jacob nodded solemnly. “I don’t want to cause you any more grief than I’m worth.”

Saoirse exhaled frustratedly but kept her smile on her face. “Walk with me, Private.” Jacob adored how she accentuated his rank, adding her unique brand of cheekiness that he grew steadily fond of. “I think you need some fresh air. Maybe a little sunlight on your skin wouldn’t hurt, either.” Saoirse grabbed a pair of wire sunglasses from her desk drawer and stood, motioning towards the exit. “We can discuss that other matter in better detail, too.”

Jacob scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You would think we both got plenty of sunlight last week.” Judging by his sullen body language, it was obvious to Saoirse that the young Private was reluctant to indulge her on some quality time outdoors, but he learned that Saoirse was unwaveringly stubborn and far more convincing than he was. All it took was her shooting him a look of scorn and disapproval before he snapped out of his melancholic trance. “Fine. If you insist, Major.” Jacob stood to his feet and followed her out of the lab.

Together, they left the main camp building through an unlocked egress next to the mess hall entrance. Jacob winced at the blinding light of the late morning sun, taking a moment or two to let his eyes adjust. Not that he would readily admit it, but Saoirse was right: the sun felt fantastic on his skin.

Saoirse already knew, however. She smiled with dignified satisfaction as she watched him basking in the warmth. “Come on, Private. March.” At first, Jacob found her pace difficult to keep up with, but once he matched her in stride, they were off to the races with fervour.

There was an established multipurpose exercise track with three functional lanes built around the base perimeter for recreation during the rare bouts of downtime. The inside lane was designed solely for slower traffic, the walkers and joggers. The middle lane was designated for runners and sprinters, and the wider, outermost lane was cordoned off for infantry drills. Jacob remembered the first time he and his platoon made the four-mile run in full gear. It certainly wasn’t a feat for the faint of heart.

At 1130 hours, the track was quiet, which bode well with Saoirse’s intention to discuss the sensitive particulars of Jacob’s conversation with Lieutenant General Becker, whose name by mention alone left the foulest of tastes in her mouth. Judging by her apparent disdain for Becker, Jacob pieced the clues together as to why the decorated officer was so unanimously hated.

Typically, Saoirse wasn’t the paranoid sort, but she could sense that there was something devious at play. That ruffian, from the sound of it, could’ve been at the very centre of the conspiracy.

It went without saying that the volatility of her work needed to stay close to the chest. Saoirse could afford to take no chances. “I haven’t given you much for critical information about my work,” she began, trying to broach the subject as smoothly as possible. “I understand if you’re concerned about your involvement in my work, and you are well within your rights to feel that way,” Saoirse told him. “Like any top-secret operation, the lesser that anyone who isn’t involved knows about it, the better. Loose lips sink ships, and this ship cannot sink.”

Jacob cleared his throat. “Lieutenant General Becker implied that you’re working on something that would turn the war in our favour. He thinks whatever you’re working on could be sold to the private sector for what I’d imagine would be a big chunk of change.”

Saoirse stifled an audacious laugh. “Oh, how amusing. It’s almost as if he’s imagining a giant stack of blueprints with a huge for sale tag stuck on top. Remember what I told you about the Augmentus gene?”

“A refresher might be helpful, but I got the gist of what you were saying, sure.” At the time, Jacob enjoyed her passionate ‘science-speak’, as he called it. Only a few subjects in school ever piqued his interest, psychology and biology being frontrunners. Jacob had plenty of opportunities to let his interests in biological sciences blossom while in juvie, but he aged out shortly after being remanded there.

Saoirse’s pace slowed as she gathered her thoughts. “Just to give you an example of what I’ve been working on, say I were to focus my energy on finding one notable mutation. It would take days, if not weeks, to sift through pages and pages of data. Think of the pile of papers that you saw on my desk this morning. I’d have to find the corresponding phenotype for that mutation in a normal array of genetic data, which is like finding a needle in a stack of needles…what?”

“I’m sorry, what’s a phenotype?” Jacob asked quietly. Almost embarrassedly. Saoirse could tell that she had his undivided attention and that he was quite eager to learn.

Saoirse laughed. “I spend most of my time using medical jargon when I’m discussing things with Corporal Jackson. I should know better, I’m sorry.” She paused momentarily to recall where she left off. “Respecting what we know now about gene theory, despite how primitive the studies are, a phenotype is simply a genetic trait. To simplify an example, your blue eyes, or your phenotype that represents the expression of blue eyes, comes from a gene named OCA2. That phenotype is one of tens of thousands.”

Jacob’s eyes grew wide with intrigue. “So, you’re saying that you have to sort through those tens of thousands of genes to find one that’s different?”

“Right! Excellent work, Private.” By the time Saoirse realized what she’d said, her face had flushed a bright pink. “Sorry, also habit.”

Jacob felt the flutter in his chest as his suddenly pink face complemented hers perfectly. “Major, you’re unhealthily married to your work, you know.”

She nodded, grinning widely. “Augmentus is probably my most promising discovery in years. We are on the brink of potentially triggering a step in human evolution. If we find what we’re looking for and determine a process to isolate and replicate specific genetic mutations, it will change everything we know in medicine, physics… in saying all of that, you might now appreciate why cracking the code might lead to a highly sought-after auction item one day. If Russia or China or goddamn Saddam Hussein himself got his hands on this...”

They were coming up on their first lap around the base, but neither seemed ready to return to the confines of the lab. Jacob noticed he hadn’t felt thirsty or tired like he should have after a vigorous midday march. In that heat, it didn’t take very long for a man to feel worn down, but Jacob surprisingly found that he could march in the scorching heat all day.

Saoirse kept a close eye on her watch. There were still a few hours to burn, as she wasn’t expected anywhere until after chow time. There was an officer’s briefing at 1830 hours, most of which she never participated. Yet this time, her attendance was personally requested by General Thomas. Saoirse found that she lacked a good reason to miss it. “So, about our friend, Lieutenant General Becker. We need to discuss how we’re going to navigate these troubling waters.”

“Wouldn’t it be best if I played dumb?”

Saoirse shook her head. “Becker’s had suspicions about me for years and he’s got his eyes set on you now, Jake. There’s not a lot you can tell him that he probably doesn’t already know. He will stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, or at least try as he might. He’ll try to get under your skin. You’ve made it clear how tough that is, so keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

“I’m not worried about him either, Saoirse. When nobodies like me are offered a sketchy deal with a promise of a reward that’s too good to be true… they’re expected to take the reward, and when they do, they get hung out to dry. That’s what I’m worried about. I know a bad deal when I see one. But he’s got a slimy quality. I’m concerned that if I don’t take his offer, he’ll cut my throat anyway.”

“What did Becker offer you?” Saoirse’s tone became apprehensive, and Jacob didn’t like it.

“A two-rank promotion. Private to Specialist. He’ll help push it through, but in return, I have to report to him about what you’re up to.”

Saoirse gasped sarcastically. “I am disturbed and surprised that son of a bitch would stoop so fucking low. And don’t think that I don’t believe you’re a perfect candidate for such a step up in rank, because you are, without any doubt whatsoever. From an officer’s perspective, however, double-rank promotions at your level are a massive red flag. And now we know why. Yeah, good call.”

Jacob sighed with relief. He had his answer. Though, there was that second part: the catch. “And what then if he retaliates somehow? If he finds out what you’re doing anyway? I would be shipped off to some private research facility and your Nobel would go out the window.”

The Major snorted at such preposterousness of Jacob’s prediction. Then again, he wasn’t too far off the mark. “You need to steer clear of Becker. That’s an order. I will handle him. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” There was an air of worry in her voice. As they came upon finishing their second lap, Saoirse slowed her sprint to a stop. Her eyes met with Jacob’s, and she offered her best reassuring smile. Behind her amethyst irises, however, Jacob swore he saw the slumbering beast within her begin to awaken.

Chapter Text

The more time that Jacob spent with Saoirse, the more he fathomed without a doubt that no one fared well once they wound up on the Major’s shit list. Jacob discovered such that afternoon while he and the Major discussed his distressing encounter with Lieutenant General Becker that morning.

Following their stress-relieving jaunt together around the base, Jacob was left alone at Saoirse’s desk while she attended the briefing at 1830 hours. In her absence, he was tasked with listing his family and medical history, presumably he surmised, in preparation for his upcoming Augmentus experiments.

Although it would be short-lived, Saoirse’s absence left nothing more than a foul taste in his mouth and a familiar feeling of longing in his gut. Considering the Major’s attendance in the briefing, Jacob felt haunted by the implications and possibilities of what details Saoirse was obligated to share with the panel of commissioned officers, including the incriminating details of the incident, memories of which Jacob still tried desperately to bury, along with his surviving memories of Miller, but he continued to fail each time he closed his eyes.

Like most of the medical documents he’d completed over the years for himself and his brothers, this one seemed straightforward. He had no known allergies except for penicillin. Ana-phy-lac-tic shock, he spelled inside his head, feeling a hot slap to his pride as he struggled to spell out the word. Jacob’s keen survival instincts were the only lessons that mattered to keep his family alive day to day. What knowledge Jacob never learned from books could wait. If those bombs do fall one day, I’ll have a hell of a lot of time to catch up, he decided, and that was that.

Jacob knew very little about his parents’ medical histories, thus most of his information on the form was guesswork. His father was a textbook alcoholic, and his mother was a pill popper. Mother Mary was found face-down in bed, stiff and cold from an apparent overdose. Later that night, Old Man Seed died by a shotgun blast to the chest from six feet away. Neither of his parents’ deaths were from natural causes, so neither death was worth noting on the form.

Next, ironically, the form prompted information about addiction in the family. While his old man depended heavily on alcohol, his mother’s dependence on opioids seemed far more appropriate to exemplify. Jacob solemnly revisited those old wounds. He remembered how often he’d look down at her, sleeping face down, mouth agape. One of these days, he would tell himself, he would find her far too late. As much as he tried to love his mother, should she ever just slip away in her sleep, he and his brothers would mourn her once, and not every day like they had done for years. Jacob yearned for that day and spent no time regretting it when it finally happened.

Within the stillness of Saoirse’s office, where not even the hypnotizing tick of a clock could be heard, Jacob felt himself starting to tear up. Of course, he chastised himself for daring to show weakness. He was never allowed to show weakness, but that moment was one of very few moments where Jacob had no audience, save for his God, of course. Jacob rolled his eyes as he always did at the thought of the Almighty.

Yet, as his tears continued to well up and sting when they finally broke free, Jacob felt himself wishing for the comfort of anyone at all who might’ve cared about him. “Enough of this pity party, Jake,” he said aloud to the walls. “Just get this fucking form filled out and forget about it.” His voice didn’t even echo.

Next, medications. Easy, he didn’t take any.

Vaccination history? Well, prior to enlistment, also easy. Zilch. Nada. Old Man Seed had no time he could afford to give to get his children their necessary inoculations. And Momma didn’t leave her bed, except to take the occasional piss and refill her seemingly endless Oxy prescriptions.

Jacob laughed at the not-so-distant memory immediately following his enlistment when he deliberately went against the medical officer’s advice, receiving all sixteen vaccinations required prior to deployment, after which he spent his first two weeks of military service on a gurney in horrific shape. Because of his unwavering stubbornness, Jacob gave himself a condition called cytokine storm, where his muscles were slowly eaten away by immune cells, and every inch of his skin felt like it had been flayed from him with a red-hot knife. It was hell, but Jacob toughed it out. He always toughed it out. Focus, Jacob grumbled at himself before he moved on to the next question.

The next part of the form made his face turn bright pink. In that very moment, Jacob was glad to be alone in Saoirse’s office. Save for his embarrassing lack of experience, he certainly wasn’t ashamed of his sexual history. Saoirse was his very first partner, and that night was by far the most intimidating, high-pressure situation Jacob had ever found himself in, even topping his being captured and held prisoner by Iraqi soldiers.

In hindsight, Jacob hadn’t given himself the time to properly process what happened between him and Saoirse that night. Sure, he thought about it a few times since it happened, but he hadn’t allowed himself to process it, to face the situation as a whole and appreciate the entire beauty of it.

However, now wasn’t the time for that either. He needed to put the information on paper and move on. Sexual partners? One. Male or female? Female. Contraceptives used?

Deafened by his panic-laden heartbeat thumping in his ears, Jacob hadn’t heard the lab doors open, or the Major’s casual approach. Jacob’s heart fluttered incessantly, and his world began to darken. “Fuck me,” he muttered.  

“At ease, Private.” Saoirse exclaimed with a robust laugh as she entered the lab, watching the colour leave his face. “I was gone an hour, tops.”

“Major, Jesus Christ. No.” Flustered, Jacob ruffled his short crop of red hair and swallowed hard. It was time to face his fears like the good soldier he was. “We were so fucking stupid that night.”

Saoirse let out a long, dramatic sigh, taking a seat across from Jacob on her side of the desk. “Well, you’re very worked up. Please, share your thoughts. Let me help you.”

Jacob lowered his head, trying to hide his shame. “I didn’t pull out. I didn’t…” He felt his stomach clench in horror. “And we didn’t…”

“Jake, relax. I’m sterile.” Saoirse blurted, saving the flustered Private from obvious humiliation. “As far as I’m medically aware, I can’t procreate with humans. Oh, I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. It would have saved you all that stress.”

In the moment, she felt mortified at the realization that she could have prevented Jacob’s anxiety by having that conversation in the moment. Yet, it never made for good pillow talk, and she would have felt worse if she killed the mood by being so frank. “I should have said something. I’m so sorry. Is that part of what’s been keeping you up at night?”

Although he was rendered speechless, some natural colour began to return to his pale face. After a moment, he let out a long, exasperated sigh. “No,” he exhaled, anxiously clicking his pen. “Part of the form that you asked me to fill out was what reminded me. It’s taking a little longer to finish it than I’d hoped. I’m sorry.”

She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms against her chest. “There’s no time limit here, Jacob. Don’t feel you need to rush. We have all the time in the world. Just make sure that the information is as accurate as possible because what you do or don’t disclose will drastically affect the control baselines of the experiments.”

Jacob acknowledged her with a relaxed nod before resuming the paperwork. There wasn’t much left to cover, thankfully. He hastily answered a few questions about his diet, his sleep habits, mental health, and exercise habits, if any. As if he’d been rejuvenated by the Major’s presence, Jacob quickly breezed through the rest of the questionnaire before handing the booklet back to her. She didn’t immediately review it, but instead placed it atop a stack of papers on the far corner of her desk.

“How was your briefing, anyway?” Jacob asked. “You weren’t gone too long.”

Saoirse inhaled as her eyes met his. “Well, it wasn’t as productive as it should’ve been, not that these briefings are normally ever productive. I do have some good news for you, though.”

Jacob cocked an intrigued eyebrow. Given his circumstances of being ostracized by his brothers at arms and becoming a social pariah once again, good news could’ve meant just about anything. “Well don’t leave me hanging, Major. The suspense is killing me.”

Saoirse smiled, baring her uncannily white teeth. Her sharpened incisors made the faint scar on his thigh start to itch. “It appears the Lieutenant General wasn’t bluffing about your double-rank promotion, Specialist.” Saoirse then stood and offered an honourable officer’s handshake, but Jacob took her hand and fervently kissed the back of it instead. He didn’t let go, gently holding her palm between his slender fingers and thumb.

“And you said that jump-steps are unheard of at my level.” Jacob’s jaw slacked, awestricken. “What did you tell them?”

“Just because a double-rank jump hasn’t happened at your level, it doesn’t mean it’s entirely outside the realm of possibility. And to answer your question, I am obligated as a commissioned officer to brief my superiors of only the imperative details of any mission or operation over which I am in charge. I told them what was necessary to demonstrate what a remarkable soldier you truly are. This double-rank jump was based upon your willingness as my subordinate to get us back to base, even at your own risk of injury or death. Saving a fellow squad member is one thing, Specialist.”

She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb before planting several kisses of her own. “Saving a commander, however, is an exceptionally noble feat, and even in my experience, there are few souls among the ranks who would ever rise to the occasion without hesitating. As for what I told the panel this evening, I witnessed a young man boldly face a grave uncertainty of his fate at the hands of his enemies. I’d vouch for any man willing to stand and fight to the last breath.”

Jacob huffed with a shaky breath as he tried to stifle that old, familiar, cynical voice that screamed in the back of his head. He remained speechless while his firm grasp on her hand loosened, and his hand began to tremble.

“Oh, I’m supposed to pass along to you that Sergeant Michaels offers his most sincere apology about not telling you about the promotion himself. It was certainly his recommendation that first kickstarted this whole ordeal. Sergeant’s been keeping a very close eye on you since you left basic training. He said something in passing about being a fantastic marksman, even putting him to shame. Sergeant Michaels has one of the highest marksmanship scores I’ve ever seen. He’s a man you will want in your corner.”  

Completely overwhelmed, Jacob quietly thanked Saoirse and let his head fall between his shoulders. Albeit honoured by the Sergeant’s accolade, Jacob felt in his heart that there was no way he deserved the promotion. If the commissioned officers found out the horrifying details of his capture, especially what he’d done to his mate, they’d skip the court-martial entirely and jump straight to lethal injection.

Jacob soon snapped out of his blank stare, however, upon realizing that Major Kingston had many good friends in very high places. Saoirse cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to her. “The panel did have some reasonable conditions that you need to meet or promise to fulfill before anything becomes official, but we can cross that bridge when it comes. In the meantime, I think we should celebrate. And I know you’re not a drinker, so instead of champagne, I made a few calls and managed to acquire the next best thing I could think of that you’d thoroughly enjoy.”

“Saoirse.” He grumbled.

“Close your eyes, Jake. If you peek, I’ll have you scrubbing my floors with a toothbrush for a week.”

Jacob reluctantly complied, making a point to dramatically cover his eyes with his hands and drop his head down to the desk. Saoirse left her office and returned a moment later, setting something big and heavy on the desk in front of him. Jacob’s nose tickled when he smelled what he truly believed was the best fucking smell in the entire goddamn world: a box of fresh-picked sun-kissed peaches, all the way from Georgia.

Chapter Text

Saoirse had never seen a man eat a dozen or so softball-sized peaches, one after another in rapid succession, until now. Watching with intrigue as Jacob devoured the fruit’s soft flesh, there was a sparkle of innocence and serenity that danced in his eyes while rivulets of peach juice and pulp drizzled down his chin, into his beard. She was more than relieved that the man who had been at war with himself for so long had finally reached an armistice with his demons, even if it were only temporary.

The fourteenth peach pit hit the garbage and Jacob let out a satisfied belch. “Pardon me, Major. That was rude.” She giggled in response, handing him a clean, damp rag from the supply cabinet next to her desk. “So, how did you manage to get a case of Georgian peaches all the way out here, anyway?”

She smirked. “Oh, easy. I got in touch with the wonderful folks at Fort Benning and put in a special request. They’ve always had a soft spot for a good, old fashioned morale boost. An order for a box of peaches was a hell of a lot easier to fulfill than some of the other things they’ve shipped out here.”

“That’s…wow. Unbelievable.” Jacob wiped the remaining juice and pulp from the corner of his mouth and beard, making a mental note to find a sink to wash away the lingering stickiness. He stood from his chair and rounded the desk to wrap Saoirse in an overdue heartfelt hug. “You have no idea how much this means to me. All of it.”

Saoirse reciprocated his hug, pulling him even closer into her. “Jacob, you’ve had more than your fair share of shitty days. While I can’t fight your battles for you, I can certainly provide some infantry support.”

Jacob slowly released her from his hug, but not before delicately pressing his forehead against hers, taking in the preciousness of the moment.

Saoirse cleared her throat. “Besides, considering our working relationship, our success is somewhat dependent on how well we get along. And how much we trust each other. You’ll be seeing a lot of me in the coming months.” Saoirse could hear Jacob’s heartbeat hasten before he cocked a cheeky eyebrow in retort. “That’s not what I meant, Specialist. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Jacob chuckled sheepishly and left the office, when immediately after, Saoirse heard the trickle of running water from down the hall. He reappeared with a clean towel pressed to his face and took his seat once more. “Not that I want to get back to business, but I reckon I won’t be sleeping anytime soon, and you mentioned there were a few conditions to meet as part of my promotion, so let’s have at it.”

Saoirse wasn’t surprised by his tenacity in the slightest. “Right. I was hoping to have that conversation in the company of Sergeant Michaels and the other involved parties.” From her briefcase by her feet, which she normally kept locked in the bottom drawer of her desk, she pulled a small envelope of papers and passed them over to him.

Jacob pulled the papers from the envelope and carefully studied them. A few minutes of silence passed before he spoke up again. “Just so we’re on the same page, how many people besides the two of us are aware of the Augmentus studies? I’m only curious.”

Intrigued, Saoirse pondered for a moment. “Officially, as far as I’m aware, there’s Sergeant Michaels, Chief Warrant Officer Jimenez, Corporal Jackson, and General Thomas who are up to speed on the preliminary research. I have personally vetted each of them. I would trust them with my life.” She paused to take a quick breath. “There are a very small number of people in D.C. whom I report to that, in turn, provide the funding and equipment for my work here, so count them in too.”

Jacob sighed with relief as he allowed his back and shoulders to rest against the chair. “I’m going to be a well-guarded secret. Way to make a man feel special, Major.”

“Jeez, don’t sound so unhappy, Jacob,” Saoirse muttered sarcastically. “I should probably tell you that there won’t be a pinning ceremony.”

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Am I going to be your only lab rat?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call yourself a lab rat,” Saoirse sighed, “but that’s a good question. The most I can say is don’t hold your breath. In almost two decades of preliminary studies, you’re the only candidate that’s been remotely worth my time. Statistically, you’re an anomaly, just like me. A true freak of nature. However, that doesn’t mean there won’t be others down the line.”

Jacob inhaled sharply.

She paused immediately. “Are you worried that you’d have to share my undivided attention?”

He rolled his eyes. Saoirse wondered if she struck a nerve. “I’m used to sharing, if that’s what you’re hoping to hear. I’m worried about being sold off to some privately funded fucking torture chamber.”

“That’s not going to happen over my dead body, Jake. Listen, don’t think too much into it. Given that I’m the lucky one that found you, respecting your potential for success as a candidate in my studies, I don’t believe that I would even need another candidate. Eventually, like the rest of humankind, you’ll grow old and die, and only then will I.”

Jacob could sense a growing sadness in her tone. In the hours and days that he’d spent sulking and whining about his own loneliness, he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate how lonely Saoirse might have been. Jacob hadn’t ventured to guess how many loved ones she’d lost over the centuries. “Maybe you’ll find a way to unlock an immortality gene one day. Then you can keep me around forever.”

Saoirse’s expression lightened and the tension in the room seemed to quickly dissipate. “You know, I appreciate your sense of humour. It’s hard to come by these days.”

Jacob shrugged. “I’m not usually the funny one. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Well, if that’s the case, Master Sergeant Bob Ross would call that a happy accident. You should take up painting. I hear it helps with the post-traumatic stress.”

“Shut your mouth. Don’t insult Master Sergeant Ross like that.” Jacob sneered, punching her playfully in the upper arm. He tried desperately to mask his amusement behind a surly brow, but the harder he tried, the quicker the task was headed for failure. Deep belly laughter soon erupted from him, and Saoirse swiftly followed suit.

Neither heard the mechanical whirring of the lab doors above their raucous mirth. A woman cleared her throat from the open doorway of Major Kingston’s office. “Good evening, Major. Specialist Lab Rat.” Saoirse recognised Corporal Jackson’s voice anywhere.

Katrina pulled up another chair from a nearby exam room and sat down uncomfortably next to Jacob. “I suppose congratulations are in order with your promotion. Did you give him the peaches, Saoirse?”

Since the Corporal first laid her anxious eyes on Jacob’s unconscious body strapped down tightly onto the gurney, he had amassed a noticeable amount of healthy muscle. Jacob already stood several inches taller than her, but now he towered over the Corporal. She was almost intimidated. Almost.  

In return, Jacob offered a genuine smile. “Thank you, Corporal.”

“I see the Major has been keeping you in her good graces?”

Jacob winked openly at Saoirse as she sat unamused across the desk. “I mean, Saoirse’s not the worst company I’ve kept by far.”

Katrina scoffed.

As Jacob paused to spin his torso to face Katrina, he couldn’t help but allow the creeping shit-eating grin to stretch across his lips from ear to ear. “I missed your own special brand of iciness, Corporal.”

The young officer scoffed again and planted a hand on her hip. She said nothing in reply. Having grown up with four older brothers, Katrina knew just when to hold her tongue and when to lash it.

Saoirse cleared her throat. “Right. now that you’re both here, we will begin Phase Two of testing tomorrow at 0500 hours. I hope you get some good rest, Corporal. It’s going to be a long day.”

Having acknowledged the Major, Katrina pulled an unmarked manila envelope, sealed with wax, from inside her fatigue jacket and slid it across the table. Saoirse broke the wax seal and pulled a half-inch stack of papers from the envelope, reading a quick preview before sliding the papers back in.

Jacob watched Saoirse’s eyes carefully, but she revealed no emotive clues as to what secrets the envelope held. His curiosity piqued. “Thank you, Corporal.” Saoirse muttered. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

“I’ll see you both at 0500.” Katrina rose to her feet and swiftly left the office.

When Jacob heard the retreat of bootsteps following the sliding of the lab doors, he turned to Saoirse and gestured at the envelope. “If I asked, would you tell me?”

Saoirse sighed. “The Department of Defence is pushing my research timeline ahead in anticipation of next month’s invasion. The Generals down at the Pentagon seem to be under the impression that I have created an army of super soldiers and they’re looking to collect.” She dropped the burdensome manila envelope onto the desk. “We have two weeks to complete Phase Two and Three before you can be assessed by the Medical Officer and begin any field training that you’ll need to do. A month to finish everything is pushing it. Two weeks is impossible.”

Jacob scoffed and picked up the manila folder to examine its contents. He expected most of the report to be heavily redacted but instead, he was surprised to find it wasn’t at all. “You know, you never actually told me what Phase Two involved. Considering I’m the guinea pig, would you mind maybe giving me a rundown on what’s going to happen?”

“Right. Wait here.” Saoirse left her office in haste and made way for the empty, unilluminated medical bay. There she found the large black binder with Augmentus scribbled hastily across a white tag on both the front cover and spine. Upon returning to her office, she handed the binder over to Jacob, and he began to slowly leaf through the pages with his typical sense of curiosity. “To summarize, Phase Two will be a breeze. The worst of the trial, Phase One, is already over. Phase Two is mostly work that will be done with a microscope. I don’t need you to attend tomorrow, but you seem eager to learn what’s happening within the research, so maybe it’ll be worth your while to join in.”

She paused to swallow a lump in her throat. “Phase Three is what I’m worried about. The ethics of testing tend to be a little hazier.”

Jacob snapped the binder shut and set it down on the desk. “Would you care to elaborate?” Saoirse could almost taste his unease.

“Certainly. But remember, we’re Wild West Scientists. Most of the tests we originally designed were done so based on hypotheses of how a phenotypical presentation of the Augmentus gene might occur. Don’t worry, it sounds a lot more complex than it is.”

Jacob nodded, doing his best to follow along. He was exhausted, but determined to prove he was invested in this and worthy of her time.

After giving Jacob a moment or so to process the initial dump of information, Saoirse continued, circling around the table to stand behind him. “Many of the more rudimentary theories were based loosely on comic books. Take Wolverine from X-Men. Super strength, rapid healing, giant metal claws jutting out from his knuckles.” She opened the binder and flipped past several dozen sections before skimming through and stopping on a crudely scribbled-on sheet of old, weathered lined paper.

With a scoff, Jacob stopped reading and looked up at her. “Testing physical limitations and traumatic stress resilience? You want me to willingly participate in these tests? Yeah, I can see what you mean by hazy ethics.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jacob,” she warned. “By conducting these tests, our goal is to determine the exact capacity in which your physical characteristics were enhanced upon activation of the gene. In layman’s terms, we’re simply measuring your physical differences between pre- and post-activation. And again, obviously these are primitive theories at best. They will not be the backbone of the tests, nor will they be included as part of the official reported methodology. In my opinion, these crude ideas do seem to lend a little creativity where we’ve fallen short.”

Saoirse sat down in the chair next to him before grabbing his hand and holding it between her palms, embracing the warmth that he radiated. “I know that you’re more resistant to heat exhaustion and your endurance has vastly improved. You’ve been steadily gaining some healthy muscle weight. Before you know it, you’ll be a contender in a fight against me.”

Jacob’s jaw clenched as his expressionless eyes fixed on her. “Before we start any tests, I don’t do so well with pain.” Saoirse wasn’t sure whether his words were a warning or a cry for help.

“Neither do I.” Saoirse pulled his chin upwards with her index finger. She could feel him swallow hard as her finger pressed under his jaw. “Jacob, do you trust me?”

Without hesitation, he nodded, not daring to break eye contact. His voice was soft, relaxed. “I do.”

“Then you’ll forgive me.”

Jacob tensed. “For what?”

Saoirse closed her eyes and pulled his head to her collar. “For bringing you into this fucking mess.”

Chapter Text

Major Kingston and Corporal Jackson spent the rest of the week documenting the last of their findings from Jacob’s homolysis results, thereby concluding Phase Two nearly a week ahead of schedule. Saoirse had been so preoccupied with her work that to use her time most efficiently, she converted part of the medical bay into a rudimentary single-bed dorm, giving up entirely on returning to the bunkhouse to catch any much-needed rest.

During such time that Saoirse was fervently occupied by her work, Jacob forced himself to keep distracted and busy with skill drills, weight training, and cardio. Although he would have loved doing so, Jacob never hung around the lab to watch her work, as he feared he’d be nothing more than a distraction, and her work was too important to her to afford little, careless mistakes. Not that Jacob believed Saoirse ever made such mistakes in her work, but he couldn’t bear to be the reason she did.

Yet, throughout what scarce occasions where he would be present, Jacob surprisedly found that he was quite interested in learning what his lover had been working on, and furthermore, he was absolutely enchanted with her fixation over what new scientific grounds she and Katrina frequently broke. Saoirse was nothing if not completely dedicated to her work, and her undying zeal for the next discovery always brought a smile to Jacob’s face. Jacob also found that his involvement in Saoirse’s work contributed greatly to a sincere appreciation of the importance of her research. And much to Saoirse’s appreciation, Jacob never expressed any jealousy of her prioritization of her work, either.

Following Jacob’s “officially unofficial” pinning ceremony several days following his conversation with Lieutenant General Becker, which took place late in the night, behind closed doors of the commissioned officers’ lounge, the week passed quickly and uneventfully, save for Saoirse’s unexpected announcement to the panel of high-ranking commissioned officers that she had been engaging in a romantic relationship with the Specialist.

He resented it at first, but eventually Jacob came to see that the announcement was a necessary evil. It was carefully planned, as was everything that Saoirse ever did. Her purpose was to allow them both to save some face and continue working together without bending or breaking any further ethical rules within the Army and the scientific research community. Of course, the jaw-dropping news rippled through the base with a shockwave and made for some scathingly ruthless remarks about “banging the oldest chick in the army” from the many envious members of Jacob’s unit.

Nonetheless, Jacob held his head high in pride. All that mattered was that he knew her heart belonged to him, and it earned him his own kind of special reputation. The Specialist, a nobody from Rome, Georgia, was somehow worth the Major’s time, attention, and affection, and that made him a very special subject of interest back in Washington. It was only a matter of time before it became widespread knowledge as to why he was so important to her, and to the Army, for that matter.

Jacob spent the rest of the week following his sudden promotion riding an almost manic high. Things were turning around for the better, all things considered. However, he still found himself struggling with deep-seated guilt over the circumstances of his promotion. The honourable Specialist badge was caked in the blood of his fallen companion. Specialist Jacob Seed would die trying to prove to the late Private First Class Miller that his death would never be in vain.

No sooner would the grim sanctity of the weight of being nourished by Miller’s flesh go to waste either, over Jacob’s dead body. The guilt of survival alone weighed on him every minute of every day, and it killed him to have to continuously bury such an ugly truth from his superiors and squaddies. Dealing with the emotions and psychological consequences of cannibalism, whether in the face of survival or not, almost had Jacob unravelling. It killed him to have to bury that ugly truth every single day.

Yet, fortunately for him, Saoirse and her infinite wisdom had talked him through the many anxious fits that plagued him when the nightmares didn’t. As far as Jacob could tell, however, much to his surprise, his subconscious visions of the ill-fated Armageddon had finally begun to subside. After several nights of sleeping next to Saoirse, Jacob was sleeping longer and deeper than he had his whole life prior. Perhaps there was something good that came of Saoirse’s embarrassing announcement after all.

He woke at 0430, feeling adequately rested and more-or-less ready for the day’s trials. Following a brisk, hasty shower, Jacob got dressed and kissed Saoirse goodbye, who still slumbered peacefully and soundly beneath the sheets, before he made his way to the mess hall. It was customary for him to load up on as many complex carbs and kilograms of protein as he could pack down, which was usually washed down by a piping hot cup of unsweetened black coffee. Jacob boasted that he hadn’t missed breakfast a day in his life, except of course, for the week of his capture. Breaking a lifelong routine so abruptly left him a lot more unsettled than he was willing to admit.

Although the sun hadn’t yet begun to rise, Jacob noticed the skies were already appearing overcast. Taking off in a brisk jog around the base, Jacob hoped for total downpour, but he also hoped to run at least a few warm-up miles before the rain started. All the same, as he found his pace, feeling the cool morning air against his face and neck, Jacob felt himself disassociate, focusing only on the paved track in front of him.

The sun had just started cresting over the mountains that surrounded the valley when the wind picked up, bringing with it the gentle fragrance of petrichor. When the rain began, Jacob watched it come across the valley like a vertical wave. He waited anxiously for the cool water to drench his clothes and soak him to the bone. It made him feel alive.

He had lost track of how many laps he ran before finally running out of breath, and after a short break, Jacob resumed running. This time he ran even faster, with more purpose, weighed down ever so slightly by his gradually increasingly waterlogged clothing. He panted and gasped at the painful overexertion of his muscles and lungs, but he did not allow himself to slow his pace. Jacob ran until the rain stopped again, leaving him to bask in the warm light of the sun that eventually broke through the clouds.

Around 1400 hours, Saoirse broke her gaze from her microscope before she stood and stretched her dully aching neck, back, and shoulders. Ignoring her stomach’s obnoxiously loud, pathetic caterwauling, Saoirse made the hasty decision to skip her dinner after she’d already skipped both breakfast and lunch. She hadn’t much of an appetite for human food that day, anyway, and what she craved was, well, frowned upon.

When Jacob returned to the lab at 1530, he found Saoirse slumped over her desk, holding her head up with her elbow, snoozing soundly. To his immediate dismay, there were two untouched plates of food on a small table next to her, and at least one cup of coffee atop the desk that had run cold. After waking her to try and move her to bed, she fought him on it, insisting that she just needed to rest her eyes. Not wishing to rile her up, Jacob watched in amusement instead as Saoirse struggled valiantly to stay awake, peering exhaustedly through the microscope.

Around 1730, Jacob quietly left the lab to visit the kitchen where he found the once-adored Specialist Williams, who turned a bright shade of pink at his immediate, unexpected appearance. After exchanging a few cordial pleasantries and jokes between them as matching ranks, Jacob asked Specialist Williams very politely to prepare a smoothie chock full of different fruits and vegetables for the Major, which caused Specialist Williams’ face to blush even more.

Of course, word had gotten around. Why wouldn’t it have? Surely, by now, the gossip over such a hot scandal was passed between every mouth on base: the Major and the Nobody, the star-crossed lovers who became the talk of the town. Thank God that Specialist Williams knew better than to mention it. Jacob just wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. Especially in the company of a cutie pie that he used to eye up on occasion.

There were a few leftover grilled chicken breasts from dinnertime chow that he plated for her as well, but he banked on the smoothie being a hit. If Saoirse’s hands were tied up in her work, she could at least eat with a fucking straw, and he’d eat the chicken himself if she left it untouched.

All that running worked up an appetite, and despite eating a massive dinner at 1630 with his airborne squaddies, Jacob’s appetite was returning with a vengeance. Much to Jacob’s disdain, in addition to the locker room chatter about sharing a bed with the Major, rumours of his “enhancement” were circulating as well. However the word got out, Jacob knew it was bound to happen, his curiosity piquing as to whose loose lips did the talking. If the rumours stayed as rumours, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

It went without saying that Specialist Williams was intelligent enough to keep her head down and her mouth shut about what she’d heard and seen, especially straight from the source of the new excitement. That said, Jacob was extremely grateful to have a trustworthy ally in the kitchen who could understand and appreciate his unusually unappeasable appetite and respect his and the Major’s privacy.

When Jacob entered the lab for the second time, Saoirse was awake and functioning a little better than before, but she appeared exhausted.

Saoirse didn’t put up much of a fight when Jacob set the smoothie down beside her. He was expecting a lecture of sorts, something along the lines of ‘don’t make me pull rank, Jacob’, or ‘don’t disturb me when I’m balls deep in my research, Jacob’. Yet, to his pleasant surprise, she leaned over and took a long, hungry haul from the straw, hardly breaking from her hyperfocus on the microscope. “Thank you, Jake.”  

Although Jacob’s admiration for her work ethic was tremendous, he folded his arms annoyedly across his chest. “Major, you should rest your eyes.” Alas, he recognized that his words fell upon deaf ears. Jacob sighed, planting himself on a gurney nearby so at least he could rest his eyes while he waited for her to call it a night.

Finally, at 2200 hours, she stirred at the desk and called his name. “Time for bed.” Jacob’s thunderous heartbeat skipped as he hastily crossed the floor to her immediate workspace before helping her stand on tired legs.

Jacob carefully wrapped one of her arms around his neck and lifted her up to carry her to their room. “Sleep is a great idea,” he muttered, taking note of how late it was before he admiringly cursed her under his breath. Jacob prayed she would sleep at least a few hours before jumping back into it but given how tenacious she had become since discovering his anomalous genetic profile, he knew those chances were slim at best.

Saoirse was able to undress herself, albeit on unsteady feet. Jacob helped with taking off her socks before she lethargically crawled atop the bed and pulled the sheets down to cover herself. When he climbed under the sheets next to her, Saoirse pulled herself into him and rested her head on his chest. “We did it, Jake,” she whispered, stroking his cheek with the hand that would normally lay draped across his abdomen. Even though her voice was muffled by drowsiness, she couldn’t help but show her immense excitement. “Phase Two is over.”

He exhaled and kissed the top of her head, squeezing her into a tight hug. “That’s incredible, Saoirse. But please, tell me about it at breakfast tomorrow.”

“What if I asked you to make love to me? In celebration?”

“Not tonight, Saoirse. We need to sleep. You especially need to sleep.” He hated saying no, but she’d never asked him to make love before. The words rested heavily in his mind. Make love. Make love to me. Jacob wasn’t ready to admit it, but he had known for a week that he had fallen completely in love with her. The intensity of his love gave him the conviction he needed to recognize just how dangerous his love for her could one day prove to be. Feeling her body writhing against him, Jacob’s heart felt like it would soon burst from his chest.

He wasn’t tired anymore, but she’d soon faded into a deep slumber, and despite how badly he wanted to take her, all he could do in the stillness of the night was watch in curiosity as her expressions shifted ever slightly in her sleep. Despite the blackness of night, Saoirse’s features were daintily illuminated by the soft glow of the desk lamp in the far corner of the room.

As alive as Jacob had felt earlier that day, when the cool rain quenched his skin and when the sunlight warmed his cool, damp skin thereafter, Jacob felt complete as his arms rested securely around her waist. Slowly, his vision faded to darkness as he prayed that every night to come could be so peaceful.

Chapter Text

Rise, my son.

Waking from a dead sleep, Jacob’s eyes slowly opened as he lifted his head from his pillow and looked around the room. Surely, he had just heard someone talking right next to him. A man’s deep, cutting voice. Yet, the dark room was completely empty. Save, of course, for the beautiful woman sleeping next to him. Realizing it must have been a dream, Jacob relaxed once again upon his pillow and closed his eyes.

Rise, my son, came the voice once more, although much firmer and clearer. The voice carried more authority, a higher magnitude of importance. Strangely, though, the voice felt like a rumble within Jacob’s skull. Rise and begin this new day, my son.

As if entranced, Jacob did what the voice told him to without question or hesitation. You have done well, Jacob, but your journey is only beginning. Your trials will soon intensify. You must persevere.

Jacob winced as he felt an unpleasant crushing sensation erupting from inside him. He didn’t feel full of dread per se, but he struggled to accept a truth that he’d wilfully ignored: this was the same voice his brother would tell him about. Jacob’s cheeks flushed red with shame as he recalled his many arguments with Joseph. How many times had Jacob ridiculed his younger brother, taking the wind completely out of his sails? How many times had Jacob’s words isolated him from one of the only other people he had left in the world?

As his shame intensified, Jacob felt a single tear fall to his cheek. His remorse soon blossomed into a tingling sensation of peace that passively seeped into his mind. “Joseph, I’m so sorry.”

Joseph feels no ill will for you. His thoughts are with you each day as he prays for your safe return.

He winced in response, shaking his head vigorously to rid himself of this torment. By his side, Saoirse stirred. Jacob swore she opened her eyes, even if only for a moment, before rolling over and away from him. He gave her a gentle but reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, praying she wouldn’t wake up.

But he needed air. Jacob rose to his feet from the bed and made for the nearest bathroom, frantically locking the door behind him. The restroom’s structure was somewhat reminiscent of a Porta-john, albeit slightly bigger, and a lot cleaner. At least, he hoped so.

As he hunched over the plastic sink basin, Jacob contemplated everything he thought he knew. The Bible and his many Sundays spent in church hadn’t taught him how to address the Almighty, should the occasion ever arise. It seemed insane to even contemplate the possibility. Jacob rationalized that if the Almighty loved mankind as much as Jacob was taught all those years ago, he could be as respectful as possible while still being his genuine self.

Jacob felt his shoulders relax as he slowly let his guard down. “Why have You deemed me worthy of Your presence?” the words fell awkwardly from his tongue. “Joseph is the one that You’ve blessed.”

There was a pause before the rumble of the voice inside his skull returned, bringing the crushing sensation with it. I bring you an offering of peace in this time of great uncertainty, Jacob. I bid to you a blessing that you will persevere in your trials with the help of your newest acquaintance.

Jacob exhaled slowly, dropping his blurry, flustered gaze to his trembling hands resting on the edge of the wash basin. “How could I be blessed with an offering of peace after what I did? To Miller? I left him out there. His family won’t ever be able to give him a burial. And it was my fault, Lord. I’m unworthy of Your blessing.”

Do you think that you are the first man to have done so?

“That doesn’t matter. At least, it doesn’t matter to me. I broke the promise that I made to my brothers at arms, and I don’t have the balls to apologize for it. They gave me a promotion for it. It’s wrong. So wrong.” Jacob had slowly begun to hyperventilate but his anxiety simmered as the same warm feeling of a peaceful presence shrouded him.

I release you of your pain, child. Now you must only forgive yourself.

Jacob exhaled shakily. Any minute now, the tears would begin to flow, but he needed to try and hold it together. The last thing Jacob needed was to have Saoirse come to investigate and find him talking to himself inside the locked bathroom stall. “While I’ve started confessing, Lord, I’m ashamed to admit that I failed a second test. One of discipline and self-control. I was stupid and selfish, and I could have caused a lot more trouble than it would’ve even been worth.”

Jacob swallowed hard, fighting back the demons that cursed him with many sleepless nights. “Every day my longing for her touch intensifies. My…desires for her grow stronger. Emotional, physical, whatever. I can’t breathe without her.” Jacob sighed as he felt the heaviness of his shame lift as the onerous words rolled off his tongue. “God, this is embarrassing.”

You must continue to allow Saoirse into your heart.

Unexpectedly, Jacob’s heart fluttered intensely at the words that echoed almost painfully inside his skull. If it didn’t unnerve him enough to find himself locked inside a close-quartered bathroom, speaking to God, without acknowledging just how fucking impossible that might have sounded to a sane person, Jacob couldn’t fathom that the Almighty had given His blessing to foster a relationship with the Major, either. Recognizing his own exhaustion, whether from the heat or from the psychological effects of war itself, Jacob was convinced he was dreaming. Considering how impossible it seemed to be talking to God, it wasn’t exactly outside the realm of possibility, either.

Jacob decided that he would humour his subconsciousness for now.

Meeting Saoirse was no random occurrence, Jacob. You would be wise to take her hand in marriage.

As the voice carried on, Jacob felt an intensifying sensation of butterflies in his stomach, a feeling he learned to despise during childhood. The feeling of butterflies meant excitement, and excitement often led to bitter disappointment, something he was well accustomed to.

The voice continued before Jacob could offer a rebuttal. Under her protection, no harm will come to you or your brothers. Although you may not yet see the whole picture in its entirety, Saoirse will make for an irreplaceable ally and a loyal companion when none are left.

Further to Jacob’s displeasure, at the mention of the bigger picture, his fluttering sensation intensified into a nauseating panic, especially at the thought of marrying her. “My Lord, while I don’t get the impression that we’ll have any trouble getting along, I’m just not ready to take a wife. Whether that’ll be Saoirse or anyone else.”

Whether you decide to affirm your vow to her is a choice you may make, not a requirement. Appreciate her vast knowledge, Jacob. Revel in the pleasance of her company. Remember that nothing is ever set in stone.

“Except the end of the world, right?” he didn’t expect a reply, nor did he get one. “And what about my brothers? Will I see them again?” Though, Jacob didn’t want an answer to that question.

You will be reunited in due time. Have faith that your journey is far from over, my son.

Jacob swore he could feel the ghostly presence’s departure, and soon, he was left completely alone in the bathroom with his creeping, festering thoughts. He took some time to dwell on what the voice had said, which seemed a lot more convincing than it did at first.

When Jacob returned to his shared bedroom quarters, Saoirse was exactly how he’d left her. The bed creaked under the shifting weight as Jacob crawled back under the blankets. He watched her again in silence as her chest softly rose and fell with every breath, and a whimper escaped on her breath after each exhale. It was only then she stirred, slowly rolling over to face him with soft, sleepy eyes. “Where’d you disappear to?”

Jacob offered no immediate reply. He instead cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand, wrapping his slightly trembling fingers in the wavy locks of her auburn hair before pulling her close into a deep kiss. In that moment, Jacob felt no sense of danger of the ominous hell that was approaching on the horizon. The only thing that mattered to him in the moment was that they were laying there together, locked in each other’s tender embrace.

Chapter Text

When Saoirse woke, it was just past 0900 hours. Jacob snored next to her, drool escaping from the corner of his mouth into the pillowcase. With a smile, she smoothed down and tamed his bedraggled tufts of red hair which stuck out awkwardly from the sides of his head. Her touch was gentle so as not to wake him, but under her fingertips, he stirred. Jacob’s hand instinctively grabbed hers as her touch grazed his cheek, linking their fingers together as he opened his eyes. “Good morning,” she mumbled, startled at his awakening.

“Good morning to you,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m surprised you’re not already working.”

She scoffed. “And missing out on watching you drooling on the pillow? Please.” She smiled and kissed him on the nose. “I’m taking the day off. Been hunched over the goddamn microscope so long I’m getting a hump in my neck.”

As Jacob wiped the dried streak of drool from the corner of his mouth, he felt his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. “Well, normally I don’t sleep deeply enough to even start drooling.” He flipped the pillow over to hide the wet spot. “And why do I have a sneaking suspicion that you aren’t actually taking the day off?”

“How astute of you.” Saoirse pulled the blanket away and climbed to her feet. Jacob lingered in the bed, watching her as she bundled her long hair into a messy bun. He had other evidence of a good night’s sleep that needed to subside before he could get up. “You never answered my question earlier.”

He cocked his head. “Hmm? I don’t remember what you even asked.”

“I asked where you disappeared to when you got up and left the room for almost an hour last night. I figured you probably snuck back to your own bunk.”

“Oh, no. Just had to use the facilities.”

Saoirse eyed him cautiously, but playfully. “I know you’re a grown ass man, but if it takes you an hour to vacate the chambers, you need to lay off the protein. Have a salad, or some spinach or something. Maybe a stalk of celery, that wouldn’t hurt.” She paused and her eyes went wide with horror. “Unless you were in there…handling…more private matters.” Her gaze dropped to his semi-clothed midriff, still buried under the blanket. Saoirse dared not draw attention to the tent he’d been pitching, despite how obvious it was.

“Yeah, no.” Jacob rolled his eyes as he exhaled. “If I needed that kind of relief, I’d have woken you up and asked.”

Saoirse approached the bed again when Jacob finally pulled the sheets away from him, dropping his long legs over the mattress. As she drew nearer, she felt his eyes slowly running up and down her body, finally resting on the bare skin above her collarbone. Jacob’s breath hitched as she stopped in front of him, staring into the captivating deep blue hues of his eyes. “I admit that I’ve been rude to ignore you this week, and for that, I am deeply sorry. Now that Phase Two has wrapped, you have my full attention.”

Jacob said nothing as he cracked a half smile. His hand reached outward to cup her cheek in his palm, but she caught his hand and brought it down to her collar. He thumbed along her collarbone, dragging his hand across to rest on her shoulder. His gaze still hadn’t left the open, exposed skin. He felt himself longing to plunge his teeth into her flesh and feel what she did when she did the same. “If it makes you feel better, I found a few things to do to distract myself from the loneliness.”

Without hesitation or warning, Saoirse pushed him down upon the mattress to climb up and straddle him. She hastily pulled the grey fatigue shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor next to the bed. Her bare breasts took his breath away.

“You seem far less anxious than the last time,” Saoirse playfully goaded, watching his mind wander behind closed eyes as she lightly ran her hands along the muscles of his lower abdomen.

As he clenched his eyes to take in the physical rawness of the moment, Jacob hissed and twitched when her fingertips grazed a ticklish area of his mid-belly. “I guess I gained some perspective this week.”

Helping to pull his shirt halfway up his chest, Saoirse leaned over to plant kisses on his breastbone, careful to avoid the scars that painted horror stories across his flesh. Beneath her hips, she could feel a hungry, restless stirring in the waistband of his trousers as she shuffled atop him to find a comfortable seating. “Well, I’d sure hate to be the bearer of bad news, especially right now… This is where the fun gets put aside. Until later, that is. I needed to get your heart rate up. But I’ll make it up to you, Jake, I promise.” Saoirse reluctantly climbed down to the floor, leaving her confused, flustered partner stretched out half-nude on the mattress. “Get up and get ready, Specialist. We’ve got trials to run.”

Jacob slowly rose to his feet, muttering something vulgar under his breath. As his manhood deflated, his balls began to ache, and that only pissed him off. Saoirse was, without a doubt, going to pay for that. He watched as she pulled her shirt and jacket back on with a fiery determination to exact his revenge. All thoughts came to a grinding halt, however, when he noticed she had pulled her trousers up without donning her undergarments first. Saoirse made certain that Jacob had noticed, too, offering him a sassy wink before departing the lab.

Following a hasty, carb-and-protein-heavy breakfast, Jacob followed Saoirse to the drill fields close to the running track and weightlifting area. Most of the weightlifting equipment was still waterlogged from yesterday’s rain, but he had a feeling that they weren’t about to start training with dumbbells.

“We’re going to run gear drills together. We’ll keep running until your lungs feel like they’re about to collapse.”

“Funny, that’s what I did yesterday.” With an enthusiastic grin, Jacob immediately began to stretch. “Isn’t Corporal Jackson supposed to be here?”

Saoirse motioned at a lone individual sitting on the nearby bleachers, clipboard in hand. The Corporal gave them a wave in acknowledgement.

“What if we gain an audience? They’re already asking all sorts of questions.”

She shushed him calmly. “Don’t worry about that. Your orders are to focus on the drills and try to kick my ass on the scorecard, Specialist. Keep in mind that no soul on the face of this earth, past or present, has ever successfully kicked my ass at drills. I’m not convinced you’re at that level yet either, so I’m inviting you to prove me wrong.”

Annoyed but motivated to demonstrate his highly practiced endurance, Jacob broke into a sprint without warning, making a mad dash for the climbing wall.

Saoirse snarled after being caught by surprise and tailed quickly behind him. “You didn’t wait for the drill demonstration, Specialist! Cheap move!”

“Do you really think there would be a structured plan when we’re out in the field, Major? You think the enemy will wait for someone to say ‘go’?”

Well, Jacob sure had her there.

Surpassing him by a slim margin, Saoirse hit the climbing wall first and scrambled quickly to the top, launching herself from the top plank to the muddy ground below. Jacob landed next to her, catching his fall by rolling in the muck before launching forward to the next drill, the belly crawl.

Her slender frame gave her the advantage, though the thick, tacky mud slowed her to a crawl. Through experience alone, Saoirse still got through the fox hole first, unscathed, this time waiting for Jacob to follow suit before advancing to the next drill.

Jacob, however, had the opposite problem that she did. His frame was too bulky, causing his jacket and shirt to suffer dozens of little rips and tears from the razor wire. He could feel every cut burning under the sloppy mud that coated his body from head to toe, and the smell of blood pissed him off. Eventually, however, Jacob pulled himself from the ground and continued his campaign onwards.

Next came the vertical rope climb. Easy, Jacob thought, grabbing the knot at the bottom of the massive hemp rope, lunging himself upward towards the flag at the top of the support beam. With Saoirse close on his heels, Jacob pushed himself to his absolute limit, climbing the length of the rope in short order with ease. He snatched the flag only seconds before she made a lunge for it, missing it, and instead falling back down into the mud below.

Jacob leapt down to the ground beside her, offering a hand to pull Saoirse to her feet. Taking his hand, she climbed to her feet, and squeegeed the muck from her arms, face, and belly. “We’re only a third of the way through the first circuit and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t already impressed. Well done, Specialist.”

“Remind me why we’re doing these tests if you already have a general idea of what changed.”

Saoirse smirked and broke off in a sprint before giving him an answer. Once Jacob caught up, he tackled his rival to the ground with a vicious snarl and held her down in the mud. She coughed from the shock of having the wind knocked out and gave a valiant effort to escape his brutal hold around her waist, but he had finally bested her. “I’ll let you up when you answer me.”

“We’re doing these tests to give the Generals an idea of how unstoppable an army of super soldiers would be.” Jacob loosened his grip after realizing she was struggling to breathe. “Ugh, Jesus Christ. Good grip, Specialist. For what it's worth, just one of you on the battlefield would make our enemies tremble in their boots.”

Caked in mud from head to toe, Jacob grinned. Even his teeth were covered in it. “And I’m only getting started.” He hopped to his feet and continued to the next drill, leaving Saoirse in his metaphorical dust.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Saoirse huffed, slowly finding her footing on the slippery ground beneath her. Watching Jacob clear the course with ease from where she stood, Saoirse wondered if she could keep up with him after all.

Chapter Text

The day following the obstacle course run, Jacob was left in the lab to fend for himself while Saoirse attended another mandatory officer briefing. He surmised that the upcoming invasion would require a lot of her time and attention, and he wondered if he’d be whisked away to the frontlines while she stayed behind to help run the show. The very idea of dying alone in the desert left him with chills. He prayed that he was dead wrong.

Jacob was only passingly familiar with the political and bureaucratic intricacies of the Gulf War’s operations. All he needed to know was where he needed to be and when. The rest was far beyond his pay grade.

As it had been previously explained to him, on February 24^th, what was colloquially known as G-Day, the Coalition forces that were assembled during Operation Desert Shield in August of the previous year would be sent north-northwest into Iraq from Saudi Arabia via ground and air to snuff out Saddam Hussein’s newly acquired control over the Kuwaiti oil fields.

Despite his loose grasp on the date, Jacob realized that G-Day was only days away. In those coming days, he swore he would spend no amount of time dwelling on the dreaded what-ifs, as invasive as they were. Ignoring them was easier said than done.

Nights were the hardest, he had found. If he was at all successful in getting decent sleep, even in the comfort of Saoirse’s loving arms, Jacob was plagued with dreadful visions of his fellow soldiers falling dead to his feet on the desert floor. Collapsing in wave after wave, like dominoes, spilling senseless blood into the sand.

He didn’t fear death. In fact, Jacob had convinced himself early on that dying in battle was better than living with all the blood on his hands. In that occurrence, his brothers would receive his body in a box with a neatly folded flag and a Purple Heart medal. That was, if his brothers could even be located.

At 2200 hours, having partaken in the G-Day briefing for nine straight hours, Saoirse returned to the lab where silently and solemnly, she took a seat at her desk. Jacob felt it was appropriate to give her some space, but she called out to him after she’d heard him fumbling around in their room. She tried to hide the despair in her voice, but her attempt was fruitless. After recognizing that his lover was breaking down, Jacob approached from her rear and placed his hands on her shoulders as they heaved. Her quiet sobs broke his heart. For some time, neither of them said a word.

Eventually, Saoirse broke the silence as she stood from her chair, wiping her tears from her eyes and cheeks. “They’re sending you to the front, Jake. You and the 82^nd are going to fly into the north to intercept a tactical supply route. You’ll be in the shit up to your fucking neck.”

He bowed his head and nodded. “We knew it was going to happen eventually, Saoirse. That was the whole point of your Augmentus research, remember?” as callous as they were, Jacob knew that his words wouldn’t provide Saoirse with any comfort. As if by instinct, he swiftly wrapped her sobbing frame in his arms and held her tightly against his chest, waiting patiently until slowly but surely, her breathing calmed, and her sobs became soft whimpers.

“I can’t be there to fight with you. I cannot lose you, Jacob.” She ran her fingers through Jacob’s short-cropped hair and shakily exhaled the last of her worries into the shaggy nape of his neck. Saoirse felt him tense like he always did at the sensation of her breath against his skin.

He sighed, strumming along her spine with his index and middle fingers. While he wasn’t the one having the meltdown, Jacob felt much calmer now that she’d caught her breath. “They know we’d be fucking unstoppable out there. Maybe they can only afford one glory hog per war.”

Saoirse chuckled softly this time, sniffling away the lingering heartache. Jacob had a real knack for injecting what would normally be considered largely inappropriate humour into almost any conversation. His impatience ran deep, but Jacob couldn’t afford to get upset with Saoirse. Not now. Her feelings and fears were perfectly legitimate and if he invalidated them, they’d both only feel worse. “Don’t dwell on it, Saoirse. We have no idea what will even happen. They could surrender before the invasion even starts.”

She smirked. “Maybe. We can only hope. I would sure feel a lot better about this if you had enhanced healing like I do. Can’t help but think it’s my fault that you didn’t get it.”

“Saoirse.” Jacob snapped with a growl. His brow furrowed. “You’re only going to drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking like this. Have you eaten anything yet?”

She shook her head. Grumbling unintelligibly, Jacob released her from his grip and sat her down in her chair behind her desk. “Do you want comfort or nutrition?”

With reluctance, Saoirse met Jacob’s surly, unyielding gaze and sighed. There was no winning against this level of stubbornness. “Comfort.”

“Hot or cold?”

“Cold.” Without hearing his reply, Saoirse listened to the echo of Jacob’s retreating footsteps before she heard the mechanical whirring of the lab doors opening and closing. In reflection of his momentary absence, Saoirse pulled it together and took a final breath of resignation. It was time to rise above this setback.

Jacob, after all, was right. For someone so young, he was often right, and Saoirse didn’t know whether to feel annoyed or proud about it. And once again, despite his own panic and terror, he put her needs before his own. God only knew what special hell was tormenting him, especially in the wake of the invasion hiding just around the corner. There was no possible way that he could look down the smoking barrel of uncertainty and remain so calm and collected. If Jacob was at all unnerved, he hid it very well.

Moments later, he returned with two heaping bowls of hard-scooped ice cream. One had chocolate sauce and the other had some sort of fruit topping, its viscosity akin to pie filling. It smelled unmistakably of strawberry. “Take your pick,” he offered, setting both bowls down on her desk.

“No, you choose first. Dealer’s pick.”

Jacob shot her his signature unimpressed look again, but this time, it had no effect. She blankly stared at him until he took his pick, the strawberry bowl. She didn’t take him for a strawberry lover. Yet, given how promptly he’d devoured an entire box of peaches, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise.

Saoirse snatched the chocolate bowl and wasted no time gorging on the sweet treat. Once she’d finished, she set the bowl back down onto the desk and belched satisfactorily. “Pardon me.”

Jacob smiled genuinely and continued to slowly eat from his bowl. “Do you feel better now?”

She shrugged. “I’ll feel better when we’re back at base. But for what it’s worth, yes, I do feel better now. Thank you, Jake.”

As he swirled around the melting hard-serve ice cream around the bottom of his bowl, Jacob sighed in anguish. “You know, I was thinking about something earlier today that might come up down the road. If I don’t make it back from Iraq.” Saoirse paused mid-bite and glared scornfully towards him. She had better things to do than continue her downward spiral. “Well, it’s just…my younger brothers back home in Georgia. If, worst-case scenario, I get hurt or killed out there, the army won’t be able to send anything home to them if I don’t know where to find them. I don’t even know where to start looking, either.”

“Their adoption records would be sealed.” Saoirse muttered. She knew where he was going with this. “I’ll find your brothers.”

She would never tell Jacob, but the truth was that after their return to base, Saoirse began working on locating Joseph and John, calling in a few favours from one of her old connections with a former CIA colleague from ‘the good old days’. “When I find them, and I will find them, you ought to send a letter.”

As hopeful as her words made him feel, Jacob rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know what I’d say. ‘Things are great here. War is fucking wonderful. Hope you’ve kept me in your prayers every day.” Jacob bitterly tried to finish the rest of the nearly melted bowl of ice cream soup, but he gave up after two more mouthfuls. He passed the bowl over to Saoirse for her to finish instead. “I’m sorry. It’s a sore subject.”

“I know. I’m sorry, too.” To break the silence, Saoirse decided to lighten Jacob’s souring mood by making obvious, uncomfortable eye contact with him as she suggestively cleaned off her spoon. She was already convinced it had worked before Jacob started to squirm in his chair. “You might do well to try and forgive yourself for whatever demons are ailing you, Specialist. You might just find it’ll even help you sleep better. Oh, and I suppose you weren’t going to tell me about your recent bout of nightmares, were you?”

Jacob happily returned the uncomfortable stare. Saoirse’s ridiculous mind games didn’t work on him, and he could tell with cruel satisfaction that it frustrated the hell out of her. “Nothing ever gets past you, Major.” As the words graced his lips, a new breed of tension began to flourish with an almost palpable air.

“I win. You smiled.” Saoirse goaded, continuing to slowly lick the spoon. It was sparkling clean two licks ago, but she was becoming a sucker for watching Jacob writhe in frustrated agony across the desk.

“What are you angling at?” Jacob asked, cocking an eyebrow as he awaited her reply.

Saoirse gave him no such satisfaction as she felt the tendrils of frustration begin to encapsulate her as well. She slowly sized up the headstrong man before her from the unruly tufts of unwashed red hair down to his lower belly, stopping to linger where the desk cut him off. “I only want to help you forget your pain. Even for just a couple hours.”

Immediately, Jacob’s furrowed brow softened, and his posture eased as he slumped against the back of his chair. “Alright, I’m relaxed. Will that be all?”

An angry spatter of crimson glinted across Saoirse’s immiscible irises. Although it seemed impossible to achieve, Jacob recognized right away that he had struck a nerve. What that meant for him, he couldn’t be sure. He’d never seen such a wrathful look in her eye before. It almost scared him. Almost. “You can’t go to war if I shred you to pieces myself.”

“Promises, promises.” Jacob smirked and bit his lower lip.

Saoirse snarled between clenched teeth before launching determinedly from her chair, barrelling out of the office to the lab’s entrance, flicking a switch at the top to lock the sliding doors in place. Logically, at 2330 hours, no soul on site ought to have been awake, let alone entering the lab.

Following her out of the office, Jacob promptly made his way to their quarters and began stripping away his jacket and khaki jeans before flipping the ceiling lights off, leaving the dim bedside lamp on for a little ambience. He climbed atop the bed and waited for Saoirse to join him.

She smiled as she entered the bedroom, tossing her shirt to the floor amidst his after locking the door behind her for good measure. As he watched her strip out of her pants and approached the side of the bed, Jacob whimpered, remembering Saoirse going commando when they both got dressed that morning.

Wasting no time, Saoirse straddled him after pulling off his boxers, picking up closely to where they left off the day before. “I told you I’d make it up to you,” she whispered into his neck, grazing his jawline with her bottom lip. Between frantic breaths, their lips met aggressively. Jacob’s mouth trailed down to her neck and collarbone, upon which he left sloppy kisses and the occasional tender bite mark. Beneath his tight grip, Jacob swore he could feel Saoirse’s furious heartbeat inside her chest.

Beneath her hips, Saoirse could feel his impatient anticipation grinding against her, but she was happy to let him fester for another moment or two. “I had faith that you would,” Jacob panted, watching wide-eyed as her many scars grew prominently noticeable from the tiny beads of perspiration forming across her skin that became illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp.

Propping herself up on his chest with an open palm, she bent over to kiss him again, reaching back to find his member and gently guide him into her. With a hushed gasp of arousal as the head of his cock slowly entered her, Saoirse steadily lowered her hips to take every inch of him. Between a series of gasps as she began to grind against him, she bent forward again to whisper in his ear. “To answer your question, Specialist…off the record, consider this a test of stamina.”

Chapter Text

After waking from a restful sleep, Saoirse stretched her limbs before she rolled over on her side to face Jacob, snoring, oblivious to how she watched his scar-speckled ribcage rise and fall with each breath. In that moment of serenity, Saoirse found herself contemplating a growing lack of enthusiasm and desire to proceed with further experiments on Jacob’s mutation.

Simply speaking, the endeavour of testing and gauging his abilities seemed pointless. For the past two weeks, Saoirse learned the one valuable thing that truly mattered: she had unknowingly succeeded in her efforts to create the first genetically enhanced soldier. She delivered a miracle to the Army as originally promised. However, much to the Army’s unawareness, this soldier became a closely guarded secret that she’d never be willing to part with.

As she expected, several rumours of her extraneous activities continued to circulate around the base, reverberating in the many common areas such as the mess hall and exercise yard. Much to her lack of surprise, after her contest with Jacob of their physical aptitudes out on the obstacle course several days prior, in broad fucking daylight to boot, it was no wonder that word was quickly spreading about how the Major was certainly up to something while she was holed up in her lab for weeks on end.

Switching gears, Saoirse realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up so sore. It was her own fault, of course. She’d given the stubborn ass, who still laid face-down, snoring into his pillow, a challenge. A reason to rise to the occasion. As she ought to have expected, Jacob went the extra mile and fervently used her words against her, and for that, she was nothing but proud. Not of his prowess, but his sheer determination to, once again, win a battle of wits, even at his own expense.

If she was sore, Jacob was more than likely in a special kind of agony, and he needed the rest.

When Jacob finally woke, he smiled gently at the sight of Saoirse watching him with her shameless grin. Neither said a word, because nothing needed to be said. The stillness and calm in their bedroom felt perfect. At least, it was a sense of peace that lasted until a firm knock came upon the locked lab doors.

Groaning in annoyance, as she’d already resigned herself to spending her day naked in bed, Saoirse climbed from under the blankets and hastily dressed herself. “Don’t move, soldier.” She barked playfully at Jacob, who saluted her on her way out.

Saoirse returned to the room a few seconds later with a sealed manila envelope grasped tightly between her thumb and index finger and an unrecognizably perplexed expression across her face.

Jacob curiously watched her remove the contents of the envelope atop the blanket and skim over the pages. Among the envelope’s contents was a typed letter, signed at the bottom by someone named Michael, and several black and white photos of John and Joseph. Jacob’s only remark was how skinny they looked before his eyes welled up with tears. “My contact found your brothers,” Saoirse muttered. “I really think you should write to them, Jake. Even if only to tell them you love them.”

Unable to formulate words, Jacob only nodded, clutching the pictures with shaking fingers.

The letter consisted of a formal statement of successfully identifying the two younger Seed children; Michael provided their last known address and the name of the family who’d adopted them: Douglas and Sheila Duncan. At the bottom of the letter, Saoirse noted, Michael prompted her response.

She would have to find some time without Jacob present to send him a response, as she had one last trick up her sleeve. Such a trick, Saoirse knew with certainty, would alleviate most of Jacob’s stress and fear. Should everything fall perfectly into place as planned, Saoirse was looking to adopt John and Joseph. Of course, drafted in short order, the logistics of her plan still needed to be ironed out, but that part of the plan fell within Michael’s area of expertise, having worked for the CIA in the 1970s and 1980s, assisting with various civilian rescue and relocation missions across the world. The last time Michael and Saoirse were in each other’s company was just five years prior in Pripyat, Ukraine, after the catastrophic explosion of reactor number four of Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.

Saoirse wanted to share her plan with Jacob. Yet, given that her realm of control over the matter was so small, she didn’t want to make promises that she possibly couldn’t keep. At the time, she didn’t know anyone whom she trusted enough to take responsibility of two young boys, let alone raise them, until they grew old enough to fend for themselves or until their oldest brother eventually returned home, whichever of the two possibilities occurred first.

As Jacob sniffled, he thumbed over John’s photograph. John had grown up so much since Jacob last saw him. He was already recognizably several inches taller, and his limbs hung a little lankier from his delicate frame. John’s black hair had grown long and shaggy, scouring his eyes with his natural curls, hiding the many fresh bruises that accentuated his bright eyes and smiling cheeks.

Joseph, Jacob noticed, had also allowed his hair to grow longer. Like John’s, his face appeared sunken, as though he’d been starved. Jacob clenched his fist as he noticed Joseph’s prominent cheekbones and chin protruding from his skin. Jacob felt his blood begin to boil.

Saoirse did nothing to distract him. There was simply nothing she could do except put her remaining faith into Michael’s ability to see this endeavour all the way through. In a few days at the most, she would receive another update from Michael, but by that time, Jacob would already be in a chopper on his way towards Objective Rochambeau with the rest of his unit, facing the possibility of a brutal demise.

Jacob handed the photographs back to her and rose from the bed. Something inside him had changed in an instant and she couldn’t read him, as though he had built his walls back up in an instant.

“Jake?” She asked, fearing the worst.

Sliding his fatigue shirt over his head and shoulders, Jacob turned back to her and exhaled slowly. “I’m fine, Sairs. Really. Just need to blow off a little steam.” He pulled on his boxers and pants and completed his attire with his personalized camouflage jacket.

Before Jacob left the bedroom, Saoirse approached him and pressed her palm on his chest, over his heart, in hopes of reminding him that even at his worst, Jacob would always have her love and support. “Don’t do anything stupid, Specialist. You’re still my responsibility. Don’t be a liability.”

Jacob cracked a half smile and planted a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “You have my word, Major.”

Saoirse winked half-heartedly as she watched Jacob leave the room. As his footsteps down the hall grew quieter, she let an exasperated sigh escape on her breath before she turned back to Michael’s letter. Out of respect for Jacob and his family, any information concerning his brothers was his business, and as painstaking as the facts were, she dared not hide the envelope’s contents from him. Instead, she stowed the contents safely back inside the envelope and left it atop his pillow. What he chose to do with the envelope was his prerogative.

In the meantime, Saoirse needed to hash out the particulars of her plan, and with Jacob out of the room for an indeterminate period of time, she had the freedom to think out loud.

The CIA, at least in Saoirse’s past experience, had an anticipated measure of involvement in providing the Coalition forces with intel of immeasurable value on Saddam Hussein’s erratic efforts. Unfortunately, Agent Michael Miller himself had retired from the CIA just a little over a year prior to the commencement of Operation Desert Shield last August. Although she had spent a great deal of time in King Khalid Military City, Saoirse wasn’t well acquainted with any of Michael’s former colleagues. She considered how it might prove to be a worthwhile reason to finally branch out. The worst thing they could tell her was to piss off.

The CIA built its Middle Eastern headquarters in Riyadh back in the 1960s, slowly injecting billions of dollars into U.S.-allied countries for the next thirty years as Iraq, Iran, and their neighbouring territories continued to fight for dominance of the region and its precious oil.

Once a month, agents would be flown to the Military City from another base in Riyadh, where they would stay for a few months and assist with communications and intelligence efforts as needed. The CIA’s headquarters was so carefully camouflaged that a civilian wouldn’t know where to look, but Saoirse was no civilian. One of many perks of being a well-known face in the crowd was not being sniped on sight by walking right up to the CIA’s doors and knocking, so to speak, but in Saoirse’s experience, a direct approach was usually her only approach to anything if time was not on her side.

Once she gained entrance to the headquarters, she approached the first badge she saw and flagged their attention, taking a moment to carefully observe and appreciate that this month’s shipment of fresh meat was a dozen or so cadets, fresh out of the academy back in Langley, Virginia. Each one she saw had the same stunned deer-in-headlights look as she graced their path. “I need a phone, please. And a secure line.”

Chapter Text

It was just before ten o’clock on Saturday morning in Rome, Georgia when Joseph Seed, fifteen years old, sat barefoot and cross-legged on his dwelling’s front porch, clothed in a pair of loose jeans and an oversized, holey shirt. Joseph casually leafed through a Thor comic he’d read a hundred times already, still finding enjoyment in the comic’s colourful graphics. Since first being brought to the Duncan residence, when he could find the time to do so, Joseph enjoyed sitting alone, quietly reading on the front step of his guardians’ derelict home. As Joseph read, he would watch his little brother digging for grubs in Sheila Duncan’s unkempt vegetable garden.

Little John had been on a strong-willed mission to find some juicy worms to go fishing down at the quarry across and up the street from the Duncan residence. At breakfast that morning, Joseph promised John that he’d take him down to the quarry after lunch, when Doug and Sheila Duncan were both away from the house and out of their hair.

John already knew his way down to the footpath that would bring him to a shallow hill with a slight incline, where there were tree roots and rocks that he could hold onto when his brother wasn’t there to help him down. John had fallen into the quarry once before, and after being fished out and resuscitated by Joseph, he hadn’t ever allowed himself to make the same mistake again. Any water past John’s ankles made him quite nervous, and for good reason.

Joseph had finished flipping through his comic when a black car with tinted windows rolled up and came to a stop in front of the house. It wasn’t Douglas Duncan’s vehicle. In fact, Joseph didn’t recognize the car at all, except from the movies. Unmarked black cars didn’t typically wind up in this neighbourhood. The vehicle screamed trouble. “John, go hide.” Joseph instructed, watching John drop his trowel without hesitation and make his way through the open front door. Joseph set the comic down beside him, remaining calm and more or less expressionless as two men got out of the car and approached him.

Joseph addressed them with a polite “good morning,” as he defensively folded his arms over his chest.

“Good morning, son. Are your parents home?” The Man on the Right asked him, offering a warm, disarming smile. Joseph slowly shook his head. “Any idea when they’ll be back?” Again, Joseph shook his head.

The Man on the Left cleared his throat. “Is your name Joseph? Joseph Seed?” Joseph nodded to both questions. “Son, listen. My name is Michael. This is my partner, Angus. I was sent here by your brother Jacob. Your brother misses you dearly. My son, Ryan, he was your brother’s Army pal.”

Joseph’s expression blossomed into surprise and joy. “You’ve been talking to Jake? I hope he’s okay. Lord knows we miss him here every day.” Joseph offered the men to come inside for some sweet tea, but neither Mr. Michael nor Mr. Angus said they were thirsty. Joseph also insisted they come inside where there was at least some shade in the morning heat, but Mr. Michael told Joseph he wouldn’t need much more of Joseph’s time.

“It’s important that we touch base with the Duncans, as soon as possible. Please give them my card whenever they come back.” Mr. Michael was abruptly cut off when another vehicle tore up the street and pulled sharply into the driveway. The brakes screeched as it came to an abrupt stop. “Well, hold that thought.”

“Joseph!” a man’s voice yelled from outside. Joseph winced. “Who in the fuck is parked in front of my house?” The yelling man, presumed by the two agents to be Douglas Duncan, stormed angrily through the screen door, his face puffy and red in rage. He was what Mr. Michael might’ve sized up as a pathetic man. At least, that’s how Joseph imagined it. “Who the fuck are you? Why are you in my house?”

Mr. Michael flashed his badge to Douglas. “We’re here on behalf of Jacob Seed, their older brother. According to these papers,” Mr. Michael set his briefcase down on the dining room table and retrieved several papers, handing them over to Douglas. “On behalf of the State of Georgia and the Department of Human Services, and the Family and Children’s Services Division, my partner and I have been granted emergency custody of Joseph and John Seed, effective immediately.”

Joseph felt his jaw slack in awe. He waved towards John, instructing him to pack his clothes and prized possessions. John wasted no time in doing so. Joseph would eventually go and pack his own belongings, but he desperately wanted to see Douglas’ reaction to this first. Clearly, the disenchanting head of the Duncan household was enraged. “This isn’t over. You’ll be hearing from my goddamn lawyer.”

Mr. Michael waved Douglas off and gestured towards Joseph, who appeared almost disappointed. “Better get packing, kiddo. We’ve got a nice place lined up for you and John.”

Quietly, but with a refreshing sense of resolve, Joseph retreated to the room he’d shared with John to pack what few things he owned, all the while ruminating on Douglas Duncan’s reaction. Normally that godawful man would give no warning before knocking Joseph around, but that miserable old man Douglas had the wind taken out of his sails, and for once, Joseph felt relief. Maybe it’s because Mr. Michael and Mr. Angus have guns, Joseph thought. Douglas most definitely wasn’t the smartest man Joseph had ever met, but he sure wasn’t stupid enough to take a swing at a member of law enforcement. Then again, Joseph knew his former adoptive guardian would never have had the balls to try.

John soon emerged from his room, wide-eyed and ready to roll, carrying his worn-out backpack with a filthy Jim Henson character embroidered into its front pouch. Mr. Michael guarded John closely as the small boy stepped through the front door and walked him to the car with a gentle hand on John’s shoulder blade. The youngest Seed boy never slowed or stopped to look back at the evil that lived within that house. He had committed himself to forgetting the Duncans and the misery they wrought upon the world.

Having rushed through packing his things, slung a duffel bag over his shoulder and said a final prayer before closing his bedroom door. On his way to the front door, Joseph flicked a lit cigarette at Douglas that had been left smouldering in an ashtray on the table, uttering several curses under his breath as he glared scornfully at the miserable old man. Before Joseph walked through the screen door forever, he turned to Douglas, displaying a wealth of built-up, unfiltered anger through the turquoise windows to his soul. “You, Douglas Duncan, will be left to burn among the sinners in the Collapse.”

Haunted by the words spoken by a young boy, Mr. Angus tried gently but firmly to usher Joseph out of the house. Joseph fought Mr. Angus’ urgency and faltered, seeking strength to plunge his fists into Douglas Duncan’s skull, but it was time to go. As much as the prick deserved it, John couldn’t be left alone while Joseph followed closely in Jacob’s vengeful footsteps.

As Joseph climbed warily into the rear passenger’s seat behind Angus, he turned to his brother and half-smiled. “Jacob is looking out for us.”

Chapter Text

In the wee hours of the morning of the day before the invasion of Iraq, an inconsolable wail escaped from the membranes of Saoirse’s lungs. Her sudden ear-splitting cry startled Jacob from a deep slumber, nearly triggering a fearful bloodcurdling scream of his own. Frantic, as the adrenaline caused his heart to pound inside his chest, Jacob climbed atop of Saoirse and straddled her chest. The wail continued despite his efforts to rouse her from the nightmare. Jacob could certainly recognize one when he saw it.

More and more aggressively, Jacob shook her by the shoulders, screaming just inches from her face in hopes that her eyes would finally snap open. When they did, Saoirse bellowed a deafening roar and pushed him straight backwards, driving him from atop the bed down to the floor. The roar soon ceased, but it was soon followed by a bone-chilling snarl that echoed around the room which emanated from her clenched, fully exposed teeth.

Jacob winced from the impact but climbed slowly back up to his feet. Dazed and exhausted, he quickly found himself locked dead within her sights, immediately recognizing that she was engaging him with full intention of sinking her saliva-dripping teeth into his flesh. As it had done plenty of times before, the scar on his thigh began to itch and burn. When it stopped, Saoirse snapped out of the trance and came to her senses.

Once she realized what she’d almost done, finding a terrified and bleeding Jacob sprawled across the bedroom floor, she ran for the restroom and locked herself inside. Moments later, Jacob knocked quietly on the restroom door and called to her, and Saoirse was surprised to hear an apparent lack of anger or fear in his voice. “Are you okay, Saoirse? I’m here.” Instead of a response, he received the heartbreaking sound of soft sniffling.

As much as it hurt to do so, Jacob decided it was best for them both to give Saoirse the time and space she needed, without leaving her completely alone. Despite his growing exhaustion and a creeping soreness in his hip from the hard impact across the floor, Jacob squatted down beside the door and waited in silence.

It took a few minutes for her sniffling to finally cease. After a few more minutes, the lock disengaged, and the door opened slowly outwards. Jacob caught her with one arm, and she melted into him without pause, allowing him to carry her back to bed.

Crawling lethargically under the cotton bed linens, Saoirse curled into the fetal position and faced the wall away from him. Lost in his helplessness, Jacob painedly listened to her muffled sobs and fought back his own in turn. Moreover, he fought even harder to stay awake to continue trying to comfort her, but he couldn’t give her energy that he didn’t have.

Before succumbing to unconsciousness, Jacob wrapped a giant arm around her waist and pulled her torso tight into his chest. Slowly, bringing them both relief, Saoirse’s tremble ceased, and they dozed off in unison once more. She had no other nightmares that night, and for that, Jacob was grateful.

When morning finally came, Jacob woke a half hour before Saoirse, jumping out of bed to prepare a quick plate of breakfast for them both. As much as he would’ve loved to enjoy breakfast in the mess hall with his lover and his crew, Jacob decided to let her sleep a little longer. After all, it was hardly coming up on sunrise, and he knew quite fondly how tiring nightmares could be.

At 0930, Jacob gently roused her, disappointedly finding that she still couldn’t look him in the eye. He smiled patiently as he brushed several locks of hair from her face, but Saoirse caught and firmly clutched his hand in annoyance. “I could have seriously hurt you, Jacob. I could have killed you.”

With a scoff, Jacob handed her a plate with a variety of chopped fruit and an unpeeled banana. “Yeah, you could have, but you didn’t. I’m still here, forcing you to eat breakfast.”

Saoirse wasn’t in the mood for his wit. While she didn’t brush him off entirely, she put up a stiff cold shoulder and withdrew from conversation with him besides a few scattered words here and there. Jacob tried valiantly to stop his reactive upset from spoiling his mood for the rest of the day. Then again, there were so few things left in his world to appreciate, especially in the face of war. Tomorrow was G-Day. After that day, Jacob had no honest idea whether he’d see Saoirse’s beautiful face again, tears and all. He missed her already, and she lay less than a foot away from him.

A croak finally escaped from her. Jacob had to strain to hear what she’d said. “If I tell you about my nightmare, will you tell me about yours?”

Albeit taken aback by her bluntness, Jacob resumed his dutiful care without another thought about how sour she was making him. “Yeah. I’ll even go first.” Jacob held his breath and waited for his lover to turn around and face him again before he began his explanation.

Despite expecting her to meet his gaze when she finally rolled over, his breath hitched in his throat the moment her violet eyes fell upon him. “Okay. I’m listening.”

With a sigh, Jacob closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. A few moments of silence passed before he began to speak. “Those dreams I was having, the ones at the church when the bomb goes off in the distance? They don’t happen anymore. At least, they haven’t since the new one started just shy of a week ago. It starts with us both running through a burning forest. Like, after the nuke at the church I’d reckon. Everything is on fire and the smoke is so thick that we’re blinded. Logs keep falling in front of us. Animals burning alive are running past. It’s fucking hell on earth.”

Jacob ran his hands over the gnarled burn scars on his arms. They seemed to itch in response to his nocturnal recollection. “We come across this huge, racing river, and the only two options are to jump into the rapids or burn to death on the riverbank. Sometimes we burn up before we even reach the riverbank. Other times, I push you into the water and watch you float away. The terror is worse when I don’t push you in. It feels like my heart is crushing itself in my chest.”

Saoirse exhaled slowly, feeling the tremble welling in her chin. “Your dreams are a lot like mine. The difference being, in mine, there is no river. Fire rages as far as the eye can see. By the time the fire burns out, I’ve lost you. I’ve lost everyone. There’s nothing to go back to, just ash. Only once before have I been so alone, and it was a special hell I never want to return to.”

After a few minutes of an almost uncomfortable silence, Saoirse shuffled down into the mattress and propped her head up with her elbow. “In your dream, how old were you?”

“Why do you ask?”

As the first sign of life since before bedtime the night before, Saoirse stroked his stubbly cheek with the back of her fingers, carefully studying the minute details of his perplexed facial expression. “I can’t be sure, but you’d aged about a decade. You were old enough that John was a grown man, or even in his late teens.”

Jacob’s eyes grew wide. “You saw John? What about Joseph?”

“Joseph always dies in the church after the blast. John tries to run with us, but he never makes it very far before he trips and falls. A log usually falls on him.”

Jacob felt a sharp twist in his gut, the same awful wrenching that would wake him out of a dead sleep. He was certain that this pain was a physical manifestation of his guilt of his repeated failure to protect his brothers. “You know, the worst thing about vivid dreams is never knowing if it’s a dream or a premonition of sorts. I mean, I don’t believe in that shit, but Joseph sure does.”

Saoirse pressed her palm flat upon his chest, feeling the anxious flutter of his heart, confirming her suspicion that Jacob felt anxious at the mention of his brothers. She prayed that Michael would soon send news about his successful rescue mission back in Georgia. It would be the perfect miracle if news could be delivered to Jacob before he shipped out. “I’d like to make a bet.”

Jacob curiously cocked his eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I bet a week of laundry duty for the both of us that I can make a miracle happen in sixteen hours or less.”

Jacob grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. The smirk on his face was all-telling. “Make it two weeks of laundry and I’m in.”

“Ah. On one small condition,” she began, rejecting his fervent attempt to shake her hand. “You get a letter to your brothers written, signed, and stamped inside an envelope tonight. Return address and all.”

Jacob’s smirk on his face rapidly became disdain. “Woman, you’re killing me. I said that I don’t know what to tell them. Is there something I’m supposed to say? Are you hinting at something?”

Releasing his hand from her firm grasp, Saoirse cupped his mouth shut. “I told you already that just reminding them that you love them is sufficient. I’ll bet that they could use a hug from their big brother by his own hand. Keep in mind that if Sergeant Michaels intends to take you with him as planned, your unit will be leaving here in a Chinook at 0300 hours, and you’ll be completely radio silent and on your own for a week. If anything happens out there, Joseph and John will go on about their lives, wondering why you left them alone. So, I’ll say it one more time, Specialist. Get that letter written, signed, and stamped inside an envelope, ready to slip in the mailbox. Do that and I’ll make that miracle happen.”

This time, and only this time, Jacob found he didn’t mind being wrong. Saoirse watched his shoulders relax before she felt his hot breath sweep gently across her palm. Although muffled by her hand, she heard a gentle “yes, ma’am,” in response.

“I’ll be back to collect your letter in an hour,” Saoirse mumbled, pulling the waistband of her pants over her hips. “If I’m not back in an hour, wait longer.”

Jacob grumbled as her footfalls faded into white noise. He hoped she’d at least return with an early lunch.

In the meantime, he turned his focus back to his brothers. Admittedly, Jacob struggled to get the thought of a grown-up John out of his head. He was never one to believe in divine intervention or the existence of fate. He could never tolerate the possibility of a higher power manipulating every string. And yet, his and Saoirse’s dreams certainly fit that motif.

If it meant that he would survive Operation Desert Storm unscathed and eventually make it home to his family, or that he would succeed in his God given task to protect them, Jacob indeed found himself a little more open-minded towards the divine.

The dull drone of footsteps drew his attention back to the present. Despite not having started the onerous task of writing the letter to John and Joseph, Jacob’s mind was at peace at the sight of Saoirse’s contagious smile as she drew nearer. Had an hour really gone by that quickly? “You owe me two weeks of laundry duty.”

She handed over another manila envelope that was sealed with an official CIA insignia, but otherwise unmarked. Hesitant, Jacob accepted the envelope. “Tell me that this is Saddam’s surrender, and that I won’t actually have to leave at 0300 hours.”

“Oh, I appreciate your optimism, but we could never be so lucky. Go ahead, open it.”

Jacob hastily complied, popping the envelope’s sticky seal, and pulled a single document from within. It was a noticeably thick piece of paper with a bold typeface font and a fancy golden border. It reeked like bureaucracy. Jacob glazed over the words and felt the world around him fade to fuzziness.

February 23, 1991

Georgia Department of Human Services

Division of Family and Children Services

Atlanta, GA

Re: Adoption of SEED, Joseph, 15 and SEED, John, 6

Attention Maj. Saoirse KINGSTON

I, Michael MILLER, hereby declare the adoption of Joseph and John SEED, on this twenty-third day of February 1991.

As discussed, all costs for the care and provision of the two minors, as requested via telephone, will be covered in trust under the Kingston estate. All official documents to follow.

Yours truly,

     Special Agent Michael Miller, CIA

Jacob set the paper down atop the manila folder and held his face in his hands. His tears fell freely into his open palms. Saoirse wrapped both arms around him from behind and cradled her chin atop his shoulder. “They’ve been relocated to Atlanta under the care of my estate. Your brothers are safe now.”

This was a much better surprise than early lunch.

Chapter Text

On the evening of February 23, Sergeant Michaels despondently attended Major Kingston’s office just after 1945 hours, finding her sharing a quiet last dinner with Jacob. The morose Sergeant knocked twice and apologized vehemently for interrupting their meal, but Saoirse was quick to forgive upon seeing the remorse in his eyes.

It went without saying that Sergeant Paul Michaels was a decent and compassionate man. Prior to making an official announcement, he willingly turned a blind eye on Jacob and Saoirse after he caught on to their inimitable bond. Still, as much as Sergeant Michaels celebrated their sincere love for one another, the war would go on. “We’re eight hours from go-time,” the Sergeant grumbled. “Specialist, I need your ass back at the barracks before 2100 hours and no later. Best get some shuteye tonight because tomorrow you’ll be steering a Bradley on the ground.”

Jacob knew this moment would come. “Yes, sir,” he muttered, fighting to give proper respect and look his commander in the eye. He had been dreading that exact moment all day long, striving to enjoy what time he still had in the comforting arms of the woman Jacob now knew he couldn’t live without.

Sergeant Michaels quietly took his leave and marched back towards the 82^nd Airborne barracks, feeling the weight of impending doom on his shoulders. It was nothing a stiff glass of whiskey couldn’t fix.

Jacob immediately regretted showing so little excitement towards being given the honour of piloting an M2 Bradley. As a low-ranking non-commissioned officer, such an honour was no small feat.

Second to becoming a legendary sharpshooter, driving a tank was his biggest dream when Jacob first joined the army. He found it funny how such an exciting opportunity didn’t seem to matter now.

An hour would pass quickly. All Jacob wanted to do was hold the love of his life and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. All afternoon he’d spent crafting a bouquet of delicate utterances that he swore he had the guts to tell her, but in the moment, Jacob struggled to find such courage. Time was ticking, faster now than it had all day, and speaking such carefully selected words wasn’t something Jacob was feeling inclined to rush.

After an eternity of silence as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, Saoirse broke the stillness as she turned to face him. “You better return to me, Jacob Emmett Seed, and in one piece.”

He could sense that her tone was facetious. An attempt to lighten the mood, he assumed. “What would you do to me if I didn’t? Kill me even more?” Saoirse glared playfully annoyedly at him.

Although he knew better than to make promises he couldn’t keep, Jacob made the promise anyway. Luck seemed to be on his side lately, after all. “Come find me in Saddam’s headquarters. I’ll be waiting for you with baklava, flowers, and a bottle of champagne. Even though I don’t drink.”

Jacob soon felt the familiar stinging of tears welling up in his eyes. Why was it so fucking difficult to speak his mind? “I want to marry you, Saoirse. I want you to move to Georgia with me and be my wife. I can’t picture my future without you in it.”

A single tear fell down Saoirse’s cheek. Jacob was treading into very dangerous territory.

He sniffled and continued with a quivering lip. “Obviously I don’t have a ring to give you. So, for now, this is the best I can do.” Jacob shakily pulled his rabbit’s foot from around his neck and draped it over her head. “I wasn’t sure before…but goddamn it, I love you, Saoirse. Aside from my family, I don’t see myself loving someone as much as I love you. You and only you, until the very end.”

“Jake.” Saoirse’s voice fell almost inaudibly from her lips.

Jacob inhaled sharply and pressed his forehead to hers. It was far too late to turn back now. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m telling you…”

Saoirse pressed a finger to his lips and planted a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose. “Hush now, Jake. Yes. Of course I will marry you. Just remember that I can’t marry a dead man, so if you’re going to get my hopes up and make all these promises and plans for later, you had better fucking make it to the other side.”

When Jacob checked the time, his heart sunk. There were only nine minutes left to get his ass to the barracks. Nine minutes to get his shit together and stop crying like some lost little boy. “Saoirse…what you did for my family was the kindest, most selfless thing that anyone has ever done. For any of us. If something happens to me, please don’t leave them alone. They have no one left.”

As Saoirse wiped away another tear, she nodded. “You have my word, Jacob. Always. I need you to be safe out there. Please come back to me.” She pulled him back for one final kiss.

Jacob pulled his boots on and grabbed what little gear he had, as most of it was held in storage back in his old quarters. “Don’t you forget,” Jacob muttered as he turned back to her. “Saddam’s headquarters. I’ll be the idiot standing there with the roses.”

Saoirse laughed through her trembling sobs. He turned away to hide his pain from her. Now, it was time to go. He didn’t turn back to look at her as he stomped through the sliding lab doors. Saoirse listened with a broken heart as his footsteps faded. She collapsed to the floor.

As Jacob marched, he fought back tears and angry sobs. He was tired of the war, and he yearned to go back to Georgia and build a better life with his woman by his side. But now he had to shape up. Those boys would be merciless if he showed any kind of weakness. Luckily, his discipline was well established.

Alas, his spirits would soon be lifted by his brothers in arms. Jacob’s momentous return to the 82^nd Airborne was celebrated vigorously. It was the first night in nearly a month since he had seen his squad members, many of whom didn’t recognize him right away due to the dramatic changes in his physique.

During the time that Jacob had been confined to the lab, his entire unit had heard the astonishing story of his rescue. To protect Jacob’s identity and involvement in Saoirse’s research, Sergeant Michaels advised his men to refrain from asking questions about his absence. None of Jacob’s cohorts cared about the particulars, though. They were just glad to have him back in the pack.

Sergeant Michaels was particularly glad. Having been privy to the top-secret nature of Saoirse’s research, he was anxious to finally see firsthand the biological superiority of a live Augmentus mutation. Unfortunately, the Sergeant wasn’t lucky enough to have been present when Jacob and Saoirse went toe-to-toe on the obstacle course, but he had overheard some extraordinary stories from different people across the base. He recognized that this was a unique opportunity to test Jacob’s abilities and would make a point to report his observations directly to the Major. In the name of Saoirse’s Wild West Science, of course.

As of midnight on February 24, Iraq endured roughly five weeks of continuous bombing sorties. The ruthless campaigns damaged vital supply lines and steadily weakened Saddam’s defences, just in time for the massive ground invasion to commence in a few short hours.

Having been unsuccessful at getting any sleep, at 0200 hours, Saoirse was transported via Chinook to the central forward operating base on the desert outskirts of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. She was joined by General Thomas and his circle of superior commissioned officers. Once situated there, Saoirse would assist in staging thousands of troops, crates upon crates of food, water, and medical supplies, and fuel and weapons from armies around the world. From what she could tell, this was becoming the greatest offensive she had partaken in since the invasion of Normandy nearly sixty years ago.

In the Central Communications war room, which was a standard bus-sized soft-walled tent made of polyester canvas, lined with computer monitors and hanging lights. Folding metal desks lined the long walls, and every station was manned with comms technicians. The chatter was deafening. In the centre of the tent was a table with a giant map stapled down and compressed by a clear glass pane. Streaks of different coloured pen strokes peppered the glass top. Almost a hundred souls gathered closely to the table to view the rough briefing of the ground advancement.

In just two days, the VII Army Corps and Joint Forces Command would advance towards Kuwait City from the west via the infamous Highway of Death, taking the Iraqi Republican Guard head-on. On the second day, once the northbound divisions punched through the Saddam line, Saoirse would then join the 1^st Cavalry Division of VII Corps and spearhead the advance towards Kuwait City. For now, she would wait, watch, and pray for Saddam Hussein’s quick surrender.

The first airborne attack commenced just after 0230 and cleared the way for the ground advancement still being mobilized. Within ten hours, hundreds of tanks, personnel carriers, and artillery vehicles crossed over the border from Saudi Arabia into Iraq, firing barrage after barrage of rockets and cannons. Having quickly established their firepower superiority, the invading Coalition forces met very little resistance. In the first twelve hours, thousands of Iraqi troops had surrendered.

What the Coalition would do with the unanticipated capture of thousands of Iraqi soldiers, however, was not made clear. Many were young conscripts and lacked any initiative to fight. These young men were malnourished and clearly mistreated by their superior officers. Morale among the conquered divisions was almost entirely absent.

In the west, among the four special divisions in the XVIII Airborne Corps, the 82^nd Airborne Division and French Daguet Division were making remarkably good time in advancing towards their objective: a strategic supply hub known as “Rochambeau”. Once captured, the supply route would slowly choke the Iraqi forces in the east and hamper their defenses against the Coalition. Remarkably, the French Daguet and the 82^nd Airborne Division seized Rochambeau in just over two hours.

Saoirse was overwhelmed. The War Room was buzzing with the constant flood of live radio updates from several high-altitude surveillance aircraft. Additionally, word on the ground at the time confirmed what the Generals feared: the advancing Coalition forces faced a slow, gruelling crawl through mud and blinding sandstorms, drastically slowing their advance. It came as ironic shock that the thick, gear-grinding mud was by far the biggest challenge so far. All that firepower stuck atop wheels spinning out in the muck.

At 1600 hours, through hours and miles of pelting rain and gusting winds carrying blinding sand waves, Coalition forces had finally crossed into Iraq. The Joint Forces Command North and Marine Central Command successfully secured a north-facing perimeter to hunker down for the night, in hopes that the rain and fog would soon pass. All that was left to do was set the stage for the following day.

Chapter Text

Then the sixth angel sounded: And I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar, which is before God, saying to the sixth angel who had the trumpet, “Release the four angels who are bound at the great river Euphrates.” So, the four angels, who had been prepared for the hour and day and month and year, were released to kill a third of mankind. Now the number of the army of the horsemen was two hundred million; I heard the number of them. And thus, I saw the horses in the vision: those who sat on them had breastplates of fiery red, hyacinth blue, and sulfur yellow; and the heads of the horses were like the heads of lions; and out of their mouths came fire, smoke, and brimstone. (Book of Revelation, 9:13-19)

After four days of incurring devastating losses to the Iraqi civilian population and the surrender of most of his army, Saddam Hussein’s defeat was imminent.

The Coalition was steadfastly wiping the Iraqis’ munitions and means of transportation from the map. In their desperate attempt to retreat from Kuwait, the Republican Guard burned millions of gallons of oil. Fire burned as far as the eye could see, and toxic black smoke blanketed the city streets for weeks, leaving behind a layer of resinous soot and ash.

Saddam’s defeat drew nearer with every mortar shell and bullet that peppered Iraq’s infrastructure. Its forces in shambles after incurring losses in the tens, and possibly hundreds of thousands, the remaining infantry divisions of the Iraqi forces retreated during the night of February 29^th, across the Euphrates River to al Basrah. As the Iraqis frantically withdrew in utter chaos, there was one last-ditch attempt by several American infantry and armoured divisions to capture or otherwise quash the Iraqis’ retreat.

Once she received her primary assignment of assisting the Coalition’s eastward advance into Kuwait, Major Kingston found herself temporarily positioned on the outskirts of Kuwait City with Britain’s 1^st Armoured Division, one of a handful of divisions that took the lead in the Coalition’s offensive towards the city just two days ago. Most of the skirmishes with remaining Iraqi soldiers in Kuwait City, who didn’t receive the order of retreat, were close to being snuffed out completely.

Ordered to hold their position until the rest of the Coalition forces arrived the following day, the British 1^st Armoured Division would lay in wait for the call to enter the city’s limits and capture it for good. Once a guarded perimeter was established at the southwest flank of the city’s outskirts, the weary troops of the 1^st Armoured Division were ready to take a much-needed breather following the four brutal days they’d spent crawling through thick knee-deep mud. The worst of it was over now.

At sunset, a commotion of fireworks and cries of joy from inside the city could be heard from the 1^st Armoured Division’s camp. Saoirse figured it was the U.S. Marines celebrating their successful taking of Kuwait International Airport, but the official word of its seizure hadn’t gotten out yet. In any event, she was certain that some premature celebrations of the Coalition’s conquest had started to kick off. In mostly good spirits herself, Saoirse spent a great deal of time that evening meeting with the members of her unit. She felt it was appropriate, after all, having fought alongside several of their grandfathers and great uncles during the Ardennes Offensive in 1944.

Long into the night, Saoirse sipped on the stale, tepid remnants of her water canteen, wishing it was vodka instead. She watched with forbearance as more and more Coalition troops emerged towards the perimeter from the cover of the foggy night, each man as exhausted as the next. While the merriness of mingling with her fellow troops was the much-needed reminiscent reprieve for her soul, Saoirse found herself assisting with helping the men find a cot to rest for the night. Judging by the steady influx of whole units at times, this miniscule base was going to need more supplies, and fast.

All the while busily helping the men along, Saoirse frequently found herself hoping so foolishly that Jacob would somehow appear from the crowd and fall back into her arms. Chances of that were slim at best, she reminded herself, as the XVIII Airborne Corps were stationed a hundred miles due west from her position. They’d arrive in Kuwait the following day. Yet, despite such knowledge, Saoirse’s incessant, naïve hope was one thing that kept her going after several millennia.

At 0130 hours, after seven straight hours of welcoming thousands of friendly troops and processing hundreds of captive POWs, Saoirse sighed wearily when it was time to bed herself down for one final night.

There were so few women amongst the infantry that the logistics teams hadn’t bothered setting up a segregated bunk. There was no privacy whatsoever, save for a couple dozen pop-up restrooms on the outer perimeter of the camp. Just one more night of sharing close quarters with pungent body odour and sweaty, muddy boots. Saoirse couldn’t have smelled too pleasant herself.

She picked a cot between the rows upon rows of occupied cots spaced evenly throughout the makeshift bunkhouse. As she laid her head upon the cot’s dusty pillow, Saoirse prayed that tomorrow she would reunite with her fiancé and return to King Khalid to find a semblance of normalcy once more.

At one point throughout the night, the Coalition’s artillery assault finally ceased. The quietness was what woke her from her slumber, and it was also what forbade her from falling back asleep. Annoyed, Saoirse climbed up from the cot and donned her boots and jacket before leaving the bunk tent.

In the distance, she watched in horror as a haunting orange and red glow of fire spread down the Euphrates River, accompanied by the unmistakably acrid fumes of the burning of crude oil. The fire’s intensity illuminated the black belly of the hovering beast, the ominous cloud of black smoke, as it drifted away from Kuwait City.

Kuwait’s strong, oil-rich economy would be in shambles for years to come. Although the Iraqis would suffer a crushing, humiliating defeat, the senseless destruction they left in their wake was a new hell for the Kuwaitis who longed to return to their decimated homes.

Three hundred clicks to the northwest across the artillery-ravaged desert, after three days of brutal hostility, heat and humidity, and a hell of a lot more good luck than they could afford, the 82^nd Airborne Division finally ceased all fire at 0300 hours. after fighting tooth and nail for nearly seventy two hours, the unit of fourteen highly skilled paratroopers finally succeeded in holding the strategic Nasiriyah Airport and surrounding airspace in a campaign of ruthless bombardments of artillery and heavy gunfire against the few remaining Iraqis.

At 0430 hours, after laying down his gun and doffing his sweat-soaked gear into the dirt beneath his cot, Jacob lay there sleeplessly on his side, feeling suffocated by the onerous weight of a young soldier’s crushing guilt and shame. It took all his discipline to keep from emptying the contents of his stomach into the dirt.

In those five days of battle, he had taken the lives of eleven men, many of whom were far younger than he was. He was haunted by the faces of young boys who likely had mothers and fathers and siblings who, because of the bullets he’d fired from his gun, would never see them again. Now they would be remembered by their families as the latest victims of another oppressive political regime.

Maybe, he contemplated, they held the weight of their world on their own shoulders, too. If that were the case, Jacob felt a sick sense of pride that he had done for those boys what no one had done for him: he relieved them of their tiresome burdens and set them free. Albeit fleeting, it was a peaceful thought.

Jacob knew that in time, he would eventually get through his shame, but he also knew that it would be a long, gruelling internal battle, as there were no means of justification that could ever absolve him of his shame until he learned to live with it. Eventually, his sleep habits would be healthy, and he wouldn’t have to stare at the wall being haunted by the dying cries of boys begging for their mothers.

This time, he emptied his guts into the dirt without hesitation.

From the stillness of night called out a familiar voice, its volume startling the Specialist. “Son, are you okay?” Jacob knew Sergeant Michaels’ whiskey voice from anywhere.

“Yeah. I’m fine, sir.”

Sergeant Michaels entered the tent and waved for Jacob to follow him. “It’s over, Specialist. In a few hours, you’ll be shipped back home to Georgia.”

Jacob muttered something under his breath as he sat up to make eye contact with the Sergeant. The cot squeaked under his immense weight. “I’m not sure going home is best, sir. My brothers don’t need to see me like this.”

“I know what you’re going through. Come, walk with me.” Stepping back out of the tent, Sergeant Michaels lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Not saying it’s what you’ve got, but they’ve got a new name for shellshock. They’re calling it Gulf War Syndrome. Seems a little too apt, doesn’t it?” he sucked in another drag from the cigarette and slowly exhaled. “As if the honourable men in the Pentagon’s War Room somehow expect guys like us off the streets to kill a man and walk it off without feeling the weight and the psychological repercussions of doing so. And I know that you know what I’m talking about.”

The Sergeant’s words were enough to bring him a sense of peace in the moment, and one that wasn’t so fleeting. “Sir.” Jacob didn’t know what else to say.

“In my experience, it’s best that you shake hands with your demons and find a way to accept them and move on. So, let’s work on it together now. You killed a few people this week. I killed a few people too. And it sucks. We should have let them surrender, but the order given was to shoot to kill. That order came directly from Washington, because they think that sending men like us to shitholes like this to get our hands dirty will somehow keep the blood of innocent people off theirs.”

Jacob felt frozen in place, watching the Sergeant chain smoke his cigarette before lighting the second one with the first. “The difference between me and those fucking goons back home in Washington is that I don’t expect you to walk it off, Specialist. No one can do that, not even Major Kingston. However, I do expect you to deal with your guilt before it deals with you. I’ve seen a lot of good men succumb to that.”

“I’ll do my best to do so, sir.” Jacob exhaled and allowed the tension he’d built up in his shoulders to evaporate. He gave credit to the Sergeant’s mention of his bride-to-be.

The Sergeant finished his second cigarette much slower than his first before he extinguished the cherry on the sole of his boot and pocketed the butt. “I’m delighted to share the latest report from Central Communications that Kuwait Airport was captured earlier this evening. You might even be interested to hear that Saoirse is currently stationed on the city’s limits, preparing to seize the city. I promise you’ll have an opportunity to cross paths with her tomorrow.”

Jacob’s heart involuntarily palpitated. He felt sick to his stomach again, but this was much different. “Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate that.” After five days without contact, Jacob struggled to smother his festering anxiety.

He pondered informing Sergeant Michaels about his engagement, but hesitated with uncertainty at how his superior would react. Eventually, however, the words came flooding out. “Sir, I asked her to marry me.”

The cigarette fell from Sergeant Michaels’ lips as his jaw slacked in awe. Or horror. Jacob couldn’t discern which of the two it was, but the Sergeant’s reaction was perfectly candid. “Specialist, you can’t be serious.”

Jacob nodded in anticipation of the typical relentless teasing. “That last night before we shipped out, where you came by and told me I’d be the one driving the Bradley when we landed, I panicked and popped the question. It wasn’t really a question though, I guess. More of a statement of intent.” He awkwardly cleared his throat. Was it just him, or was the outside air getting warmer?

“And?” Sergeant Michaels asked. He’d even stopped walking to face the Specialist head-on.

With a muffled chuckle, Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose as his ears and cheeks grew hot and red. God, this is humiliating, he thought, finding himself grateful for the wholly accepting company of Sergeant Paul Michaels. “Saoirse said that she can’t marry a dead man. So, like an idiot, I promised that I’d wait for her in Saddam’s headquarters with roses, champagne, and baklava. I guess I’d better get my ass out there and find some before I make a complete fucking fool of myself.”

The Sergeant let out a boisterous laugh, not seeming to care if he woke the rest of the sleeping troops. “Specialist, I’ll never knock you for not having balls, because you sure have some balls. But son, you have no goddamn clue what kind of mess you’re stepping into. I thought they told you boys all the horror stories about her in basic to keep you the hell away from her.”

Jacob smirked. “I heard horror stories about joining the military, too, sir.”

The Sergeant blew a cloud of smoke upwards into the tent. For a moment the smoke was captured in the pale moonlight, and Jacob found himself entranced by it. “Jacob, the Major’s a wonderful woman, don’t get me wrong. Pretty easy on the eyes, too. You ought to know by now, without a doubt, that we have no amount of firepower in our entire goddamn arsenal that could stop her if she turned on us.” The Sergeant extinguished his third cigarette once again on the sole of his boot. “And I’m not saying there’s anything you might say or do that would make her turn on us, either. I’m just telling you to mind your bobber, is all. Nothing is ever out of the realm of possibility in her world.”

“That’s definitely her schtick, beating the odds.”

“Indeed.” As they lingered just outside the tent, the Sergeant lit his fourth cigarette and pulled a flask from his khaki pants. He offered a swig to Jacob, which he politely declined. “You know that I meant no disrespect towards you or the Major, right? You’ve earned your place in the 82^nd Airborne Division. All I’m saying is watch out for yourself. You’d be a hard loss for us to stomach.” Sergeant Michaels’ words sunk like stones in Jacob’s gut as he realized that the Sergeant was, once again, right. After extinguishing his fourth and final cigarette, Sergeant Michaels entered the tent to find his bunk and try to doze off.

Jacob cursed under his breath. Albeit completely exhausted, he couldn’t have been so lucky to catch a few hours of shuteye. Despite how comforting her presence had become, Saoirse’s behaviours would never be entirely predictable, which invoked a new breed of fear that Jacob experienced firsthand just two nights before the ground invasion. He shuddered as he recalled the adrenaline coursing through his blood while he sat helpless on the floor, staring up at a different side of Saoirse, crawling ravenously across the bed towards him. Imagining her razor-sharp teeth beneath her monstrous snarl made Jacob’s thigh itch and burn like it had many times before.

Now that he was once again entirely alone, Jacob’s mind continued to wander down the many unpleasant dark avenues he’d long avoided. Perhaps, he thought, a walk around the airport’s perimeter would encourage some rest. Deep within the shadows of the desolate war-torn landscape lurked the essence of evil. It remained veiled by night, stalking the lone soldier as he idly marched. Jacob thought he could feel a single pair of eyes watching him from the distance. He quickly convinced himself that it was his fatigue that heightened his paranoia, and he paid the sensation no mind. His comfort lasted until the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Just beyond the unguarded perimeter before him, upon the desert horizon lined by a breathtaking stretch of moonlit hills, appeared two bulging eyes with a familiar fiery-orange glow. Jacob had seen those eyes before in a nightmare, shortly after his return to base. The mottled burn scars that spanned his face, neck, arms, chest, and back stung together in unison.

Jacob stopped dead in his tracks, his heart hammering with pure terror. “Azazil,” he muttered.

The djinn smiled, baring glowing white teeth before it stepped forth under the disguise of a soldier. Jacob winced at the sight of a bullet hole in the soldier’s cheek, through which he could see shattered remnants of gums, teeth, and jawbone. Despite its blood-soaked condition, Jacob immediately recognized Republican Guard uniform. He found himself wishing he had taken his rifle on the jaunt after all.

When he’d first arrived in the Middle East, Jacob learned from passing conversations with his Arabic comrades that djinns weren’t known to attack the living and posed no grave danger. It was considered unusual to encounter them, but such an omen was deemed neither good nor bad. Djinns, at their very worst, were merely the purveyors of mischief.

“It pleases me to see you again so soon, wolf man,” the djinn’s haunting voice called from the dead soldier’s lips. Its guttural resonance made Jacob’s skin crawl. “Come with me. There is something I wish to show you.”

Petrified, Jacob instead stood his ground. Akin to many of the inexplicable things he’d seen within the past month, this was something much beyond what he considered unchartered territory. Dead men were supposed to stay dead. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here.” Although he feared the unknown, as humans generally did, Jacob’s instincts weren’t sounding any major alarms. Only one pressing question lingered in his mind: if djinns truly posed no danger to humans, why was this one wearing a fucking dead Iraqi like a Halloween costume?

Yet, he felt compelled to accompany the almost ethereal creature. The djinn hissed with satisfaction, spewing the dead soldier’s blackened, necrotizing blood from its mouth. “Yes. Come with me and you will see.”

“See what?” Jacob growled, his attention shifting back to the lack of life signs within the perimeter of his temporary base camp. The last thing he needed was to be marked as missing in action, but the gnawing compulsion to follow Azazil swiftly overwhelmed him. Eventually, as he made his peace with knowingly making the wrong choice, Jacob took his first careful steps into the blackness, away from the safety of his collective airborne unit.

In pursuit of the djinn, Jacob trekked no more than half a click northeast from the airport’s vast perimeter before he stopped abruptly atop a ridge that overlooked the smouldering rubble amidst the streets of Nasiriyah. Smoke and ash slowly billowed away from the carnage.

The stench of death was tremendous, causing Jacob to wince in visceral discomfort.

While standing atop the highest section of the ridge, looking down into the city nestled into a cozy valley, Jacob could make out the Euphrates snaking around the north side of the city. In the blackness of night, his stomach churned at the unnatural sight of fire atop the water, from which a constant column of black smoke drifted upwards.

His thoughts then shifted to a passage from the Book of Revelation that he used to read to Joseph as their own sort of fucked up bedtime story. The bible was about the only reading material they had back in those days.

Jacob’s attention was drawn to his hind flank, where he spun around and found Azazil’s corporeal form wavering in the wind, its haunting smile now stretching from ear to ear. “Don’t you see? The end of days is coming, wolf man.”

When Jacob finally broke his stare from the blaze in the distance, he couldn’t tell how much time had elapsed prior to falling into a trance. The light of dawn was quickly approaching in the mountains to the east. Jacob needed to get back to base. Much to his surprise, the djinn, and the body it possessed were nowhere to be found.

Seeing the djinn was just a dream, Jacob told himself. He wanted to believe his own lie, but there was something eerily familiar about the name he’d been called: Wolf man. Jacob had no recollection of ever being called wolf man, yet the words resonated with a sensation akin to déjà vu.

Beneath him, his knees and feet ached from standing unfalteringly in the sand. God, he felt tired. So tired, in fact, that Jacob believed he might sleep through the cruelty of subconsciously reliving his killing of those poor eleven men.

The exhausted Specialist reached the perimeter of Nasiriyah airport at 0620 hours, passing silently through the unguarded checkpoint. He stumbled deliriously into the bunkhouse, stripping his armoured vest and helmet off as he strutted forward, finally removing his boots and khakis before collapsing upon the cot. The bunkhouse, Jacob noticed, was dead silent, save for the few scattered snores amongst the cots lining the tight quarters. Whether Jacob caught any shuteye would remain to be seen. Nevertheless, he gave it his best try.

The only dream he had was of utter terror as he stood watching as Saoirse emerged naked from the flaming Euphrates, her skin bubbling and sloughing off with the burning oil that clung to her. She left a footpath of fire and melted flesh behind her as she walked along the charred riverbank. With her arms outstretched, she stopped only a few yards from Jacob to take him into her grisly embrace.

Might he choose to burn with her?

As she wrapped her fleshless arms around his shoulders, Jacob wept as he tucked his chin into her neck, inhaling the awful, acrid stink of charred flesh. He clenched his eyes shut and ignored the white-hot searing pain of the burning oil as best he could as it spread slowly onto him.

Soon this dream will end, Jacob reminded himself. Soon he would wake upon his cot, unburnt, without this pain. The comforting thought soothed him, but for only a moment.

When he opened his eyes again, what Jacob saw over Saoirse’s shoulder shook him completely to his core: before him, four horses had emerged from below the surface of the water, and upon them sat three of the fiendish riders from hell. An army of undead rose from the burning waters, trailing closely behind the horsemen.

Saoirse slid her arms away from him and turned back slowly towards the horses, grinning at the army at her command. Jacob surmised with a familiar gut wrenching feeling that the missing rider was Saoirse, who was the one ushering in the apocalypse from the blazing shores of the mighty River Euphrates.

To Jacob’s rear, the djinn reappeared, and this time he piloted the evidently lifeless body of the broken, bloodied Private Saïd Saqqar. The djinn approached Saoirse from behind Jacob and mounted the last horse before it began singing a blood-curdling rendition of Amazing Grace.

Before him, Saoirse as ushered the four horses ashore, she turned back to Jacob with blackened eyes, and whispered, “The end is coming, wolf man. You can feel it, can’t you?”

Chapter Text

Jacob abruptly woke to a commotion outside the bunkhouse. Stumbling from the bunkhouse tent, barely clothed, he found Sergeant Michaels and the rest of his squaddies at the chow table, hovering over a portable radio. He listened in carefully. Glad tidings sung from Central Communications in Riyadh.

At 0800 hours on February 28^th, a ceasefire was ordered for all Coalition forces, signifying the allies’ swift victory against Iraq.

Within an hour, providing that there were no logistical or mechanical delays, the Eighteenth Airborne Corps would be flown over to Kuwait City to prepare for redeployment stateside, or wherever the wind might take them. For Jacob, it would’ve hopefully been a one-way trip home to Georgia. He could only pray that during those five days without contact that Major Kingston would have wholeheartedly agreed to move to Georgia and marry him.

Alas, Jacob’s heart ached at the nagging doubt that clouded his mind. Maybe she would run from him instead. His heartache quickly became nausea, which then turned into light-headedness and eventually faintness.

“Specialist, snap out of it.” The immediacy of Sergeant Michaels’ hoarse voice once again brought Jacob back from his encroaching darkness. “If you faint, you won’t be getting on that Hercules to Georgia, and they’ll keep you here in the med bay for observation. Though, I’d wager that that’s where you’d prefer to be anyway, isn’t it?” The Sergeant, in his own crude brand of kind-heartedness, smirked as the Specialist blushed beneath his thick, unruly beard.

The faintness held on tightly, but Jacob persevered. Though, as if the fainting spell wasn’t enough to contend with, Jacob felt his face flush as all eyes rested on him. He chalked his dizziness up to the intense heat, albeit so early in the morning. For some time, the faintness seemed to stubbornly hold on, but Jacob had mastered the art of stubbornness.

Jacob knew what Sergeant Michaels was doing, and Jacob wasn’t going to play his game. “Anywhere would be a hell of a lot nicer than here, sir.” As Jacob rose slowly from the table to take his morning piss, his mates wasted no time before they began to rag and tease him. Still, he chose not to engage.

Had the Sergeant spilled Jacob’s news to the rest of his unit? Such a possibility bothered him more than it should have. These men had become his brothers, after all. They deserved to know his business as much as he deserved to know theirs. He knew his patience was short because he was just so goddamn tired. Unfortunately, there would be no time to rest until the airborne corps reached Kuwait International Airport, either. All that Jacob had the strength left to do was to plant his ass down onto an unoccupied cot and wait for his next assignment.

The war might have been over, but Jacob Seed was still in hell. No, this was worse than hell. This was limbo, where he suffered more every day under the crushing weight of the possibility that he might return to Kuwait to find there was no loving fiancée to accompany him home. His mind endlessly looped the awful scenario where he would return to Georgia just as wretched as he was when deployed, and Saoirse would stay in Kuwait without him and continue to build her army of super soldiers.

I was only a test project, after all, Jacob thought. “No, you idiot,” he argued with himself aloud. “Saoirse told you often enough how important you are to her.” But was he more to Saoirse than a science experiment? Was he important and valued enough for the Major to even attempt to keep him under her umbrella?

Moreover, if it came down to it, would Jacob consider giving up his chance to return to his brothers to carry on alongside her, and would staying there give him the sense of true purpose he’d been looking for? After all, his brothers were now safe in Saoirse’s care, so Jacob found he could already breathe somewhat easier. Who exactly was caring for his siblings, he didn’t know, but Jacob was beyond certain that anyone would have been far better suited to care for John and Joseph than the Duncans were. Jacob may have never met Douglas and Sheila Duncan, but those polaroids of the bruises etched into John’s small body that he’d seen told him plenty enough.

Jacob aptly saluted his superior when Sergeant Michaels entered the bunkhouse and sat down on a cot across the narrow path. “At ease, Specialist,” the Sergeant muttered, extending his arm while holding a folded and crumpled paper bag. “It’s my proudest duty as your commanding officer to set you up for success in whatever your mission may be.”

Without a word, Jacob accepted the bag and slowly opened it to find an assortment of fresh, oven-warm baklava. As he looked up to meet the Sergeant’s sheepish grin, Jacob felt a wealth of tears welling in his eyes. In that moment, Jacob Seed didn’t care that the Sergeant would watch him cry. He didn’t feel vulnerable, just lost in his own thundercloud.

Sergeant Michaels finally spoke, breaking the overwhelming silence. “Son, you said you made a promise to the Major, and while it may have been a very stupid promise, I wouldn’t want to see you in Major Kingston’s crosshairs. Word has it that she took out a whole platoon of Spetsgruppa elites in East Germany a few years back. Solo and empty-handed. She left no bodies behind, but the reports told of arterial blood spatter in just about every direction. Whatever she did to those sorry sons of bitches, I don’t know. What I do know is that I do not want any of my men to suffer that same fate.”

Jacob choked out a laugh, breaking his solemn stupor for a fleeting moment, but still, he said nothing. Sergeant Michaels grew uneasy at Jacob’s unusual silence. “Specialist, I’m more a little bit than worried about you.” Such sympathy from Jacob’s superior officer, who was required by principle to remain cold and indifferent, was unnerving. There was clearly a caring side of the Sergeant that Jacob hadn’t seen before. Then again, Jacob wasn’t used to anyone showing him kindness, until he met the Major, of course. “Is this about the same shit you were talking about last night?”

Wearily, Jacob shook his head. “No, sir. Not exactly. I’ve been having nightmares.” Jacob paused in hesitation at how stupid it sounded, but the Sergeant urged him on. “I’m having nightmares about the apocalypse.” Following a heavy sigh, Jacob stared blankly at the disturbed ground beneath his boots. He pinched the bridge of his nose in anguish. “I haven’t slept in days.”

The Sergeant clicked his tongue while he ruminated. He wasn’t sure about what guidance he could provide. “Let’s discuss the dreams, Specialist. I’m no shrink by any means, but I’ll do my best to talk you through them. Christ, I used to suffer nightmares too, after my first tour in Vietnam.”

Jacob sighed again and felt his tensions dissolving. “Since coming here, sir, I’ve seen and experienced things that I can’t explain. Not rationally.” He paused to compose himself, feeling the quiver of his chin start again. “Normally I wake up before it gets too bad, but the one I had last night… Well, it’s safe to say it’s spooking me, sir.” As much as he wanted to continue, Jacob held his tongue upon feeling a sudden shift in his temper as well as the sensation of his ears and cheeks flushing.

This wasn’t the right time to discuss the matter. His cognitive function was in serious decline and the injurious lack of sleep was solely to blame. “Let’s talk about it once I’ve gotten a little bit more rest.”

“Of course, Specialist.”

“Any word on when we’re heading to Kuwait, sir?”

“We’re thirty minutes out from wheels up.” Sergeant Michaels stood and straightened his back, his facial expression exuding mild frustration. The Sergeant knew better than to push the matter if Jacob didn’t feel like talking, but he felt a reminder was appropriate. “Son, you can talk to me about what’s eating at you, you can talk to the Major, or you can talk to a shrink. I don’t care who you talk to, but you’re going to talk to someone, and that’s an order. I can’t have a loose cannon in my unit, and I will send you home, away from Saoirse.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

And that was that. The Sergeant left the bunkhouse, leaving Jacob by himself once more.

Jacob was now free to lay back and rest his eyes for the next thirty minutes. As Jacob felt his eyes shut, he listened to the commotion of men hustling outside the bunkhouse, wishing the noise would help him drift off, alas to no avail. The next thirty minutes would be anything but restful.

In the distance approached the humbling roar of a Chinook chopper squadron. Private First Class Eddie Marsh, one of Jacob’s lesser-known squaddies, poked his helmeted head through the canvas doorway flaps and called his name. “Screaming Eagles are only half a click out to give us a lift out of here, Specialist! Get your shit together and let’s roll.”

Private First Class Marsh’s bellow roused Jacob from his cot immediately. Jacob groaned in frustration as he grabbed his pack from under the cot and began stuffing his excess belongings into it. To his relief, there was just enough room to squeeze the paper bag of baklava carefully inside, along the pack’s sturdy bottom.

It was too bad that the baklava wouldn’t still be warm by the time they arrived in Kuwait. Jacob would owe Sergeant Michaels big time for this, and for just about everything else too.

Slinging his pack across his shoulder, Jacob departed the bunkhouse, strapping on his vest and helmet and sliding the strap of his unloaded M16A2 across his shoulder, where it hung faithfully at his side. The weapon felt heavier that day.

Jacob prayed silently that he would never have to fire that weapon, or any other weapon for that matter, at another human being ever again.

Hovering a couple dozen feet above the airborne corpsmen, the squadron of Chinooks began their careful descent, kicking dust and sand into the air. Neither he nor any of his squaddies would miss this, Jacob surmised, as he watched the distaste spread across his mates’ faces as they became peppered with flying dust and sand.

The first of fifty birds touched down on the ground, its open cargo hold loaded to the brim with cases of water and rations. There would soon be dozens of refugee camps erected within the city, to whom the supplies would be delivered over the coming days, and this would be the first load of many.

While the other Chinooks approached and landed in an orderly fashion across the empty tarmac of Nasiriyah airport, Jacob assisted with unloading the cargo before he and the others in his unit, as well as the troops of the 1^st Brigade Combat Team, otherwise known as the Devil Brigade, piled into the Chinooks.

No one dared say a word as the troops slumped forward upon the benches inside the mechanical beast’s massive fuselage. Going home was the only thing on anyone’s mind that day, save for Jacob of course, whose only concept of home happened to be wherever the Major decided she’d go.

For once in his life, Jacob allowed himself to let go of his worry for Joseph and John.

Chapter Text

As impatiently as ever, Saoirse waited on the tarmac for the first sign of a metallic glint on the horizon. After all, she’d watched the squadron of Chinooks depart several hours ago, and by her estimation, it would take about an hour for the vehicles to cross the three hundred kilometre stretch of bomb-scorched desert before reaching their destination.

Reports were being told all day long of the remaining few isolated pockets of Iraqi combatants that hadn’t accepted their army’s surrender to the Coalition. Some of these units were allegedly armed with rocket launchers, leaving a sinking feeling in the Major’s gut. All it would’ve taken to down a Chinook in flight was one of those rockets hitting the machine’s wide-open belly.

Alas, to her instant relief, Saoirse heard the hum of the aerial convoy of Chinooks approaching Kuwait City from the northwest. Her heart shuddered in anxious excitement of finally reuniting with her fiancé. Moments later, the telltale metallic shimmer of the convoy caught her eye from the distance. Behind the advancing wall of a dozen choppers taking point, an immense cloud of sand and debris billowed up and outwards, riding the convoy’s massive tailwind. Soon the squadron’s mechanical roar was deafening.

A crowd of mystified infantrymen began to form in her midst, awaiting the arrival of the XVIII Airborne Corps. When the Chinooks landed and their troops began to disembark, the spectating infantrymen began to cheer and shout at their arrival. Surely, a day of celebration would be shared by all.

Standing off to the sidelines of the encroaching stampede of airborne troopers, Saoirse desperately scanned the crowd carefully for Jacob, feeling discouraged by the many faces coated in dust and grit, their same vacant, resigned stare passing down the line.

Her heart throbbed worriedly. In the first two days of the ground offensive, she watched the broadcast of the slow, steady advance of the 82^nd Airborne Division’s paratroopers chuting down behind Iraqi’s lines. Following a brutal aerial skirmish on the third day, the 82^nd incurred a few personnel and vehicle losses, and to Saoirse’s frustration, none of the identities of the deceased troops were confirmed until she saw the bodies herself.

When she finally spotted Jacob, he was one of the last of the troops to disembark the last of the Chinooks, marching towards the airport terminal in the company of his unit. Almost within arms reach, While Saoirse cried at the sight of the Specialist, an uncontrollable smile blossomed upon her face as she ran towards Jacob through the crowd. The moment they made eye contact, Jacob dropped both his pack and rifle to the tarmac and wasted no time scooping her into his arms. As they walked by, finding Major Kingston’s lips firmly attached to his, Jacob’s squaddies whooped and cheered before making their way into the terminal, away from the brutal sun.

Saoirse slowly broke away from her tear-soaked kiss, wiping the muck from his face with her jacket sleeve. She said nothing as she pressed her forehead and nose against his.

Approaching from behind them, Sergeant Michaels cleared his throat. Startled, Jacob released Saoirse from his grasp and turned to face his commander to give a customary proper salute.

“At ease, Specialist. And as always, it’s good to see you again, Major.” Sergeant Michaels saluted the Major before shaking her hand. “I presume everything went accordingly with the lads in the 1^st Armoured Division, all things considered of course. Good bunch of boys, those boys.”

Saoirse smiled and released her almost painful grip of his hand. “The pleasure’s mine, Sergeant. It’s funny you should ask. Not much changes in fifty years. British soldiers still drink like fish and enjoy a good swap of war stories. You know how it goes.”

Flustered from being interrupted by his commander, Jacob hastily picked his rifle and pack up from the tarmac and slung them over his shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute,” he huffed, marching off to catch up with the rest of his unit.

Once Jacob was out of earshot, Sergeant Michaels turned to Saoirse and gestured towards the Central Communications bivouac that sat about thirty yards from the terminal entrance. Inside the tent, there were several dozen unoccupied chairs set up in front of a wooden podium, behind which hung a dusty, off-white projector screen.

Sergeant Michaels motioned to sit, and they both took a seat. He looked as though he had a lot to say, but the Sergeant didn’t begin to speak right away, feeling that it was prudent to first choose his words carefully. The Sergeant knew he was treading on uncharted territory. “Major, you may have a problem on your hands.”

“I see. Do tell.” Her voice was neither curious nor surprised at the announcement, taking the Sergeant aback at her nonchalance.

“The Specialist caught some unwanted attention while we were clearing the streets of Nasiriyah on day three. Our unit touched down in the southwestern corner of the city, and heading inward from there, we cleared hostiles for about three clicks. I didn’t see this myself, but two other Privates later told me that Specialist Seed noticed a couple Iraqi scouts hiding behind some concrete barriers from approximately a click to the north. They said that they watched him waltz on in and silence them.” The Sergeant acted out the breaking of an imaginary neck.

This, however, caught Saoirse’s attention. “Oh really?”

Sergeant Michaels nodded sternly. “I didn’t see anything until a handful of bodies fell to the ground directly ahead of us.” After a long, solemn pause, Paul Michaels leaned forward on his elbows that rested upon his knees and propped his head up against his palms. “Saoirse, for him to do that, he would have had to scale the side of a fucking building in full gear, and if that was the case, he would have had to make quick work of dispatching them. Aside from you, I’ve never seen anything like it. I wouldn’t be so unsettled if I didn’t already know about his abilities, but given how hush-hush you’ve kept it, this is serious, Major.”

Saoirse inhaled sharply and covered her mouth with both hands. “Was anyone recording? How many witnesses, including ours? Did you brief them on keeping their mouths shut? And what might happen if they don’t?”

The Sergeant shook his head, giving a disapproving frown at the veiled threat. “Aside from the two Privates, I’m not sure. All I know is that around 1900 hours, our unit’s comms technician intercepted a Russian radio transmission talking about having eyes on a lone soldier advancing into the city ahead of his unit.”

“Shit. Shit. Fuck.” Her tone was curt. Not angry, nor disappointed, but curt. “Thanks for telling me, Paul. I’ve had my eyes on a few Russian units stationed in Lebanon and Egypt for a few years, but I didn’t realize they had operatives all the way out here. It’s no wonder you guys weren’t ambushed. Holy shit, Paul.”

The Sergeant shrugged. “He doesn’t know about the transmission. Best to keep it that way, I figure. He’s unstable enough. Keep him close, Major. For everyone’s sake.”

Saoirse’s right eyebrow raised abruptly with concern. “Could you maybe elaborate on your ‘unstable’ comment? Is Jacob currently a danger to himself or to others?”

“I’m not sure, Major,” the Sergeant muttered. “Specialist Seed’s been fixated on these nightmares he’s having. Something about watching the apocalypse, he said.”

The Major nodded in acknowledgement. “Yes, that’s a known issue. We’ll touch on that afterwards.”

“Right. Well, while we were in Nasiriyah, there was scattered fire coming from deep within the city. We saw muzzle flashes and heard bullets ricocheting. The Specialist alone took out eleven hostiles. Some were just kids his brothers’ age. For me to say that he was upset about the order to shoot to kill would be a serious understatement.”

Clenching her eyes tightly shut, Saoirse released a sigh and lowered her head to her chest. “As for the nightmares, what did Jacob tell you? Did he go into detail?”

Sergeant Michaels shook his head. “Not much, no. He said he was dreaming about the apocalypse, and he was scared shitless. He mentioned he hadn’t slept in days.”

While nodding slowly, Saoirse tilted her head against the back of the chair. “Sergeant, I’m about to tell you something that cannot leave the confines of this tent. Aside from myself, there are four people in the whole world who know what I’m going to say.”

The Sergeant shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “That sounds a little above my pay grade, Major.”

“Paul, you’ve kept Augmentus a secret. It’s not often that one meets and befriends someone as trustworthy as you’ve been, which I can’t thank you enough for.” Saoirse paused to select her next words carefully.

Saoirse could’ve sworn she’d heard a muffled clatter from several rows behind Sergeant Michaels when her attention was drawn towards a wispy black shadow. She began watching it in stunned silence as it floated elegantly across the room. Although the shadow’s silhouette distinctly contrasted with the tent canvas, to Saoirse’s surprise, Sergeant Michaels didn’t seem to notice the entity slowly enter his field of vision. The shadow stopped several feet before them, next to the podium, abruptly ceasing its onward saunter. It seemed to turn to face Saoirse before snarling and revealing a familiar fiery orange radiance inside the globes of its eyes. It bared its blinding white teeth as a warning for Saoirse to hold her tongue.

However, for Sergeant Paul Michaels to adequately understand and appreciate the true magnitude of psychological mayhem Jacob had been suffering, he needed to hear what Saoirse was about to say. “Sometime, years and years down the line, a global conflict involving every country with a nuclear arsenal will occur. As an expected result of such an all-encompassing conflict, every square inch of inhabitable earth will be razed clean with fire and reduced to nothing but ash. Jacob has seen this happen. As have his younger brother, Joseph, and I.”

As he processed her words, the colour slowly disappeared from Sergeant Michaels’ face. Watching his expression shift abruptly from fear to anger, Saoirse sensed he was internalizing his fight to convince himself that she was dead wrong, and for his sake, Saoirse wished that were true. “I can’t tell you how or why I know it will happen. I just do.”

“I – I need a minute.” Sergeant Michaels shakily attempted to rise to his feet, but his knees gave out from underneath him. He struggled but finally made it to the tent’s opening, fighting with the canvas flaps for a much needed breath of fresh air. But the air didn’t help, and Sergeant Michaels promptly lost his breakfast in the dirt.

As Sergeant Michaels fought to compose himself following his violent upheaval, he sensed a presence standing directly behind him, but found no one when he spun around. While feeling discombobulated after hearing the shocking news of the end of the world from Major Kingston, Sergeant Michaels felt the terror grip him so tightly around his chest that he struggled to catch his breath. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he growled, clutching his chest, fearing a heart attack was imminent.

“Not quite, I’m afraid,” a disembodied, ghoulish voice whispered into Sergeant Michaels’ ear, and a waft of icy air wisped across his cheek.

Sergeant Michaels’ stomach jumped into his chest before he bellowed a muffled yelp as a slimy, yet ethereal tendril snaked around his mouth, yanking him aggressively backwards into the tent.

Landing hard on his back, it was lights out for the Sergeant.

Chapter Text

In the corner of Saoirse’s watchful eye, Azazil withdrew his black, wispy tendril from around the Sergeant’s mouth, leaving the unconscious mortal at her feet before he evaporated back into nothingness. Surely, that wouldn’t be the last she would see of the djinn, and to her relief, its presence felt much less threatening than the last time she’d crossed paths with it.

Unsure of the extent of damage, if any damage was incurred by the djinn, Saoirse knelt cautiously next to Sergeant Michaels to check his pulse, finding him alive. Albeit stunned, of course, and likely terrified, but very much alive.

Moments later, Sergeant Michaels came to, scrambling to put as much distance between himself and Major Kingston as possible. She immediately recognized the look of absolute horror in the depths of his eyes. “What the fuck did you do to me?” the Sergeant barked, still grasping desperately at his chest. “What did you do to me, Major?!”

Had he also seen the bombs fall? “Sergeant, you need to take a breath. What happened? What did you see?” Alas, the Sergeant didn’t readily comply. In the most vulnerable state she’d ever seen him, Sergeant Paul Michaels was almost manic with fear. “Sergeant!” she shouted, hoping to bring him out of his trance for even just a minute.

Momentarily, his agitated twitching ceased, and his respirations soon stabilized into a steady, albeit shaky, rhythm. In unison, the thunderous beating of his heart also simmered to a normal lull.

Fighting back tears, the Sergeant fell weakly to his hands and knees and clenched his eyes shut. “I saw it, Saoirse. I saw the end. The church. The singing. The fire. And it was beautiful. All of it.” As the words rolled from his tongue, Sergeant Michaels let himself weep with melancholic joy.

Although she did her best to smother any hint of emotion in her face, Saoirse’s own heart began to beat frantically. She noticed the way his eyes cried with terror before falling devoid of any emotion except calmness and…bliss. “Sergeant, you must tell me exactly what you saw.”

Her attention, however, quickly shifted to the unmistakable sound of heavy boots stepping in sand.  There was only a single pair of boots approaching the tent, Saoirse gathered, and to her lack of surprise, perhaps even relief, the Specialist’s ginger-haired head popped through the canvas doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I thought I heard screaming.”

As Saoirse hastily waved Jacob inside, he gasped when he found Sergeant Michaels hyperventilating on the ground at her feet. “I think we have a problem,” Saoirse told him, as she actively avoided meeting his gaze. If anything, she seemed standoffish, and that undoubtedly got under Jacob’s skin.

“You mean you have a problem?” Jacob countered, folding his arms defensively across his chest. “He spent ten minutes alone with you. What the hell happened?”

Saoirse pinched the bridge of her nose in anguish. Her gaze fell mournfully upon the Sergeant who now knelt in the dirt, staring blankly into his outstretched palms as he muttered unintelligibly to himself. The man was truly off in another world. “Paul was just giving me a heads up about your nightmares and how you couldn’t sleep. Given that he cares about you as much as he does, I let him in on the little-known fact that they aren’t just nightmares, but a sneak preview of what’s coming. He’s adjusting to the shock.”

Jacob exhaled, kneeling before his superior. “Sir, are you alright?”

The Sergeant abruptly stopped his muttering, and when his cold eyes snapped upwards, Jacob didn’t recognize him whatsoever. Beneath Sergeant Michaels’ dirty fatigues, sweat was pooling atop his skin. In this heat, that kind of perspiration wasn’t a good sign. Unconsciousness would soon claim him. “Specialist. You’ve seen it, the fiery wrath of God. Yet, you fear it. Why? Why fear something so beautiful and serene?”

As if on cue, Saoirse heard Jacob’s breath hitch as the Sergeant’s body went limp at his feet. “I need to get him back to my lab. Which means that you need to decide immediately whether you’re staying with me or going home to Georgia.”

The young soldier’s cerulean eyes became animated with exasperation. “I can’t make that decision right fucking now, Saoirse.”

“We don’t have the time for a debate, Jacob. This man needs medical attention. Immediately. I need to get him to the lab.”

Jacob groaned in angry frustration. “We talked about this. I told you that when the war was over, I want to go back to Georgia. Together. To be with my family. To marry you. And now you want to fucking stay here? Fuck you.”

“Specialist.” The Major growled with a guttural, almost demonic tone. It sure got Jacob’s attention. “Mind your goddamn tone, Specialist. You’d do best to remember that I’d marry you right here in this tent if it would make you happy, but we have a crisis that needs to be corrected first and foremost. This man, this very respectable man, is in very serious trouble. He needs you. I need you.”

As Jacob’s demeanour softened, Saoirse spied a growing sense of remorse. His docile expression was a sufficient apology enough. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Despite such troubling circumstances, Saoirse tried to smile, but she instead fought a quivering chin. Her own dreams had revealed just how hastily she’d broken the one promise she made to herself, to prevent the inevitable sorrow of outliving yet another mate. “Well, I thought you’d never be able to escape me, let alone fear losing me. But enough of that. I’m getting too emotional. I need to know if you’re staying or if you’re boarding that Hercules, Jacob. Wheels go up in twenty minutes.”

“I’m staying, Saoirse.” Jacob blurted, without hesitation. “It hurts me to think about leaving you here.”

That was all Saoirse needed to feel that comfortable warmness in her heart. “Okay. Stay here with Paul for a minute. I’ll go find us a ride.” Her elegant form slipped quickly from the tent out of Jacob’s sight.

Now that Saoirse was within his reach once again, Jacob felt perilously intoxicated by a longing to lay her down and… No, enough of that, you creep. He introspected. Have some fucking decency. “Decency.” Jacob said aloud, scoffed in the silence of the tent. “There’s no fucking decency left in this world.”

Pitying the sleeping man at his feet, the Specialist lifted his commander up from the floor, placing him upon a chair to dump the remaining stale water of his canteen into the Sergeant Michaels’ mouth. “Come on, Sergeant. Paul. Wake up and drink.” Nonetheless, Jacob’s efforts were in vain. The Sergeant’s profuse sweating had stopped, and his breathing grew shallow. Sergeant Paul Michaels needed medical treatment immediately, but Jacob knew his commander was one tough son of a bitch.

Although he was ashamed to do so, Jacob couldn’t help but feel some nagging resentment towards Saoirse for burdening the Sergeant with such a degree of hopelessness. Yet, Jacob kept in mind that Saoirse would have only done so with the bigger picture in mind. The Major wasn’t afraid to sacrifice the needs of the few for the needs of the many, or vice versa, if the situation demanded it.

The minutes ticked by slowly. The commotion on the tarmac grew quieter and quieter before Jacob finally heard the rumble of several C-130 Hercules aircraft firing up. His brothers and sisters in arms would be safe at home in half a day, hugging and holding their families close. As much as Jacob wished he was boarding one of the Hercules, it wasn’t time for him to go yet. There was still important work left to be done.

The piercing drone of the four-engine turboprop aircraft grew louder as one by one, the metal brutes took to the sky, leaving Jacob, Saoirse, and the Sergeant behind in the dust.

After no moment too soon, Jacob recognized the faint hum of a Desert Patrol Vehicle, formerly known as a Fast Attack Vehicle, a dune buggy reinforced with steel panels fixed to the frame’s exterior. The U.S. Navy SEALS first outfitted the improvised off-road vehicle with an M2 Browning .50 caliber and two M60 .30 caliber machine guns alongside it.

A shrill horn sounded twice before the engine cut out seconds before Saoirse emerged through the tent entryway, gesturing at Jacob to follow her. “Come on, lets go. Central Comms advised that a massive sandstorm is blowing in from the east and I want to make it back to King Khalid before it hits.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Jacob wasted no time pulling the Sergeant’s limp body upwards from the chair and tossing him over his shoulder.

Recalling their untimely gasoline shortage setback on the night of Jacob’s rescue, Saoirse made sure she didn’t make the same mistake twice, and added two full jerry cans to the cargo boot as well as enough ammunition to take down an entire platoon if it came down to it. She certainly hoped she wouldn’t need to use a single round, but there was always a chance of coming upon a rogue group of combatants en route to King Khalid Military City. In addition to the extra gas and ammunition, Saoirse also made sure to bring several gallon-jugs of water and a cache of protein bars for the four-hour excursion.

Finding himself ravenous, having skipped breakfast that morning, Jacob grabbed two bars and almost swallowed them both whole. He’d almost forgotten about the Baklava nestled safely inside his pack, but stopped himself from retrieving it, as it was meant to be savoured as a relic of their engagement.

He strapped the Sergeant into the back, lengthwise across the bench seat. To keep most of the sand out of the Sergeant’s mouth and eyes, Jacob wrapped his face with a shirt he blindly pulled from his own pack. “How long do you think the trip will be?” Jacob asked as he hopped into the FAV, carefully tucking his pack and his rifle between the seat and the FAV’s metal frame. He didn’t bother buckling himself in.

Saoirse started the dune buggy’s engine shifted it into gear before the vehicle tore across the tarmac. “Hopefully not too long for our friend Paul.”

Chapter Text

My whole existence is flawed.

You get me closer to God. (Nine Inch Nails, 1994)

Saoirse was relieved to make it before the sandstorm hit, and with everyone still in one piece, to boot. After Coalition forces withdrew to advance into Iraq five days earlier, King Khalid Military City had become a ghost town. Saoirse happily welcomed such newfound quietness.

After just five days of sitting vacantly, everything within the confines of the lab was covered in dust. A thin layer of dust, no doubt, but the invasiveness of the contaminant was enough of a pain in the ass for an already irritated Saoirse to put her research out of her mind for the rest of the evening. All the same, it was more imperative to shift her attention instead to Sergeant Michaels, laying half-naked and stretched out upon one of the gurneys.

His condition deteriorated so rapidly during the trip that Saoirse had abandoned most of her hopes of getting him to the lab alive. Still unconscious, his breathing was laboured and his was skin warm and dry at the touch. Given how dehydrated and exhausted he already was, Saoirse estimated Paul would be touch-and-go for most of the evening.

Once Sergeant Michaels’ IV catheter was secured to his arm and saline was flowing, Saoirse finally took a breath of calm air and allowed the tension built up in her shoulders to dissipate.

Leaving Paul alone to rest in a closed-off stall, she found Jacob where she’d left him, waiting anxiously in her office for an update on his superior, hunched over her desk with his hands clasped together, propping up his chin. “Jake, you should get some rest too.”

Jacob didn’t budge. “I’m not tired,” he argued childishly, even though the bags under his eyes sure begged to differ. Saoirse rolled her eyes at his petulance and took her seat across from him at her desk, fretting at the sight of more dust. She knew she had her work cut out for her, but it started to seem like an appropriate job for the following day. “Don’t make me sedate you, Specialist. Go catch a nap.”

“Fine, I will if you join me.” The sudden smoulder in Jacob’s eyes intensified. “I’m not sleeping well, remember?”

Well, Saoirse couldn’t argue with that. After all, this was the first time in months that she didn’t have a rigid schedule to adhere to. The Sergeant was stable enough to let her guard down for a few hours as the saline drip did its job. “Tsk, tsk. Always the attitude, huh. When’s the last time you showered?” Albeit pervasively obvious, Saoirse didn’t want to admit that she found the scent of his body odour intoxicating.

Jacob shrugged and casually sniffed at his armpits, grimacing at their rankness. He could only imagine the utter foulness below the belt after five long days of unchecked ball sweat. “Speak for yourself.”

“You think you’re in a position to give me any lip?”

He smirked, and Saoirse knew that smirk too well by now. It was the same smirk that, immediately, and without fail, made her knees weak. “Just keeping you on your toes, Major.”

“Jacob.” Saoirse grumbled as she fought to smother a tension-defusing giggle.

“Saoirse.” He was standing now, taking her hands in his. She eyed him from the top downwards, from the buzzed crop of red hair on his head to his pulsating jugular beneath his rigid jaw, and to the beads of sweat forming on his collar that dripped into the unwashed fabric of his dingy undershirt. Even while fully clothed, Saoirse spotted the outline of his muscular abdomen, along which her favourite part, his coarse patch of ginger belly hair, descended towards his groin.

While Jacob amusedly watched Saoirse’s hungry eyes wander all over his body, he felt a stir beneath his trousers. He needed that shower. Desperately. “I’ll be back in ten.” To Jacob’s annoyance, from the lab, the closest showers were located back at his old bunkhouse. Much to his surprise, however, the 82^nd Airborne bunkhouse and bathhouse were both unlocked. Not that there was anything of significant value left behind, for that matter.

Jacob almost forgot to grab a clean, fresh set of clothes and a towel from the laundry room along the way. Cleanliness in the army was nothing more than a luxury. During the long, arduous week of combat, Jacob quickly became nose-blind to the rankness of body odour despite his heightened sense of smell.

The beauty of being effectively alone on base was having freedom to take as long of a shower as he wanted. Jacob let go of his accumulated tension as he stepped into the lukewarm stream, imagining his woes washing down the drain with the rest of the muck and filth. As he scrubbed his upper body’s mottled skin, Jacob shuddered and winced. Not from any pain, per se, but from his sudden realization of just how hideous he’d become. Not that I was much for eye candy to begin with, he pondered in solemnity.

His attention quickly shifted to the unlocked bathhouse door as he heard the unmistakable echo of footsteps on swift approach. The door swung open, and through the doorway, Saoirse entered wearing nothing more than a towel.

Jacob’s heart fluttered when the towel slipped away to reveal her womanhood. “Fancy meeting you here,” Saoirse said, gasping as she stepped into the lukewarm stream. Jacob chuckled when she shivered. Despite how abruptly the temperature changed, Saoirse agreed that after spending five days in full gear under the scathing desert sun, the shower’s cool stream was nothing other than refreshing. 

Without much room in the stall to begin with, Jacob stepped out of the stream give her what room he could afford, watching his fiancée silently as she carefully lathered her skin. He felt paralyzed as the water’s flow outlined her physique. His stare didn’t go unnoticed. “Speak your mind, Specialist.”

“Just enjoying the view.”

She smirked. “Didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to stare? At least make yourself useful and scrub my back and shoulders, please.” She winked and collected the many unruly locks of her long, auburn hair and drowned them with generic, aloe-scented, Army-issued, shampoo and conditioner combination.

“Yes, ma’am.” Averting his gaze from her soap-swathed bosoms, Jacob wasted no time grabbing the crumpled washcloth he had used and lathered it with soap.

While waiting for him to begin scrubbing, Saoirse felt his arm wrap tightly around her lower belly, and on instinct, she turned around face him and aggressively push him back against the stall wall. “You’d best be careful, Jake.” She whispered, with a hint of menace, into the pulsating nape of his neck. “I’m still in fight or flight mode. One wrong move and…” Jacob’s breath hitched as she playfully bit his bottom lip.

His knees trembled at the familiar stirring of longing and desire deep in the pit of his belly. “You are going to be death of me, woman.” Jacob pulled away and stepped out of the shower to towel off and get dressed.

“What’s the matter?” Saoirse asked teasingly as she finished rinsing the last of the product from her hair. “Feeling wound a little too tight?” She then turned the water off and grabbed her towel, wrapping it around her torso.

As Jacob groaned exasperatedly, the amusement in his eyes disappeared. “Half an hour ago, you were bitching at me to go to sleep. The longer you take, the longer it’ll be before I fall asleep because we both know that I’m not going to bed without fucking you in it first.”

“Then put your money where your mouth is.” Saoirse growled playfully, wrapping her arms around his neck as he scooped her up and made for the bathhouse door.

Soon, in the quiet comfort and solitude of their makeshift bedroom, Jacob lowered his beloved onto the mattress before slipping out of his shirt and lounge pants, watching as Saoirse scooted towards the head of the bed.

“Are you trying to run from me?” Jacob growled as he climbed upon the bed.

Saoirse moaned as she felt him clutch her hair. She absolutely lived for the roughness of his touch. “What if I am?” Saoirse teased, pulling him closer by the chain around his neck that held his dog tags and pressed herself into him for a frenzied, messy kiss.

With an aroused, frustrated snarl, Jacob broke away from the kiss and flipped Saoirse onto her belly, pulling her hips backwards into his, pressing his readiness against her.

Jacob wanted release, and he wanted it desperately.

Stroking several fingers along her spine, Jacob leaned forward and planted dozens of kisses along her damp shoulder blades, leaving little bite marks as evidence of his fervour. “I’ll teach you why running from me is a bad fucking idea.”

“I live for bad ideas,” she retorted, watching eagerly over her shoulder as Jacob’s smoulder grew into unbridled fury.

Chapter Text

Following an intense bedroom romp that left Saoirse feeling no less than satisfied, once Jacob finally passed out, Saoirse spent the rest of the evening with Paul, who was still unconscious. As per her latest physical assessment, she surmised that Paul had endured severe sunstroke while riding in the back of the Desert Patrol Vehicle, despite the vast number of preventative measures she had taken.

To Saoirse’s dismay, as was the case with the lab, the trauma wing didn’t keep a lot of intravenous solution on hand. At most, Saoirse only had two litres of Ringer’s lactate at her disposal. Whether it was due to budget constraints or a serious lack of adequate preparation, Saoirse didn’t know, but without proper replacement fluids, it would take much longer for Saoirse to determine the milestones of Paul’s recovery. That is, if he would recover at all, and time was not yet on her side.

In just four hours, Paul drained two 1000cc saline pouches. To try and keep herself awake and alert while Paul and Jacob both snored soundly, Saoirse read several first aid manuals out loud. When she finished reading the fourth book, silence slowly overtook her and filled the room with an almost eerie sense of calm. It was peaceful, yes, and such peace was certainly welcome after the past week of death and chaos. Yet, despite such feelings of peace, Saoirse could feel that something was very, very wrong.

While she tried to ignore the premonitory feeling, a mournful, haunting cry echoed throughout the lab, utterly shattering the cloud of silence. The cry was immediately followed by aggravated shouting and a commotion of objects crashing to the ground.

Saoirse wasted no time making a mad dash to her bedroom, finding Jacob standing in the middle of the room, in the middle of a destructive frenzy. “Hey!” she shouted, in hopes of breaking the sleepwalking giant out of his trance. “Hey, Jake!” Still, nothing. He stood there, eyes half open, jaw slacked.

Gripped tightly in his left hand was a long, silver object which glinted in the light of her desk lamp that laid haphazardly on the floor. She recognized the object in his hand immediately. “Jacob, wake up!” She yelled. Still, it did nothing.

Saoirse approached him carefully, her eyes locked onto his knife’s serrated blade. “Jacob! Wake up!” Saoirse roared, slapping his cheek.

His eyes suddenly popped open, and his enraged gaze fixed upon her, a shadow in a dark room. Sensing a threat, Jacob rushed forward with such an incredible speed that Saoirse didn’t have time to see him coming. He raised his knife-wielding hand above his head and drove it downward, plunging the knife into her chest.

Jacob’s immense weight alone pushed her down to the floor, pinning her under him. The force of his attack drove the air from her lungs. Saoirse released a choking gasp and pained yelp as Jacob finally came to, only to realize what he had done. “No! Oh God, Saoirse, no!” He released the knife’s bloodied hilt and fell backwards, crawling as far as he could from her as she sputtered helplessly on her back.

Blood oozed from the wound around the protruding blade, soaking into her loungewear and dripping onto the floor. The steady patter of blood droplets became deafening as Jacob’s world crashed around him.

Saoirse sputtered and coughed as her mouth continuously filled with blood. She was awake and felt every sensation. As her hand crept up her chest, she struggled to grasp the wooden hilt beneath her slick, bloodied fingers. Still laying on her back, Saoirse desperately tapped along the floor in her immediate vicinity in hopes to find Jacob to reassure him that she would be fine.

It seemed the bleeding had slowed a great deal, but it didn’t shake Jacob from his distress. He had backed himself into the far corner of the room, hyperventilating and panicking as he stared off in abject horror. What in God’s name had he done?

Finally, Saoirse gripped the hilt and yanked the blade free from her chest with a wet, crunchy squelch, dropping the knife to the floor beside her. Jacob’s eyes watered as he watched the wound quickly close over, leaving a faint, silvery scar in its place.

Saoirse coughed and spat the last of the blood from her mouth, fruitlessly wiping the crimson crust from her face and throat. She slowly rose to her feet and crossed the room to flip the light switch to better assess the carnage. “My God. Jacob, are you alright?”

With trembling breaths, his reply came from the far side of the room. “What the fuck does it fucking look like?” he growled, trying desperately to catch his breath. “I didn’t… I couldn’t…” Jacob winced and cried out for her to leave him alone as he helplessly watched her cross the floor. To his dismay, Saoirse’s advance remained unbroken.

“Jacob,” she growled, kneeling at his side, but he refused to lay his eyes on her. “Jacob, look at me. Look at me.”

When he eventually complied, Saoirse’s eyes met his with tremendous softness. “No, please. Please. I can’t,” he babbled.

Saoirse growled again, this time with more than a touch of wrath. “Look at me.” Seizing his trembling hand, she placed his sweaty palm against her breast, where underneath he would feel her steady, strong heartbeat. “I am here with you, alive. Feel my heartbeat, Jacob. Feel the life inside me.”

As Jacob caught his breath and began to relax, he scooted towards her and let his head fall into her shoulder. His angry tears soaked into her gunmetal grey shirt, combining with the drying blood. He rubbed his hands over his barren arms, feeling something sticky coating his skin. Jacob then realized was sprayed with blood the moment the blade pierced her skin.

His sobs started up again, and more violently than before. He tried desperately to spit out an apology, but his words were strangled from his throat by remorseful tears. Saoirse hushed him, rubbing his back with an open palm. Together they sat in silence on the dusty floor. Neither kept track of time.

Eventually, Jacob allowed himself to regain his composure, though he lacked the willpower to move from the floor, despite his angry, pulsating bladder. After such a turbulent event, Jacob couldn’t bring himself to stand up. He decided to ignore his bladder and stay locked in Saoirse’s embrace. How could she still love him after what he’d done?

Saoirse eventually stirred, lifting her head from his chest to find his eyes intently locked on her. while his fit had ceased, he was still very much visibly upset. “Speak your mind, Specialist.”

“There’s nothing to say, Major.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Saoirse slowly propped herself up from the floor with one arm and pulled herself to her feet with the other, using the disheveled, barren desk as a counterweight. The floor was not where she wanted to spend the rest of the night, even if she spent it next to her lover. “Well, how about that nightmare you were having, for starters? Or whatever it was that set you off.”

Jacob exhaled sharply as he grabbed Saoirse’s extended hand and climbed to his feet. “It wasn’t a nightmare. I woke up and thought you were an intruder.”

Saoirse cackled. “Me, an intruder?” Jacob clearly didn’t share her amusement. “Oh, my love, I’m so sorry it came to that. You were sleepwalking and I tried to wake you. Hell, I had to slap you just to get a reaction from you. You were armed with the knife, and I didn’t see you come at me until it was already sticking out of me. If I saw you coming, it would have been a lot messier, and I’d have probably killed you.”

He scoffed. “It was pitch black and you didn’t make your presence known. What did you expect?”

“Jacob, I’m not giving you shit. I’m just saying it could have been a lot worse. A lot worse.”

“Hang on, I need to piss,” Jacob said over his shoulder with a yawn as he made for the lab’s sliding doors.

Saoirse stripped from her blood-soaked attire and tossed the fabric into the garbage bin under the desk. As she palpated the fresh scar tissue, she inhaled deeply and pushed away the memory of the knife plunging into her chest. She forever despised her indestructibility but with careful consideration of Jacob’s volatile responses to perceived threats, a quality that indicated potential post-traumatic stress disorder, Saoirse contemplated turning her regenerative ability into an incredibly powerful therapeutic tool.

That was an idea best kept for another day, however.

Jacob returned to find the woman he loved fully nude atop their bed and felt relieved. He climbed onto the bed next to her and snuggled against her bare back. Feeling his arm snaking around her belly, Saoirse gasped in delight and welcomed his embrace. “You know, that was exciting and all, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of penetration I had in mind.”

Regardless of how upset Jacob had become from such brutality, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Chapter Text

Joseph sat at the Millers’ dining room table and leafed through a Thor comic while he absentmindedly spooned at his soggy bits of cereal. His appetite was spent from fixating on the anxieties of adjusting to his new, structured environment. The only comfort Joseph knew was that he and his brother were safe, living in the suburban outskirts of Atlanta under the care of Mr. Michael and his wife, the wonderful Mrs. Bette, who baked apple pies and cookies for himself and his brother to enjoy.

Joseph couldn’t remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal, let alone a readily available assortment of fresh-baked goods, made with a mother’s love. She may have been an adoptive parent, but Mrs. Bette was the closest thing to a mother that Joseph ever had. In one week, Joseph grew extremely fond of her, and Mrs. Bette, bless her heart, reciprocated such fondness without hesitation.

She knew these boys needed a mother’s love.

It came as a pleasant surprise to Joseph and John that Mr. Michael and Mrs. Bette had three children of their own. There were two boys, Shep and Billy, ages seven and twelve. Their oldest, Rachel, was a year older than Joseph. Rachel took a shining to him right away, asking many questions about his comic books and his rather odd collection of obscure biblical scriptures. While he appreciated her kindness, Joseph was very shy, and did his best to stay clear of her out of fear of Mr. Michael. He didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize his relationship with such respectable, kind people.

John spent a great deal of the week bonding with the youngest boy, Shep. It relieved Joseph to see that the young boys got along quite well, spending their time on weekends catching frogs and snakes in Mrs. Bette’s magnificent hydrangea garden.

Billy, the quieter of the two boys, floated between the two Seed brothers while simultaneously keeping his distance from them both. Billy had a disability, Joseph noticed, that made him mostly avoidant of social interactions. Joseph found that he could relate to Billy, who was alarmingly intelligent for his age, and knew a great deal about weapons and vehicles of warfare. In turn, Billy was fascinated to learn that Joseph and John’s older brother was a soldier in the Army.

Above all, Mrs. Bette and Mr. Michael were beyond grateful with how well the Seed boys assimilated into a sense of normalcy. To their apprehension, the two boys were profoundly mistreated and deserved all the love and care that they never received from their own parents.

One evening, Joseph overheard Mrs. Bette talking with Mr. Michael about her worries and woes for the Seed boys, specifically concerning the abuse and maltreatment they had endured. Joseph hated being so openly pitied, but he allowed it from Mrs. Bette. She was a wonderful mother who genuinely cared about her little ones. More importantly, she was a woman of God, and Joseph clung to her just as Rachel clung to him, despite how annoying and disruptive she was.

While Joseph trifled with his soggy bowl of Wheaties, Mr. Michael approached the table and handed him an unmarked letter with no return address, stamped with the insignia he recognized from Jacob’s enlistment paperwork. Joseph’s heart fluttered in anxiousness as he impatiently tore the envelope open, praying to God it wasn’t a letter of condolences. He hadn’t heard from Jacob in over a year and the news was reporting horror stories every night following the end of Operation Desert Storm.

Joseph sighed with relief at Jacob’s tidy handwriting he had come to know all too well.

To my little brothers, wherever on earth you are,

I realized I missed both your birthdays. Joe, you’re fifteen now. And John, you’re six. I swear these will be the last of your birthdays I’ll ever miss.

Right now, you must be worried sick about me, but I’m okay. I promise. I’m currently stationed in Saudi Arabia and living in a place called King Khalid Military City. It’s a city built specially for soldiers from all over the world. I’ve met people from Egypt, France, Germany, and Canada.

Much like Georgia, the desert nights are unbearably hot, and the days are even hotter. We see rain here only once a month, if that.

Tomorrow, I’m being flown into Iraq with my unit. Don’t worry about me, though. We have them outmanned and outgunned. The Iraqis will have to fight hard to take me down. Joseph, I really hope you’re not watching the news. I’d bet there’s some horrible stuff being reported, but don’t listen to it. Most of it isn’t the actual truth and it’ll only freak you out.

When I come home, I’ll be bringing someone that I want you both to meet. Someone special. She has a kind soul, and she brings me peace and hope when there’s no hope left to go around out here. She’s a decorated ranking officer and a total legend here in the Army. I wish I could tell you more about her, my brothers. I’m very much in love with her. Just have faith that you’ll meet her one day.

Joe, I’m sorry for everything I said before deployment. My words were cruel and unfair, and you didn’t deserve them. John, be good for Joseph and look out for him. Lord knows he can’t keep an eye on everything like I can.

I hope you’re keeping each other company while I’m here overseas. Keep me in your prayers this week. Don’t worry about me, though. I am in very good hands.

I love you both to the end of the earth.

Specialist Jacob Seed

Joseph’s eyes filled with tears as he refolded the letter and carefully placed it between two random pages of his bible.

In the kitchen, separated by white interior French doors, Joseph found Mrs. Bette at the counter and asked her for a pen and some paper. “Excuse me, ma’am. My oldest brother, Jacob, wrote us a letter from Iraq. I’m not sure how I could get a letter to him if he’s going to war tomorrow.”

Mrs. Bette was taken aback. Somehow, she missed the memo of a third Seed brother. “Of course, Joseph, honey. Let me finish up here and I’ll find you some paper and a pen.” Joseph, she believed, had the softest soul she had ever seen, especially in a teenage boy. There was something truly odd about this boy; a vibe so unsettling that Mrs. Bette couldn’t begin to fathom how he might have grown to be so docile and kind. It was the boy’s eloquence, perhaps, or his politeness, which seemed to shine through him after years of neglect and mistreatment. “How old is your brother, Joseph?”

“Jacob will be nineteen in a month, ma’am. He’s fighting the Gulf War in the Army. The 82^nd Airborne Division.”

Mrs. Bette nodded solemnly. “My goodness. He sounds like a brave young man.”

Joseph nodded. “Braver than anyone I’ll ever know, ma’am.”

“Honey, you can call me Mama Bette if you’d like. In fact, I insist. Ma’am seems a little too formal for me.” Mrs. Bette then offered Joseph one of her chocolate batter-coated electric mixer beaters, which he politely declined. “You hang tight, dear. I’ll go grab you some stationary.”

Joseph softly thanked her and smiled before he resumed his spot at the table. By now, his cereal was soggy mush, but he ate the mush anyway, not wanting to be wasteful and rude. “Thank you…Mama Bette.” Although the words sounded unnatural as they rolled off his tongue, Joseph gladly accepted Mama Bette’s new title.

She was a wonderful woman, a caring mother to boot, and he would be happy to call her Mama Bette if she insisted so.

Mama Bette returned with an armful of goods, setting the pile down next to Joseph with a smile. He’d never seen an abundance of fancy materials like this before. Mama Bette even had fancy unlined paper that was used in those printers at the library, and gel pens of almost every colour. “These are Rachel’s, but I guarantee she won’t mind if you borrow them. Especially to write a letter to your brother in Iraq.”

“Thank you once again, Mama Bette.” The name rolled off his tongue much easier now. Mama Bette smiled and said nothing as she returned to the kitchen to finish tonight’s dessert: a decadent, double chocolate cake.

Now, the hard part, Joseph thought, grabbing a sheet of lined paper and a standard blue ballpoint.

My dearest brother,

Words simply cannot describe how glad I am to read your letter.

I don’t want you to worry about John and me. A nice man took us away from our foster parents and brought us to Atlanta. At least, I think we’re in Atlanta. There seems to be an angel watching out for us.

Hearing about the woman you met, my heart feels happy for you, Jacob. You deserve love and happiness. I look forward to meeting her, whenever that might be. Just be sure to warn her about our family’s past first. I sure wouldn’t want to scare her away.

Please don’t fret about our last words. You kept me humble during the times when I needed it. You are our protector, and you will always have my respect. Be safe out there on the battlefield, Jake. God only knows what we’d do if we lost you.

Joseph

Satisfied, Joseph folded the paper and carefully slid it into a standard envelope, sealing it shut with a lick. He noticed that Mama Bette didn’t give him any stamps and he wasn’t about to go out of his way to ask for one. Not yet at least. Joseph feared being labeled ‘needy’. Pitied by all. His family’s troubled past was no hidden mystery, and he was desperate to break the streak.

Chapter Text

Saoirse woke to the beautiful yet unnerving sound of a man humming ‘Amazing Grace’ in the vicinity of the lab. The man’s voice was slightly off key but beautiful nonetheless, as though its imperfection gave his song a more secular eminence. She was drawn to the sound despite her disdain for the hymn.

Still asleep beneath the cotton sheet next to her, Jacob snored softly. He’d buried his head between his pillow and the mattress sometime through the night as if he might achieve a deeper rest.

“Paul,” Saoirse muttered as she climbed down from the bed and ambled sleepily towards the dresser to don a clean pair of lounge pants and a grey t-shirt.

Sensing her departure, Jacob stirred atop the bed. Before leaving their bedroom to attend to Sergeant Michaels, Saoirse planted a soft kiss on his scarred cheek and reminded him that she loved him. As she walked away, a smile crept across Jacob’s face, and he blissfully resumed his slumber.

As Saoirse approached the examination room, Paul’s singing grew louder and much clearer. She didn’t take Sergeant Michaels to be a religious man, let alone someone who knew every word to the hymn, but Saoirse was quickly running out of reasons to be surprised. “I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind, but now I see.”

The last words he sung had struck her, but Saoirse couldn’t figure out why. “Good morning, Sergeant,” she softly called down to him as she hovered at his bedside. After waking from a good night’s rest and an abundance of intravenous fluids, now was a good time as any to assess his vitals and overall condition.

All in all, it seemed as though the Sergeant would make a full recovery, despite how poor his odds were. “How are you feeling?”

“Major. Glad to see you. I can’t say I’m feeling terrible. A little groggy, maybe. Starving.” He offered a kind smile in response to hers. “Where are we? King Khalid?”

Saoirse offered him a small disposable cup of water and a few capsules of assorted pain medications. Paul recognized Tylenol and Naproxen amongst the cocktail but didn’t bother to query about the others before swallowing them. “Yeah. For now. It’s a ghost town, which means it’ll be perfect for laying low. Don’t worry, our commanders know we’re here, and your wife knows you’re okay. They’ll send us a ride home when we’re ready.” She paused to let Paul gather his bearings and shift to a comfortable resting position atop the gurney.

Paul scoffed with a half-smirk. “I suppose a ghost town doesn’t bode well for a hungry guy, huh.”

“Well, there are still staff on site. There’s a handful of kitchen staff. A few trauma and comms teams too. I can’t guarantee we’ll be spoiled for choice on what’s cooking, but Specialist Williams is at the mess hall getting some chow together for us, so hang on a little longer.” She took the empty cup and jettisoned it into the garbage. “What’s the last thing you can remember?”

“After we arrived in Kuwait City? Not much, not gonna lie.” Paul cleared his parched throat. Saoirse handed him some more water which he graciously drank before he continued. “After we landed in Kuwait City… I was briefing you on what happened in Nasiriyah. Then it gets fuzzy.”

Oh, that’s probably for the best, she remarked. “Oh, good. Paul, you’re bang-on the money. Not much happened after you passed out. I nabbed one of those new Marine dune buggies. The ones with a fucking gatling attached to the rear. Anyway, we drove here that afternoon. Took nearly six hours under the scorching sun, but we made it. And in one piece, I might add.”

“Must have been some mighty fine driving, Major. Thank you.”

Saoirse bowed her head in acknowledgement of his gratitude. “It was the least I could do after you kept my fiancé safe.”

Paul chuckled and sipped more water before asking for a refill. “So, what new exciting adventures come next?”

The Major shrugged and handed the full cup back. “I figured you’re probably eager to get home now that you’re not dying on us. I can have a ride home arranged for you in an hour or so.”

Nodding, Paul laid his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. “Well, that’d be great, but I’d like to see the Specialist before I go. Remind him not to be too much of a pain in your ass.”

Saoirse exhaled a giggle just as her attention shifted to Jacob’s soft snores that escaped through her bedroom door. “He’s asleep right now, but I’m sure we can arrange a visit later. If you’re willing to wait, of course.”

“Please, yes.” Paul wheezed, realizing he needed to rest some more. And now that he was awake and talking, Saoirse found that she could breathe a little easier. As she departed the examination room, Paul asked for one more glass of water, and she happily obliged. “I don’t remember if I congratulated you on your engagement. Did he give you the baklava?”

Saoirse chuckled. “He hasn’t, no. I’ll remind him when he wakes up.”

“Oh, that son of a bitch,” Paul mumbled before he faded back into a peaceful sleep. Following a final assessment, Saoirse tucked the wool blanket under his hips and feet before returning to her chambers.

She found Jacob awake with a pout that stretched across his lips at the sudden realization that his bride-to-be wasn’t there with him. Waking up next to Saoirse quickly became his favourite part of the day. Above all, Jacob loved how her eyes would open to reveal the most vibrant shade of purple he’d ever seen. “Good morning,” he whispered, rolling over onto his back. “Please come back to bed.”

Saoirse smirked and yanked the blankets off him. “It’s time to get up, lazy ass. Sergeant Michaels is awake and hungry. And he wants to see you pronto.”

“Oh, thank God. Is he alright?”

She nodded. “He’s in good spirits. He has no memory of… Well, we better leave all that alone today, yeah?”

“Good plan.” Jacob reluctantly emerged from the warm comfort of their bed, stretching and flexing his arms and chest before covering them up with a clean shirt. “You don’t suppose they still have a brigade of kitchen staff, do you? I could eat, and you should eat. You probably won’t want to, but you should.”

Saoirse smirked. “Go see Sergeant Michaels. I’ll grab some chow for everyone.” Following a quick kiss, she quietly made her way out of the bedroom, turning back towards Jacob for only a moment. “Oh, Paul said you had some baklava that we were apparently supposed to share.” Without waiting for his response, she slipped out of the doorway and exited the lab.

“Son of a bitch,” Jacob groaned as he reached for the pack he had left under her desk and promptly forgot about it after cooking under the brutal Arabian sun. By now, the cross-country journey had certainly smashed the dessert into pieces. Much to his surprise, however, Jacob found that the box and its delicate contents retained most of its shape and constitution. Determined to remember to present them later on Jacob left the unopened box on the desk to allow the sweet aroma to fill the room.

From the lab’s corridor, Jacob heard Sergeant Michaels’ recognizably dry cough and promptly made his way to the examination bay. “Good morning, Sir.”

“At ease, Specialist,” the Sergeant grunted, clearing his throat. Jacob grabbed a disposable cup from the bedside table and filled it with cool water. “I heard you failed to fulfill your engagement promise, you fucking good-for-nothing thief of oxygen. Normally I would be disappointed, but right now, I’m goddamn pissed.”

Jacob snickered as he passed over the cup. “It slipped my mind, sir, but I kept it safe. We can all share when you’re up and moving.”

Sergeant Michaels’ hands shook as he sipped the water which spilled down onto his bare chest and soaked into the scratchy blanket that haphazardly covered his sweaty, saggy unmentionables. “No, you’ll share it with the Major just like you planned. Celebrate your engagement like a good soldier.”

“It wasn’t what I’d call a proper engagement.”

Paul scoffed. “Oh, come on, kid. Didn’t she say yes? That’s really all that matters. More importantly, I should expect an invitation to your wedding, right Specialist?”

Jacob’s stomach sank at the thought of having a wedding. In the face of war, the formalities didn’t seem to matter to him if their love was true, and he had no doubts about that. “I’m sure we’d both feel honoured to have you there, sir.” However, Saoirse mentioned that during her last assessment, Sergeant Michaels couldn’t seem to recall the contributing factor that landed him unconscious in the first place: the debilitating weight of being burdened with knowing the unknowable.

Jacob debated whether to divulge the secret once again, but feared his commander would succumb to the same fate.

After a few moments of silence as the men waited for Saoirse to return with their breakfast, Paul cleared his throat once again and broke Jacob out of his trance. “I saw it, you know.” He mumbled.

“Hmm? Saw what?” Jacob’s heart skipped a beat or two. He swore he felt his vision slow.

“I didn’t want to worry the Major. She’s seen hell often enough, I might reckon.” Paul inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. “She asked if I remembered anything before passing out. I told her I didn’t remember anything. I’m not much of a liar, but I’m tough as nails, and I didn’t want her to worry any more than she did. I just got a little freaked out at what she told me, is all.”

Feeling his heartbeat hasten even more with dread, Jacob leaned in closer to Paul and lowered his voice. “What did Saoirse tell you?”

Paul exhaled slowly. “The world’s ending, son. I saw it. In a dream. I thought it would have scared me more than it did, but it was peacefully quiet. Serene, even. I couldn’t move, so I just…sat and waited for it.”

Jacob felt a wave of relief. “Yeah. Tell me what you saw.” At least now, he could speak freely.

The Sergeant nodded and closed his eyes. “There was…a church. It was white with a giant black symbol on side. It was packed dull to the door with people. I saw you and Saoirse in front of the preacher. And as you were saying your vows, I saw the flash. And God, it was blinding. And hot. Like a sunburn after a day at the beach, but it happened within seconds. By the time the shockwave hit the church, I woke up.”

Jacob hunched over, clutching his abdomen as a wave of nausea hit him. “Sergeant, what if I told you that Saoirse and I have both had the exact same dream as you?”

Paul shifted upwards in the bed and wriggled his legs carefully to prevent ripping out his IV catheter. “Given what I know about Saoirse, that wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. I’m not big on coincidences, but I’ve been kicking around in her company long enough to appreciate the many strange and inexplicable things that happen in her world. Another reason I warned you to keep your distance, kid. Not that you bothered to listen.” Paul punched his subordinate playfully in the arm. “Look, tell the Major that I’ll stay quiet about this. The world doesn’t need that kind of panic.”

With a heavy yet relieved sigh, Jacob bowed his head. “Something tells me that my brother will find a way to get the word out eventually.”

“You mean Joseph?” Jacob’s eyes shot upwards, falling upon the Sergeant’s stern gaze. “In the dream, a man named Joseph invited me to join his congregation. He said he could use another military man to keep his brother, meaning you, on your toes.”

“He doesn’t have a congregation.” Jacob flatly replied.

Paul smiled but remained stern. “Not yet, no. Give it time. He’ll become a sensation within Atlanta and hundreds will join his flock. That church was packed with people. All armed to the teeth.”

Jacob scoffed, relaxing his tense shoulders.

The two men fell to silence moments before Saoirse entered the exam room bearing gifts of food. “What did I miss?” she asked as she set two full trays down on Paul’s bedside table.

Paul responded and interrupted Jacob. “Our beloved Specialist here has invited me to your wedding.”

“Ah, yes, the wedding.” Saoirse pulled up a chair from the room across from Paul’s and slid the chair up close to Jacob, who placed his hand upon her thigh and squeezed slightly, as was his means of silently showing his affection. “The mess hall had a kitchen crew?”

Saoirse nodded but said nothing as she handed Paul a tray loaded with bowls of fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, and labneh, or strained yogurt, as known in the west. It certainly wasn’t the cuisine he had gotten used to, but the Sergeant was much too hungry to care. “Thank you, both of you. For everything you’ve done.”

“It’s what we do, Sergeant. Perhaps you’ll want to stick around and find out.”

Paul smiled, his upper lip caked in yogurt, as he swallowed his mouthful and set his spoon down. “Oh, I’ll be sticking around. I’m looking forward to meeting the not-yet-famous Joseph Seed.”

Chapter Text

The relentless sun beat down on the Specialist as he lay prone in the sand, his left eye focused down the powerful Mark 5HD scope of his new Remington M24 sniper rifle, an engagement gift from Sergeant Michaels. Jacob inhaled steadily, squeezing the trigger as he exhaled slowly, firing a 7.62mm full metal jacket round down range. Behind Jacob, spotting through his mounted M121 scope, Sergeant Michaels whistled with great satisfaction as he heard the shot ring off, watching the target mannequin explode into hundreds of pieces a mile away. “Good shot, kid.”

Jacob cocked the rifle and re-focused on his next target, uttering nothing in reply. He had been at this for hours, having set off from base camp at the crack of dawn. With the sun at its peak, Jacob ignored the persistent heat despite the Sergeant’s advisory to take a break, even for a little while. Paul knew his determined Specialist couldn’t be swayed from target practice. Jacob had some demons to work out, and this was one of the only ways he knew how. Besides, how else could Jacob show his appreciation for the Sergeant’s gift?

Another deafening shot rang off, taking Paul by surprise. Once again, the target exploded. However, the Sergeant wasn’t watching that shot. He’d instead been distracted by wiping the sweat from his brow. “Specialist, come on. You’ve been out here all day.”

Still, the prone soldier offered no reply. Jacob cocked the gun once more and lined up his shot. This was the last round in the magazine, and the last of his ammunition altogether. This time, Jacob missed the target, his bullet ricocheting somewhere off in the distance. “Fuck sakes.” Jacob growled infuriatedly. Alas, it was time to call it for the day anyway. “Alright, sir. I’m done.”

“Atta boy.” Paul helped him to his feet and Jacob secured the weapon before placing it carefully in its case. He placed the case into the boot of the open-top Jeep and quickly brushed the sand from his clothing before jumping into the passenger’s side of the vehicle.

Paul climbed behind the steering wheel and started the engine but didn’t shift it into gear right away. He turned to Jacob, recognizing the Specialist’s less-than-subtle annoyance with his last unsuccessful shot. “You’re giving our marksmen a run for their money, Specialist.”

Leaning on his hand against the door, Jacob scoffed. “And I’ll do better tomorrow.”

The Jeep shifted into gear and the pair were on their way. “She fires nicely though, doesn’t she?”

Jacob nodded and smiled. “That she does, sir. I have a rifle just like her back at home. A bolt action Remington 700 with a cheap scope. I could pick off the groundhogs before they even popped out of their holes.”

Paul chuckled and shook his head. “You’re so full of shit, Specialist.”

“Am I, sir?”

The Sergeant kept his steadfast gaze fixed on the road before them. Still, he couldn’t help but chuckle at Jacob’s paltry indignance. “As I live and breathe, Specialist, you are and will always be full of shit. But you come by it honestly, though. Major Kingston still swears that I’m the biggest fucking liar of us all.”

Jacob scoffed, his heart lurching frenetically inside his chest as it usually did at the mention of his beloved Saoirse. Such a thought soothed the dull aching of homesickness in his soul. “You didn’t have to give me that rifle, sir. I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to.”

The Military City’s perimeter appeared on the horizon amidst the ripple of the desert’s vast mirage. “Well, the thing is, I’d like you to consider training at Fort Benning when you finally decide to get out of this shithole. We have a few spots opening on the Special Ops crew and I want you to fill one of them. We need a few more men like you.”

With a conflicted heart, Jacob closed his eyes and felt the Jeep accelerate beneath him. “I appreciate that, sir. I’m not sure when I’ll be going home, but I’d be glad to give it a shot when the time comes.” Jacob then thought of the day when he applied for the Army, standing in line for hours in the Georgia summer sun, to sign a bunch of paperwork and swear the Oath of Enlistment, which he could still recite verbatim. “Be all you can be,” Jacob muttered.

“That’s right, Specialist. Be all you can be.”

As expected, once they arrived at the Army’s locale, Jacob found Saoirse in the lab, hunched over and properly hyper-focused on the painstaking Augmentus research for the first time in days. She didn’t break her focus when he entered the lab, but instead greeted him with a wave over her shoulder. “How’d you make out?”

Jacob shrugged as he set his rifle case and the accompanying empty ammunition cache on the floor beside Saoirse’s desk. “Only missed one target.”

She broke away from the microscope and caught his gaze. “Well done, darling. How does she shoot?”

“Oh, she’s nasty. You just can’t go wrong with a Remington.”

Saoirse grinned and stood up from the desk to peck him quickly on his sandy lips. “You’ll have to take me out with you one of these days. I’d love to see you in action.”

Beneath his belt, Jacob felt the telltale stirring of arousal. It had been a day or two since he’d last ravaged her. “We’re going out again tomorrow at dawn. Unless you’ve got more important things to do, of course.” He motioned at the microscope and the stack of petri dishes next to it.

Planting another kiss on his lips, Saoirse gently bit at his bottom lip and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, we’ll see. But I can think of something much more important right now.” As they slowly backed up together towards the bed, Paul cleared his throat from the doorway. Saoirse quickly broke off and huffed in frustration. Jacob wondered how he would manage to hide his obvious erection.

Paul was clearly tired of walking in on the lovers’ business. “Christ. Sorry to interrupt. I’ve got some mail for you both. And a message for you, Major. From the Pentagon.” He dropped several envelopes and a pink memo onto her desk and disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.

Saoirse’s thoughts shifted away from sex to the enigmatic memo from Washington. Whatever it was, it likely wouldn’t mean good news. “Ugh,” she muttered as she pored over the note. “Yeah, I’m going to have to handle this. I’m sorry, Jake.”

Jacob shrugged and planted a kiss on her forehead before she turned to leave the room. “I will survive.”

“And I’ll make it up to you,” Saoirse whispered as she breathed heavily into his neck. “I promise.”

“Go get ‘em,” Jacob shouted with a smile as Saoirse marched determinedly towards the sliding doors. His heart fluttered when she blew a kiss back at him before she disappeared into the corridor.

Then, in the resounding silence, the Sergeant’s words echoed in his mind. Be all you can be.

With a disappointed sigh, the soldier fell backwards onto the bed and fixated on nothing at all. “All I want to be is happy,” Jacob sighed, knowing that no soul was around to hear him.

Chapter Text

Saoirse was conflicted following her convoluted conference call with the Department of Defense’s Office of the Under Secretary of Defense, Callum Whittaker, the Secretary of the Army, Bruce Hopkins, and Chief Financial Officer, Martin Reid. She recognized that she was weeks overdue on her interim report pertaining to her Augmentus research, but that matter surprisingly wasn’t the reason that prompted their communiqué.

“Major Kingston. It’s a pleasure to speak with you again. We hope you are well, all things considered.” Secretary Hopkins commenced. His deep baritone voice sent chills down her spine. “First and foremost, on behalf of the Department of Defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, we’d like to commend you for your essential participation in the liberation of Kuwait. I hereby offer the opportunity to advance to Lieutenant Colonel.”

Intently, Saoirse listened, unsure of what to say. “Sir, that would be an honour.”

Officer Reid cut in and cleared his throat. Much like Secretary Hopkins, Saoirse recognized his softer, warmer voice immediately. “Good afternoon, Major. As Secretary Hopkins mentioned, your contribution to Coalition efforts this week did not go unnoticed. However, we have one condition you need to meet prior to your promotion.”

“Yes, sir. I’m all ears.”

The secure line crackled with static until Secretary Hopkins spoke up once again. “As you are aware, the Department of Defense has provided you with an inherently unlimited cashflow. Not to worry, we will continue to do so. However, your contribution on the battlefield isn’t the only thing that’s captured some attention around the world.”

Saoirse’s heart fluttered while she reflected on Paul’s briefing in Kuwait. The Specialist caught some unwanted attention while we were clearing the streets of Nasiriyah. “Yes, sir. Sergeant Michaels briefed me on a transmission picked up by the 82^nd Airborne’s comms tech in Nasiriyah. He mentioned that a group of Russian elites were discussing the existence of an American superhuman soldier.”

Silence ensued over the line once more. Finally, Secretary Whittaker cleared his throat and spoke, his booming voice about as hoarse as Sergeant Michaels’, if not more so. “Major, you need to get a handle on it before the chatter hits the mainstream news. If word gets out that you’ve successfully produced a physically enhanced soldier, you’ll be assigned to cleanup duty. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The words fell heavily from her tongue. “May I request permission to engage these Russians if necessary?”

“Affirmative,” came the hasty reply from Secretary Whittaker. “You are authorized to use whatever force you feel may be necessary to protect the asset, unless he is compromised. Make no mistake, Major. This breakthrough cannot fall out of your hands. We understand and appreciate the asset’s youth, and his diligence and efforts in Nasiriyah are fully commended by all of us here in Washington. But, you know that we cannot risk this knowledge falling into the hands of our adversaries. The Russians especially.”

As she slowly exhaled, Saoirse felt the sting of tears welling in her eyes. The thought of harming Jacob in any way was simply unfathomable. “Yes, I understand, sir. I owe you a report on my progress. You’ll receive it in a few days.”

“Thank you, Major,” replied Secretary Whittaker.

Saoirse grunted in acknowledgement. “Sir.”

Officer Reid finally chimed in. “There’s no doubt in our minds that you’ve done a lot of incredible work. In recognition of such efforts, we’re preparing a bonus package to compensate you as a token of our sincerest appreciation.”

“Sir, a bonus is quite generous. I appreciate the gesture, but it’s not necessary.”

Officer Reid chuckled, as did his colleagues. “This compensation package is a formal thank you, but we like to think of it as an investment.”

She sighed, trying even harder to fight the coming tears. Saoirse had grown used to such praise, yet this offer seemed immoral in a way she couldn’t quite place her finger on. “Very well, sir. Thank you.”

“We look forward to your report in the meantime,” Officer Reid stated before saying goodbye and leaving the call. The Chief Financial Officer wasn’t usually this pleasant to deal with. Ultimately, the entire exchange left a bad taste in her mouth.

She exhaled, once again unsure what to say. “Yes, sir.”

Secretary Whittaker spoke up once more. “Oh, just one more thing before we send you on your way.” Saoirse tensed as she waited for the shoe to drop. “The United Nations Security Council has proposed an initiative aimed to monitor the border between Iraq and Kuwait. As you haven’t yet redeployed stateside, the Council has decided to take advantage of having a readily available, strategically placed, specialised task force, so to speak. The Joint Chiefs personally sought your participation in the matter.”

The Major was rendered speechless. Her thoughts had completely stalled as she dwelled upon an obvious problem: what would happen to her research? “Sir, I am honoured. Truly. In fact, I’d be happy to accept the proposal right away, but I need to know what will happen to the Specialist. His brothers are in Georgia, and he’s been hoping for a chance to go back home to see them for weeks. Furthermore, to be able to continue my Augmentus research, I need him here with me, but he needs to go home to see them first.” Saoirse knew she was in no position to make demands, but after the many decades of working with and serving under these notable men in uniform, she was confident that she’d earned a few favours at least.

Secretary Whittaker sighed. He expected the question, yet wished she hadn’t asked it. “Providing the Specialist is on board with your plan, we can assign him to stay there with you. However, we received a request from Sergeant Michaels and Lieutenant General Becker to assign the Specialist to Fort Benning for marksman training immediately. The training will take seven weeks or so.”

Saoirse held back what would have been a very audible gasp, driven by pride towards the Specialist’s commendation. “Frankly, that’s news to me, sir. Sergeant Michaels never mentioned it, and neither did Specialist Seed. I trust that it would be a wonderful opportunity for the Specialist to attend training at Fort Benning. I haven’t yet seen him in action myself, aside from scattered training here on site. Yet, if what I’ve been told holds true, he would be an excellent marksman and a strong asset to accompany me on future assignments. I’d wager that we would make an especially lethal combination alongside his airborne training.”

“Now, please don’t take offense to my next question. Will the Specialist’s absence affect you in any significant way, Major?”

She coughed, surprised by Secretary Hopkins’ forwardness. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, sir.”

Secretary Hopkins paused, presumably to carefully poise his words. “Major, there’s no secret that you and your experiment have formed a…precariously close relationship, shall we say. I would normally argue to terminate the relationship, respecting its inappropriateness, but given how promising the asset’s skills became during his brief time under your oversight, I’ve chosen to turn a blind eye. As has Secretary Whittaker and the rest of us. Now, if the Specialist will be absent from your company while he’s away in training, will you still be effective?”

“Yes, sir. I promise.”

“Good, good. Effective immediately, you are to relocate to Umm Qasr, Iraq. While you’re there, you’ll assist with the construction and installation of a barrier along the border, and you will neutralize any threat as necessary. Once the Specialist completes his training, he’ll redeploy to Umm Qasr to join you. Brief him today and report back on how you’ll both proceed. You have one week. By the end of the week, if we haven’t heard from you, we’ll move forward as discussed.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be in touch.” The phone line immediately went dead. Saoirse sat hunched at the table, alone in the silence of the abandoned Central Communications briefing room and cried.

Chapter Text

After eight long months of braving hell in the Middle East, Specialist Jacob Seed could be going home to Georgia. It was not a decision to be made frivolously.

Jacob was presented with two options, and he spent a great deal of time carefully weighing them. On one hand, he could choose the easier path and stay in Iraq with the Major to support the United Nations Security Council with monitoring tensions along the Iraq-Kuwait border. Or, alternatively, he could return home for twelve weeks to see his brothers and take the designated marksman training at Fort Benning. This opportunity was Jacob’s dream, yet it drove him mad to think about spending twelve weeks away from Saoirse. His safety net. His home away from home.

While Jacob spent the next two days in turmoil, Saoirse stayed loyally at his side and upheld her duty as his wife-to-be to guide and support him. “Whatever you choose, I will give you my blessing, and I mean it.” Saoirse whispered, taunting him delicately with a brush of her hand across the small of his back.

Jacob’s arms squeezed tighter around her as she cuddled up to his chest against the padded leather headboard, her back facing his front. After another long day of marksman practice, together they watched Gilligan’s Island on the small television Saoirse borrowed from the unoccupied lounge.

She could tell by his tenseness that Jacob was too worked up to want to take advantage of their bare skin contact. He hadn’t paid much attention to the television that evening, either. While Saoirse tried diligently to hide her concern, his distractedness became the elephant in the room.

It'd be worth a shot to take his mind off it, though, whispered the insufferable, insatiable harlot that lingered in the filthiest, darkest corners of her mind. Saoirse was aware that she was easy to persuade, especially so while the barren gentleman she cuddled was currently nuzzling his bristly ginger beard into the back of her neck.

Alas, Jacob was uninterested by her attempts to rile him up. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he loosened his grip around her. “If things were different, you know the kinds of trouble I’d be getting myself into.”

Saoirse intertwined her fingers with his, relaxing her weight into his core with a drawn-out exhale. It appeared her feisty little lust demon had finally fizzled out. “Oh, of course I do,” she chuckled, lifting his hand to her face to kiss the back of his palm. “For what it’s worth, watching you hit every one of those targets today… there is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed in Fort Benning.”

Jacob annoyedly huffed. It irked him on a visceral level to receive any positive praise, even when he knew it was warranted.

Still, Saoirse continued, slipping out of his arms to turn around and face him from the foot of the bed. “Paul and I are on the same page. If you give up an opportunity like this to stay here and suffer with me in this godforsaken shithole, I will never let you live it down. Mark my words.”

“I just… Why does it sound like you’re trying to get rid of me, Sairs?”

She winked playfully at her sullen lover. “What? No, I would never want that! Though, I would get more work done if I didn’t have such a nice piece of ass nearby to keep me distracted.” Saoirse expected him to dig his stubborn heels in and cop his usual attitude. Instead, he remained unfazed, much to her surprise. Jacob certainly was somewhere else in that moment. Saoirse snapped her fingers and regained his attention. “Hey, you. Everything is going to be okay. I love you. Never forget that I love you.”

Jacob solemnly nodded. “I know. And I love you, too. I’m sorry for being a fucking downer tonight. It’s not exactly what you need from me if I do take that ticket home.”

 “What exactly is stopping you from jumping on this, anyway? We both know your heart yearns for it. Why not just go?”

As Jacob exhaled, he felt his breath hitch in his throat as he became choked by sorrow. “I can’t lose you, Saoirse. The training will take twelve weeks. That means three months without contact with one another. If I go back to Georgia, I have no way of keeping in touch with you. Aside from fucking letter mail. What happens if I don’t make it through the training and can’t find you or my brothers? What happens if you’ve moved on by the time I come back? I mean, that happened often enough to the guys in my unit.”

“I’m about to smack the shit out of you, Jake.”

Jacob couldn’t tell if Saoirse was kidding or not, and he wasn’t keen on finding out. “Hey, you’re the one who asked. I’m just telling you what I’m terrified of. I am terrified of living in a world where I can’t have more nights like this with you.”

As she sensed his fear, Saoirse resumed her place wrapped in his arms. “Twelve weeks of marksman training will breeze by, and before you know it, you’ll be back here to enjoy many more nights like this together. I swear we will be together again, but you must look toward the future you want for yourself, Jake. As for your brothers, as for me, and whoever else you might be fighting for, we will support you. No matter what.”

As he closed his eyes, Jacob fought his quivering lip, a sensation he’d truly grown to hate. It made him feel weak and he couldn’t afford to be weak now. This choice would shape his future. This was his sacrifice. “How do you feel about it though?”

She sighed, kissing his collarbone before laying her head upon his chest. She could hear his sonorous heartbeat fluttering at her skin’s gentle touch. “My feelings don’t apply here. This is not my choice to make, my love. Of course, if you choose to get on that plane, and I sincerely hope that you do, I will be devastated to watch you leave. I mean, to go where you’ll be going and to learn what you’ll be learning, I could never be prouder of you. As your future wife and companion, I want you to be proud of yourself for being brave enough to do what you want. Invest in yourself, Jacob. Be all you can be.”

Jacob’s head shot up to lock eyes with her. His expression was deadpan, eliciting Saoirse’s predictable smirk. “You really had to go there, huh. You gonna pull rank next?”

“Would it be enough to distract you from this fucking pity party?”

His smirk mirrored hers. “You know, it just might be.”

Saoirse rose from the bed and crawled atop him, staring down into his eyes like a predator salivating over her prey. “Without using that handsome, giant prick, your next mission is to make me squirm. Let’s call it Operation Banshee.”

She gave Jacob a stern, unimpressed glance when he obnoxiously snorted. “I’m sorry. It’s still hard to take you seriously when you pull rank while seducing me.”

Still, Saoirse’s sternness didn’t falter. Baring her teeth, she growled, “That’s an order, Specialist.”

Jacob’s cheeky grin disappeared once he realized that Saoirse’s ferocity had instantly worked him up. “Yes, ma’am. Permission to engage?”

“Permission granted,” she muttered as Jacob flipped her onto her back. She closed her eyes tightly at the feel of his beard against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Jacob’s roughened fingers trailed down her neck and crept slowly towards her belly, stopping abruptly on her hips to brace the backs of her knees against his shoulders. Saoirse tilted her head back against the headboard as she exhaled, utterly pleased that the titillated tart who lurked in the gutters of her mind had finally shut her foul mouth. This moment was, in fact, the purest moment of bliss, and she vowed to savour it for as long as possible.

However, all good things must eventually come to an end.

Chapter Text

On March 2^nd, 1991, the United Nations Security Council passed Resolution 686, which focussed on the cessation of all hostilities between remaining forces within Kuwait and Iraq. Following Resolution 686, the Council passed Resolution 689, which was designed to implement a specialized joint observation force assigned to monitor and report any tensions and hostilities along the Kuwait-Iraq border. Resolution 689 also necessitated a heavily manned reinforced wall to buttress a demilitarized zone intended to deter and neutralize hostilities from either side.

The wall would take approximately six months to erect. Its construction kicked off in April with a slow, agonizing crawl, as first groundbreaking step required the excavation of a fifteen-foot-square trench, which would later be reinforced with coiled razor wire and a ten-foot sand wall. In total, the barrier extended over upwards of one hundred and twenty kilometres, resting between the border of Kuwait and Iraq.

Following her promotion which was made official on a week after Jacob’s 19^th birthday, Lieutenant Colonel Saoirse Kingston was reassigned to Umm Qasr to assist a select number of Army Infantry Divisions that were deployed to Iraq by the United Nations Security Council.

Several thousand troops were redeployed from nearly forty countries to assist with its construction, most notably among them was the reputable Canadian Combat Engineer Regiment. She recognized and observed first-hand the mercilessness and cold-bloodedness that, in the past, Canadian soldiers showed any surrendered and captured Axis soldiers during the World War One and Two. With respect for their attitudes towards an otherwise uncompromising enemy, Saoirse found herself nothing short of amused with the Canadians’ friendliness and eagerness to work alongside her.

Unfortunately, none of the souls within the Combat Engineer Regiment were familiar by name alone. She couldn’t relate to these troops and build trust the way she had with the British 1^st Armoured Division. Nonetheless, to her surprise, the stories of her contributions to the Allies’ efforts from the World Wars transcended international borders and multiple generations of soldiers.

Despite not knowing everyone herself, everyone seemed to know her, and she was treated like a celebrity for the first few months of the mission. When all the attention finally died down, Saoirse felt great relief. The only attention she really wanted was that of her husband-to-be, whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to in weeks.

It was now mid July. The desert heat grew even more unforgiving than before as daily temperatures continued to rise, some days’ highs peaking upwards of forty-five degrees Celsius. During the unbearable Arabian summers, between the extreme heat and very little precipitation, devastating sandstorms were commonplace. The sandstorms would wreak havoc on construction and continuously delayed the border wall’s construction by days, sometimes weeks on end. There was a lot of downtime, and not a lot to do to enjoy it.

The quaint little port city of Umm Qasr was once a strategic military port during many historic conflicts and proved to be a lovely reprieve from the desert’s hostile dryness. The city had been built on the Arabian Coast and was once a small fishing village prior to its rapid expansion over several decades. The humidity was its own kind of torture, however, especially on the hotter days. Even under the sweltering sun, while off-duty, Saoirse spent a great deal of time walking along the cratered remnants of the city’s once-popular sandy beaches. Unfortunately, the port’s inlet was hit by a Tomahawk missile barrage during one of the Coalition’s many bombing campaigns during the aerial portion of the Gulf War.

Although most of the city’s buildings and infrastructure was spared from the bombings, the humble residents of Umm Qasr suffered the worst of consequences of what was effectively a modern-day siege. Poverty and starvation ran rampant in the open. Kids went dirty, hungry, and ragged while they played in the streets. The devastation tugged at Saoirse’s heart strings. On many leisurely patrols of the shoreline, she would greet and talk to any civilians she met, while giving them clean clothing, food, and water while they went on about their lives.

It was no surprise that the local people wanted nothing at all to do with Saddam’s war over greed and the many hells that accompanied it. While Saoirse made her daily patrols of Umm Qasr’s vast stretch of shoreline, she faced a most unfortunate truth: despite its cause, wherever there was rampant poverty and famine, there was most assuredly disease. To her understanding, there were few doctors still living in the area who shared even fewer medical facilities, let alone facilities with adequate sterile equipment and supplies.

With tensions constantly rising along the Iraq-Kuwait border, only a handful of trained medical personnel were dispatched from the World Health Organization to assist where local doctors and nurses fell short.

As of late, the local child and elderly populations were severely affected by malaria and West Nile Fever, and their existing treatments were inexpensive and readily available. Under normal circumstances, most of the presenting infections would resolve themselves within several days of proper nutrition and rest. However, these were far from normal times. There was a serious spike in illness-related deaths in the months following the end of the Gulf War, a reality she decided to focus on in lieu of her research.

For the time being, Saoirse focused her efforts and funding on an avenue of experimental immune therapies to prevent infection on a cellular level and aimed for the most vulnerable populations: the young and the old. However, with consideration for how rife poverty became, vulnerability to disease expanded into the healthy populations as well. This did not bode well for the present strain on medical staff and their limited supplies.

One day at a time, Saoirse muttered to herself.

On one particularly hot July evening, Saoirse manned the mounted turret on her unit’s Humvee as it prowled along the port’s many occupied docks. Most of the marine traffic consisted of fishing boats and passenger ferries. Everything was routine that evening. So routine, in fact, that it just might have been an early night for her unit. Not a soul in the Humvee dared to acknowledge the obvious lack of reportable incidents. It was a cardinal rule: the Q-word did not exist.

At 2200 hours, the Humvee rolled up to an open Quonset once it passed the United Nations Security Council headquarters’ security checkpoint. Its six occupants quickly exited the vehicle once its engine shut off, making haste for the mess hall. A long night of patrolling required a hearty meal.

That is, for everyone except Saoirse, who wasn’t hungry, as per usual. Instead, she made her way to her private quarters and locked her door behind her. In the privacy of her bedroom, she could dwell on her sorrows in peace.

Saoirse’s thoughts dwelled on a beautiful family of five, three of which were very young children, with whom she crossed paths earlier that afternoon. The children, she observed, were all affected by severe malnutrition, and unfortunately, their prognosis was poor at best. There wasn’t much Saoirse could do besides offer what little food and water she could spare.

At the time, the three children distinctly reminded her of the stories Jacob told of his childhood. How he spent years suffering from food insecurity, being raised by parents who couldn’t be arsed to care for him.

All the same, those children had parents who were doing their best for their children, despite their unwarranted hardship. The parents appeared to have skipped more than a few meals themselves. The family’s collective gratitude left Saoirse feeling bittersweet.

At 2300 hours, just as her eyes closed, an anonymous voice shouted, “mail call!” from outside the door. Saoirse groaned in annoyance before lifting herself off the bed to answer it. At this hour, this mail had best be important.

But it wasn’t mail at all. Standing wearily in front of her, holding a rifle case and duffel bag, was Jacob. “Hi, Sairs,” he said with a smile that stretched across his face, making her melt. Although Jacob missed his brothers, he was finally back in heaven where he belonged.

Without saying a word, tears streaming down her dust-speckled cheeks, Saoirse impatiently grabbed him by the collar of his fatigue jacket and pulled him through the doorway, slamming and locking the door behind him. Jacob set his duffel down on the floor at the foot of the bed and slid the rifle case under the frame.

He hadn’t stood up completely before his beloved wife-to-be tackled him to the floor and started clawing at the bottom seam of his tank top. A jumbled heap of camouflage fatigues began to fly across the room and soon, the only sounds that echoed between the four walls were the heavy pants and gasps stemming from two lovers’ mutual desires.

Straddling Jacob’s waist, Saoirse bent over and leaned in close to his ear. As she exhaled and planted soft kisses along his earlobe and jawline, she whispered, “You will never leave me again, Jacob Seed.” She then watched as his eyes went wild. It was the same feral look he would give when she pulled rank in bed.

“I won’t,” Jacob growled as he pulled his fiancée into a messy kiss and fixed his grip on the back of her neck. “God knows I won’t.”

Chapter Text

Having spent eleven weeks in Fort Benning, Georgia, along with several hundred other testosterone-fuelled killing machines, each on their own mission to discover their true potential, had done a number on Jacob. Despite this, however, along with sharpening his marksmanship skills, Jacob learned a thing or two from his cohorts about finding his way around a woman. Once he mastered a handful of new bedroom skills, it only tortured him to have to wait to return to his fiancée to put them to good use. And finally, there he was, inciting his fiancée to make noises he’d never heard before.

Much like their arrangements at King Khalid, Saoirse eventually installed a secluded bedroom within her private lab, which doubled as her office to save space. There were far fewer individuals given clearance to enter the lab on a regular basis, which Saoirse found advantageous for keeping focused on her work. Not to mention, the risks of being barged in on were far lesser as well.

His off-duty time aligned with Saoirse’s on Tuesdays. Though it didn’t seem like a lot of time, one full day of the week off-duty together gave them plenty of opportunity to spend some time alone.

It took nearly three weeks of what Jacob referred to as dirty, sinful business before he could manage to keep his hands off Saoirse. After the fourth week, Jacob felt confident that they had finally ironed out a functional routine which maximized their potential for intimacy.

Tuesday began with a moderately sized protein-heavy breakfast washed down with eight ounces of water to start the morning off strong. Typically, Jacob would drink black coffee and Saoirse would drink green tea, but in the scorching summer heat, water quickly became their preferred option.

The pair would then run a mile by making twelve or so laps around the Security Council headquarters’ perimeter. To Saoirse’s amusement, her lover grew adept at catching up with her, and Jacob’s competitive drive to be the hunter gave rise to an indescribable excitement within her.

Often, especially as time went on, their warm-up mile run would become a domination race between the predator and prey, which bred a new form of tension. In no time, their game of cat-and-mouse would progress into a hasty return to the privacy of their shared quarters where the real fun would begin.

The rest of Tuesday would then be spent rolling around in bed with his beloved bride to be.

Simply put, Jacob couldn’t wait for the following day. Yet, to his bewilderment, Saoirse did not share the same enthusiasm. He had noticed how quiet she’d been most of the day. “Are you alright?”

Although distracted, Saoirse did her best to keep him from worrying and offered her most reassuring smile. Alas, Jacob wasn’t buying it, and she knew the gig was up. “I’ve got a bad feeling I can’t shake.”

“Is it about that family you’re treating for malaria?”

Saoirse nodded. Somehow, he always knew. “They’re just not getting any better.”

As he massaged her shoulders, Jacob sighed. “You said that these things take time.”

“They do,” she huffed. “Maybe I need to give them another week. Maybe it’s the malnourishment. But I’ve given them anti-malarial drugs. They’ve had three or more weeks of fluids. Those kids are sleeping nearly twelve hours a day. And yet…” Saoirse rose to her feet and stood in front of the corkboard that held dozens of snippets from local newspapers and declassified post-conflict memos about Saddam Hussein’s latest political appearances. She’d analyzed each snippet dozens of times over the past several months, and although she had memorized every single minute detail, she was still missing something. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Run it by me.” Jacob proffered. He wasn’t fluent, per se, in bioscientific jargon, but he’d picked up enough of the language over the last six months to be comfortable with his comprehension of the vast majority of what information Saoirse occasionally provided. “Maybe you need a second set of eyes and ears.”

She scoffed at his insistence, but sincerely appreciated his offer. In the past, Jacob proved to be incredibly insightful at times. “Right. For starters, a typical malaria infection presents with a fever, chills, headache, and pain in their muscles and joints. If the illness is left untreated, patients can go into respiratory failure and convulsions and often die within a day or so. These people, this family… they have the symptoms of malaria, but there’s something different.”

“You mean different as in they have other, more unusual symptoms?”

Saoirse nodded vehemently. “Yes. Exactly. I would even argue that their other unusual symptoms are completely unrelated to malaria in general.”

His interest was fully piqued, mostly due to how animated Saoirse became after an evening of being so atypically quiet. “Well, what symptoms are you talking about?”

She grabbed a small stack of papers from the desk and passed them behind her. As Jacob skimmed through, he winced at the pages which contained grainy but discernible pictures of grotesque skin lesions. “You think it’s a chemical agent? Maybe a side effect of all that oil they burnt in the Euphrates. Can’t be good for the local water table.”

“That’s what I thought too, except we’re also monitoring aquatic life, and everything seems normal. My guess is something biohazardous. Maybe anthrax.”

Jacob cocked an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“The symptoms of anthrax compare with those of malaria. If inhaled, the patient experiences fever and shortness of breath. If ingested, the patient experiences nausea, vomiting, and abdominal pain. Direct contact will result in skin lesions. What are we looking at here?”

He swallowed hard and dropped the papers back onto the desk. “Jesus, Saoirse.” The implications of a weaponized biological agent were nothing but nightmarish. “What can we do?”

“We will do nothing.” She bluntly responded. “Without a solid basis, inferences and assumptions can cause bigger problems than we’re prepared to deal with right now. I can begin testing immediately. If the suspicion of anthrax is confirmed, every soldier and civilian in Umm Qasr would need a course of prophylactic drugs. For a city this big, we would need a huge shipment of antibiotics, and that could take days to pull together. If the family doesn’t improve within the next day or so, I fear they won’t have long left.”

Although he felt a pit of despair begin to grow deep in his belly, Jacob was grateful to have provided some insight to Saoirse’s conundrum. It seemed she was already starting to return to her normal self. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Saoirse nodded and turned away from the corkboard to meet his gaze. “You, my dear Jacob, can help me take my mind off this matter for the rest of the night. I understand it’s not the most enticing thought to share the night before our day off.”

Jacob snickered and pulled her into his shoulder for a lopsided hug. “I’m glad you’re putting work off to the side. For now, anyway.”

“Hmm, yes. For now.” She reciprocated his giggle and relaxed in his arms. “So, when are you going to tell me more about Fort Benning? Or should I just assume that you and your cohorts were up to no good for twelve weeks?”

He shrugged. “I’ve told you some stuff.”

“Well, that settles that, then,” Saoirse playfully scoffed before she playfully pushed him towards the bed. This wouldn’t become an attempt to seduce him, but to simply warm things up once more.

Jacob rolled his eyes and shook his head to try and hide his creeping smile. It was a losing battle every time Saoirse looked at him the way she did with such gorgeous eyes that stared straight through his soul. “Fine, I’ll tell you all about it. Jeez,” he chuckled. “I mean, there’s not much to tell you, honestly. I tried to keep a low profile, especially in the beginning, just to avoid drawing attention to the Augmentus thing. But there aren’t many folks in the Army who haven’t heard of you in some fashion, and when they found out that I’ve been seeing you, I was cornered and questioned. Constantly. But I was taught that gentlemen don’t dare kiss and tell.”

He paused to undress and watched in awe as Saoirse did the same. “It’s my fault they found out about you, though. I kept a photo of you in my bunk. Found it in an armed forces newsletter from a few years back. Besides the scar on my thigh, there’s no proof that you exist in my life, so I was just another ass filling a cot. Then, one day, I get a racy letter with an even racier picture to go with it. I managed to keep it out of their hands for three weeks or so, but…” As the words crossed over his tongue, Jacob blushed and shuddered.

Saoirse’s jaw slacked in mild horror, but behind the initial shock hid her mounting amusement. “Oh, Jake.” Containing the laughter would soon prove to be a losing battle.

As Jacob’s cheeks and ears burned red, he buried his face in the collar of Saoirse’s jacket and groaned in anguish. “I tried to hide it, Sairs, but you know how it is. There are only so many times that a man can hear the same disgusting questions before he loses his fucking mind. I’m willing to bet that’s my penance for loving such a jaw-dropping babe.”

“Turning every head in the immediate vicinity is exhausting, believe me.” She retorted with a chuckle. “But is being my fiancé really a penance?”

Jacob sighed exasperatedly but didn’t lose his smirk. “No, no. It’s just fucking torture to have to listen to a dozen or more other dudes getting their rocks off at the thought of you. I mean, it’s great for my own confidence, but I’ve already spent too many years sharing shit and I’m not too fond about the idea of… sharing… you.” Somehow, Jacob’s face turned even redder. “It even sounds uncomfortable. Yuck.”

Alas, Saoirse failed to contain her laughter. “I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out after a handful of vain attempts to regain composure. “It’s an unpleasant thing, I know. Eventually you grow numb to it.”

“Yeah,” he nodded with the slightest recoil. “I admit I used it to my advantage.”

Curious, and having finally composed herself, Saoirse cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Jacob nodded as he leaned against the headboard. His bare, scarified chest and belly glistened with sweat, which Saoirse refused to acknowledge until he finished his thrilling account of Fort Benning. “I met a gay chick in my cohort with the biggest crush on you, and she told me the secret to eating pussy. I’m not convinced that it works yet, but I think she might have been onto something. I need some field experience to form more conclusive data.”

Saoirse gasped in sinful anticipation. “Specialist Seed, you dog. How dare you use such jargon against me so recklessly?”

“Is that a yes, Lieutenant Colonel?” He raised one eyebrow and bit his lip.

When she crawled in next to him, the hunger and urgency of Jacob’s kiss took Saoirse pleasantly by surprise. “That’s two foul balls,” she panted. “Feel like batting a third?”

“Not yet, no,” Jacob gasped between drawn-out kisses. “I’ve got some work to do first.”

Chapter Text

To Saoirse’s utter shock, the five members of the afflicted familial cluster who were isolated inside the lab and monitored around the clock had rapidly deteriorated and crashed sometime throughout the night. At 0700 that morning, the chief medical examiner performed five autopsies and came to a startling conclusion: they had all died of acute sepsis from suspected anthrax inhalation. It would take a few days for the samples to be analyzed before the suspicion was confirmed, but nonetheless, the news of a potential anthrax outbreak swiftly rippled through the base and panic began to arise.

Ultimately, as much as she loved being right, the news completely ruined Saoirse’s off-duty plans. “Looks like I’m going back out to the field,” she grumbled as she crawled out of bed to get dressed. Jacob, on the other hand, was far more accepting of the sudden change of plans. There was always next Tuesday and the Tuesday after that. “What are you going to do while I’m gone?”

“I’ll probably go to the range. Maybe I’ll go to the beach. I might just stay here in bed, even though it’s boring without you.” Whatever his plans were for the day, Jacob was certainly going nowhere fast. “So, there might be an anthrax outbreak. What does that mean for us? Here on base, I mean.”

“That depends on if we determine whether the cluster was an isolated incident or not. If it was an isolated incident, which I’m hoping it was, we’ll report the situation to the World Health Organization and take preventative measures to eliminate the spores. I hope it doesn’t come down to this, but we will need to test tons of samples of organic tissue and environmental matter to see if this strain of anthrax was lab-engineered or naturally occurring. If it was lab-engineered, we’ll be in trouble.”

Jacob swallowed hard. “Didn’t the United States dismantle their biological weapons manufacturing program and destroy the stockpiles we had back in the 70s?”

Saoirse shrugged before she pulled yesterday’s shirt back over her head. “In theory, yes, that’s what we were told had happened. Who knows what really happened though. The government tends to tell us one thing and do something entirely different. Not to mention what side of the fence the rest of the world still falls on even after they all signed the Biological Weapons Convention in 1972.”

“Well, come on, Saoirse. Don’t you know everything by now?” Jacob teased with a playful wink. “Didn’t the Russians sell a bunch of bioweapons to Iraq years ago?”

Her hesitance told all. “Well, I’ll bet they did. There were a few rumours in circulation, especially at the beginning of the Cold War, that were never specifically denied by the Kremlin. From what I remember, at least from when I was spying on Moscow in the 60s and 70s, the Soviet Union needed some financial backing after multiple failed space exploration initiatives and decades of economic sanctions. This century was extremely unkind to the good, honest people of Russia. Seems like what’s been happening here, don’t you think?”

“You know what I love about you, Saoirse?” Jacob asked as he closed his eyes and beckoned her to come towards him with his usually irresistible, heartwarming smile.

“My sweet ass?” she joked.

Jacob didn’t laugh per se but cracked a half-smile. “I sure do love that.” He tried desperately but failed to not let his disappointment shine through. As Saoirse finally complied and sauntered towards the bed, Jacob sat up and swung his legs over the side of the mattress to allow for a proper hug goodbye. “I love that you care enough about the world to want to fix all of its problems that I bet don’t usually affect you.”

Saoirse approached him slowly and rested her forehead on his shoulder. It was time to go to work, and just for a fleeting moment she envied Jacob’s day of freedom. “In my opinion, it’s much better to be respected than feared. I tend to avoid violence whenever possible.” She paused to reflect for a moment before she laughed and shook her head. “Now that I’ve said it out loud, I realize how ironic it must sound for a Lieutenant Colonel of the United States Army to prefer nonviolence.”

This time, Jacob laughed. “Maybe just a little.”

Saoirse planted a kiss on his lips and cheek before she turned back towards the bedroom door. “Well, I’ll try to make it home in time for an early dinner. Don’t have too much fun without me. I love you.”

“I’ll be here when you get back, I love you!” Jacob shouted as he watched her slim frame slip through the door before it closed behind her.

It was undoubtedly going to be a long day for them both.

Once her Humvee arrived in the streets of Umm Qasr, Saoirse spotted the established perimeter of a biohazard containment unit that had already begun taking samples. The collection of such samples was a painstaking albeit necessary task. This matter had the potential to become an international threat, which therefore required every biohazard containment agent in the area to be as thorough as possible. Nothing could be overlooked.

Saoirse met with the unit commander who briefed her on his team’s progress. The unit had already canvassed all residences within a ten mile radius and to her pleasant surprise, they found no immediate evidence of exposure to anthrax.

However, Saoirse was convinced that this matter was much bigger than an isolated incident. In fact, her gut instinct screamed at her to dig deeper. Think harder, she instructed. If a family of five got sick from direct exposure to anthrax… “where were they and what were they doing at the time they were exposed?” she rhetorically asked aloud. And unfortunately, it’s a little too late to ask them, Saoirse briefly lamented before marching northeast towards the pier.

In its early stages, anthrax tended to thrive in cool, moist soil, which there seemed to be a shortage of within the municipality of Umm Qasr. However, once fully propagated, B. anthracis thrived in livestock pens. The gentle yet unmistakable bleating of goats caught Saoirse’s attention and once she determined which direction to follow, she broke out into a sprint and followed the sound.

Yet again, to her surprise, there was no evidence of anthrax in any of the goat pens in the city. The animals appeared healthy, and the mystery continued to grow. Unfortunately, so did her frustration. To be certain, Saoirse carefully gathered what samples she could fit into her Pelican case before returning to the Humvee. It was mid-afternoon, after all, and she hoped to spend at least some time with her fiancé before he returned to his recon post the following morning.

On the Humvee’s short jaunt back to base, Saoirse wished she could have had Katrina’s help. An extra set of hands to analyze the tissue samples she’d collected from the city’s livestock would surely have been a blessing. Unfortunately, besides Saoirse, there were only three lab technicians on base, and one could have reasonably assumed that they were already slammed.

Saoirse debated whether she ought to make an urgent request for more manpower, but with respect for the highly sensitive nature of the current assignment, the existing manpower would have to suffice. Additional hands in the pie would likely fuel the existing concerns of the potential for future outbreaks.

And that simply wouldn’t do.

One of the technicians waved Saoirse down as she entered the open-concept lab and set her Pelican case upon an open table. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel. When you have a moment, I would like you to come take a look at this.” Although he was quite young for such a high-profile assignment, Saoirse recognized that this technician had great potential in comparison with his cohorts.

“You got it, Beni. One second.” Another technician helped Saoirse organize her samples before taking the workload off her entirely. “Thank you. I’ll follow up with you about these later tonight.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Came the timid anonymous technician’s hasty reply. Saoirse made a mental note to formerly introduce herself when she found the time.

Although exhausted, Saoirse knew that her day’s work was far from over. In fact, it pained her greatly to realize that she might not have any time to spend with Jacob at all. “Alright, Beni. What am I looking at?” She peered down into Beni’s microscope lens and took a moment to gather her bearings.

“This is a soil sample taken from the backyard of your deceased family’s home. I’ve identified several small groups of spores, but such amounts shouldn’t have caused a lethal infection. Unless the family were immunocompromised somehow.”

Saoirse inhaled sharply. “Their blood tests came back clear. I suppose it might be possible that severe malnutrition resulted in reduced immunity, but we mostly see that in children.” She paused for a moment as she re-checked the slide. “Oh. Wait.”

“Yes?” Beni asked as he slowly approached Saoirse from her flank. “What do you see, Lieutenant?”

Saoirse raised her hand to stop him from getting any closer. “Beni, get everyone out of the lab. Now.”

Immediately, the other two technicians stopped what they were doing and stood from their desks. “Lieutenant?” one of them asked with a hint of panic in their voice.

At first, Saoirse paid the technician no mind. Beni was instructed to gather his cohorts and abscond for the decontamination bay immediately. But when the other technician shouted in surprise and terror, Saoirse broke her stare from the microscope and found the technician holding up a bloody arm. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, rushing over to assess the technician’s injury. Whatever sample the technician had been working with seemed to have found its way through a neat slice in their glove and into a small cut atop the technician’s hand. “When did you cut your hand?”

“I…I don’t know.” the technician stammered. “I haven’t been using blades of any kind.”

“Here!” the other technician shouted as they held up a broken microscope slide. “This one’s got blood on it.”

With a sigh, Saoirse grasped the injured technician’s wrist and squeezed as tightly as possible to cut off circulation above their injury in hopes that whatever contaminants had possibly entered the wound wouldn’t be able to spread. “Set the slide on the table and get out. That’s an order.”

The injured technician began to panic and tried to pull her arm away from Saoirse, but to no avail. “Please, Lieutenant. Am I going to die?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Without knowing what she was working with, Saoirse couldn’t prescribe a specific prophylactic, so she opted for several instead. “These might make you feel woozy, but they’ll at least prevent severe illness if there’s anything dangerous in that sample you were analyzing. Listen, I know it’s scary, but you need to breathe. Focus on your inhale and control your exhale. In through your nose, and out through your mouth.”

Her feeble attempt to soothe the frantic technician worked, but little did Saoirse know that this was the calm before the storm.

Chapter Text

In a matter of hours, the cut on the back of United Nations-appointed technician Irena Spalka’s hand necrotized and resulted in an emergency amputation of her forearm arm an inch above the elbow. Unfortunately, however, the amputation wasn’t performed soon enough. That same evening, Irena’s condition deteriorated rapidly while gas gangrene and sepsis spread rampantly around her body. After she endured multiple organ system failures over the span of several hours, Irena passed away just eleven minutes before midnight.

When Saoirse received the news of Irena’s death, not wanting to wake her sleeping lover, she cried alone in the silence of her private lab from the gut-punch cocktail of guilt and helplessness.

Irena’s autopsy results came back positive not only for B. anthracis, but C. perfringens, C. botulinum, and S. pyogenes. None of which spelled good news for the people of Umm Qasr or the United Nations forces on base.

As a result of such an unforeseen, high-profile death, effective immediately, no one was permitted to enter the contaminated lab without proper Bio-Safety Level 3 training, which limited authorized personnel to only herself and Beni. It would’ve been an appropriate time to finally make her request for additional help, but like before, Saoirse hesitated to make the request out of fear of word getting out.

Alas, the sudden death of Irena Spalka also meant that Saoirse couldn’t return to her quarters after a long day of work, when all she wanted to do was lay with Jacob and make love.

Nothing seemed to go the way Saoirse hoped that week.

She could, however, speak to Jacob through the intercom and see him through the massive plexiglass window. Such primitive means of contact couldn’t compare with a tender, loving kiss or a comforting hug, but it would have to suffice until the threat of contaminating the rest of the base was neutralized. At most, Saoirse would need to spend a night or two on a cot in the observation gallery. “When all this is over, we’re taking a month-long leave of absence,” Saoirse huffed in irritation, which made Jacob chuckle. “I’m serious.”

“A month off together would be fantastic!” He beamed. “Except you’re married to your job and that means I’d have to get creative with finding ways to keep you distracted.”

Saoirse raised a wary eyebrow and tsked in response. “Hey, I’m not that bad. You can’t use Tuesday as an argument, either. Those were special circumstances.”

Jacob playfully rolled his eyes. “Well, you care too much, and now you’re stuck in here until you process your samples. Tell me, how does it feel to be the one locked in a cage? How does it feel, baby?”

“Oh, shut up.” She grumbled flatly. “I was thinking that we should go somewhere with a nice, white sand beach.”

“Georgia has nice beaches.” Jacob suggested. “We’d have to drive a few hours to get to a beach, but it’d be worth the trip.”

Saoirse smirked and pressed her forehead to the glass. “Are you allowed to swim and sunbathe nude in Georgia?”

Jacob pondered for a moment. “I might be wrong, but I think you’d need a fenced-in property, which would defeat the purpose of going to a beach. So, I guess Georgia’s out. How about somewhere tropical like the Caribbean?”

She gasped in excitement. “I’d love to go back to Cuba. There are a few historical sites I’d love to show you. Cold War era stuff.”

Jacob’s eyes lit up with interest. He lived for war stories, especially firsthand accounts. And boy, did Saoirse have a lot of them. “Did you fight in the Bay of Pigs?”

With remorse, Saoirse shook her head. “No. I was in Moscow at the time, under the identity of Captain Ludmilla Jovovich, a KGB agent that defected to Russia from Belarus in 1949. I heard about the mission’s failure from my CIA colleagues. It was a bad idea from its conception and the government knew as much. No, I came back from Moscow in time for the Cuban Missile Crisis. Now, that was a hairy mess.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in meeting Captain Ludmilla in the bedroom one day.”

From across the room, a very uncomfortable Beni cleared his throat. “Alright, kiddies. Let’s just keep things professional.”

Jacob outwardly scoffed. “Sorry, buddy. I forgot you were there.”

Beni rolled his eyes and muttered something that neither Saoirse nor Jacob could hear before he turned his back to the window.

Saoirse sighed and pressed her palm flat against the glass, and Jacob did the same. “I think that’s my cue to get back to it, my love.”

“Do you mind if I stick around and watch? I won’t keep distracting you, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Saoirse cautioned, but she knew that Jacob had already made his choice. “You can be our coffee and meal gopher. If you wouldn’t mind, of course.”

He coolly shook his head. “No, not at all. Beni, you hungry?”

Beni turned back around and smiled. “How kind of you. I could go for a latte. Caffe Americano, please. Hold the foam. It’s bad for my digestion.”

Jacob rolled his eyes in turn. “Anything for you, my love? The usual?” although, he couldn’t seem to remember how Saoirse took her coffee.

With a soft smile, Saoirse shook her head. “Nothing for me, darling. Thank you, though.”

After a swift acknowledgement and a wink goodbye, Jacob left the observation gallery. Beni sighed with slight relief. “Oh, he’s dreamy. Don’t mind me asking, I’m just curious…What’s the story behind his scars?”

“Isn’t he easy on the eyes?” she giggled like an infatuated teenager. “We met in January on a botched rescue in Al Jahra after he and his teammate were ambushed by Iraqis. They captured and held them for two days without food or water. And the scars… as far as I’m aware, he had an adverse reaction to some IV drug back at base. I took him under my wing, and we became inseparable. The rest is history.”

Beni cocked a curious eyebrow. “I’ve heard whispers about your Jakey-Boo from my partner, Denny Leroux. He’s a troop transport pilot in the 1^st Canadian Air Division of the Royal Canadian Air Force.”

Saoirse snorted and covered her nose with her sleeved upper arm. “Beni and Denny. That’s the best thing I’ve heard all week.” She pondered for a moment on the one hundred and sixty thousand Canadian Francophones whom she had the privilege of mingling with so many years ago. “I would love to have you both for dinner once we’re all back at home. I’m currently in between addresses, but the dust will settle eventually.”

“Oh, we would love to.” Beni burned off his culture sample inside the gas torch flame and set his steel inoculation loop tool upon his workbench. “You know, despite how screwed up things have been this week, this has been nice,” Beni remarked. “Again, with the awkward questions. Has anyone ever asked you about your views on gay people in the military?”

She shook her head. “You’d be the first. Honestly, I’d never thought about it before. A soldier with a gun is just a soldier with a gun, regardless of their preferences below the belt. As long as no one’s fiddling animals or kids. Where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking this time? I can’t place your accent.”

Beni smiled, but his smile seemed to hide an underlying bitterness. “I came from Zadar, Croatia. My family emigrated to Canada after the War of Independence broke out. I was six years old. Denny was the first kid to ever say hello to me in school. He was my best friend all the way through. Our first kiss was in elementary school and our first dance was at prom.”

Saoirse couldn’t help but smile. “Are you married?”

With great excitement, Beni fervently nodded his head. “It’ll be two years and four months on August 1^st. Of course, we’ll never be legitimately recognized in either of my parents’ eyes, but I’m over it, honey. Catholics, am I right?”

After several futile attempts to smother her deep belly laughter, Saoirse couldn’t help but to double over. “Yes, Catholics. Oh, I understand where you’re coming from. Thank you, I needed a good laugh.”

Beni chuckled as he wearily prepared his thousandth petri dish of the day. “Well, how about you two? Any plans to tie the knot? You can’t let him slip away. He’s a real treat.”

“I bet it would make his day if you told him that. don’t be shy.” Saoirse playfully winked. “We are engaged, yes. We don’t have a date yet, though. I know it’s a little bit rushed. I can’t explain how, but we both felt it was right.”

“Of course it is. The chemistry is très chaud. Your Jakey-Boo cares a lot about you, Lieutenant.”

As if on cue, Jacob entered the observation gallery with Beni’s coffee in hand. “I sure do, Beni-Bear.” On the ledge next to the cup of coffee, Jacob deposited two plastic-wrapped turkey, bacon, and Swiss cheese sandwiches. “I figured you both might need a break sooner or later.”

Saoirse gestured at her fiancé and shook her head. “See? He’s just terrible.” In the corner of her eye, she watched Jacob crack a smile. “Alright. Let’s decontaminate and take fifteen. I bet you’re starving.”

“Do you need me to leave?” Jacob asked.

Saoirse shook her head in response. “Beni and I are the only two people on base who can safely work with and dispose of the samples that we’re testing. I’m confident that we will manage to avoid exposing everyone to the pathogens we’re culturing. So far, it’s been quite the revolting combination.”

Albeit appalled to hear confirmation of multiple potentially deadly pathogens in Saoirse’s vicinity, Jacob sighed with relief at the thought of hugging his fiancée for the first time in nearly thirty-six hours. “So, does that mean you were right about anthrax?”

Saoirse raised her index finger upwards in acknowledgement of Jacob’s question before she and Beni entered the decontamination chamber. “Just a second!” She shouted over her shoulder as they vanished behind an opaque wall of disinfecting spray. When the spraying ended, they stepped through another set of doors to de-gown.

With an excited smile on his face, Jacob rushed over and pulled his fiancée into his shoulder for a rib-crushing hug. He silently remarked how her hair smelled like nylon and chlorine bleach. “God, I miss you.” he mumbled into her collar. “I miss you, too, baby. And yes. I was right about anthrax. Unfortunately, we’re deep in the shit now.”

Her morose demeanour made Jacob nervous. Yet somewhere deep inside her, Jacob could sense her growing enthusiasm to accept such a challenge. “We now know what we’re dealing with, but we don’t yet know why or how it came to be. I have my suspicions, but without concrete supporting evidence, we have no legs to stand on. If Beni and I can get the last of these samples cultured and incubating tonight, we can take a couple of days off to rest before the real work starts. In the meantime, I’ve requested a shipment of prophylactic drugs in case the shit hits the fan.”

“What are the odds of that?” Jacob asked.

Beni shot him a sarcastic look, to which Saoirse smirked. “The odds are slim to none. Your wifey-to-be is remarkably good at what she does, and frankly, so am I. We won’t be a repeat of Irena.”

Saoirse groaned. “Oh, come on, Beni. Let her have some dignity in death.”

“All I’m saying is that neither of us are clumsy enough to go down like that, so Jakey-Boo can unclench his sweet cheeks.”

Jacob immediately blushed. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t mind him, Beni. Jake can’t take a compliment to save his life.” Saoirse teased. “How was your day, my love?”

As much as he wanted to hide his exhaustion, Jacob shrugged. “Uneventful. I’d rather be stuck here in the lab.”

Beni chuckled. “So would I.” The skinny, olive-skinned lab technician winked at Jacob as he bit into his sandwich. “I thought the Army was known for taking tenderness out of people.”

“I’m a better lover than a fighter.” Jacob countered as he folded his arms across his chest and kicked his feet up on a chair in front of him.

Saoirse scoffed. “I heard that you’ve got quite the fanbase in the Canadian Air Force.”

Sceptical, Jacob glanced over at Beni who nodded in agreement as he swallowed his last bite of turkey and Swiss. “My hubby served in the 1^st Canadian Air Division with your unit in Nasiriyah on… Day Three if I’m not mistaken. He said he watched body cam footage of you wiping out an entire squad before they got the drop on you.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Eleven hostiles. Most of them were just kids.” Jacob shifted uncomfortably in his chair and met Saoirse’s gaze. “I thought that wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge.”

“No, it’s not, but it wouldn’t surprise me if that footage was strategically shared with other Coalition divisions. You might have saved a lot of lives that day. Considering what Paul told me about how good a soldier you are, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

Alas, Jacob’s scowl persisted. “You know I hate being put in the spotlight.”

“Merde. I hate it to break it to you, Jakey-Boo, but if that’s the case, lovely Lieutenant Colonel Kingston is probably the worst person you could be engaged to.”

Jacob sneered at the short, scrawny nerd. He wouldn’t dare admit it aloud, but Benny reminded him a lot of Private First Class Miller, who he still missed dearly. “Yeah, I learned that awhile back. The problem is that I’m too goddamn addicted to her to quit the habit.”

Beni chuckled and slurped down half of his coffee, which had cooled to the perfect temperature for comfortable consumption. “Listen, El-Tee. Why don’t you take the rest of the night off with your man?”

Mouth agape, Saoirse felt both sets of eyes fall upon her in. “God, I can’t leave you here. There’s too much left to do. And by rights, there should always be at least two qualified personnel in the BSL-3 lab.”

“El-Tee,” Beni huffed. “You gave up your day off to be here yesterday. Granted, we lost a few bodies… No pun intended, of course. The two of us, alone, worked through almost two thousand samples in eleven hours without incident or cross-contamination. That’s incredible! You deserve a night at home. Go, get out of here. Don’t make me call your commanding officer.”

“Careful, Beni-Bear.” She warned before she turned to Jacob. “Did you put him up to this?”

Jacob shook his head. This time, he wasn’t full to the brim with shit. “Saoirse’s right, though. You can’t be in here alone.”

“On that note,” Beni trailed off before he casually slipped a twenty-dollar bill into Jacob’s back pocket. “Would you be so kind to bring me a cup of straight foam?”

Albeit confused, Jacob laughed as he felt his face go even redder. “I really like this guy,” he remarked from over his shoulder as he hastily left the observation gallery. This might be the start of a beautiful friendship, Jacob thought as a smile stretched across his face.

Chapter Text

Over the course of that evening, in succession of what was meant to be a loving massage for her aching neck and back, Jacob expressed how much he had missed Saoirse by making fervid love to her until his knees became raw and eventually gave out from underneath him.

Without breaking stride, Saoirse skilfully flipped him over and straddled him to flawlessly continue their amorous escapade. Jacob loved being the partner in control, but to lay back and watch his betrothed sit upon his lap and simply enjoy herself… serene moments like this one were by far his favourite.

“January thirteenth.” Saoirse muttered as her head rested upon his chest. “That’s the day we met in Al Jahra.”

Jacob exhaustedly grunted in acknowledgement. “Sounds right, yeah. What about it?”

With a shrug, she lightly traced the muscular definition of his shoulder and biceps with her fingers. “We haven’t talked about what date we want or how long we want to wait. Stuff like that. I don’t want you to feel rushed. I’m only bringing it up out of curiosity.”

With a half-smile, Jacob rolled his eyes. “You’re just passing the time?”

She chuckled. “Just passing the time. Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“Maybe not January thirteenth. A lot of bad shit happened that day, too.”

Saoirse inhaled sharply through her teeth. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He scrunched his brow in contemplation. “How about the day that we first kissed? January twenty-second, I think. Twenty-third? Jesus, I hope you remember.”

“January twenty-third it is.” Saoirse beamed. “But not of next year. Right?”

Jacob shook his head. “Nope, definitely not. I was thinking that if we go on leave for a month before the year’s end, if don’t take leave again for the next three years, we could take three months in 1994 and travel around the world. You could give me the exclusive European tour of the wars. We could find a nice beach somewhere, and maybe get a little sand in our ass cracks. I might even feel inclined to try a sip of wine for the occasion.”

Her jaw slacked in awe. “Don’t push yourself, my love. There are a million ways to celebrate that don’t include drinking. Hell, if you want a headrush, we could go skydiving. But I suppose there’s no thrill left in skydiving for you, Mr. Paratrooper.”

Jacob playfully grimaced at her. “Hey, you’re the show-off who used to skydive without a chute at all. Why would you even do that?”

“For Wild West Science, obviously.”

He snorted. “I forgot about Wild West Science. Speaking of which, I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with telling me earlier, but I’ve been dying to ask about that revolting combination you mentioned.”

Saoirse gasped and punched him playfully in the shoulder. “Shame on you for bringing work into the bedroom, Jacob. I was doing so good, and now I need to talk about it. Bad Jacob. Bad! Jacob!”

All Jacob could do was laugh and cover his face. “I know! And I’m not sorry!” He shouted over Saoirse’s childish racket.

As quickly as her antics began, Saoirse resumed her position with her cheek perched upon his pectoral muscle. “So, for the sake of simplicity, it’s not technically the bacteria themselves that we found that are the dangerous infective agents, but the toxins they can release in certain conditions. These toxins cause botulism, gas gangrene, and necrotising fasciitis, just to name a few. These agents are not to be lightly trifled with, as we discovered from Irena. But they’re not dangerous in controlled environments when handled correctly.”

“I heard that what happened with Irena was a fluke. Word around base was something about a used microscope slide that broke and cut her hand open.”

She nodded in solemnity. “It was the very definition of freak accident. But it’ll lend credibility to how serious the work is that we’re doing. If there’s an outbreak, for the most part, with prophylactics and post-infection treatments, prognoses will be generally excellent. Local doctors will likely have a handful of the more serious cases, but once they know what they’re dealing with, they won’t be shooting in the dark.”

Jacob’s pride in his lover’s work became displayed in his smile and the joy in his eyes. “Once again, you’ve saved the day.”

Her smile, however, faded to melancholy. “My dear Jacob, the day is still quite young yet.”

Mere seconds later, the discernible stomping of multiple pairs of boots could be heard approaching their quarters. On instinct, Saoirse and Jacob jumped out of bed and dressed themselves in anticipation of their incoming guests. “You had to go and jinx it, didn’t you?” Jacob griped.

“I figured you’d be used to that by now, considering how often it happens.”

Upon the bedroom door came a loud knock. With a shrug, Jacob’s attention then fixed on the door that opened before him. He didn’t immediately recognize the guards in this ensemble, but Saoirse sure did. “Lieutenant Colonel, you’re needed in the city.”

She growled in exasperation and grabbed her go-bag before kissing her fiancé goodbye once again. As she was escorted to an idling Humvee in front of the United Nations Security Council headquarters, the commotion that consisted of units being mobilized grew louder and louder in the background. A feeling of panic began to grip Saoirse. “What’s happening?”

“The animals are dropping like flies. We’ve got reports of acute symptoms caused by an unknown biological agent on the outskirts of Umm Qasr and several neighbouring cities to the southwest. We’re evacuating locals, but we need you to help us find the source.”

Puzzled, Saoirse sighed in frustration. “What makes you think that there’s only one source out there to find?”

“We received reports of a Russian Aeroflot plane that was shot down somewhere between Safwan and Umm Qasr this evening around 1900 hours.”

“Okay, and?” Whether it was her annoyance with once again being called upon or her obvious lack of adequate sleep within the last three days, Saoirse’s patience had worn irrefutably thin. “Why do you need me?”

Albeit intimidated, the UNIKOM-appointed guard swiftly regained composure and continued. “The reports confirmed that among those who died in the crash were two known Iraqi biologists working under Saddam Hussein. They were carrying capsules of suspected B. anthracis and C. perfringens. According to their flight path, the craft departed from Novosibirsk six hours prior.”

Novosibirsk. “Oh, fuck me.” Saoirse grumbled. “I’m really getting sick of being right.”

Chapter Text

Once he had gotten news of Irena’s death, Dmitri calmly opened the Biopreparat lab’s gas lines before he struck a match on his way out the front door. That night, he caught a redeye flight from Novosibirsk to Moscow.

Between his grief, paranoia, and rage, sleep proved extremely difficult. Once he managed to drift off, however, Dmitri dreamt of the bombs that would one day rain down across the globe and bring an end to his misery.

Yet, there was much work still to be done. Dmitri didn’t understand how he knew, but he knew that he needed to find safe passage to America, where he would become a member of the Project at Eden’s Gate. There, he would be welcomed with open arms, as amongst the congregation was the woman whom he remembered from Cuba who once promised to help the Russian people break free of the Soviet Union and defect to the United States, if such an occasion should arise. This was certainly one of those occasions. Dmitri prayed that she would remember the promise she made.

Several months prior to Irena’s death, Dmitri explained, his informants advised him that an old Cold War CIA agent, “Lovely Ludmilla”, had commenced a rumoured “super soldier” research project in King Khalid Military City, Saudi Arabia. Following the end of the Gulf War, Ludmilla relocated to Umm Qasr to continue her research which had already yielded great success, and news of such had spread like wildfire across the international biological sciences. Dmitri recalled footage of this great success in the war-torn streets of Nasiriyah, where a soldier with unparalleled strength and speed effortlessly tore a dozen Iraqi soldiers apart, limb from limb.

Once Dmitri arrived in Moscow, he met in private with several of his KGB colleagues and explained his precarious predicament. Without condoning or condemning Dmitri’s actions, his colleagues arranged a private jet to Iraq as well as an armed security escort as a precaution. Iraq was in post-conflict turmoil, and it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Although he wasn’t successful in intercepting the defecting Iraqi Biopreparat agents, Dmitri’s private flight out of Moscow was scheduled to depart right behind the Aeroflot jet. It was a slow game of cat and mouse that evening.

Once they were several miles to the northeast over the Persian Gulf, Dmitri and his security watched from their jet in utter horror as a surface-to-air missile struck the Aeroflot jet over an inhabited area. After landing on an unregulated airstrip somewhere between Safwan and Umm Qasr, Dmitri and his security escorts were stranded in the desert without any means of communication, next to what they surmised to be a major potential biohazardous nightmare. From there, they were picked up and detained by several patrolling members of the Middle Eastern Division of the Central Intelligence Agency.

Although a well-known enemy of the KGB, the CIA was pleased to stumble upon a defecting Russian biological weapons agent with pertinent knowledge of an unfolding disaster. In turn, Dmitri was relieved to have some room to breathe. He just wished he could have said the same for his daughter.

“I am looking for Madam Saoirse Kingston,” Dmitri explained. “Please. My life is in danger.”

Fortunately, the CIA was feeling generous after several days of coming up empty-handed with respect to their hunt for the source of the infectious pathogens. “Sir, you have to understand that because of the circumstances behind why you are here, we are not inclined or obligated to offer you asylum,” cautioned Agent Rebecca Snyder. Her Russian was choppy, but it did the trick in a pinch. “However, if your testimony proves useful, we will give you adequate protection from whatever parties you’re running from.”

“Please, just tell me where I can find Saoirse. She is the only one who can help me.”

Agent Snyder’s partner, Alexander Johnson, sighed from the corner whence he stood with his arms crossed upon his chest. “Lieutenant Colonel Kingston has little involvement with the CIA these days. We have a rough approximation of where she may be, but we cannot tell you what we don’t know.”

Rebecca translated promptly, but Dmitri was still unsatisfied. “Please, let me go. I will find her myself.”

Yet, Agent Johnson stood firm. “I’m afraid that’s not possible until we can verify your statement. For now, I will see if the Lieutenant Colonel will make time to meet with you, but I cannot make any promises.”

“Please. She will vouch for me.” Dmitri professed. “It has been nearly thirty years, but she will vouch for me.” He was a man of science, not prayer, but Dmitri prayed for a miracle. Perhaps he was safe for a moment. The war in Iraq was over and to his knowledge, the only danger was the potential for exposure to the pathogens that had been blown out of the sky before his very eyes. Such pathogens had killed his only daughter and he wouldn’t rest until the wrong had been rectified. By any means necessary.

However, at least in the solitude of the CIA bunker, Dmitri could catch up on his sleep.

For two days, Dmitri sat alone in his holding cell before a sudden knock came upon on the barred door. Immediately, Dmitri recognized Agent Snyder through the peephole, as well as another woman at her side. “Bozhe moi,” he muttered. “Ludmilla.” Lovely Ludmilla hadn’t aged a day in thirty years. Beautiful witchcraft, he mused as he tried to hide his smile.

Saoirse recognized him immediately, despite his age. “Dmitri Ivanovich.” Lieutenant Colonel Kingston muttered. “Agent Snyder, please unlock their doors. Our Russian friends deserve more freedom than this.”

Without a reply, Agent Snyder did so.

“Ludmilla. Saoirse. Thank you for meeting with me.” He offered his hand, but Saoirse pulled him into a hug instead.

She inhaled sharply and squeezed him tightly. “I’m so sorry about Irena. We did everything we could.”

Dmitri sniffled and reciprocated the hug. “Thank you. I know you tried. That’s why I came to find you. The worst is yet to come.”

From the doorway, Agent Snyder winced as she wished her Russian was choppier. The CIA had indeed hit a goldmine, but Dmitri’s news did not inspire a lot of confidence. “Lieutenant, just holler at me when you’re done here.”

Saoirse nodded in acknowledgement and turned back to her esteemed guest. “What news do you bring from the Motherland?”

“Ludmilla… bozhe moi, I am so grateful to see you. There were two agents on a plane from Moscow that was shot down by a missile two days ago. These agents were on their way to Basra to unleash several pathogens into the city.”

“Yes, we know. The situation is contained.” Saoirse calmly replied. “Though, something tells me that you already knew, though. A phone call would have sufficed. Why are you here?”

Dmitri inhaled slowly as his chin began to quiver. “I had a dream where I watched the world erupt in fire. Nuclear fire. A voice told me to find you.”

Immediately, Saoirse’s expression grew blank. “What else did you see?”

“A church. There was a mountain behind the church. It was in America. I cannot explain it, but I know it was America.”

Saoirse nodded. “Did the church have this symbol?” she scribbled a messy image onto the palm of her hand with a pen she produced from her pocket and flashed the image to Dmitri, who only nodded and froze in place. “Dmitri, I know why you’re here. Do you trust me?”

“Da,” he replied as he choked back tears. “I trust you. Ludmilla, thank you.”

Good, she mused. “Agent Snyder! I’m taking this man into my custody.”

The young female agent reappeared from another office at the end of the hallway with an expression of abject concern. “Lieutenant, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

“Yes, you can. And you will.” Saoirse retorted with a scoff. “I recognize that this is a matter of grave international security, but we are quickly running out of options.”

Alas, Agent Rebecca Snyder wasn’t going to spend any more time arguing with a killing machine. “Very well, Lieutenant Colonel. He’s all yours.” If her decision to acquiesce cost Rebecca her job, so be it.

Chapter Text

With great relief after being held for several tumultuous days inside a CIA bunker, Dmitri and his two security associates followed Saoirse closely as she made haste for the armoury. “You can’t stay here, Dmitri.” She told him as she handed him a Kevlar vest. “I wanted you to speak with the heads of the Security Council, but you’re more at risk the longer you stay here. You’ll be safe in America. I have a safehouse in Atlanta.”

One of Dmitri’s associates whispered indistinctly in his ear, to which he pondered for a few moments before he cautiously relayed the query to Saoirse. “Sasha asked how you plan to fly us to Atlanta if we’re in a no-fly zone.”

“Yes. That’s a good question.” She replied. Saoirse’s Russian was better than rusty, but her verbal fluency certainly wasn’t what it used to be. “You’re right. It’s too risky to fly from Umm Qasr. I’ve arranged a ride to Riyadh. From there, you’ll take my private jet to Atlanta. One of my associates will meet you on the tarmac.”

The men quietly convened amongst themselves and quickly came to a consensus. Saoirse was relieved to know that she still had rapport with the Russians, even after several decades of working for Russia’s proverbial Cold War nemesis. “Good.”

“But, unfortunately,” she continued, “you cannot take your guns with you. Smuggling anyone across international borders is egregious. Smuggling anyone that’s armed is worse.”

Dmitri’s other guard cursed several times and threw his hands upwards in objection.

“Dmitri, rein in your men.” Saoirse coolly retorted. The guard clenched his fists and pumped out his chest, but Saoirse remained unperturbed. “If you want safe passage to America, you will do exactly as I say. Otherwise, good luck to you.”

Only moments later, Saoirse felt the cold barrel of his pistol against her temple. “Who is this woman, Dmitri? She’s a liar. A fraud.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Dmitri warned. His calmness was chilling for a man whose life was in peril.

Saoirse only smiled. “If he fires that gun, you can say goodbye to Atlanta. Go on, comrade. See what happens when you put a bullet in my skull.”

“Sergei,” his brother warned. “Let’s go. We have a job to do.” Sasha gestured towards Dmitri whose expression had soured with scorn.

Albeit full of rage fuelled by fear and exhaustion, Sergei lowered his .357 caliber Strizh pistol and begrudgingly re-holstered it. He uttered several curses in Russian.

Sasha chastised his brother before Saoirse silenced them both. “Gentlemen, your weapons please. Hand them over now.”

“We want assurances first.” Sergei snarled. “For all we know, you could be sending us back to Russia. We’ll be shot for treason.”

“You’re too valuable to me to do something that stupid.” She retorted without missing a beat. Her Russian started to flow more smoothly, which seemed to slowly disarm Sergei’s high tension, at the very least. “I know what the penalty is for treason, and that’s why I offered my assistance. The trick, my friends, is never getting caught.”

While his cohorts glanced between each other with annoyance, Dmitri could only smile with delight. He never thought that he’d be gifted with Ludmilla’s grace again. “Always so confident. Never failing to deliver.”

Saoirse smiled at the compliment but said nothing. Time was already limited and the ride she had arranged to Riyadh earlier that day was on its way, if it wasn’t already waiting outside.

Through a set of steel double doors, Saoirse led the three Russian fugitives out of the armoury and into the blinding morning sunlight. “There!” She pointed to a cargo truck being loaded with empty crates and plastic water jugs. “Wait here. I’ll go speak with the driver.” To her satisfaction, none of the three felt the need to argue.

Despite what little time she’d spent in the field since being stationed in Umm Qasr with UNIKOM, Saoirse made it her mission to learn the identities of every soul who stepped foot on base. As expected, this cargo truck had a one-man crew, the driver, a Kuwaiti man named Ismail, who was a well-known member of a local pocket of resistance against Hussein’s lingering control of Umm Qasr. Ismail happened to owe Saoirse a favour, and now was the perfect time to cash in.

“Excuse me! Ismail!” Saoirse called to him. Ismail recognized her immediately and smiled as he approached. “You have excellent timing, my friend. Are you sure you have enough room for three stowaways?” She gestured towards the three Russians who, from afar, seemed shockingly out of place in the desert. “These men need to get to the United States as soon as possible.”

Ismail grabbed her hand and shook it profusely. “Of course. Yes, of course. If they stay in the back of the truck, they will be safe. Where do I need to bring them?”

“Riyadh. There’s a private airfield on the outskirts which will have a Hercules C-130 waiting on the tarmac. You should see it to the southwest if you follow along Route 550 into Saudi Arabia. If they need my designation, give them this.” Saoirse rooted in her vest pocket to retrieve what appeared to be an envelope and a small chain with two rusted, illegible dog tags. She handed the chain to Ismail and closed his fingers around it. “Inside the envelope is some money for you, for your troubles.”

His eyes watered. “Almighty God, this is a kind gesture that I cannot accept. If Iraqis discover me, they will think it’s a bribe from the infidels. I will be shot.”

Saoirse sighed. “Right, of course. We can’t have that. I’ll figure out a way to compensate you. Please, be safe out there, Ismail. If anything happens, call me.”

“You have my word. I will.” Without further adieu, Ismail made his way back to his truck to prepare for the nine-hour drive.

In turn, Saoirse returned to Dmitri and the two brothers who stood by the armoury doors. “And?” Dmitri asked, rather impatiently. “Do we have a ride?”

She nodded. “Wait for the driver’s signal. Wait here until the cargo is loaded and he’ll make room for you.”

“Thank you, Ludmilla.” He exhaled with relief. The end of this perilous journey was nigh at last. Just as Saoirse was about to walk away, however, Dmitri spoke up again. “My friend, there’s something I need to tell you. In case I never get another chance.”

Her heart shuddered anxiously. “I’m listening.”

Dmitri closed in on her and only left several inches of space between their faces. From up close, the pain in his eyes was plain as day. “Your old friends in Alfa Grupa seek something the Kremlin are calling the ‘asset’. You aren’t safe here, Ludmilla, and neither is your betrothed.”

My betrothed, she pondered. Perhaps it was time for his redeployment stateside until tensions cooled in the Middle East. Though, Saoirse knew he wouldn’t go without a fight. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I suspected this problem might arise sooner or later. We intercepted a few Russian transmissions and learned that one of their operatives took video footage of him wiping out an ambush in Nasiriyah.”

“He’s a miracle, Ludmilla. You must protect him from those Alfa bastards. God knows what tortures he would suffer by their hands.”

“Well, I appreciate your concern. It’s kind of you.” Saoirse replied with a gentle smile. “But you must keep yourselves safe, too. You and I have three decades of catching up to do.”

Dmitri smiled and nodded as he watched her open one of the steel doors and disappear down the dim hallway.

Chapter Text

Rather unimpressed, Beni and Jacob waited for Saoirse in the lobby of the lab. As usual, Jacob had his arms folded over his chest, and Beni’s facial expression alone told all. “Russian mobsters? Really?” Beni exclaimed. “How did they get access to the base with their weapons?”

“More importantly,” Jacob grumbled, “how’d they know where to find you?”

Saoirse sighed as she sat upon a vacant bench in the lab’s foyer. All that could be heard was the hum of the fluorescent lights above. “I don’t know, guys. I wish I did.” She paused to swallow the lump in her throat. “Dmitri mentioned something very fucking disturbing just a few minutes ago.” The thought of Alpha Group resurfacing with sights set on herself and Jacob was both terrifying and alarming. If three Russian agents could infiltrate UNIKOM’s base and somehow track her down, Saoirse dared not think about what the Kremlin could do if properly motivated.

And yet, it was no mystery that the Kremlin was indeed motivated. Russia wanted Saoirse’s Augmentus research, as evidenced by the video footage taken nearly six months ago, and it made perfect sense that their next move was to dispatch its best special forces team to accomplish such. Bring it on, Saoirse mused. She’d kicked their asses back to Moscow in 1969 and again in 1986, and she was happy to do it a third time. Perhaps they might finally learn.

“Care to share with the rest of us?” Jacob barked. “Or are you going to internalize it like you always do?”

“Jake,” Beni hushed. “Look at her. She’s worried.”

Jacob scoffed. “Alright, fine. What’s up, Sairs? Why are you worried?”

She exhaled and held her head in one hand. “Did Paul tell you what happened in Nasiriyah? Behind the scenes, I mean, not on the streets. The transmission they intercepted?”

“No idea.” He muttered. “I didn’t know there was a transmission, or that it was intercepted.”

Jacob doesn’t know about the transmission. Best to keep it that way, I figure. For everyone’s sake. “Do you know what the Alpha Group is? Alfa Grupa?”

He shook his head. “If I had to guess, I’d say special forces.”

Saoirse nodded. “Yes. Russian Special Forces. Authorized by the Kremlin to infiltrate and eliminate whoever and whatever they need to. I’ve encountered them several times in combat. Tough sons of bitches.”

“What about them? Were they in Nasiriyah?”

She paused. “I don’t believe so, no. However, the footage of you that they recorded got back to the Kremlin. And now… Dmitri warned me that Alfa Grupa might be coming for you.”

Immediately, Jacob’s face lost its colour. “Okay, but what does that mean? How could Dmitri possibly know what the Kremlin are up to?”

“Dmitri was a KGB agent until 1991. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1990, he was sent to Novosibirsk to work at the Vector Institute as punishment, which he took as an opportunity to start anew.” Saoirse paused to gather her thoughts. “His work at the Vector Institute was, to some degree, what we’ve seen here in Umm Qasr. Each of those biological agents have a unique genetic signature that link them back to Vector. To Dmitri. When Irena passed away from something he created with his own hands, he decided that he would no longer remain an agent of a corrupt state, whether in Novosibirsk or Moscow. And that’s why he came here.”

“But it doesn’t explain why he’d know that Alfa Grupa is after me. Nor does it explain how he found us here.”

With frustration, Saoirse exhaled. “Your concerns and questions are valid, Jacob. I wish I had an answer for you.”

“Yeah, well, we both know who does.” Jacob growled as he reached for his sidearm. “And I bet they haven’t left yet.” Without hesitation, the angered soldier stormed off towards the armoury doors.

Beni exchanged concerned glances with Saoirse, who turned to chase Jacob through the dim corridor. “I need him, Jacob!” She yelled, but he didn’t dare falter. That was, until Saoirse caught up to him and caught him by his bulky shoulders. “Jacob, stop! You don’t understand what you’re doing. Dmitri must make it to the United States. I need his expertise. I need him.”

With a scoff, Jacob shirked her grip from his shoulder and continued onwards. “I’m not going to kill him, Sairs. I’m only going to politely ask how he knows about Alfa Grupa.”

“Bullshit, Jacob Seed. Turn around and tell me again with a straight face.”

Jacob did exactly as he was instructed. “I’m not going to kill him. I’m going to ask him how he could possibly know what he told you. Consider this my response to a threat I haven’t seen.”

Saoirse sighed. “Just leave it alone, Jacob. You don’t find Alfa Grupa, Alfa Grupa finds you.”

“In Soviet Russia…” Jacob started to joke, but Saoirse wasn’t having it. “Look, I don’t blame those Russkis for getting the fuck out of Dodge.”

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” she retorted. “If they find you, there’s no doubt in my mind that they will hurt you, if not outright kill you. You forget that not only are you my fiancé, but I’m also legally responsible for you. If you kill someone, get injured, or heaven forbid, die, I lose it all. I cannot lose you, Jacob, which is why I need you to leave this alone.”

Jacob groaned as he leaned against the concrete wall. After a tumultuous day, he was utterly exhausted. “Fuck me. Alright, fine.” He grumbled before he stopped dead in his tracks. “We’ll do it your way. We’ll wait just like fish in a barrel for some badass Russian special ops crew to make the first move. Then we’ll kick some ass and send them back home to mommy, right?” Jacob scoffed, knowing he unfortunately wasn’t far off from the truth. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

She rolled her eyes and gestured back towards the lab. “Not to change the subject, but aren’t you supposed to be on duty? Not that being somewhere out in the open is a good idea, given what we just learned.”

“If I was, that’s where I’d be.” Jacob muttered with a shrug. “I checked in with the command centre earlier and got told they were over-manned for the night.”

Saoirse couldn’t help but gasp with delight. “So, you’re free? What a coincidence. I’m taking the rest of the day off. I’ve just got to let Beni know first.”

“Holy shit. You’re choosing to leave work early? That never happens.” Jacob taunted with a wink. “Let’s grab a bite to eat and hit the track. Tuesday left a foul taste in my mouth. And frankly, so did today.”

Chapter Text

For the first time in days, Jacob and Saoirse took advantage of having an evening together, free of interruptions, to revel in each other’s company and make up for the disappointing Tuesday prior.

After a quick, protein-rich dinner, followed by a two-mile sprint, neither Jacob nor Saoirse shared interest in a game of cat and mouse. Nevertheless, they shared plenty of vehemence for where the night would surely lead.

Following the run, Jacob announced his need for a quick shower, which Saoirse reiterated.

Once Jacob finished, he sprinted back to their quarters in a towel wrapped around his waist to set the ambiance. With the lighting set, Jacob donned his maroon beret and army jacket while he waited for his beloved to join him, even leaving his jacket’s zipper undone to reveal his bare chest underneath.

Moments later, soft footsteps drew nearer, and the door opened to reveal Saoirse’s natural beauty, most of which sat concealed by her own towel, which dropped to her feet the moment she closed the door behind her. “Dressing up for some fun, are we?”

“I was hoping to switch it up a little.” Jacob retrieved a pair of standard issue law enforcement handcuffs from the nightstand and tossed them to the foot of the bed. “All that talk earlier about Ludmilla…”

With a soft snort, Saoirse approached the edge of the bed and crawled upon it, stopping just inches short of his glistening form. “Right. I take it those cuffs aren’t meant for me.”

Jacob nodded, raising a mischievous eyebrow. “Unless you’re not into it, of course.”

“Darling,” Saoirse began, as she trailed her fingers upwards along his sternum, between the jacket’s open front. “I appreciate your sense of adventurousness, but I fear our friend Dmitri left out a key piece of history when he told you about the work we did together.”

“Colour me intrigued,” Jacob purred.

Saoirse sighed. She could tell that regardless of what was about to come out of her mouth, Jacob had already made up his mind. “Under the KGB’s orders, to gain their respect and trust, Ludmilla was tasked with torturing American prisoners of war. Not the fun torture, either.” As she straddled Jacob’s thighs, she reached backwards for the set of handcuffs atop the bed.

Beneath her, Jacob felt himself become uncomfortably rigid. “What’s wrong with a little pain to accompany the pleasure?”

She leaned forward and softly kissed along his jaw. “Ludmilla’s victims shared that same optimism. At first, they enjoyed how she lured them into a false sense of security and made them believe she cared about them. By the end, some begged for death. Others took their beatings in stride. None could seem to reconcile how a woman could inflict that level of pain.”

“Yeah?” Jacob moaned as his heart lurched excitedly inside his chest. “Try me.”

A cautious but wicked smile then stretched across her face. “Patience, dear Jacob. I don’t intend to disappoint. But before I continue, you should pick a safe word. You’ll need it.”

Jacob scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Nah. I’m good.”

“Fine,” she sighed, as she tried to hide a playful smirk. “But if you regret it, your plight will fall upon deaf ears.”

As the cuffs snapped around his wrists, Jacob grinned pridefully. “Understood.”

“How much authenticity are you hoping for, anyway? Just so we’re on the same page.”

He grinned fiendishly. “All or nothing, baby.”

Saoirse amusedly exhaled from her nose. “Amerikanskiy soldat. Weak. Coward.” She grabbed his jaw and squeezed almost hard enough to draw blood.

At first, Jacob wasn’t sure if he could take her seriously. However, the graveness in her eyes paired with a well-practiced accent prompted him to expect to receive some of the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. Despite his reservations about becoming enraged from such pain, Jacob felt overwhelmed with intense excitement for such adventurousness. “I’m not afraid, Russki.”

Oh, you will be, she promised. “Tell me. Have you ever been deprived of sleep?”

Jacob spat at her question. “Go to hell,” he sneered, silently hoping his commitment to the authenticity of the moment wouldn’t grind the excitement to a halt.

In fact, to his relief, it did quite the opposite. “You see, I had limitless access to epinephrine, tadalafil, and scopolamine. Do you know what those drugs do, Pindos?”

Still, Jacob said nothing, as his smug smoulder cast a pleased shadow upon his face.

As she knelt next to him upon the bed, Saoirse grinned widely. “One to keep you awake, one to keep you hard and ready, and one to make you submissive to it. I like to keep my subjects awake for days at a time. Sometimes for a week, or longer. It’s a shame I don’t have any of the three on hand.”

In a fraction of a second, Jacob’s excitement shrivelled into anxiousness at the mention of the use of drugs. “Whoa, Sairs. I…”

Fortunately for him, she was already a step ahead. “Hey,” Saoirse whispered reassuringly as she pressed her forehead against his. “No drugs. I promise.”

“Maybe epinephrine,” he whispered back. “If we had any.”

With a raised eyebrow, Saoirse grunted in acknowledgement before she donned her fatigues with an incredible speed and retreated from the bedroom. She returned a few short minutes later, carrying a pocketful of goodies. Amongst the mixture were several hypodermic needles, a bottle of medical-grade epinephrine, a handful of alcohol swabs, and a small sharps container.

The very sight of needles made Jacob nauseous his entire life, yet he was willing to endure his irrational fear. “For authenticity’s sake,” he nervously chirped.

With a sinister grin, Saoirse effortlessly stripped back down to her matching black satin underwear to crawl atop the mattress and resume giving Jacob a crude introduction to Ludmilla, the torturer-turned-defector from hell. Or, in this case, Moscow. “And when you’ve finally had enough, when you inevitably beg me for mercy… I’ll just turn up the heat.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jacob growled, as he watched the grin slip off her face.

Suddenly, the woman atop him on all fours displayed a feral hunger in her eyes, a look which he’d never seen before. “Don’t get carried away, Sairs,” he warned. “You know I don’t deal with pain that well.”

“Of course,” she promised. “That safe word doesn’t seem like such a bad idea now, does it?”

Jacob only rolled his eyes as Saoirse continued trailing her finger down the centre of his chest and belly. “Fuck you. When I get back to my unit, I’ll be a hero,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

“I won’t have time to give you a truly authentic experience, but I’m certainly going to give you a taste. You will be my prisoner for as long as I can keep you alive, American coward.”

“How do you say, ‘I surrender’?” he whispered embarrassedly.

“Ya podchinyayus’. You might want to pick something a little easier.”

With a vehemently stubborn headshake and a cheeky smirk across his face, Jacob rattled the cuffs that restrained him against the bedframe, thus continuing the act without warning. “If I’m going to pick a safe word, I want something complicated. I want to earn your mercy. Now, come on, Ludmilla. Do your worst.”

Chapter Text

For the time being, the danger and fear surrounding the production and the intentional use of weaponized biological agents had passed, which allowed Saoirse to shift her focus back to Jacob’s mutation, over which she’d once again become obsessed.

Seven long months had passed since Jacob’s life-saving transformation in Al Jahra. In that length of time, she had observed countless physiological changes, but even after seven months, Saoirse found herself surprised by something new nearly every day. Laying there before Saoirse’s eyes, snoring softly into his pillow, was a wealth of mysteries.

That past evening, she had attempted to toe the line of authenticity of torturing an American prisoner of war, giving Jacob a mere taste of the pain she was once tasked with inflicting. Parts of the act entailed brutal beatings. Not only did Jacob show a remarkable degree of resilience to the beatings, but each of the grisly injuries she inflicted had healed almost immediately. Yet, to her knowledge, his healing speed was never something she thought was worth writing home about.

And almost overnight, her theories on the matter had completely changed. If there was even a remote possibility that Jacob’s mutations were ongoing… Jacob might not have appreciated the significance of such a discovery, but in Saoirse’s eyes, it was the beginning of the next phase of testing: finding any physiological vulnerabilities and determining whether such vulnerabilities could be corrected.

Jacob stirred and rolled over to face his fiancée, who loomed over him, staring intently. “Are you watching me sleep again?” he groggily asked, not that it would’ve bothered him.

“I might be. It wasn’t so long ago that you were having night terrors every time you closed your eyes. I guess I’m enjoying your peace for you.”

He propped himself up against the headboard and yawned. “Mm, my peace is still a work in progress.” His hand grazed the inside of Saoirse’s thigh, which elicited her wry grin. “But we’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

Saoirse cupped his cheek and pulled him into a loving kiss. “We’ve come a long way, yes.”

“I enjoyed last night a lot,” Jacob mumbled between kisses. “Like, a lot, a lot.”

As much as she seemed to agree, Saoirse hung her head in indignity. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Jacob raised one eyebrow as he rested his head on her shoulder. “But you don’t feel the same way?”

“Well,” she began. “I forgot how addicting it is to inflict such pain. To have that kind of power over someone. It’s…delicious. Too delicious.”

Following an amused snort, Jacob glanced sideways at his betrothed and ran his hand along her thigh once more. “You enjoyed more than that, I know you did.”

Alas, like always, he saw right through her. “I always enjoy time alone with you, Jake,” she muttered bashfully, as she peppered his scarified chest and belly with a plethora of soft kisses. “Last night was special because I learned something new about you.”

Once more, Jacob raised an eyebrow as her kisses trailed towards his navel. “Oh, yeah?”

Instead of responding, Saoirse gently took his palm and dug her nail into his flesh with intent to draw blood. In response, Jacob hissed in pain, but his quickly pain became surprise when the cut healed over, leaving behind a faint scar. “I don’t recall you being able to heal this fast.”

“No, I don’t think so, either. Huh.” Jacob’s own fascination grew while he continued to study the scar. “What do you think this means?”

Saoirse grinned widely as her hand rested upon his belly, just inches above his manhood. “It means we’ve found a new, random mutation, and that gives me a new avenue for my research. I know you aren’t too keen on being a test subject, but I promise it won’t be like the last time.”

Relieved by her words, Jacob softly grunted in acknowledgement. “If I’m going to be treated like a freak, I’d rather do so where it counts.”

“You mean in the sheets?” Saoirse playfully retorted.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to steal your title,” Jacob countered with a punctuating chuckle, which earned him a punch in the ribs. “On that note, how would you feel about being my prisoner one of these nights? Things might be different if I can heal quicker.”

Saoirse gasped at the sensation of his hand exploring her body beneath the sheets and palmed the base of his semi-hard cock. “I’m intrigued.”

A sudden knock came upon the door, which prompted an annoyed growl from them both. “I’ll get it,” Jacob grumbled as he slid out of bed and donned a pair of lounge pants from the floor. Perhaps if he answered the door in the nude, no soul would dare approach their door ever again.

In the meantime, following a long, dramatic sigh, Saoirse flopped backwards upon the bed to lay in wait for her lover’s return.

Moments later, Jacob re-entered the bedroom with an unmarked manila envelope and a sour expression on his face. “It’s from your CIA friends,” he remarked, as he handed the package over.

“Ugh.” She tossed the package to the nightstand and turned her back to it for good measure. “Whatever it is, it can wait. There are more pressing matters I need to attend to.”

Jacob shook his head as he crawled back into the sheets. To her dismay, when she cozied up next to him, Saoirse found Jacob’s manhood had deflated in the few moments he’d gotten up to answer the knock at the door. “Well, that’s a shame.”

“Blame your spooky friends,” Jacob grumbled, as he pulled a grey long-sleeve shirt over his head. Until the angry rumble deep within his gut filled the room, he hadn’t acknowledged his hunger which had been, beyond any reasonable doubt, exacerbated by the previous evening’s expenditure of energy. “Maybe we can revisit this after breakfast.”

After seven months, Saoirse had learned not to get between the man and his next meal. “You go on ahead. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered after a kiss on his way back out the door.

Chapter Text

At 0600 hours, an emergency meeting was called between the Military Staff Committee and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and all deployed personnel. Lieutenant Colonel Kingston spearheaded the meeting having substituted her usual cheery attitude with one of profound displeasure. “With all due respect, I’m sick of being right. I’m getting even sicker of your willingness to give us what we need.”

The Secretary-General and his cohort should have been nonplussed at Saoirse’s sudden outburst, but they’d been warned beforehand. “Your concerns are valid, Lieutenant Colonel.”

The diplomacy wouldn’t work this time. “They’d goddamn better be valid. In the past five days, we’ve documented six unnatural human deaths and several hundred unnatural livestock deaths, all of which were caused by intentional exposure to a handful of extremely dangerous pathogenic agents. I assure you that if my concerns are not addressed, regardless of whether you choose to heed my warning or not, that the death toll will continue to rise. Exponentially.”

Frazzled, the Secretary-General spoke up once again, this time with much greater appreciation for Saoirse’s steadfastness. “Very well, Lieutenant Colonel. You have the floor.”

“Wonderful.” Saoirse muttered before she cleared her throat. “It has been brought to my attention that approximately eleven hours ago, a Russian Aeroflot passenger plane was shot down somewhere over Safwan and Umm Qasr. Not only was the plane carrying these dangerous pathogenic agents, but there were also two Iraqi scientists under our observation amongst the deceased crew. Flight tracking records show that the aircraft departed from Novosibirsk, Siberia at 1800 hours local and was preparing to land in Umm Qasr at approximately 1930 hours. It was shot down by a surface-to-air missile around 1900 hours.

A nervous murmur erupted across the open line. Nonetheless, Saoirse continued. “The reality of the situation is that UNIKOM’s primary objectives do not align with the magnitude of danger that these other players have brought to the party. The entire premise behind UNIKOM is to observe any potentially hostile engagements between Iraq and Kuwait. That said, it should come as no surprise to you that UNIKOM has already failed to acknowledge and eliminate such interactions between Iraq and her allies. If biological weapons don’t frighten you enough, would nuclear weapons do the trick?”

The crowd’s murmur abruptly stopped, and the room grew eerily quiet. Saoirse then knew that she had every attendee’s undivided attention. “Furthermore, I shouldn’t have to tell you that this disturbing chain of events poses a significant threat to international health and safety. With great consideration of the sensitivity of these developments, I am hereby petitioning to deploy immediately to Novosibirsk as an independent agent to neutralize any potential threats to international peacetime.”

Immediately, the silence erupted into a frenzied clamour. This was the reaction she was waiting for. “Order!” Came a voice from somewhere amongst the committee members in the stands.

It took several moments, but eventually the clamour dulled to another low murmur. Another voice called over the noise that made Saoirse cringe. “Lieutenant Colonel Kingston, have you lost your goddamn mind?” the voice belonged to none other than Secretary Whittaker. “Until you find concrete evidence of Iraq’s intention to develop and implement biological weapons, let alone evidence of Russian involvement in the matter, maybe then we could consider your deployment.”

Oh, I’ll get you your goddamn proof, you prick, she thought as she bit her tongue. It was futile to piss off one of the few talking heads who might have listened to what she needed to say. “Are those two dead biologists in a Russian passenger jetliner not sufficient evidence? Or those capsules of deadly bacteria, sourced from a fucking Biopreparat found on their remains?”

“How did the capsules survive the impact?” one member shouted from the crowd.

Saoirse stood from her seat as the roar of the audience picked up once again. “The capsules didn’t survive. Their contents aerosolized when the plane hit the ground and exploded, which caused the bacteria to be released into the environment. The pathogens were carried downwind to Umm Qasr and contaminated the soil and feed, which killed all the livestock in the city. Several hollow metal casings were found at the scene of the crash that later tested positive for C. perfringens and B. anthracis.”

Amongst the crowd, Jacob sat next to Beni and several of Beni’s lab cohorts, unable to keep his unease at bay. Jacob’s anxious foot-tapping, which would normally have driven Beni insane, was the least of either of their concerns. He could tell that Saoirse was being pushed closer and closer to her breaking point, and the crowd would eventually eat her alive if someone didn’t step in. Unfortunately, Jacob couldn’t seem to find his balls. “She’s gonna spill guts,” Jacob stammered, his mouth covered with clasped, shaking hands.

“It’s El-Tee Kingston, man. She can handle a few wacky Jackies.”

Still, Jacob wasn’t convinced. He attempted to chalk his anxiety up to his heightened instinctual drive to protect his own, but this was more than that. Jacob knew what she could do to every living soul in the assembly hall, and just how little effort it would take for her to do so. “I hope you’re right, Beni-Bear.”

For a moment, Jacob was distracted by a staggering passerby: a Caucasian gentleman with long, greying black hair and an eye patch over his left eye. The man paused for a split second the moment he locked eyes with Jacob before he carried on his way. When he looked back to the pedestal upon which Saoirse stood seconds ago, his heart lurched in his chest when he failed to spot her in the crowd. Don’t panic, he told himself. She’s here somewhere, and she’s just fine.

While Jacob continued to scan the crowd, Beni fervently tapped his shoulder and pointed towards the west exit doors. “Fox on the run, Jakey-Boo! Who’s the creep with the eyepatch? And why does he have a gun on her? Oh…” Beni’s words fizzled out as his heart lurched inside his chest at the cold shock of the metal barrel of a sidearm pointed at his spleen by the mountain of a man to his rear.

Beni slowly turned around to examine the gunman and promptly lost the olive colour in his face. “Jacob?” Beni whispered. “I don’t know how you soldiers do it, but I’m about to piss myself and I just want to apologize in advance for the trauma.”

“Forget about him. All we need to do is sit there and wait. She’s handling it.” Jacob locked eyes with Saoirse who reassured him that the situation was under control. Or, at least, he hoped that was the case. “There’s one on me too. Act natural. Everything will be fine.”

Although visibly panicked, Beni nodded. “Cool, yeah. I can do this. Say, Jakey-Boo, have you ever been shot? I’m sorry, I tend to ask inappropriate questions when I’m nervous, and the more nervous I get, the more inappropriate my questions become. Please, feel free to tell me to buzz off. Denny says I can be a bit much.”

Jacob smiled. How he could be so calm and collected was a mystery. “I can’t say I’ve ever been shot. Saoirse says it feels like getting stabbed and sucker punched at the same time.”

Yet, as quickly as it started, the two gunmen received their signal from the mysterious eyepatch man, and they both silently withdrew their weapons before they tuned into the ensuing chaos once more. “Yikes. That sounds awful. I only asked because I was going to apologize for getting you shot again, but alas, your record still stands untarnished.”

“For now, yes,” Jacob retorted as he locked eyes with Saoirse. “But we’re not out of the woods yet, pal. Wait here.”

“Oh, I plan to, honey,” Beni muttered. As he watched Jacob disappear into the crowd, Beni clenched his eyes and prayed that the gunmen would leave him alone.

Following today’s events, he decided that he would either demand a significant raise or tender his resignation. If he made it out of there alive, that is. The problem, as Beni came to understand it, was that anyone in Saoirse’s midst could end up injured or dead. Danger was Denny’s thing, not his.

He was relieved to see Jacob had found Saoirse amongst the swarming mass, but less so to find the eyepatch man had followed them. Beni swallowed hard when the man stopped in his tracks at Beni’s feet and extended his hand. “Comrade. I… Dmitri,” the man barked over the roar of the crowd. His accent was nearly incomprehensible.

Surprisingly, Beni found that it was almost pleasant to shake hands with Dmitri, whose broken English somehow seemed to calm him. Despite his rustiness, Beni knew just enough Russian to find the courage to return the civility. “Beni. Privyet.” He then peered past Dmitri to meet either Jacob’s or Saoirse’s gaze. “So, where’d you guys… meet?”

“We’ve struck gold. Come with me,” Saoirse beamed and gestured for the five men to follow her out of the conference hall. Once they found somewhere secluded, Saoirse pulled Beni to the side for a quick, messy briefing. “Dmitri is defecting to the States. We’re his ticket there. In return, he will testify that the pathogenic agents we’ve tested do in fact belong to the Soviets, specifically an agency called Biopreparat. More importantly, he can prove that the pathogens were modified for weaponization before they were sold to Iraq.”

Dmitri tapped Saoirse’s shoulder and whispered in her ear, to which Jacob’s jaw reactively clenched. Although a subtle response, Beni remarked that wasn’t the only one who noticed as he watched the other two Russian men slowly reach for their sidearms. “Beni, our friend here extends his sincerest apologies for having his men point guns at you. These boys are a little bit… tense. Let’s say it was a very long night.”

Although he didn’t know what to say, Beni at least felt his muscles unclench, his asshole above all. “No hard feelings, comrade. No one got hurt. Well, maybe Irena.”

“Beni!” Saoirse hissed. “Irena was his daughter.”

“Oh. Fuck me. Of course she was. I’m sorry.” From the corner of his eye, Beni watched Jacob struggle to stifle a giggle. “Listen, if the meeting is adjourned, I’d like to get back to the lab. I’m still running on yesterday’s sleep, which wasn’t the greatest quality.”

“I won’t be far behind you,” she promised, and quickly waved Beni off. “Right. Jacob, you need to get back to your post. I will bring these guys somewhere safe.” Saoirse glanced at her watch and sighed with relief. “But first, let’s stop at the armoury.”

Jacob cocked a wary eyebrow. “You want to give them guns?”

“Nope. Kevlar and helmets. Dead men tell no tales, and I’m the only naturally bulletproof one. So far, anyway.” With a wink and a smile, Saoirse kissed her fiancé goodbye before she turned back to the three Russians and gestured over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight, my love. Moi druz’ya, come with me.”

Chapter Text

Like every time before, Jacob looked in the mirror and saw a spitting image of his father.

Each time Jacob saw his father, he always then remembered the flames engulfing the ornery bastard while he sat bleeding out from a shotgun slug Jacob fired from ten feet away. He remembered the nothingness of watching Old Man Seed silently clinging to life as he burned to death.

It was the eerie silence of his father’s death that haunted him the most. Jacob’s vain attempt to rationalize how Old Man Seed could’ve suffered something so agonizing without making so much as a whimper made him shudder and break his gaze from his reflection.

When Jacob remembered the flames consuming his broken home from the undeveloped lot across the street, he swore he could still feel the blistering across his forehead and cheeks. Scars which set him apart from the rest of society at just fourteen years old.

As much as Jacob despised his own reflection, today was different: he could somehow bear to catch a glimpse of the man in the mirror.

Simply put, Old Man Seed was a monster. And though Saoirse’s kindness seemed to know no bounds, she too was a monster. There wasn’t much about her that scared Jacob, either, when it came down to brass tacks. Until Saoirse committed the act of ending the world, he couldn’t be sure whether Furfur was a fiction inside his pitifully broken mind.

Jacob broke his gaze with a growl before wiping the steam from the mirror. He didn’t know why his fists were clenched at his sides while he stood there, half-covered by a plain white towel, shivering in the centre of the shower floor, staring into nothingness in the far corner.

You’ve seen how fucked up the world is, Jacob mused. Your old man made you strong, and she made you stronger. You’d be perfect for an apocalyptic wasteland.

A knock came upon the door and Jacob nearly jolted out of his skin. “Jake?” Saoirse called, her voice muffled and tinny. “I’ve been invited to commanders’ quarters for my pre-briefing.”

“That sounds fucking thrilling,” Jacob countered before he unbolted and pulled the steel door towards him.

Having donned a prim and proper officer’s attire while Jacob enjoyed his shower, he re-entered the examination room and found Saoirse using her reflection upon the plexiglass doors to tuck away several wayward strands of hair.

He then regretted not inviting her into the shower after all.

The world began to fade to black in tandem with the hammering of Jacob’s infatuated heart. “Major,” he uttered softly, taken aback by how gracefully she held herself in uniform.

Sensing his eyes upon her, Saoirse couldn’t help but blush. It had absolutely nothing to do with Jacob wearing nothing except a towel, of course. “Sergeant Michaels dropped off a duffel of fresh clothes for you. I left it on the gurney.”

“You’re all so good to me.”

“Well, Paul said he’ll make you really work for it. Eventually, anyway. I told him you’re mine for the foreseeable future.”

Although Jacob wasn’t too keen on having his balls busted by his commanding officer, and most likely the rest of his unit, the truth coming to light was simply an eventuality. Jacob could accept such, but his thoughts began to race. Would he be ostracized or revered when word of his involvement with the Major got out? “Guess Miller was right about the knee pads.”

“Yeah…I don’t want to know. Listen, I need to head out. If you need anything, the desk phone is programmed to call Corporal Jackson when you pick up the receiver.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll manage,” Jacob acknowledged with a troublesome wink.

Kissing him goodbye crossed her mind, but a parting wink would suffice, Saoirse decided, which seemed to work quite well, given how rosy Jacob’s cheeks became as she took her leave. “Don’t have too much fun without me, Private.”

You can count on it, his grin exclaimed.

In fact, Saoirse hoped he might take care of some business. Maybe more than once, if he was feeling adventurous. It would certainly loosen him up a bit.

Once the plexiglass doors shut behind her, Jacob made for his gurney and hungrily unzipped the duffel, packed tightly with one week’s worth of clean clothes. Nestled delicately inside the carefully packed clothing was a paperback trilogy by John Grisham, Jacob recognized, each of the books equally weathered and worn after years of traveling amongst Sergeant Michaels’ personal effects.

Jacob wasn’t much of a reader, but he lacked much of anything else to do for the next couple of hours. Given all he had endured over the past few weeks, escaping into a different reality, even for a short time, would surely benefit him.

However, within an hour, and just past the first fifty pages, Jacob began to doze off. He didn’t remember feeling tired, and upon waking a few moments later, he chalked his sudden nap up to the mounting monotony of a thrilling trilogy.

Check again, Jacob swore he heard something whisper in the back of his mind. The duffel.

Weird, he commented, but didn’t hesitate to comply with the voice.

To his surprise, he found a leather-bound yet otherwise unremarkable book at the bottom of the duffel. Unremarkable on the outside, at least.

The book itself was so old its leather had begun to degrade and wear down along its spine, but alas, the spine still withstood the test of time. From what Jacob could tell, after skimming over the first few pages, the book was written entirely in Latin and entirely by an anonymous hand. Its pages were thick and spotted with age and grime—much like the John Grisham trilogy, but this kind of filth felt almost too familiar.

The last page onto which he haphazardly flipped showed a symbol Jacob recalled seeing in several history textbooks which he would borrow from Rome’s public library to help his brothers with their schoolwork. The Crusades, he realized, after racking his brain for far too long.

This was certainly a strange book for Sergeant Michaels to carry around, at any rate. Without realizing it, this mysterious book had engulfed Jacob’s curiosity in its entirety.