Chapter Text
“Shit…”
Jason’s curse echoes between the narrow walls of the catacomb along with his tumbling footsteps. Panting, pushing the door closed behind him, he leans on the cold surface of the stone and allows himself a brief second of well-deserved breath. He can’t hear the ticking sound of those fuckers from the otherside, which is a good sign, but he can’t hear any calling from his teammates either.
“All units, this is Mailman Two-One Actual, do you copy?” Knowing it won’t work, but Jason still tries the radio just for the sake of keeping a little faith. “Anyone, do you copy?!”
There’s not even the usual buzzing noise to answer his desperate call. He must’ve been separated from the team after the bloodbath and the sudden attack at the sacrificial chamber. God knows which chasm he had fallen into when that damn thing came at him and threw both of them into this la la wanderland during the struggle. He has managed to kill the beast——don’t ask him how—— but he’s all alone now.
He punches the stone wall hard and curses again. Counting his breaths, he forces himself to stay calm. If he could stand any chance to survive this, he’s gonna need it. He checks his ammos again, and his gears. His M4 still works—— thank god—— and the battery of his headlight hasn’t died either—— what a miracle. He should count his blessings.
Alright then. He chides himself for the ill-timed self-pity. No time for wallowing, the break is over.
“Time to hit the road, soldier.” Mumbling, grabbing his gun like he’s grabbing for his dear life—— which doesn’t fall too far from the truth, to be honest—— he pushes himself up from the door, and takes one last deep breath to brace himself for the dimlite path and surly awaiting monsters.
And then, he walks.
Somewhere further
" 'Had to protect our homeland,’ you said. ‘Had to fight the Americans.’ And look what that patriotism got you now?” Salim muttered to himself under his breath, daring not to attract any attention from those demons. Listening carefully for any tell-tale sound, he can’t help but mimic Dar’s arrogant voice quietly again. " 'Fight fire with fire.’ What a load of crap. I should be at home now! I should be with Zain, celebrating his birthday! And instead I’m stuck here with vampires and Americans.” He tsks. He couldn’t decide which one is worse. Probably the vampires. But the Americans are following behind with high scores at the moment.
He sighs. He touches his pocket where he’s been keeping Dar’s wallet, feeling it pointless all of a sudden. Dar is dead now. There’s no use blaming the former Republican Guard for dragging him into this. If anything, the distraction would only get himself killed. “Happy things.” Salim tells himself. “Think about happy things, Salim. Like rainbows and sunshine. A hot bath. And some Pilav would be good, too——”
Distant noise cuts his daydreaming short. Salim tenses at the sound, guarding and dreading for the creatures lurking in the shadows, before pale light shivering to emerge from the otherside of the hallway. Then comes soft footsteps.
It’s the Americans.
Salim relaxes before his heart sinks again. It’s good to see some human faces, but they sure aren’t going to be friendly. They’re too many, and he’s all by himself. He can’t fight them all, but he can’t be their captive again either. If he dies, he dies a free man. He clenches the metal stick—— the only weapon he got at this point—— against his chest, and chooses a large pillar to hide for an ambush. Or a quiet escape. Whichever is needed.
The footsteps come closer to reveal that they belong to only one man—— Salim thanks Allah gratefully for watching over him even if he’s literally knee-deep in hell. He peeks his head out just enough to get a glimpse and sincerely hopes it’s the one who killed a vampire with him —— that Nick fella seems to be nice enough, as an American to an Iraqi at least—— in which case maybe he could find a more peaceful approach. Or the guy with the UV lamp, which would come in very handy in the foreseeable future. But alas, God won’t grant all of your wishes. It’s the white guy with a stubborn voice and a more stubborn attitude. Lieutenant Kolchek . Salim has heard his teammates calling the American soldier that name while he was held prisoner in the temple.
But nevertheless, Salim could take him. Especially when he has the advantage of surprise.
He squeezes the metal stick. The dim lighting is in his favor as he slowly approaches the dear Lieutenant from behind. Salim doesn’t give the soldier time to react and bolts at him with full force. Knocked out of his place, the rifle slips off from the soldier’s hands. The Marine pushes back at his assailant, fighting vigorously with his bare fists. Salim takes some hits, but he manages to pin the younger man down on the wall with the stick.
“Stop fighting!” Salim grunts, putting all of his weight in his shoulders while the other man struggles fiercely, trying to break free. “I said stop fighting! Will you just—— oof!”
He hisses when the Marine hits him on the side and slips away from his loosened grip. The stick is knocked out of his hold, and the American soldier goes for it immediately with a growl.
But Salim is quicker—— and smarter, dare he say?—— and swipes down to grab the gun.
He picks up the weapon in a swift move at the same time as the American soldier picks up the metal stick. Salim aims the gun at the man who’s just about to charge at him with that stick. Maybe the American is in the mood for an Iraqi kebab?
“Move, I dare you.” Words bite out of his mouth and hissing, Salim tastes iron. Must be that punch. Salim supposes. The boy’s got some in him, after all. He’s satisfied to see that the other man went still under the gunpoint, scowling at him like Salim just made the high list of his archenemy. The young man’s brown eyes go round in fear, which is replaced quickly by the fire of rage. There’s little doubt that his new friend is planning a hundred deaths for Salim Othman right now.
“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me?” The younger man spits, glaring up at him with a defiant expression that’s way too familiar for a father with a teenager son. “Shoot, then.”
Salim grinds his teeth. He’s tempted, to be completely honest. But that’s not how it works. Killing won’t bring out anything good but blood and more blood. And maybe more monsters. It’s the last thing they need right now.
Salim licks his broken lips. Grimacing, he raises the gun and warns. “Don’t give me any reasons.”
“You need a reason to shoot an American? That’s funny. Like what?” The US Lieutenant takes a step up at him, holding the stick, challenging with a god-damn grin, eyes meeting with his stubbornly. “Like this?”
Salim snaps. He strides forward and pushes the gun barrel on the man’s chest. “Will you just shut up and listen?!”
The man finally shuts his mouth all right, but the glaring continues, if not intensifies. Salim can’t help but sigh in frustration. “Listen…” He takes a long breath to rein himself in. “... we’re both trapped in this hellhole with death and monsters threatening to rip our throats out. Is there really a reason for us to fight other than fighting for our own lives?”
The man’s eyes barely soften, but he does lower his hands and the metal stick. Salim gives him some time to mulling over his offer, before continuing. “Isn’t there enough blood shed tonight?” He half-coerce, half-persuade. “Isn’t it what your friend said, ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’?” He says slowly and adamantly in his earnest voice. “I want both of us to live, not to die in this fucking pit of damn shit for some shitty, trivial reasons like a war or a feud. But in order to do that, we must fight as one. The sword and the shield.”
Refusing to back down, Salim meets the man’s eyes firmly; silence engulfs the small room as the last word falls softly into the heated air. He waits nervously for an answer as the silence stretches long and thin, but at last, the younger man looks away and lowers his arms wordlessly. The metal stick falls by his side.
Salim can’t help but smile. “Good.” He drops the gun, too, and steps back to give the wounded animal some space. “Good.”
“Can I get my gun back now?”
“I think it’s for our best to let me hold onto this for now.” The man gives Salim a dirty look but doesn’t argue any further. He walks ahead, and punches Salim with his shoulder on the way through.
Just before Salim is about to follow, the man turns around at him with a stern look. “If I think for one second that you’re trying to cross me…”
Salim almost laughs at the empty threat. He’s the one holding the big gun, after all. “I kill vampires. You think I’m afraid of a jarhead?”
The scorching look from the younger man finally does the trick and Salim laughs. It feels like he hasn’t laughed in ages. “Relax. I meant what I said.” He pats the man on the arm and walks past him, just in time to hear a grumble bite out from the Marine. “...you’d better be.”
Salim lips twitch despite himself. Amused or resigned, he’s not sure. Shaking his head, he leads away. Onwards.
They might be in hell all right, but Salim has a feeling that this is going to be one hell of a ride.