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Fall
By : Skarto
Category: +A through F > Far Cry Series
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Disclaimer: I do not own Far Cry 3 and make no money from this fanfiction.
Chapter List
- 1-Fall
- 1
Fall
He’d always hated running away.
The undergrowth closed around him as Jason hurtled through it. It tugged at his arms and legs, tried to grab him, trip him up. His chest burned. His mouth was so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. With every dragged breath he took, the hot, moist scent of the trees and various flora filled his aching lungs. The muscles in his legs felt like they’d been set on fire.
He’d been on his way to restock ammo, and quite literally stumbled into a privateer base. Why the hell hadn’t he followed Sam’s suggestion to go and find a more suitable outfit instead of exploring the island? With the tatau on his arm, the privateers had recognised him instantly. And now half the base was on his heels, chasing him across the fucking island while the sun blazed down and made running ten times harder.
Somewhere along the way he’d lost his ACE to a low tree branch, and thrown his empty Z93 over his shoulder to lighten the load. Behind him, the privateers whooped and sent strafes of bullets whizzing over his head or at his heels. Damn, those guys sucked at aiming. Outrunning them should have been easy, but some wiry little bastard managed to keep Jason’s pace. The guy was fucking smart. He kept a safe distance, close enough to stay on Jason’s trail, but not close enough to fall for feints or leave himself open to attacks.
Jason slowed to push a path through the undergrowth. Vines and leaves slipped under his palms. The privateer runner slowed as well, followed his trail. Jason gritted his teeth and wondered if brandishing his empty handgun would do any good. Knowing his luck, he’d probably drop the damn thing.
“He’s over here!”
Fuck that guy. The other privateers would have lost him in two minutes, but thanks to Big Mouth they were crashing along in the right direction.
Jason pushed himself, gave his poor legs a burst of energy. Pain flared in his sides. His lungs became a ball of fire. How much longer could he go on like this? The privateer chasing him had to be a fucking marathon runner or something. This wasn’t something Jason could win on endurance alone. He’d have to try something clever.
They burst from the trees onto a flat stretch of grass, and Jason saw his clever opportunity ahead. Or stupid opportunity. Probably stupid.
Most of the buffalo were lying down, chewing when he ran right into the middle of the herd. They lurched to their feet and gave bewildered bellows, puffing air from their nostrils like steam engines. He managed to dodge a cow and calf, and throw himself out of the way when a pair of horns appeared in front of him, but the bull was a different matter.
A white blur galloped to his left. Straight at him. He slipped to the side, knew he wasn’t quick enough. A horrible tug on his shoulder, and then he was dragged off his feet and shaken like a rag doll. He waited for the pain. When it didn’t come, he reached up and, despite the rattling in his head, felt the strap of his rucksack had wound around the bull’s horn.
He tried to shrug the straps over his shoulders, but the leather bit into his skin. The bull roared in his ear, a deep bassoon that vibrated inside his chest. He arched his back. Muscles screaming in protest, he managed to yank his arms out of the straps.
His knees hit the ground, and his feet had gotten so used to running that he took off in an instant, headed towards a line of trees. He stumbled a little, and turned back while slowing to a jog. The buffalo were staring at him, but remained where they were. His loot rucksack was still hanging off one of the bull’s horns like an ugly earring. As he watched, it shook it off, roared again, and then began to try and gore the leather to death. Animal skins and various plant parts scattered over the grass. Well, fuck. There went his ammo cash.
The runner stood on the other side of the herd. His head turned left, then right. Probably working out the quickest way to skirt around the buffalo. Jason raised his arm. Flicked his middle finger up. The privateer glared at him through the hole in his acid-yellow outfit. Drew his own finger across his throat.
Nice to know they were both on the same page.
Jason turned his back on the buffalo. He slipped into the trees and listed left to follow a thin path. At least he could take it a little easier now. He’d still have to hurry the hell up, but now he didn’t need to sprint and wear his muscles out even more.
Several deep breaths later, and the fire in his lungs had been doused. The adrenaline still had his senses fired up, still had him twitching at every strange sound. He wondered how far away he was from Thurston Town. A drink with Sam sounded real good.
He stopped. Listened. Nothing but birds squawking in the branches over his head and a stream gurgling to his right. Jason let a loud breath escape him. He slumped against a tree and put his hands on his knees. That was way too close. Mental note: get ammo more often. Next time he might not have a herd of buffalo to help him out.
Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose. A layer of dust clotted in his mouth. He gave himself another minute to recover, and then straightened, stretched out his sore muscles, and headed towards the sound of running water. Anticipation teased his tongue. If he was lucky, he might still had some looted water purification tablets nestled in the fluff of one of his back pockets. Even if he didn’t, the risk meant nothing when he fucking needed to drink.
He reached out a hand to push through a bush and a pink burst, as bright as the sun, blinded him. Instinct made him put a hand over his eyes. Terror tore it away.
In front of him, an inferno snarled to life. The trees were suddenly towering pillars of fire, the grass a blazing carpet. The heat reached him in a split-second, hit him like a wall. He smelled the singe of his own hair. As he cringed away, a voice rose behind him.
“Brody! Give it up!”
Time to run again.
He twisted to the left, tore through the undergrowth. This time his feet dragged and his legs refused to pump like they did before. The pain in his chest smouldered back to existence.
Yes, give up, said a small voice inside his head. Can’t go on like this. No more pain. No more running. No more fuckheads shooting at you. Let them catch you.
Another flare shot past him like a rocket, forced him to turn left again.
No more running. It was so tempting. Citra, though – what would she say if she knew he had just given up? She was relying on him, they were relying on him. His people.
And Grant, said another voice, his old life, Grant would never have given up.
The handle of his knife bumped against his thigh. He’d got it when no one else could. He was a warrior. Warriors didn’t give up. They died fighting on their feet.
Another stream of fire. This couldn’t go on for much longer. His hand tightened around the knife. The privateer could easily hit him with the flare gun, but if Jason was quick he might be able to –
Wait. The privateer could easily hit him with the flare gun. So why wasn’t he?
The ground fell into a slope. He teetered for a moment, and then a flare bowled him forward. He tumbled, down, down, head over heels. Green slashed pain across his face, his arms. He caught a flash of sky, then earth, sky, earth, sky –
He reached out and scrambled for something to grab. Something hard hit the side of his face and scraped his skin. He cried out, clawed the dirt to try and slow himself. Over and over and over he rolled. Nausea burst in his stomach. Fuck, how long was this slope –?
In the air. Down again.
The ground smacked him like an iron fist.
He lay on his side. Alive. That was good. He could move his fingers and his toes. Nothing broken, just bruised. Jason sat up and winced. A dull pain thudded in his ribs.
Where the hell was he now?
His first impression was a gouge in the land. Steep sides, maybe nine feet tall, formed a channel that ran further than he could see on one side. On the other side, nearby, the channel stopped against a tall cliff. The ground was dust and cracked dirt. A few large rocks and sporadic patches of scrubby vegetation were the only things he could see. A riverbed. Must have dried out a long time ago. And the cliff would have been a waterfall. Unfortunately not the kind of waterfall that had a nice dark cave behind it.
He looked up at the slope that had given him the fun little journey into his latest hell-hole. Damn. How was he going to get back up that thing? The walls of the riverbed were impossible to climb in his current condition. He’d have to follow it down until he found a place he could get out.
Around him, a patch of flowers sprouted from the dirt. He’d landed right in the middle of them. They were different to any he’d seen on this island – they looked more at place in the jungle. Large firm petals curled to the side, each as big as his palm. They gleamed in the sun, blood-red. The insides peeked yellow.
Willis’ information on them didn’t exist, not even to say if they were poisonous. Shit. He could be looking at something that could give him a real boost and he wouldn’t know it.
He brushed the one in front of him aside. Pinpricks stung the back of his hand, and he snatched it away. The fuck? Had he pissed off some insects or something? Red dots bloomed on his skin. A rash. Great, this was the last thing he needed. Jason leaned forward. Bristles ran the length of the stem, almost invisible. Things just got better and better. He held his arms out to check over them. Several patches of the red dots made it look like he had some sort of scary disease. Hell, maybe he did now.
It took every ounce of effort to stand up. His muscles trembled. Fuck the pretty flowers, he needed to get out of here. Get out, find the nearest town, sleep for a hundred years. Then kill Hoyt.
He staggered out into the middle of the riverbed. His arms and legs had turned into lead weights. His head felt like a bowling ball. The dust scuffed under his feet. Too loud in his ears. His shoe nudged a pebble. The clatter when it flipped over made him wince. Things shouldn’t be this loud.
The crush of vegetation turned his head back to the slope. The privateer runner navigated his way down, slow, and stopped, looked over the edge. He swung his legs over and lowered himself, avoiding the patch of flowers. Jason watched him, weary. He moved back when the privateer circled to his right and blocked Jason’s only exit. The flare gun came up, aimed at him.
“You going to stop running now, Brody?”
Less gruff than the other privateers, his accent twinged with something southern. Jason hated himself for taking a few more steps back. No shit he was going to stop running – he had nowhere to go, and his body wouldn’t let him even if he did. The privateer hummed and pointed the flare gun straight up in the air. The pink light streaked higher than the trees. Reinforcements on the way. Just great.
The privateer popped another flare cartridge in. His eyes stayed fixed on Jason. “Thought I’d lost you when you went through those buffalo. They’re grumpy bastards at the best of times, but when they have calves?” He shook his head. “You must be fucking crazy, Brody.”
“You stay the hell away from me.” Jason took out the knife, held it in front of him. Not enough energy to move fast enough to attack the privateer, but he could at least try and defend himself. The privateer just smiled and sat on one of the larger rocks in the middle of the gorge.
“Hit them flowers, didn’t you? Give it five minutes, maybe six, and you won’t be saying that. Do yourself a favour, don’t waste any more energy.”
“Shut up. I’ll kill you if I have to.”
“Big words from a guy who can barely stand.” The privateer reached up to take off his helmet, then pulled the yellow material down over his head with a sigh. Short brown hair lay flat against his scalp and a scar ran the length of his right cheek. Damn, he couldn’t have been much older than Grant. The privateer unhooked a canteen from his belt. Without taking his eyes off Jason, he unscrewed the top and took a long drink. The water inside glugged and Jason clenched his jaw. Bastard.
The gaps between the privateer and the sides of the riverbed were wide, and the left was wider than the right. If he slipped past, if he gave it one last push—
“Don’t even think about it.” The privateer raised the canteen to his lips again, and then screwed the top on, hooked it back onto his belt. “You run and I’ll just keep chasing you. I’ve hunted most of the top predators. They sometimes bolt too, but the fun’s in the tracking.” He nodded to Jason. “Then you bring them to bay.”
“I’m not an animal, you asshole!” The knife quivered in his hand. His skin went hot, then cold. He took a deep breath. Weakness bit his knees and threatened to spill him on the ground. His tongue felt too big. The slow beat of arousal collected between his legs. Jason blinked. What the hell?
The privateer gave him a small smile.
From the top of the slope came the sounds of shouts. The other privateers had caught them up. Fuck, he needed to get out of here. Jason took a step towards the privateer, teeth bared, knife thrusting forward –
– and fell to one knee.
He knelt there and panted. Damn it, why was he hard? This wasn’t just thirst or exhaustion. Those flowers must have been poisonous. The back of his hand looked like someone had used it as a pincushion, and the dots had spread to his wrist.
“Hoyt thought he had all of them destroyed. Guess not.” The privateer scratched his scar and tilted his head down at Jason. “Bunch of stupid fucks spiked some of the food rations a while back, as a joke. Heard that it took a good few days to get everything… calmed down.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jason tried to haul himself up, but his legs refused to work. He swallowed, balled his hands into fists to stop them from wandering down to his cock. Jesus, this was fucked up. He slumped back down. The tip of the knife dragged in the dirt.
“The flowers. The natives use ‘em to spice things up in the bedroom. They don’t roll around in a whole patch, though. Even they’re not that stupid.”
“Fuck you.”
“We’ll see.” The privateer shifted on the rock. He raised his voice. “Y’all better get the hell down here. Watch out at the bottom. Got a major fuckweed problem going on.”
“Fuckweed.” A hysterical smile stretched Jason’s face. “Real original name.”
Roll around. We’ll see. Why were those words bouncing around in his head? Jason squeezed his eyes shut. His breath came too fast, too hard, and his fingers clenched in the dust.
“Hey, Cooper, how ‘bout you just cripple the next one instead of making us run all the way, huh?”
The voice turned his head to the right. Five more privateers had jumped into the riverbed. Their guns came up, pointed at Jason. The runner shrugged. “Figured you guys could do with the exercise.”
“Very fucking funny,” the closest privateer said. His head had been shaved and a couple of days’ worth of stubble darkened half his face. He stared down at Jason. “So what’s the deal with Snow White?”
“Hit the fuckweed. Where’s Ross?”
“Coming. You know how heavy those suits are.” The privateer moved closer to Jason, his eyes narrowed. “He safe?”
“Yeah, looks like it. Won’t be long now.”
The privateers slung their guns over their backs. A couple pulled out cigarettes and lit up. Their eyes slid over him like greasy hands. The one with the shaved head leaned down to stare at him. His eyebrows knit together in false concern. “Aww, Honey. What happened to you, eh?” He reached out his hand like he was about to pet a dog. Jason snarled. The knife came up again, swiped at the privateer, but the air had turned as thick as blood. Too slow.
A foot hit his chest. The impact sent him sprawling onto his back, and the knife flew out of his hand. The privateer kicked it away, and Jason heard the smack of metal meeting stone.
He lay there while laughter rang in his ears. A boot pinned him, the pressure a warning. The privateer loomed over him. “He better be doped. If he takes off again I’m not going after him, no matter how much Hoyt’s offering.”
“I said he was.”
The boot pressed against Jason’s stomach. The toe nudged his shirt up to below his ribs, exposed his stomach. The ridges of the sole rubbed his skin. His breathing stopped. That felt way too good. It was just a shoe, for Christ’s sake. He lifted his head. “S-stop…”
Their laughter grew. The boot travelled down and lingered between his legs. A jolt of pleasure made him lurch up, roll his hips against the shoe. And then his hips just kept on going. His erection strained for more contact. A noise of disbelief mewled from Jason’s lips.
“God damn, Brody,” said the privateer above him, “you fucking whore. You like that, huh?” His boot ground harder against Jason’s cock. Blood pounded in Jason’s head, and he arched his spine up off the floor. Yes, said the little voice again, yes, more, there, please –
Jason clenched his eyes shut, told the voice to fuck off and have a cold shower. He was a warrior. He beat Vaas, he beat Buck, he could sure as hell beat this disgusting feeling, and this group of testosterone-hyped fuckwads.
“Let’s get him back to Hoyt now,” one of the other privateers said, “before he snaps out of it.”
“You want to carry him?” The boot twisted, and Jason forced down a moan. “Cooper ran him into the ground. He won’t be a problem after, so we’ll deal with this here and now. Who’s in?”
Deal with this? Shit, that better not mean what he thought it meant. Jason tried to scramble away from the shoe, but the privateer pressed down so hard it hurt. “You just stay right-the-fuck there, Honey.”
He didn’t know why he obeyed.
Sweat stuck his clothes to his skin. He wanted them off, wanted to feel something else glide against his flesh instead. His breath came in small gasps. The privateers talked amongst themselves, but their words were lost in the fast throb of his heartbeat.
One of his hands found his own stomach. He trailed his fingertips up, under his shirt, until he found a nipple. A muted spark of pleasure shot to his groin when he rubbed his thumb over it. He closed his eyes. His other hand slid to the waistband of his pants. The boot still rubbed against his cock.
“Ho-ly shit. That’s what I like to see.” The privateer smiled down at him. “Yeah, you need it, don’t you, Honey?”
Jason opened his mouth to deny that, but all that came out was a drugged whine. Heat stroked his skin. He needed, he wanted.
“Get on your knees.”
“F-fuck you…”
The shoe found a rhythm. Jason cried out, bucked against it.
“On your knees!”
He struggled up. Hated himself. The privateer took a step forward and his scent hit Jason like a slap in the face. Sweat, leather, guns. Jason’s erection twitched. His hands came up and clutched the privateer’s pants. A strong hand grabbed his jaw and forced his head up. He met the privateer’s eyes.
“Beg me for it.”
Jason swallowed and shook his head. The back of a hand met his face. Pain stung his cheek, made him even harder. “Beg!”
His eyes dropped to the floor. He tasted blood. “Please.”
“Please what, whore?”
“Please… let me suck you.”
“Good boy. Now say it louder, so everyone can hear.”
Jason took a deep breath. The other privateers had shuffled closer when he wasn’t looking. “Please let me suck your dick.”
They laughed again. The privateer smirked. “Fine, since you asked so nicely. Get to it.”
Jason’s fingers shook when he dragged the zipper down. He eased the cock out, and when his hand wrapped around it, his own erection responded with a pulse. The privateer yanked his head forward. “Go on, Brody.”
The tip nudged between his lips. He closed his eyes. The privateer pushed forward, slid into his mouth with a groan.
Oh… fuck.
His hands fisted in the privateer’s pants and he pulled himself down onto the cock. Being degraded shouldn’t feel so good. He took as much as he could, rocked his hips in time to the privateer’s thrusts. The boot went back between his legs and he flexed himself against it. The taste of skin and sweat rolled against his tongue.
“C’mon, Honey,” the privateer said above him, his fingers tugging Jason’s hair, “you can do better than that.”
He took another deep breath. Inch by inch, he slipped the privateer past the tight ring of muscle at the back of his throat. Above him came a breathless laugh. “Yeah, bet you’ve done this before –”
“Jesus, knew I was hanging around with a bunch of fags.”
Jason strained his eyes to the side. A heavy lumbered into his vision, the sleek black metal of a flamethrower held tight in his hands. His helmet glinted in the light as it tilted in Jason’s direction.
The privateer pulled Jason against him even harder. “Fuck you, Ross. You’re just jealous ‘cause he sucks better than your sister.”
“At least my sister’s a girl.”
“Would you two shut up?” Cooper’s voice reached Jason’s ears. “Ross, come and burn this stuff off. Stone, hurry the hell up.”
The privateer grunted. Jason tightened his lips around the shaft of the cock and let his tongue play against the underside. The stimulation between his legs vanished. He whimpered and slid his mouth down faster. Fuck, the asshole couldn’t stop now.
The grip on his hair stung his scalp. He didn’t have to move his head – the privateer, Stone, rolled his own hips, thrust hard inside Jason’s mouth. Despite his aching jaw, Jason let his throat relax and suckled like he was starving. Somewhere, deep in his mind, his actions appalled him. These men were going to use him, then sell him off to Hoyt. And the flowers, whatever those fucking flowers had done to him, made it feel like that was the hottest thing ever.
Stone gave a tight moan above him. Jason’s nose was crushed against a thick patch of pubic hair. He gagged, tried to pull away, but the hand on the back of his head kept him there as Stone’s hips stilled. The cock in his mouth twitched. Spurts trickled down his throat, forced him to swallow or be choked. Stone eased out of his mouth and left a trail of bitterness on his tongue. A cough built, wracked Jason’s body and he gasped for breath.
Fingers gripped his chin and forced his head up. A drop of come ran from the corner of his mouth. Stone sneered down at him and leaned forward. For one crazy moment, Jason though he was about to kiss him.
The privateer pursed his lips and then spat in Jason’s face.
Disgust rose inside him. He closed his eyes, wiped his cheek with the back of a hand. His cock gave another pulse. God dammit. Stone tucked himself back into his pants. He turned, called out for a cigarette, and left Jason kneeling in the dirt.
The come left a sour tang on his tongue. Jason panted, and his hand slid between his legs to try and ease the pressure. The privateers’ words were just background noise. His vision blurred and they turned into yellow-grey blobs. A helpless snarl ripped itself from his lips as the pleasure clenched inside him. Did they want him to crawl to them? Beg some more?
He fell onto his hands and knees. His shoulder muscles ached, strained to hold him up. Like a wave, lust built, collected energy, and roared through him. He cried out, fingers clenched in his own skin. He let his forehead rest against his arms, wished this whole fucking thing would just end.
To the side came the sound of footsteps. He didn’t look up. At that moment, he would welcome a bullet to the head.
A foot nudged under Jason’s ribs. He let himself be rolled onto his back again. Two more privateers stared down at him.
“What do you want, his mouth?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
His shirt was pulled off over his head. Fingers fiddled with his belt, then yanked his pants and underwear off. He whined in relief, reached down to touch himself. A privateer kneeled over his face and grabbed his wrists, forced them up over his head and pinned them there. The one between his legs stroked his thumbs down Jason’s inner thighs. Jason shivered at the contact. Too good, fuck, he needed –
The tip of another cock brushed his lips. He didn’t think, just opened his mouth and let it glide in. He felt a slick nudge of fingers between his buttocks, and moaned when they pushed inside. A gloved hand touched his chest. His nipples were rubbed and the pleasure shot down to his erection.
His back arched off the ground when the fingers withdrew and something longer and thicker penetrated him. It hurt, but the hurt was twisted, warped into something that felt so good. His legs wrapped around a waist, pulled the privateer closer. The cock in his mouth dipped in and out.
Frustration welled in his groin. He fucking needed to be touched – couldn’t these assholes see that? He strained against the hands holding him down and made small noises at the back of his throat. More laughter. The cock left his mouth and his head was grabbed, turned to the side.
“Smile for the camera, Brody,” one of the privateers said to another round of laughs. A phone was held up, and he heard the simulated click of a shutter. Heat rose in his cheeks and he tried to look away, but the hand tightened in his hair. The privateer fucking him shifted position and the smack of his hips against Jason’s sounded far too loud. A rough scrape along his prostate bent his spine up again. This time his cry sounded more like a sob.
Another phone was held up. No click this time. The privateer holding it smirked down at him. “How’s it feel, Brody? Come on, tell everyone how much of a whore you are.”
He clenched his teeth together, closed his eyes. Their mocking conversations spun around him like a cocoon, each dirty, humiliating word making his cock beat a rhythm against his stomach. His mouth was filled again.
The voice of the heavy rumbled in the background. “Wrap it up, you lot. You want the native fucks to find us here?”
“Yeah, yeah. So, who’s going to make Snow White come on camera?”
He mewled and bucked against the privateer between his legs. Yes, God, finally.
“I’ll do it.” Cooper crouched beside him. Their eyes met. Cooper raised his eyebrows and stroked his hand over Jason’s cheek. “You were a good run,” he whispered, let his fingers skim over Jason’s chest and then down to his erection, “best yet.”
The hand wrapped around him. No gentle stroking or light, tentative touches, Cooper pumped Jason hard.
His eyes rolled back in his head. Too much. Too much sensation. The privateer fucking him seemed to try and match Cooper’s pace with quick, deep thrusts. The heat built under Jason’s skin, burned through his veins. He couldn’t think anymore, could barely form a coherent sentence in his own mind. Little noises burst from him, tiny wants and pleas. He strained into that fist and let lust drive his tongue.
When he came, it made all his times with Liza feel like nothing. Cooper’s hand encouraged the pleasure higher and higher, built it inside him until he couldn’t take it. It burst, white-hot and intense. His scream lodged in his throat, his breath hitched into sobs. Behind his eyelids, light exploded.
It took a while to come down. The high stayed with him for a few minutes, the lust slowly ebbed from his body and left him limp. He hadn’t even noticed the cock in his mouth had been withdrawn and left come dripping down his cheek until he opened his eyes. Cooper took his hand away. Between his legs, the privateer’s thrusts became more forceful, until he eventually stopped with a groan.
For a minute, Jason couldn’t hear anything but his own heavy panting. Another hand wiped his chest, but he couldn’t tell who it belonged to. His skin cooled, sweat evaporating in the warm air.
“You get all that?”
“Yeah. Think we should send it to Hoyt for his birthday? He’d probably make more off the tape than he would off Snow White.”
A snort. “Screw that, he’ll have Brody all to himself. Unless he lets us play with him back at the compound before he ships him off.” Fingers rubbed his cheek. “Would you like that, Honey?”
He tried to say no, but all that came out was a small moan. The laughter almost deafened him. Jason’s lip twitched and he almost bared his teeth. The lust had turned bearable, and his head cleared by degrees. He looked to the side as one of the privateers smeared come across his stomach. Fucking assholes. He wasn’t their whore, or their little fucktoy.
He clenched his fists. His wrists had been released. Clarity returned like drips of cold water on his face. Physical exhaustion still weighed his body down, but at least he didn’t have to deal with the inferno of want and need anymore. Time for another plan, and this one wasn’t going to be stupid.
He stretched on the ground, worked out all the aches in his muscles. “Please,” he said, so quietly it was almost lost in the chatter, “please, I need more…” He arched his hips, hoped he was still at least half-hard.
Silence for a moment. “Aw, hell,” said Stone, “we haven’t got time for this. Just get him up. If he starts rubbing on us, we can play a bit more, but right now I’m dying in this God damn heat.”
Someone hauled Jason to his feet. He wrapped his arm around their shoulder and leaned against them. The privateers shuffled around, some stubbing out their cigarettes. The heavy was checking the fuel tank strapped to his back. Didn’t seem like anyone was hurrying to redress Jason. He’d have to do this in the buff.
His hand reached across and grabbed the knife from the privateer’s holster. With one deft move, he shimmied behind the man and slit his throat. Blood gushed over his hand, hot and wet. He felt nothing.
Before the others had even glanced in his direction, Jason had thrown the knife into the neck of another and untangled the dead privateer’s gun.
“Fuck!” Stone took a step back. “Shoot him!”
He gave himself some covering fire, but only managed to hit one privateer in the neck. The rest took a few seconds to haul their weapons over their shoulders, and in that time he had sprinted to the rock Cooper had sat on, and crouched behind it. He had all the cover. Bullets splinted the edge of the rock, peppered the air over his head. Jason propped the gun on top, pulled the trigger.
He heard them scatter and shout orders to each other. An inhuman shriek rose above the bullets, wavered, and then died. To he left, a flash of yellow. He shot without thinking, saw a line of his bullets tear into the thigh and chest of a privateer.
Pain blasted into his head. Jason cried out and brought his fingers up to his ear. They came away bloody. Another shot smashed the rock by his arm. He looked to his right, saw Stone reloading a sniper rifle.
“You fuck, Brody! You’re going to die, you piece of shit!”
Jason snarled at him. Both their guns came up at the same time. His bullet smashed through Stone’s skull. Stone’s caught his gun and the impact jarred it out of his hands. Dammit. Needed a new weapon.
He peeked over the rock. Fire howled towards him, scalded his face. He ducked and cried out, rubbed his face. Fuck, the heavy.
The fire blazed around the rock. The air grew hot and he couldn’t drag it into his lungs. Shit, he had to do something. Run out like a rabbit and be cooked alive, or stay where he was and be cooked alive? What a choice to make.
The flames stopped. He took a chance and looked around the rock again. Something caught his eye, something on the other side of the rock. His knife.
He heard a canister pop. Reloaded, the heavy started up his barrage of fire again, and Jason had to jerk himself out of the way. The thunderous footsteps approached. Wouldn’t be long before he had to make a break for it.
“Come on out, Snow White! I bet you burn up better than pigs!” The roar of flames grew louder. Jason’s skin began to blister. “I’ll leave you out here for the natives to find. Their little hero, Jason Brody, just a fucking charred corpse in a ditch!”
He grit his teeth. Waited out the pain. The fire seemed to rip the air away. Beyond his reach, the knife called to him.
The flames stopped again. He didn’t hesitate.
He flung himself to the side, then forward. The heavy cursed, let the empty fuel canister fall from under the flamethrower. He wrapped his hand around one on his belt just as Jason’s own hand curled around the handle of the knife.
Jason didn’t stop. He let the momentum carry him forward, and drew back his arm. The heavy swore and his voice tore with hate.
There was a hollow crack as the knife penetrated the visor, then a final, rotten chut sound when it went further, all the way to the hilt.
The flamethrower fell to the ground. A few seconds later, so did the heavy.
Jason yanked the knife out, wiped the blade off onto the bare skin of his arm. He’d won. A smile crept onto his face. He was the warrior. The hunter. The survivor. Nothing stood in his way. Nothing.
Someone moaned behind him. The handle of the knife dug hard into his palm. He turned, cast a brief glance at the carnage, and then spotted Cooper slumped by the bank. Jason walked over to him, not caring in the least that he was still naked.
Cooper looked up as he approached. Blood spread in a huge patch below his knee, and bone splintered from the wound. Jason hoped it had been one of his own bullets. He gave the privateer a cautious once-over, but saw no guns or other weapons near him. Even so, he kept a few meters away when he crouched down. Cooper panted like a dog, his face tight with pain. He glared at Jason, who just smiled back.
“Well?” Jason ran his fingers over the blade. “Aren’t you going to run?”
“Fuck you, Brody.” Cooper spat blood into the dust at his feet. “Hurry up and kill me.”
“Me? I don’t think so. If the jungle doesn’t get you, your pals will. You’re pretty much useless to them now, aren’t you?”
Cooper’s lips drew back in a sneer. “Native fucker.”
“Definitely. And you should see her. But hey, look at it this way, at least you’ll have died doing what you loved. Your prey was just stronger this time, that’s all. I gotta go now. Have to kill your boss.”
Cooper said nothing more, just pressed his hand against the wound. Jason walked away and looked through the bodies for his clothes. Having them back on felt good, even if they were covered in blood and sweat. He looked around at the flowers that had caused him all this shit. They had been reduced to black ash by the heavy. Thank God. He’d have to watch out for more of those things.
He turned his back on Cooper and started his walk down the dried riverbed to find a way out. The ghosts of the privateers’ hands pressed against his skin. The flower’s hold on him threatened to strangle his disgust, his focus. Jason sucked in a deep breath. No more weakness. He had to remember what he was fighting for. Citra. His people. Grant and Riley.
Behind him, Cooper screamed. Jason didn’t look back.
The End
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Fall	By : Skarto Category: +A through F > Far Cry Series Views: 2989 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Far Cry 3 and make no money from this fanfiction.

Fall