Could it be called ‘friendship’ whatever the two shared? They had an unhortodoxbond between one another and though they did things that ‘normal friends’ did, Jason and Pagan both shared those moments where they could be seen as psychos getting along,though the dictator wasn’t complaining because he the company that came with being considered a friend and then the advantage of having a trained killer on his side, taking care of the terrorists on his behalf.
Things were different from the jungle but Brody seemed to have adapted to his new environment quite nicely, perhaps the only real change had been the temperature because he was still surrounded by the vicious wildlife and the same bloodshed as he could have found in the thick nature of the island. Min knew what he had in his hand and would never turn that against him, he provided Jason with shelter, food, security and entertainment and to him, that was the best way to show the warrior that he considered him (at least) his ally.
“I’ve seen an elephant take care of an entire outpost by himself. Those things are dangerous, if we find one then we won’t even need to do anything. Still, we could take a sniper rifle or two.”
In all honesty, Jason didn’t consider himself a psychopath. If anything, he preferred to be called a sociopath — though, any word ending with ‘path’ generally left a bad taste on his tongue. Besides, the killing was therapeutic to the American; he’d gotten so used to it that when he had his violent energy all pent up, he got snappy and unpredictable, and it was just better to utilize his craving for blood; especially in situations where it actually helped — like now. It was easier to live normally yet incorporate the entire murder thing into his daily life when he had a friend like Pagan, with mutual interests. That’s what makes friends, isn’t it? At least, that’s how Jason saw it. He didn’t mind what it was called. It was fun, and beneficial, so that’s all that really mattered.
Indeed, there was barely a change in the new atmosphere, here. It was still all the same; all the violence, the war, factions against factions with lies and deceit laced deep through it all. He didn’t care for the entire manipulation thing, after what he’d went through on the islands, so he steered clear of it and stuck to what he knew — murder. The warrior stayed to the one side that he knew wasn’t using him (even though he never was very good at being able to tell), and he hadn’t yet been coerced into donating to the local 'impregnate the leader’ fund, so, he deemed this fine, absolutely fucking dandy.
‘ Shit. I mean, I know elephants are capable of damage, but damn. We should take some C4 or mines or something, too. Blowing shit up is probably the best part. ’
A small chuckle left his throat at the other’s scoff, he knew that Min was messing with him and it was fun to share a friendship with him — one with benefits, those being the fact that they managed to spend time together while taking care of the terrorists. He had befriended a killer and it was fun and extremely useful, Jason was a good weapon to keep close.
He might have been biased but getting him out of the jungle and giving him a large playground to enjoy himself in was enough for the Rakyat to owe him his loyalty — besides, he was hungry for blood and there was plenty of it to be spilled around Kyrat.
“Stealth? Like bow and arrow or silencers? Either one is good as long as it’s a surprise.”
Their friendship benefited them mutually; Jason got to murder people in an environment where it wasn’t looked down upon and he still got shelter, food, and protection. Pagan, on the other hand, got a self-taught killer to take down the terrorists with. Of course, there were all the things that normal friends had, too, such as jokes, drinking together, playing games, all that fun stuff. Not to mention that Jason didn’t care if he was seen as a weapon or even sub-human at worst; it was all the same to him. A warrior, a follower, whatever it was that he was, it was a fucking hoot, and he wouldn’t give it up for the fucking world.
Jason was loyal to Pagan as long as Pagan didn’t fuck him over; which he definitely wasn’t, in Jason’s eyes, at least. He wasn’t loyal in the way a dog was loyal; he didn’t act like a servant, he was just a friend. He wouldn’t kill the king if the rebels offered him a goddamn gold-plated helicopter. That was the kind of loyal he was; it was swearing fealty, really.
‘ Yeah, either one’ll work. You can bust open one of their animal cages and watch them get torn to shreds, too, but you’ve probably seen enough of that in the Arena to last a lifetime. ’
Hurt my muse - ♕: A kick in a very sensitive area.
He’d definitely deserved that kick to the groin. It fucking hurt, those sharp-toed crocodile skin shoes of the king’s, but it was well-deserved, after all. Jason had obviously poked fun of Pagan’s eyebrows one too many times, and the prissy little princess got fed up and decked the man right in the family jewels.
Said man was now kneeling on the clean palace floor, hands clutching his crotch area tightly while he wailed softly. Getting his dick absolutely throttled by those damn shoes stung like a bitch, and he was now doubtful of his own reproductive ability.
‘ Ow, you bitch! I get that you don’t know what being kicked in the dick feels like, with a chode that small — ’
Jason’s little rant was cut off short by his own suffering, and he laid down on the ground, moaning as if he were shot.
Murdering buddy, nickname would have sounded childish if it wasn’t for the fact that it had the word ‘murder’ in it and that was exactly what the two often did. In all honesty, Min was sort of surprised that Jason had never protested whenever they went out to shoot terrorists and raid camps, he believed the young man would be on their side but then again — he had saved him from the jungle and in a way, the Rakyat owed him his loyalty and respect.
“Thank you — you’re not half as bad yourself. We should start planning things for our next escapade, Jason. Perhaps take back an outpost.”
Not half as bad? Jason scoffs and grins at the other, shaking his head. He didn’t plan on mentioning how he had killed way more terrorists last ‘expedition'— yes, he’d been counting — and instead focused on the plan. Oh, yes. Taking back outposts was his specialty.
Jason wasn’t the type to argue with a little bit of murder; well, not anymore, at least. Besides, he was essentially dropped into Pagan’s "side”. He was clearly biased against the rebels like the rebels were biased against the Royal Army, and for good reason.
‘ Sign me up for that. I suggest that we go stealth on them; it works like a fucking charm. ’
He loved these little outings the dictator allowed him. Being able to get out again, breathe in in the crisp, fresh air, stretch his legs. It was all great, as well as a welcomed privilege. But most of all, he enjoyed the freedom he was granted to kill.
‘ I gotta hand it to you, you’re a good… murdering buddy? Is that the right term? Whatever, it is now. ’
The tyrant scanned the man’s arms, he knew what tatau’s were and he knew what the woman’s marks meant but he was curious as to what Jason’s stood for. He moved closer and sat next to him, poking the ink with his index finger.
“I know you get these in the island but I was wondering what they meant.”
And he spoke with genuine and innocent curiosity, not because he wanted to hold something against him — Pagan just enjoyed art in whichever form it took and tattoos looked rather awesome.
His eyes drifted to his own heavily-inked forearms, running one index finger down his left arm. Thinking hard about what it was they meant again, he gave a huff, recalling.
‘ These spiders, they mean stealth. The sharks mean strength. The herons mean mobility, the fight-or-flight type shit, you know? ’
People were often intrigued by the tatau covering his arms, questioning him. He could give the answer, that they held some weird fucking mystical power unknown to him, but they wouldn’t ever believe him. No one did.
‘ I got them from the Rakyat, so they’re not just some shitty, cheap gimmick. Probably. ’
To have someone like Jason — so willing to go outside and join him in the sadistic activity — it made Min feel more at ease about his own actions. The dictator wasn’t the only one who wanted to teach the terrorists some lessons by picking up a weapon and offing a few of them; he had an ally now.
“Their leader died but two more popped up… Like a fucking disease, these rats piss me off.”
It wasn’t so much that he wanted to teach anyone a lesson, or extract revenge, no, it was nothing like that. In fact, Jason hardly had any motive at all to be killing these people; other than bloodlust, of course.
He’d become accustomed to murder, as it was an activity that made adrenaline pump through his veins, giving him a feeling of vertigo, as if he were literally swan-diving off the deep end.
‘ Sounds like a serious case of mitosis, from the sounds of it. One leader that dies and two others pop up in their place? Yeah. I’d say they’re more like a pathogen; creating disease. ’
The dictator cocked an eyebrow at Jason’s excitement, it was good to see him in such a mood but the terrorists were something serious; their small mission wasn’t a game.
“Pay attention, being too cocky will cost you — these rodents are slippery.”
Of course, he knew this wasn’t a game. None of it was, nor would it ever be. The warrior simply felt good about getting out; to stretch his legs, to shoot some terrorists — he would be plenty careful when he needed to be. He always was. With a lazy grin spreading across his lips, he smiled at Pagan, nodding slowly.
‘ I know, I know. I’d assume they’re at least a bit smart, if they could manage to stay alive for this long. ’
