James 'Red' Atkins x Original Female Character
This was the chance of a lifetime for Diane Kirsten. As an ambitious video-photographer on an internship with a UK publication, she eagerly accepted an offer from her distant aunt, Lena Kendricks, a doctor, to travel to Nigeria. Her mission: to document the crippling plague and the harsh living conditions it created. It was an opportunity to earn her place and land the job she'd always dreamed of. But what began as a dream assignment quickly turned into a fight for survival. Trapped in the Nigerian lands, she and Lena found themselves hunted by soldiers who showed no mercy to their opposition, ruthlessly targeting women, children, and anyone who was of any other religion than their own.
Diane was with her aunt in a small village, taking refuge with a priest, two nuns, and locals in desperate need of medical aid, a fragile haven for those in need. She was outside, lost in the quiet work of documenting the day—filming the night sky, taking notes for her essay, and sketching. A sudden shadow fell over her lamplit page, and a hand covered the light. A voice, barely a whisper, shushed her, telling her not to be scared. She looked around for help, scrambling to retreat back to the hospital wing where her aunt was, only to back into another figure. Camouflaged and imposing, the second soldier loomed over her. She couldn't make out his face in the darkness, only the dim, attentive gaze of his blue eyes, her own blue green eyes, widening in shock and alertness.
Diane stepped inside and immediately saw her aunt, Lena, locked in a heated argument with another soldier, seemingly the lieutenant. She caught snippets of the conversation—an extraction mission that would take her, Lena, the priest, and the two nuns out of Africa.
"I cannot leave my people," Lena insisted, her voice tight with anger. "You can either take them with me or I won't go."
"The orders are clear, ma'am," the lieutenant replied with a firm, professional tone. "We're here to extract you, not the indigenous people."
"These people are poor refugees who deserve a chance at a new life!" Lena’s voice was a low growl. "We can't just abandon them."
As their argument raged, Diane turned to the soldier she'd just encountered. Her voice was calm despite the worry she felt. "What's happening?"
"This is an extraction mission," he explained, his eyes holding her gaze. "We have to get you out of here before the Nigerian soldiers arrive."
"It was only a matter of time," she sighed, and he gave a brief nod in agreement. As Lena's argument continued, growing more heated, Diane stepped between them. "Aunt, stop yelling. You frighten the people."
"They should know they'll be left behind for the privileged like us!" Lena retorted, not lowering her voice.
"Scaring them won't make the outcome better!" Diane whispered aggressively, her words cutting through the tension. Lena's shoulders slumped. She fell silent, her eyes darting between Diane and the military forces. She gave a curt nod toward the lieutenant, a silent agreement to let them consider her demand.
"Red," the lieutenant said into his comms, his voice low and firm, "let our people know about the situation. We’ll move out soon." The soldier who had been talking with Diane, turned at the sound of his name. He gave Diane one last, long look, his blue eyes holding her gaze for a moment, before he moved to join his team in preparing for their departure.
By morning, a consensus had been reached. They would depart with as many refugees as they could, beginning a long journey to the helicopter extraction point. Diane meticulously packed her gear—her notebooks, sketches, and cameras—the tools of her trade feeling heavy in her hands. Her brown wavy hair was pulled into two braids, and she was dressed for the road in a black turtleneck, a white under-vest, and dark green military pants. A knife was secured to her belt, easy to grab with her right hand.
Just before they left, Diane and the rest found that the priest and the nuns had chosen to stay behind, their sacrifice giving more refugees a chance at escape. She pulled the young nun, Siobhan, aside, her expression filled with hope and fear. "Sister, if you stay, there's no chance you'll survive," Diane pleaded, a desperate urgency in her voice. Red and the lieutenant were watching, their silent presence a stark reminder of the danger.
"Please don't scare her off," the older nun said, stepping in with a disapproving glance. She was experienced, but in a way she seemed selfish for not letting her go.
"It's the cruel truth," Diane countered, her gaze unwavering. Behind her, Red gave a subtle nod, his agreement a small comfort.
Siobhan's resolve was clear, even through her tears. "I can't leave them," she said, her voice filled with quiet strength. A wave of sorrow and respect washed over Diane. Siobhan's choice was one she couldn't make, but she understood it perfectly. With a heavy heart, Diane turned her back on the nuns and the priest and joined Red and the lieutenant to lead the group of refugees to safety.
He watched Diane's face as the nuns walked away. The sadness in her eyes was profound, but so was her respect for their decision. He, a professional soldier, would have just seen it as a tactical move. But she saw a sacrifice, and in a twisted way, he admired her for it.
The soldiers guided the long, weary line of people through the dense, wooden paths for hours. The journey was a struggle; some lagged behind, unable to keep pace, while others pushed forward, desperate not to become a burden. Throughout it all, Diane worked tirelessly, helping her aunt care for the people she'd saved. She carried children to ease the burden on their exhausted mothers and gently aided the injured to make their movements more comfortable.
As night fell, a quiet argument began. The doctor approached the lieutenant to request a break, but he initially refused, citing their strict schedule, but a compromise was eventually reached. They finally came to a stop for a much-needed rest. While Lena tended to a child's medication, others ate what they had or simply collapsed in a moment of relief. Diane slumped against a tree, holding a child in her arms, feeling the steady beat of his tiny heart as he slept. Closing her eyes, she savored the stillness, almost drifting towards a slumber.
While the other soldiers patrolled the perimeter, Red stopped for a moment, his gaze falling upon Diane. He stood in the shadows, completely mesmerized by the sight. The glow of the moonlight illuminated her face and the child in her arms, creating a soft tableau of peace and strength. In that moment, she was more than just a refugee—she was a living work of art, a beautiful, timeless portrait of gentle humanity, like a figure in a Renaissance painting.
A sudden wave of panic rippled through the soldiers. Lake, one of the members of the special unit, moved quickly, his low voice a sharp whisper as he ordered everyone to stay silent, with a troop of guerilla rebels taking their same path. The soldiers’ guns were raised and ready, but they held their fire—drawing attention to their position would endanger the many innocents and make their mission a failure.
In that instant, Red moved with a speed that startled Diane. He knelt beside her, his hand gently but firmly covering her mouth, the sudden touch startling her from her tired daze, leaving her more confused than alarmed, and he shushed her with a quiet gesture, then whispered her instructions: keep silent and make sure the child did the same. Without another word, he took a position on the ground beside her and her aunt, his gaze fixed on the shadows, ready to protect them from any incoming threat, a silent shield between them and the path ahead.
The relief of a successful hiding was short-lived. A straggler, a rebel soldier who had fallen behind his group, appeared from the shadows and spotted Lena. Before he could raise the alarm, the lieutenant was on him, silencing the man with a single, brutal efficiency. The man fell without a sound, shocking not only Lena, who was the main target, but Diane as well, being beside her and fearing for her aunt’s life.
Diane’s main fear was also for the child sleeping peacefully in her arms. "It's safe now, keep moving," Doc, another soldier, urged, but Diane couldn't tear her eyes from the spot where the man had fallen. She only looked away after they had reached another clearing, the fear that others might follow them, a cold knot in her stomach.
Later, when they finally came to a complete stop, Diane passed the child to another refugee who promised to hold him until morning. She found a quiet spot by a tree and leaned back, a wave of exhaustion washing over her.
"Are you alright?" a voice asked. Red knelt beside her, his gaze filled with quiet worry.
Diane managed a tired smile. "Yeah, I'm just glad Mother Nature is on our side tonight. You can never be too careful out here." She made a joke to lighten the mood, and he returned her smile with a small smirk.
"Try not to linger on it," he said softly. "You'll be safe soon." He gave her a final nod before leaving to join his patrol. She watched his back as he disappeared into the darkness, a vast forest swallowing his silhouette. She felt a flicker of intrigue. There was something about him—a cold exterior that seemed to thaw whenever he spoke to her. He carried himself with a cold, imposing presence, yet with her, he was different—attentive, almost gentle. It was a contradiction she wanted to understand.
The morning brought a fragile, fleeting hope. At the designated meeting point, Diane captured what she could with her camera, taking photos of the refugees as they moved, her lens trying to preserve their faces and their journey. The photography ceased abruptly when they were ordered to keep low and hidden, awaiting the promised helicopters.
As soon as the smoke grenades detonated, chaos erupted. The bitter truth revealed itself: the helicopters were not for everyone. They were meant only for Lena, Diane, and the special forces. Lena immediately began to argue with the lieutenant as she was forcefully guided towards the transport, her resistance fierce. Diane, caught mid-ground in the escalating pandemonium, was paralyzed. She didn't know whether to join the soldiers on the helicopter or remain behind with the very people she had risked everything to aid.
"These people are going to die! We cannot leave them here!" she cried out to the two soldiers closest to her, including Red, who, despite his usual quiet attentiveness, remained impassive, only respecting his superior's orders.
"We have to leave, ma'am!" the soldier named Flea urged, pushing her forward.
The air filled with the heart-wrenching screams of the refugees, their desperate cries for Diane and her aunt's names echoing as the two women were pushed into the waiting helicopter.
Inside, Diane wrestled with her aunt, trying to calm Lena's furious rage. "We'll find a way to bring them back!" she promised, though the words felt hollow.
"These bastards cannot be trusted!" Lena seethed, her eyes burning with betrayal. The soldiers around them watched, their expressions unreadable. Diane felt a profound sadness, a deep understanding of the impossible stakes on both sides, yet unable to assign blame. Her heart ached with the cruel reality of their situation.
Trying to find a moment of fragile peace, Diane moved to the helicopter window, her gaze fixed on the sprawling, indifferent jungle below. Red, from his seat across the cabin, watched her. Unlike her furious aunt, Diane was quiet and composed, and for that reason alone, his gaze was glued to her. He saw the profound sadness in her eyes, a quiet grief that spoke louder than any scream. He wanted to cross the bridge between them, but he knew he was supposed to keep his distance, yet an undeniable urge to offer her comfort, to protect her, was taking hold.
The lieutenant caught his gaze and Red quickly looked away, trying not to make a show of his interest, he didn't feel shame, only a growing defiance. He was supposed to focus on the mission, on the lieutenant's next command. Instead, his focus was entirely on her, on her fragile strength and the raw humanity she was trying to hide. His superior made no comment, as he, too, was quietly captivated by the doctor, her fiery personality and quiet strength equally enthralling.
A profound silence fell over the helicopter as it flew over the village they had only recently left. Below them, a scene of unspeakable horror unfolded. A massacre. Bodies of men, women, and children were scattered across the ground, a grotesque tableau of what had been lost. Circling above, a silent testament to the carnage, were the birds of prey, already beginning their grim feast. The raw grief was a heavy weight on everyone, as they all understood that this outcome had been inevitable.
In a moment of profound, detached courage, Diane raised her camera. Her hands trembled as she snapped a few pictures of the devastation, documenting the horror. Then, she collapsed back into her seat, silent sobs wracking her body, the shock amplified by her aunt’s loud, raw cries of grief. For a moment, a collective hush fell, as if everyone was silently praying for the lost souls below. In her own quiet way, Diane offered a desperate prayer for all of them.
With all eyes now on the lieutenant, a sudden, inexplicable shift rippled through the air. To the baffled, tense expressions of his subordinates, he delivered a shocking order: "Turn around!" A wave of hushed confusion and disbelief passed through the ranks. Just minutes ago, their mission had been to leave, and now, their hopes of going home shattered. It was time for a new plan, and, as they hoped, it would work out.
