Far Cry Four Fanfiction—Chapter One: Introductions and Crab Rangoon

Hello everyone. Today is the start of something different. I am releasing the first part of a fanfiction of the critically acclaimed video game Far Cry Four. Now, let me tell you where the urge to write this fanfiction came from. I have been a fan of fanfiction for some time and I have enjoyed the Far Cry games, so I decided, why not kill two birds with one stone one evening? Searching a few websites, I found that the majority of Fanfiction was written with the lead characters (ex. Ajay and Pagan) engaging in violent sadomasochistic sex or it was based on newly created characters based in the world. Now the next part of my explanation has some spoilers, so if you have not finished or played the game, please pick it up. It is a good game with a great story and a lot of in game humor.


Now, there are three primary endings for this game. The first two are unlocked by playing through the main game and progressing through the story. However, there is a third ending that results from if you do as Pagan Min asks and wait for him to return. You ultimately spread the ashes of Ajay’s mother and Pagan offers to shoot some ‘goddamn guns’ with Ajay. Now, I felt that there is a lack of fanfiction designed to tell the father/son relationship between Pagan Min and Ajay Ghale after the events of the game. So, I have decided to create a fanfiction about their relationship.

The first chapter is essentially the first cut scene of where Ajay and Pagan meet as well as the alternative ending of the game. The actual fanfiction will begin in chapter two, but the first chapter is to help establish the story. I hope you enjoy it.

Nearly forgot the legal message. I do not own the rights or any property related to Far Cry 4 or it’s characters. It is the sole property of Ubisoft games. This fanfiction contains foul language, violence, sexual innuendo, and spoilers.


Far Cry Four Fanfiction: Ajay Ghale & Pagan Min.

Written by Jesse Noland.

Chapter One: Introductions and Crab Rangoon

            The sun shined brightly over the Nepali mountainside, warming the forests below. The local animal life’s song spanned for miles, allowing the mountain’s inhabitants to listen in to their symphony. The buildings sparse and distant from each other, they shared the stories and cultures of their makers. Large statues sat outside of these the prestigious temples, a reminder to the people of their gods.

Along one of the beaten roads, a lone bus traveled. It had seen better days as the once bright green paint began to peel and the metal frame bent from years of overbearing weight. Despite its age, it still managed to be the relied transportation of Kyrat’s people who had made their livings working the land.

Inside of the bus, a young man holding a silver urn sat with his back firmly against the bus. His breath heavy with anxiety, he was unsure of what to expect. All he knew about Kyrat was from what his mother, Ishwari told him when he was a boy and the stories he had heard from the news. Despite the warnings that he had received, he decided to follow through with his mother’s final request. He still remembered the day that she asked him to do this, she laid on her bed, surrounded by her close friends and what family she had in the United States. Her last words to her son were ‘Ajay, my son. I have but one last wish. Take me back to Lakshmana’.

He tried his best to focus on the task ahead of him, but he found it difficult to concentrate. His attention was drawn to the nearby macaque, as it tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. One of the nearby women tapped the monkey on its head, to get it to stop. Her cigarette smoke hovered over to him, he let out a cough as it reached him. The young man glanced out the window to gaze upon the snow covered mountain tops that surrounded them. He had never seen mountains that spanned that far when he lived in the United States. At most, he had only seen hilltops, not mountains. In the distance, he heard the faint sound of a radio broadcast playing a woman’s voice saying ‘May Pagan’s light shine upon you’.

He pulled out his phone, entering his pin and tapping the screen to search through the options before him. He finally reached his voicemail, where there is an unheard message waiting for him. It was over a day old, from when he was crossing India’s border into Kyrat. He wanted to answer it before, but he was distracted at the time. With a single tap, he began to listen to it.

“Mr. Ghale, this is Chet Peterson from the US embassy of Patna. Uh…I am calling you pursuant to the tourist visa for India with further travel to Kyrat. We can only accept your status as a US citizen as we have no official records regarding your Kyrati citizenship. Furthermore, I must legally advise you against traveling into Kyrat. We have no official diplomatic presence in Kyrat due to the civil unrest with the Golden Path. In regards with your intent to bring with you the cremated remains of one ‘Ishwari Ghale’, you need to bring with you the passport for the deceased…” The message continued for some time before he ended the voicemail. He shook his head when he heard this, not wanting to believe that his mother’s home country was a dangerous place.

Across from him, his guide Darpan sat contently. An older man, he had let his grizzled black beard grow. His face had shown the experiences he had been through with the scarred cuts on his face. Darpan leaned forward and began to speak to him.

“Hey. Passport…” He gestured for the young man to give him his passport. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled the passport, handing it over to Darpan. He quickly took it from the young man’s hand and opened it, glancing at its contents for a moment. Reaching into his black jeans, he pulled out a red tinted banknote and placed it inside of the passport before handing it back. “Breathe. I do the talking.” Darpan told him, gesturing for the young man to relax. Glancing down at the passport, he examined the bill and saw the image of a man unfamiliar to him. In the lettering below the picture, it read ‘May Pagan’s light shine upon you’.

The bus soon came to a crawl as it reached the Royal Army military checkpoint. Despite the best effort that the young man could afford, he found it difficult to keep calm. From the front of the bus, he heard the driver instructing the passengers to pass their passports forward. The young man did as he was requested, passing his documents, along with the other passengers’ beside him forward. The macaque beside him tried to take his passport in a playful gesture, but is stopped by the woman beside him striking him on his head. She scowled at the furry imp, raising her arm as a warning to it. The creature screeched at the woman in retaliation, but does not fight back.

The young man glanced out the window to see the soldiers inspecting the bus, keeping a watchful eye out for anything that could be suspicious. They paced around the side of the bus, using a mirror to check the underside of the bus. He heard the driver casually conversing with one of the soldiers as it was routine. Though it was apparent that something was wrong.

“What’s happening?” The young man asked. Darpan gestured for him to keep quiet, hushing him as they listened to the situation. They look outside as the driver began to argue with one of the soldiers, despite having the collected passports slapped from his hand. Another soldier approached the bus, looking at the underside of the bus. It was soon apparent that the soldiers had found something. From the distance, the young man heard a faint whirring sound. Looking toward the sky, he saw a black helicopter approaching them.

The soldier closest to the bus called out for the leader to come to him to see what was on the underside of the bus. Two of the men that were sitting beside the young man took heed of the discovery, forcing the door behind them open and darting out. The soldiers noticed their attempted escape, turning their attention to them. Within moments, they raised their assault rifles and took aim. It was not before long that they began to shoot them down, their gunfire echoed through the mountain air. From behind the soldiers, the driver pulled out a side arm and began to fire upon the soldiers. He quickly killed one of the soldiers and injured the captain before them realizing what had happened. They turn on him, firing their rifles, ending the driver’s life.

The soldiers soon focused their attention on the bus, where the young man still watched in horror. They opened fire on the bus, taking aim at the passengers. The glass from the window shattered, spreading its pieces across the bus.

“Oh fuck!” The young man said, feeling Darpan’s strong hand forcing him down to the cold metal floor of the bus.

“Get down!” Darpan barked to him, keeping the both of them safe for the moment. Bullets flew over them, through the metal frame of the bus, just barely missing both of them. They crawled to the back of the bus where the two passengers had escaped from before, forcing the door open to get outside. But as they get out, the helicopter landed before them, the wind pushing them back as easily as the foliage around them. The young man covered his eyes, trying to retain some of his vision as the light blinded them. The remaining soldiers ran to the back of the bus, their rifles held high as they surrounded Darpan and the young man. They ordered them to get down on the ground with their hands behind their heads. Glancing over, the young man saw that they had forced Darpan on his stomach. He looked back to the helicopter, seeing the door slide open to reveal a man stepping out.

A man of his mid-forties, he stood statuesque in front of the helicopter as it wound down to a near stop. His appearance was the essence of wealth and power, from his black designer coat to his stylized blonde hair drooped down across the top of his face. He approached the injured leader, surveying the scene around him with a look of disappointment. The man began to speak to the leader who is turned away from the man in shame.

“I distinctly remember saying stop the bus….” He paused for a moment, glancing down at the body of the driver for a moment before turning his attention back to the captain. “Yes. Stop the bus. Not shoot the bus. I am very particular with my word. Stop. Shoot. Stop. Shoot…” The man slowly said, voicing the differences between the words. “…Do these words sound the same?” He asked.

“But it got out of control.” The captain quietly muttered. The man had a hard time hearing the captain’s words. He reaches over to the captain, placing his hand on his injured shoulder as he reached into his coat pocket.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?” The man asked.

“It got out of control.” The captain repeated, his voice became nervous as the man stepped closer. The man pulled out a large gold plated pen from his coat, holding it for a moment in his hand.

“Out of control…I hate when things get out of control.” The man said. He soon plunged the pen into the captain’s neck, forcing him to the ground with the man in tow. Kneeling over the captain, he continued to plunge the pen repeatedly into his neck. “You had one fucking job and you couldn’t fucking do that!” The man growled as he became covered in the captain’s blood with each movement.

The captain lets out a gurgled death rattle as he finally died from his injuries. Exhausted, the man fell to the ground beside the captain, taking in what he had down. His breath heavy, it was evident that the one act was physically exhausting for him. He looked down to his leather shoes, disgusted that he managed to get them bloodied. “And I got blood on my fucking shoes!”

He soon turned his attention the young man who had watched the murder attentively. The man waved his arm as if to say ‘voila’.

“At least there’s a silver lining… You didn’t completely fuck it up.” The man said as he picked himself off of the ground looking intensively at the young man. He reaches over to him, picking up the young man off of the ground. “Get up boy…” The young man’s breath was heavy as he got back onto his feet. “I recognize those eyes anywhere.”

The man smiled as he said this, chuckling before embracing the young man much to his confusion. He can feel the man’s hot breath against the bare skin of his neck as he is being held. He was unsure of what to make of the situation. The man released himself from the young man, as he gazed upon him with contentment and regret.

“I’m so sorry about this. This was supposed to be…” He glanced back at the scene behind him for a moment before continuing his statement. “…Well, not this.” The man firmly grabbed the young man’s shoulder, bringing him forward and away from the bus. “We have a party waiting for you, but I don’t think I know your name.” He crouched down to Darpan, who still lied on the gravel road with his face covered. “Who is this? Hmm? Is he your plus one?” The man inquired, glancing back to the young man for a moment. The man gestured towards Darpan, but he does not get the response he wanted. “Strong silent type. I like it.”

As the man rose, one of the soldiers walked toward Darpan, picking him up from the ground.

“I am terribly embarrassed by about all of this. This was supposed to be very simple, but you know…” As he said this, the soldier covered Darpan’s head with a burlap bag before binding his hands behind his back as Darpan let out a short expression of discomfort. The soldier pushed Darpan forward, escorting him away from the both of them. “…if you give food to the monkeys, they just throw their shit at each other.”

The man glanced down at the bloodied pen, almost forgetting that he was holding it.

“Oh, will you hold this?” The man gaspingly asked, handing the bloodied pen to the young man, who slowly accepted it. As he held the pen, he contemplated using the pen in a similar manner as he saw before, but knew that he would be shot almost immediately. “Just a moment…I want to get a little picture…”The man pulled a smart phone from the back of his fuchsia pants pocket, holding it in front of the both of them. He pulled himself close to the young man to ensure that they were both in the picture’s frame. “…Right into the camera. There we are.” The camera reflected their current emotions; the man excited for the photo opportunity, while the young man looked frightened and confused. The camera clicked as the man took the photo of the both of them and pulled it close to examine it.

“Awesome.” One of the soldiers tossed a torch toward the back of the bus, starting a roaring fire that quickly grew. The man glanced back with a smile on his face before continuing to speak. “Don’t worry about a thing my boy. This will soon be behind us…” The man pulled him around and proceeded to escort him to the helicopter. The young man glanced down for one last time to look at the lifeless body of the captain. “…and we’ll be off on a grand adventure.” The man stepped away from the young man, walking closer to the helicopter before turning to face him. “Because I have…cleared my calendar for you!” He said, gesturing to the young man. “You…and… I… are going to tear shit up!” He shouted as he threw his fists into the air.

Before the young man could react, another soldier approached him from behind, covering his head with a burlap sack. Blind to the world around him, he didn’t know what awaited him.

For the next two hours, the young man was escorted by the Royal Army in the back of a truck that shook more than the bus did as it traveled down the road. He was fearful of what to expect next from his captors, knowing what they were capable of. His breath was heavy, he felt his own hot breath against his face as he began to panic. From time to time, he heard some of the soldiers shouting at people as they passed, firing a few rounds to either serve a warning or worst. He did not know what happened to his guide Darpan, whether the Royal Army killed him or had plans to interrogate him.

It wasn’t long before the truck came to a stop, the soldiers reaching their destination. One of the soldiers ordered the young man to his feet, pulling him up to escort him. The young man stumbled as he stepped out of the truck, the soldier continuing to relay orders. From in front of him, he heard a set of large doors opening. Once he was brought in, he could tell that he was not in a prison, but a palace. Though he could not see, he felt the carpeted floor below him. The soldiers forced him through the large hallway before him, and took him up several flights of stairs, each step creaked as they ascended. Through the burlap bag over his head, he smelled the wafting aroma of artesian food. The young man is forced down to a cushioned chair. His breath became heavier as he awaited what was in store for him, listening to the man from before speak.

“…Give my congratulations to Ashley on your next visit home.” With what light pierced the burlap sack, the young man made out distorted images of where he was, but he wasn’t sure. He had no choice but to continue to listen to his kidnapper. “I must say Paul, your little corner of Kyrat is rather beautiful. I expected more, chains and wailing. But, knowing you, somewhere around here is a dark place where the secrets flow like the blood.” The young man could see his kidnapper taking a seat across from him as he let out a short lived laugh. “That wry smile betrays you again ‘De Pleur’… Well go on, take the bloody bag off of his head.” The man ordered.

The bag is quickly removed from the young man’s head, the light distorted his vision as he tried to make sense of the situation. It was a surprise to him that he was placed at a dining table with assorted dishes before him. What stood out the most for him was the centerpiece of the table, lit candles that were surrounded with macaque heads. He wanted to gag out of disgust at the sight, but with the adrenaline that still flowed through his body, he could not.

He quickly looked to his left and saw an American, dressed in a combination of casual and military styled clothing. The young man simply assumed that the American was De Pleur, but he did not know his relation to his kidnapper. The young man eventually turned his attention to his kidnapper, who had his mother’s ashes sitting on the table in front of him.

“Again, terribly sorry for what happened before.” The man began to speak. The young man turned to see Darpan sitting beside him, his face reflected his current fear for the situation. This, is more what I had in mind.” He quickly cleared his voice, putting is hands together. “So, fresh start…Introductions. Ajay Ghale, our guest of honor;” He quickly gestured to the young man to introduce him to his right hand man and Darpan. “Paul, our very gracious host.” De Pleur nodded his head to Ajay to greet him. The man soon turned to Darpan, to introduce him. “The little monkey, whose name I still don’t know. And I, of course, am Pagan Min.”

Ajay at last had a name to connect to his kidnapper, but did not know what to expect. He had heard the name before mentioned on the news, but it was sparse and varied. Pagan looked at Ajay with a combined look of confusion and disappointment as he hoped that he would get a different reaction from the young man. But Ajay looked at him with the same confusion as Pagan had.

“You really don’t remember me, do you? Your mother, she never spoke of me, never mentioned me?” Pagan asked him. He shrugged his head, accepting that Ajay did not remember him. “Oh, we’ll change all that. Paul, I need cash.” Pagan stated as he turned briefly to Paul to make his request.

“Uh, how much do you need?” Paul asked as he reached into his sling bag to pull out his beige leather wallet, extending it to Pagan.

“All of it.” Pagan replied, taking all of the colored bills from Paul’s wallet. “Thank you. Here we are. Ah. Hmm?” He held the first of the bills next to his head, changing his expression to match the image on the bill. He scoffed at Ajay’s nonexistent reaction, tossing the bill on the table before him before holding another bill next to his face. “All right, how about this, with the smile?” Pagan smiled to reflect the image printed on the banknote, with the hope to elicit a response from Ajay. He dropped the bill onto the table as he did before as he pulled the last banknote up to his head with a growing scowl of annoyance on his face. Ajay finally decided to speak up.

“That’s you.” He said in a quiet tone.

“That’s me.” Pagan responded, finally having received the response that he wanted. He turned the bill toward himself, looking at the photo that he had printed on it. He quickly contemplated how he became the ruler of Kyrat and how it had changed him over the years. He dropped the remaining bill on the table before continuing to speak. “Although I’m not so sure anymore.”

Ajay quickly glanced at Darpan, who tried his best to keep a strong face toward Pagan and De Pleur. It made Ajay question what his guide had in store.

“Now, your mother, your mother on the other hand, she understood me.” Pagan stated as he picked up the silver urn, removing the lid to examine the contents. Ajay stood up to try and stop Pagan from purveying the urn, but is stopped by Paul who pressed his firm hand against Ajay, shaking his head. Pagan took a smell of the ashes before speaking again. “She knew me in a way that no one ever did.” Pagan took his finger, running along the inside of the urn until his finger was dirtied with ash. Tasting the ashes, he savored the unique flavor. “Mm…That takes me back. The last time I saw Ishwari was years ago. She told me she loved me. Women, they can do that. They can tell you they love you in the moment and mean it, men on the other hand. No, men only really love you in hindsight. When too much distance has built up.”

Pagan examined the urn, taking in Ishwari’s name and age embedded in the metal plating before sitting it down on the table in front of them. He thought back to the time he had spent with Ishwari and how it was both pleasurable and painful for him. The memories of when Ishwari left for the United States still pained him to the very day.

“So, when your mother decided to flee with you to the United States with you on her hip, I couldn’t help but to blame myself.” Pagan confided in Ajay as he raised himself from the table with one of the forks in hand. He slowly walked to Darpan, standing over him. “Then I realized it, it’s not me. No. It was the fucking Golden Path!” He slammed Darpan’s head into the table before forcing the silver fork into his back. Darpan tried his best not to give into the sudden pain, withholding his desire to scream. “Those fucking terrorists, they ruin everything.” He told Ajay before turning his attention back to Darpan. “Like Dinner! Did no one ever teach you that it’s rude to text at the table?” He asked, noticing the brightly lit cellphone under Darpan’s left hand. “Let’s see it. Give me the phone!”

Pagan forcibly struck Darpan’s hand until he moved it forward, giving Pagan what he wanted. As he picked up the phone, Pagan held it high, displaying to the soldiers standing in the corners of the room for them to see.

“Really guys? We’re not checking for these anymore?” He asked, disappointed in the soldier’s inability to perform a thorough body search. He glanced down to the phone, reading the message that Darpan had managed to send out. “Ah… “I’m with Ajay Ghale.”” He quickly glanced at Paul to remind him to pay attention. “You will love this part. “Help.””. Pagan turned the phone to show the text’s dialogue to both Ajay and Paul, having found humor in the attempt. “A text for help?” He asked, turning his attention back to Darpan. “You don’t text for help, you cry for help. So come on, you’re going to cry for help. You’re going to do something, you’re going to do it right. Here we go!”

Pagan twisted the fork in Darpan’s back, pulling him to his feet as he was dragged to the nearby balcony. They both felt the cold wind against their faces as they looked at the mountain pass. Darpan cried in pain as he reached the railing.

“Go on…cry for help. Cry for help.” Pagan ordered as he forced the fork further into the Darpan’s back.

“H-Help…” Darpan cried quietly, though he found it difficult to speak. The pain in his back was too much for him to bear any longer.

“Aw, pathetic. No. Cry for help.” Pagan ordered as he raised his voice.

“Help…” Darpan cried again, his voice raised higher than before.

“Like you mean it, boy!”

“Help!” Darpan finally shouted as he began to give into Pagan’s order.

“Help! From your Diaphragm! Help!” Pagan shouted. He twisted the fork deeper into Darpan’s back to get him to scream louder.

“Help!” Darpan screamed for one final time before being silenced by Pagan.

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh. Now we listen…” They listened to the world outside, waiting for any form of response, but they heard nothing. ”…nothing. I’m afraid they’re not coming for you buddy.” Pagan let out a short lived laugh before removing the bloodied fork from Darpan’s back. As he walked back, Pagan turned to his soldiers to give them an order. “Find out what he knows.”

The soldiers did as he asked, taking Darpan by force and escorted him away from the dining room. Pagan returned to the table and picked up his phone.

“Terrorists, right?” Pagan asked as Ajay watched Darpan escorted into a separate room, fearful of what would happen to him. “Now, please, stay right here. Enjoy the Crab Rangoon. Don’t move. I will be right back.” Pagan asked casually as he stepped away from the table to make his call. It was a surprise for Ajay to see Pagan change personalities as if what just happened was an everyday occurrence. “Yuma. We need to talk.” He said into his phone as he walked into the next room, closing the doors behind him.

After watching Pagan leave the room to make his call, Ajay stood himself up from the table to grab the urn containing Ishwari’s ashes. He took the nearby lid and sealed the contents to ensure that they were safe. For the next ten minutes, Ajay paced around the room, contemplating what to do next. Part of him wanted to flee from Pagan and try to find Lakshmana on his own. But, he feared how powerful Pagan Min and his Royal Army was. If they were able of finding him before, what was stopping them from finding him again? His heart pounded heavily in his chest, despite the adrenaline from before being worn off, he was still excited at what had happened. No matter what he decided, he would put his life at risk. He soon came to the choice of waiting for Pagan to return.

Ajay sat himself back down at the table as he stared at the Crab Rangoon before him. He found it difficult to eat, despite not eating for almost a day. He pushed the dumplings across the plate, trying to find his appetite. Having given into his hunger, he took one of the dumplings and popped into his mouth. The taste succulent, it was more delicious than anything he had eaten in the United States. His mother tried her best in life to prepare meals that were traditional to the Kyrati people. As he ate, he wondered how close his mother was to Pagan. The way that Pagan spoke about her, he spoke as if they were once lovers.

As Ajay finished the Crab Rangoon, he heard the doors to his right opening. He saw Pagan return, having removed the jacket and the top buttons of his dress shirt undone.  An expression of relief was on Pagan’s face as he saw that Ajay was waiting patiently for him to return.

“Oh, fan-bloody-tastic. You sir, are a gentleman. I sincerely apologize. We saw terrorists in the area, and yada yada.” He said as he leaned against the nearby wall. “The Crab Rangoon, right? It’s…” Pagan tried to say before he was interrupted by the sound of a man screaming. Ajay recognized the voice and realized that they were torturing Darpan. Pagan looked past the screaming to continue speaking. “…fabulous. Mm! Well, come on, let’s go!” He said as he gestured to Ajay to follow him. Ajay did as he asked, raising himself from the table with the urn in hand.

Ajay followed Pagan outside of De Pleur’s palace to where a helicopter was waiting for them to enter. One of the soldiers slid the door for them to enter. Pagan was the first to step into the helicopter and held out his hand for Ajay to grab to help him in. Ajay grabbed Pagan’s hand firmly as he followed suit. The soldier closed the door behind them and rapped twice to tell the pilot that they were clear.

It was a half hour trip in silence for the two of them. Ajay was still unsure of what to expect next out of Pagan, having heard Darpan’s torture. Pagan was as relaxed as he was before, he leaned back against the cushioned paneling as he played with his phone. He glanced up at Ajay and saw that he was distraught.

“Oh relax my boy. We are nearly there…” As he said this, they heard the phone make a chiming noise, notifying Pagan of a message. He glanced down to his phone and let out a smile. “That’s lovely. Kayne just retweeted my tweet.”

“Kayne? Kayne West?” Ajay asked.

“Yes, that Kayne. Do you follow him on Twitter? It’s gold. Oh, I would love to shoot the breeze with that young man.” Pagan looked outside the window to see that they were approaching his palace. Over the intercom, they heard the pilot relay their arrival.

“ETA four minutes.”

“We’re here.” Pagan said as the pilot began to lower the helicopter.

“…Three point landing!” Pagan said as the helicopter landed firmly on the ground. Ajay watched one of the soldiers run around the helicopter to open the door for them as Pagan continued to speak. “You know…Part of me is surprised your mother asked for you to bring her all the way back here. Ah.” He said as the door opened for them. Pagan rose up from his seat to step out of the helicopter. “Thank you, Kamran!”

“You want me to follow you…” Ajay asked, hesitant to leave the helicopter to follow Pagan, who turned around to face him with an expression of annoyance at his question.

“Jesus Christ. Yes boy, the ashes aren’t going to scatter themselves!” Pagan answered as he gestured for Ajay to follow him. The young man was reluctant to follow him, but decided to do as he asked, stepping out of the helicopter to follow Pagan. The helicopter’s blades came to a crawl as the engine died. As they walked toward the nearby shrine, Pagan was compelled to ask Ajay a question. “Did your mother ever tell you about your father?”

“Never. No.” Ajay answered truthfully. He quickly thought back to the numerous times that he would ask his mother about his father, but she would change the subject every single time. He just presumed that his father left his mother when he was young.

“Mohan…” Pagan began to say before stopping in his track. Though he was quick to resume speaking. “…the great protector of the Golden Path.” He let out a short lived scoff before continuing his sentence, leaning in close to Ajay for a moment. “He was a cunt.” As they continued to walk, Pagan decided to tell Ajay the truth about his mother. “He whored your mother out, sent her to spy on me. But we fell in love, we had a child and that is when Mohan showed his true colors. He drove you and your mother away, even killed your sister, Lakshmana. Which brings us here.”

Pagan had led Ajay to the entrance of the decorated shrine where several lit candles illuminated the small room. What drew Ajay’s eye was the centerpiece of the shrine; an image of an infant girl, his sister, Lakshmana. It was a lot for Ajay to take in, he never thought his mother would have been in love with Pagan, let alone mothered a child with him. He became overrun with emotion as he found himself focused on the painting of his sister. Pagan put his hand on Ajay’s shoulder, an attempt to comfort him as he came to the realization of what had happened to his family. Ajay turned to Pagan to face him, unsure of what to expect.

“Lakshmana shouldn’t be alone anymore. I’m so glad we’re finally back together.” Pagan said as a smile grew on his face. He gestured for Ajay to enter the shrine to finish his task. “After you.”

Ajay slowly walked into the shrine as he approached the memorial before him. Pagan closed the door for him to give Ajay some needed privacy. A stone tablet sat before the painting of his sister, reading ‘In Loving Memory of Lakshmana Min. 1988-1989’. Another metal urn sat on top of the memorial with a black inlay of a peacock. He held up his mother’s urn for one last time as he wished her goodbye. He sat the urn down beside the one containing his sister, uttering a final prayer.

Ajay turned his back on the urns and approached the painted door, prepared to leave. He is hesitant to open the door, but he didn’t want to linger. As he opened to the door, the light blinded him for a moment but it didn’t hurt as bad as before. He turned to see Pagan leaning against the helicopter, waiting for Ajay to finish.

“Oh good. Do you feel better now? Get it out of your system?” Pagan asked as Ajay approached the helicopter. The helicopter’s blades began to rotate quickly as the pilot prepared to take off. “Good. And maybe now we can finally shoot some goddamn guns.” Pagan said as the two of them entered the helicopter.

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