seesonlysmoke: (questioning)
OOC: This is Altaaf's long, overdue response to this post from Ryan. Apologies that it took so long. x-posted to IJ and [livejournal.com profile] writers_muses

Just don’t give up I’m workin it out
Please don’t give in, I won’t let you down
It messed me up, need a second to breathe
Just keep coming around
Hey, whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
Whataya want from me


The first few days after Ryan rescued and brought Altaaf safely to the States, he had slept for a great deal as he was kept sedated while his body continued to fight the infection from his wounds. At the times, when he did wake, he was fairly lucid and noticed that Ryan was by his side nearly every time, and if she wasn’t, within just a few minutes she was back next to him, ready with a cool cloth, some food, water or just some comfort.

As his strength returned, he became more active. With his gunshot wounds healing, there was some physical therapy, and he also would join Bane in the gym to build up his own muscles again. Physically, he was recovering quickly, with his youth and being in good condition already and also thanks to the doctor and care Ryan had provided. But he was quiet and withdrawn. He knew that here on Jacks’ property he was safe, liked, and he trusted Ryan as much as she trusted him. Who would have flown all the way to Kashmir on just a phone call, not to mention risk her life to get him out and provide proper medical care? No one else that he knew.

All that he could really remember of his life had been a series of one trauma after another )

***

Altaaf Khan
Fandom: Mission Kashmir (AU)
Word Count: 2,024
seesonlysmoke: (questioning)
Ficlet: With there being so much focus on faith this week, it seems only right to ask you to take us into this side of you muse for a glimpse of how religion touches them, if it does at all.

Religion touches every part of my life. It is the heart of life in Kashmir, and it is also a cause of the problems. I am Muslim and, as one who was born and lived in India controlled Kashmir, like many Muslims here, I would like for my country to be joined with our brothers on the other side of the Line of Control.

When I was adopted by the Khan's, I learned that while my adoptive father was a Muslim, but I was very surprised that my mother was Hindu. I really couldn't believe that a Muslim and a Hindu got married, and it made me curious. Nilu, my mother would take me to the mosque, and she would also take me with her so that she could pray to her gods at the temple. I remember those times as being happy, and I still feel fortunate that I had that chance to see that Hindus really aren't any different. Indeed, while I hate her husband, I still dearly love my ammi, Nilu.

Then, when I was eleven, everything changed. I discovered that the man I had come to call abba was the man who murdered my family. I tried to kill him, and when I couldn't I ran. That was when I was found by Hilal Kohastani, a Pathan and devout Muslim. He raised me and taught me truly about Islam and jihad, and he showed me that I could fight for Allah and free my people in Kashmir. Hilal was mujahaddeen in Afghanistan against the Soviets. They tortured him, and his survival then gives me the strength to know that I can be his missile, and Allah's weapon of destruction.

I have nothing to lose, my faith is all that I have. And if it guarantees that Khan-saab will die, then I am more than happy to do whatever Allah wills of me.
seesonlysmoke: (masked)
(OOC: I hadn't realize just how long I've neglected this muse.)

What is your feeling about the death penalty? I believe people should pay for their crimes. As the authorities will not bring Khan-saab to justice, as he is one of them, then I shall do it myself. For my own actions, if that means my death, then I am happy to die for Allah's sake.
Do you have a strong sense of your history and that of your family? Is it important to you? All Kashmiris have a strong sense of history. After all, that is why we seek our independence from the control of India. At the same time my family will be avenged. As for my other family, I still care for Neelima. She was so kind to me when I was brought to their house. From her I could have learned tolerance as she is Hindi and she showed me her temple and that we are not all that different. Her husband on the other hand; it is important that I kill him.
Do you enjoy meeting new people are are you wary of strangers? I must be wary of them. A stranger could be the enemy, seeking a way to infiltrate my cell. It is something Hilal is very sure we are aware of.
What, if anything, do you believe is worth suffering for? Why? What I am doing now is worth the suffering. This fight for Kashmir, for Allah is worth the suffering. The hope that I will confront and kill Inayat Khan for murdering my family is worth the suffering. I think the why is obvious.
How do you overcome your fears? I do not know if I have overcome my fears. I still see the smoke, hear the gunfire from the night my parents and sister were murdered. But Hilal tells me that my fears are my strength and that in using them I will do Allah's will.
What is your weapon of choice? Missiles. *grin* Specifically RPGs.
Dissident or Diplomat? Of the two, I think dissident would be closest of the two.
Which do you think has more impact on a person’s character, genetics or environment? I do not know about which is greater of the two, as I can see them both. I am my parents' son. I am a Muslim Kashmiri. There has been war here since before I was born. I am sorry, but I cannot give a better answer.
What is your Quest? Describe it in detail. My Quest is twofold. I am sworn do all that I can to liberate Kashmir from Indian oppression in the name of Allah. I am also sworn to avenge the murders of my parents and sister and kill the IG of the Kashmir Police, Inayat Khan for leading the raid on my family's home and gunning them down. Also for the lies that he told me as he took me in and adopted me.
Are you a day person or more nocturnal in nature? I am a day person. I like the light when all I see is smoke and darkness.
Who, if anyone, do you trust implicitly? Sufi, and my adopted mother, Neelima. I also trust Hilal, who put me on the path to jihad.
Have you ever lost someone close to you? How did you cope with the loss? That would be a yes. For the second question, I cope with their loss through knowing that I will have vengeance on the man that killed them. A part from that fact, I am still trying to cope, but it is not easy when all I have to do is close my eyes and relive that night.
seesonlysmoke: (smoke)
Character Dossier: Answer as few or as many as you like in as much detail as possible. (Some of these may seem a bit redundant as they echo some earlier questions, but this is for a reason.)

Bedtime: Does he or she go to bed consistently at the same time? My bedtime varies a lot. After evening prayers, I usually settle down with the TV going and the noise of my fellow jihadists talking or arguing.
What Time? It is whenever, really. It also depends on the mission we are on.
With Whom? Unless you count the dozen or so of my comrades who are in my cell, no one.
Do they fall asleep right away? No, I sleep with difficulty.
If No What is He doing in the meantime? Reading? Watching TV? Sex? Tossing and Turning? Sometimes I'm listening to the TV, sometimes to my comrades. I just wait for sleep to take me.
How Much do they enjoy this activity I have not enjoyed sleeping since the day I found out that Khan-saab murdered my family.
Does He or She dream alot, little or never? I always dream.
Are most of his or her dreams scary, pleseant, sexual,etc? They are terrifying and brutal. In my dreams I relive my parents' and sister's murders. I see the smoke, hear the screams and cracks of bullets and bone.
Is any one dream recurrent (yes/no) Yes. That one. Only that one.
Does your character sleep peacefully throughout the night. Restlessly or very badly? I am very restless. I wake from that dream, only to fall asleep again and relive it again.
seesonlysmoke: (smoke)
One Word Prompt: Mourning

Eleven year-old Altaaf

One moment he had been so happy. Certainly, the men with the guns made him nervous, as did his parents' nervousness as they served them tea. Then there had been the firecrackers going off outside, in what must have been a celebration of the wedding. It didn't take much for Altaaf to persuade his mother to let him and his little sister go outside to join in the excitement, but his sister had turned back to take her doll with her, and he had waited. Perhaps if she had not, he wouldn't have witnessed the massacre. Perhaps if she had not, she would still be alive.

She was just coming, running up to him and smiling, when the door crashed open, trapping him behind it. And then the gunfire. When he pushed the door off him, all he could see was the smoke and hear the loud cracks the bullets as the masked men just fired into the house, not caring where their bullets fell. Altaaf screamed as he saw his sister lying in a pool of her own blood, and then his mother cut down by his bullets. He screamed as he looked at that masked man, those crazed, murderous eyes etching themselves into his mind. He screamed until a hand clamped over his mouth and the smoke obstructed death from his view.

***

They took him with them. They put him in a jail cell on his own until it could be decided what to do with him. He didn't know how long he sat there alone with only those terrifying images for company. Then the police officer came in, Inayat Khan, and told him that he was now his son and that he would take to his new home.

***

He said not a word to his new parents. The man made him nervous, but his wife was a lovely, kind woman, still mourning the loss of their own son from a terrible accident. But Altaaf did not speak. He couldn't. The horror...his own loses were too great for words. Instead he drew. And drew. And drew. Papers surrounded him, each one of the same thing. Each drawn feverishly as if putting it to paper would take it from his own head.

The masked man. The gleaming eyes.

It didn't, though. No matter how hard he tried. He couldn't get rid of the image of the man who had slaughtered his family.

Ten years later

Those images still reside in his mind. At night, every night, he relives that day, 23rd June, in Dalgate in his nightmares. Each night he sees the masked man. Now he knows who that man is, and has known for the past ten years, but now he is ready to avenge his parents and sister. The day that Inayat Khan dies at his hand, will be the day he can finally stop mourning the loss of his family, and his innocence.
seesonlysmoke: (missile launcher)
Do they look forward to or resent the day ahead? I look forward to the day ahead as I am awake and leave the nightmares behind. I can focus on what I must do and how best to bring Hilal's plan to destroy the Indian government in Kashmir -- and Khan-saab at the same time. I can see Sufi, even though I know I must betray her. I only hope she will understand.
Does he or she give the job honest attention and effort? I do what I must for jihad. I am an expert with missiles, and Hilal's weapon of destruction. This I do for Allah, and revenge.
Does He or She enjoy what they do? Enjoyment does not come into it. No, I don't take enjoyment in what I do.
Why? I would much prefer to have grown up with my family and married Sufi, and have children of our own. I do this for Allah, for Kashmir's freedom, and to be able to make Khan-saab pay for murdering my family.
Is he or She good at this job? Yes, I am. Hilal taught me well, my reasons give me the motivation, and I'm not afraid to die. Indeed, I welcome being a martyr.
seesonlysmoke: (window)
10. Character Dossier: Answer as few or as many as you like in as much detail as possible.

How does this character get along with their spouse or lover(s)? I have no spouse or lover. What need do I have of one? I have nothing but my revenge and jihad to live for, and I am fully ready, inshallah, to die for both when the time comes. There is Sufiya Parvez, before all this we were best friends, even if she did push me into the lake. I saw her on TV yesterday, and she's even more beautiful, but it cannot be.
Best Friend? Aside from Sufi when we were children. I have no friends. There are my fellow jihadists. We train, and we will fight together, but we barely know each other.
Children? I have none, and I don't see that I ever will.
Parents? *deep sigh* My parents were murdered by police. Gunned down in their own home for harbouring a terrorist, which was against their will. I watched them die and bleed, shards of flesh and bone. *shudders, dispelling the memory* I was then adopted by Inayat and Neelima Khan who had just lost their own son. I soon came to like Nilu very much and called her Ammi. It took a while longer for me to feel the same warmth to Khan-saab, and call him Abba, but I did. Then I discovered that he had personally led the raid on my home and murdered my family. Now, there is one person who treats me as his child, Hilal Kohistani. I found him, or he found me, after I had run away. With him I learned about jihad. With him I learned how to be a weapon of destruction.
Siblings? Only my little sister who shared the same brutal fate as my parents.
Opposite Sex? Yes, I like girls, especially Sufi.
Children in General? I look into their eyes and wish that I still had that untainted innocence.
Neighbours? We have no neighbours.
People more successful than he or she is? It depends what you mean. I look up to those jihadists like Hilal, who have fought long and bravely for Allah, and have done many great things. Men who see their advancement in their career, like how many pips they have on their shoulder, I spit on. And all those successful men who rule and control Kashmir, I will kill.
Less Successful than he or she is? I feel nothing for them.
seesonlysmoke: (smoke)
One Word Prompt: India

My country is a beautiful country. It has high mountains and deep valleys full of thick, lush vegetation. There are lovely crystal clear lakes, like the one by the village where I was a small boy. It is, anyone would say, an idyllic paradise.

It is beautiful. I know it is. I remember that it is, but when I see it now, I only see the smoke. The smoke from homes burning, from explosions, from gunfire in enclosed spaces. Instead of the fresh, clean air, all I taste is that acrid, bitter smell. It hangs over those splendid mountains and valleys like a thick, dense fog, choking everyone until they are all unable to breathe be they Muslim, Sikh, or Hindi. Alike the smoke stains the white walls of the mosques and temples. It leaves nothing untouched.

This is my country, and I have known it like this for more than ten years, when the smoke first clouded my vision and choked me. By law it is split in two, and that toxic smoke hangs heaviest over the side controlled by India. Until that country cedes its grip on mine, be it peacefully or by force -- and I doubt it will ever be peacefully -- that cloud shall remain. India oppresses us. India forced this war. India is also to blame for killing my family.

As I will take my revenge on Khan-saab, I will see Kashmir liberated from those infidels in Delhi.

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seesonlysmoke: (Default)
Altaaf Khan

November 2012

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