First Name: Tariq
Last Name: Hassan
Gender: Male
Biographical Synopsis:
It was 5:30 AM when he jolted awake, a silent rasp grinding its way out of his throat. It had been years since he'd woke screaming, but he wouldn't hesitate to say that this was worse. The dream was the same as always- bodies burning, explosions tearing into his squad. He closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. Close enough to dawn, anyway. He wrenched himself out of bed, drew a glass of cold water from the sink, and set out his prayer mat. Time to start the day.
At 48 years old, Tariq Hassan was living in uncomfortable semiretirement five miles out of Paris. It had been more than a decade since the Republican Guard was disbanded, and he'd left Iraq with his wife and then-young son. Now his wife was gone, his son was a father of two, and Tariq himself was quietly eating cheerios in the kitchen. His daughter-in-law was the only other person awake, already working on preparing a goose for dinner that night. He enjoyed the quiet of the morning twilight, and Marie's gentle humming from the counter did nothing to disturb his tranquility. The pair of sharp knocks on the back door, however, did.
Anyone visiting the house at this early hour would be unusual. Coming straight to the back instead of using the doorbell was enough to set Tariq on edge. The time of morning was enough to set him into action. In a hushed voice he said "Go upstairs. If you hear anything, call the police. Don't make noise, don't question, just move." Marie went pale as a sheet, but to her credit she listened and slipped off immediately, moved by the urgency in his voice. Alone in the kitchen now, he pulled open a nearby drawer and withdrew a revolver. As he loaded it the visitor repeated the same double knock, a bit louder.
He drew into a tight crouch behind the counter, gun in one hand and grabbed an empty baster from the counter. Using it to extend his reach he cautiously tugged the curtain aside, allowing himself an inch of sight through the back door's window. What he saw floored him. Major Michael Kessler was standing at his door. Not the enemy he'd expected.
It took him almost a full minute to decide what to do about the man in his backyard. There was no point, he told himself, in running. If this were a business call, there would have been more than just one soldier. Resolved, he drew himself up, steeled his nerves and opened the door. Kessler's hand was drawn back, ready to knock a third time. "Come in." Hassan grunted, turning before the other man could even revert to a more natural posture. He ducked into the next room and called up the stairs "Everything's fine, but stay up there please." He did his best to keep his voice down- no sense waking the children.
Returning to the kitchen, Tariq found that the other man had closed the door behind him, and made himself comfortable at the table, sitting ramrod straight in the chair Tariq himself had previously occupied. Taking the seat across from the Major, the older man drew his expression into blankness, and set the gun down on the table. Kessler surely noticed it, but he made no move in response. For almost three minutes, the men stared at one another, until finally the outsider spoke. "You're needed." He was speaking Arabic. He'd never been one to consider others' comfort before- today was full of surprises.
"The Americans need me?" Hassan chuckled bitterly. He reached out to the same drawer from which he'd drawn the gun, and grabbed a cigarette. It was a habit he'd picked up at University, dropped when his son was born, and reacquired in the absence of his wife. He lit it. He did not offer one to Major Kessler.
"No. Not America. I'm representing a more... meaningful cause, these days." Kessler's brow tightened as he spoke.
"And I thought you said there was no such thing as a former Marine." Tariq's eye glinted as he saw the other man's expression tighten into a glare.
"That hasn't changed. It's not related to my current affiliation." Kessler's breathing was a bit sharper and he was clearly reigning himself in, but within moments he'd pulled a mask of calm back into place. "This organization needs you." he repeated.
"And why would I want to come work for a man who ran me out of my home?" he was leaning forward now. He'd always dreamed of a situation where he'd be the one with the leverage against Kessler.
"Why a butcher like you would-" Kessler snarled, bending forward as well, inches away from Hassan's face. He caught himself again. Visibly straightened. Returned to an upright, seated position. "You wouldn't be working for me. You wouldn't even be working with me. I'm just here to give you the recruitment pitch."
A dark smirk accompanied the response, "And you've given it. I decline. Please leave." The older man stood, an outstretched arm indicated the door.
Kessler stood, but did so slowly, and spoke as he rose. "It's your choice, Colonel Hassan. But if you decline, I can't be responsible for the consequences that may befall you." He cocked his head "Or your family."
The colonel was upon him in a flash, gun back in his hand, pressed to his foe's temple. "Fuck you, Michael." He spoke English now, not as a courtesy. "If you ever threaten my family again I'll kill you myself. Don't doubt it."
Kessler stayed still a moment before pulling himself backwards, breaking the hold on his arm. "If I doubted you could, I wouldn't be here. I saw you at the range yesterday." Hassan's expression darkened, but the American continued "I'm not the threat here. Just watch the news tonight. And give me a call when you're ready." He turned, depositing a business card on the kitchen counter as he stormed out the back door. He never glanced back at the pistol still trained on him.
Tariq Hassan held his position in that kitchen for several more days, gun still raised- the clock on the wall argued that it was only a few seconds. Finally he let himself collapse into a nearby chair, and exhaled heavily. His hand began to shake. He didn't know why Kessler was here now, but he was going to find out. He had a few markers he could call in. No matter what, though, there was no way in hell he was going to participate in... whatever it was that would send a man like Kessler to recruit him.
Sixteen hours later, he was packing his bags. He did so hate being wrong.
Education: 4 year degree in Organic Chemistry at the Sorbonne. Partially completed post-graduate research, interrupted by military service.
Languages: Arabic, French, English
Military Experience: 25 years served in the Iraqi Republican Guard. Mission history fully redacted.
Pledge: I have, on this day, voluntarily enlisted myself, as an elite military soldier, in the X-COM special forces. I am giving myself, unconditionally, to the cause. I do bind myself to conform, in all instances, to such rules and regulations, as set forth by my supreme commander ChristopherOdd. I trust him with my life. And by taking this oath, I realize, I may ultimately lose something while defending the planetary systems. My humanity. My life.
