Beginning Author's Note: I meant for this to be a oneshot, but figured it was much too long, so I wrote it into 3 seperate chapters. Be forewarned that this story is once again another AU. Soooo….that means that Bryan Fury, the lead character here, won't be the demented, murderous psychotic cyborg we all know and love. He won't even be a cyborg. I originally didn't intend to do this fic until Junking pitched it to me. It's kinda funny how this story came to be, so if you're interested in learning of its origin, you'll find it in the author's note at the end of chapter 3 as well as a glossary of the terms used in the story. Just so everyone knows: this fic is not meant to be racist or demeaning if it comes off that way. I don't condone such behavior.

Forbidden Love

It started as an omen: the streets of Cairo, Egypt smeared in streaks of crimson.

Bodies rotted along with the memories of the fallen, the forgotten, and the beloved. The Earth bled for the losses of its children, cried loud enough for everyone to hear, but nobody listened. Crying couldn't tame this wild beast. It had to go until it gave out on its own.

The sky was afire and even so, it still rained, coming down in a bevy of Hellfire missiles. Shadows had deepened over the horizon and a satanic murmur slithered through the smoke-ridden air.

Was Armageddon on its way?

Life's fireball promised a better tomorrow each morning it rose over the golden dunes and craggy mountains; however, as faith dwindled, many wound up hoping it'd never come and that life, all together, would just end.

For those unwilling to give in, the only option left was to fight, but for how long? What benefits did survival guarantee other than scars? Bodies and minds hurt by the scars that'd cut so deep they'd never heal. These weren't like tattoos a person could peel off; they'd remain visible for all eternity, not just to reflect, but to remind--remind one of the unfaithful day they stepped into that raging inferno and lived to tell about it.

Some soldiers spent their whole lives trying to forget the people they'd shot, the damages they'd caused, and the lives they'd ruined, but all war did to anyone was ruin. Broken bones and shattered vitality were but a fraction of the price paid.

Soldiers had no say in battles like this, armed with only a purpose and a determined will to carry it out. Duty governed their lives as if they had none of their own. They had to learn to adapt to that cruelty, that pain that'd tear their bodies in half in one swift, unrelenting sweep.

The ones in high command preached about honor, but the word had long lost its meaning in a world no longer sacred or respected.

What did it mean to die with honor nowadays? After the sacrifice and all that transpired before it, there was nothing to feel honored about.

Once a person donned the uniform, laced up those boots, and hiked into the shadowy unknown, they kissed the life of placidity and normalcy goodbye. Some wouldn't miss it, but others screamed and begged to have it back.

In every battle, soldiers lost a touch of their humanity. Bryan Fury was no different. He was mortal, yes, but fully human? No. He'd shot and killed several men himself; in the service, it was an achievement, for him it was a montage of graphic nightmares he'd forever have on his conscience.

The war was still on.

"Is this right?" Bryan asked himself that question each day amidst the car bombings, convoy ambushes, and growing number of civilian causalities. One couldn't help but wonder when it would all cease. Everyday was like a segment of hell he didn't want to relive, a mental sadist within him that would never rest. Although the violence had inured Bryan, he still possessed a mere shard of humanity he'd yet to lose.

He'd seen his "brothers" die in front of him in droves, like cattle lured into slaughter. Whenever he ventured back into that ungodly battlefield with his comrades, it was inevitable someone wasn't coming back. Sometimes the truth was as merciless as detonated shrapnel, puncturing both mind and body alike.

In war, crossing the line was only a fallacy—a prefabricated myth. Through the fiery haze, a single bullet was the destroyer of everything: a successful career, a would-be marriage, and even a life that had yet to have begun. Everyday was another loss, another chapter written with a bleak finish. At night, the sky was an oily sea, the stars and moon hidden within its dark depths. Below it was peril, sheltered in craggy mountains and underground tunnels.

Extremism had evolved in Egypt, sprinkling the land with its chaos and disruption. Attacks on foreign tourists were large in number, a shady attempt to cripple the country's economy by scaring off one of its main sources of income. The Egyptian president wouldn't stand for it and sought the help of the nation's strongest ally: the US government. Assassination was his reward and members of his cabinet shared a similar fate.

Islamic extremists behind the murders were on the move to instill their own regime over what they considered a "weak and unstable government." The US intervened, the incoming storm swooped in, and the clash of titans had begun. Mortar shells flew and bombs exploded in a sinister orchestra that would make even the devil himself cower in fear.

Men like Bryan were supposed to prevent that darkness from eclipsing this land, but they'd only encouraged it. The country was years from stability, doomed to a US occupation nobody wanted for its own good. Until Egypt could recover and get on its feet again, US soldiers had no choice but to remain in the country to ensure its safety. Weeks passed and it seemed the attacks had calmed. Meanwhile, Egyptians struggled to better what remained of their homes—and of themselves.

Bryan's commanders had assigned him patrol duties, but nothing changed. It was the same pattern each time, and with it, his boredom grew.

He went outside his base, which stood behind walls of sandbags and barbwire. Beyond it and the city was the faint outline of the pyramids on the horizon. Tearing open a fresh pack of cigarettes, he stuck one between his teeth and lit it alight with a couple flicks of his lighter. He let loose a suppressed moan.

He liked to breathe in the cigarette fumes in one long, stimulating drag, his gateway to invulnerability. He'd swirl the smoke around in his mouth and watch the tobacco burn between his fingers as his mind succumbed to the nicotine. For a while, he'd have salvation and then it'd ebb away before his eyes and leave his taste buds yearning for more. A man could only stay invulnerable for so long until reality came roaring back like a tidal wave.

"Hey Bryan, you fatheaded prick. How's things?"

He smiled as he watched his friend come stand next to him in his dark sunglasses and camouflage cap turned to the side. "The way they always are, Martin, you lanky sunuvabitch. How you been holdin' up?"

"Still feelin' crappy, but hey, it's an improvement." Martin put a hand over Bryan's shoulder. "Seriously though, I still feel I owe ya for back there. I know I keep bringing this up, but if you ever need a favor, just let me know, all right?"

Bryan smirked, the cigarette bouncing in his mouth. "That's thoughtful of ya, Martin, but I told ya: I ain't one to ask for favors."

Martin sucked the air in between his teeth. "C'mon, Fury! You saved my life. I got connections, I know people. There's gotta be something I can do for ya."

"Uh-uh. I'm sure. Don't worry about it." Bryan patted his friend's back in reassurance.

"All right, Fury. Suit yourself." Martin shrugged and waved him off. "I gotta go find my squad. Just remember to be careful out there, bud!"

Bryan mimicked the gesture and hunched over in his seat of stacked crates. He'd never forget how he met such a character. Weeks ago, he'd found Martin wounded in a ditch after an intense firefight with the enemy, alone, breathing faintly, and without his transceiver to notify anyone of his location. Bryan was just thankful to have stumbled upon him before it was too late and call in a medic.

His thoughts began to stray from the rescue the moment he saw everyone gearing up.

After he stamped out his cigarette, he left to find his own squad.

The heat had escalated in this outdoor oven called Egypt. Underneath Bryan's clothes, his undershirt clung to his skin and he could imagine what a soaked newspaper must've felt like on the pavement. He preferred cooler climates where he didn't feel troubled by such harsh weather. After sunset, it wasn't so bad.

Together with his squad, he was on patrol again. He was in the far back of the line with his squad leader at the front of it with a convoy and tank in tow. Due to the relaxed atmosphere, nobody was on edge. The soldiers several feet ahead of him cackled with dark humor and profanity. The jokes had taken their minds off what was otherwise a serious situation. It wasn't the time to get careless, but even soldiers had to lighten up on occasion.

Bryan yawned aside one of his comrades. "Another day and no action."

"And that's a bad thing?" Glenn, the other soldier, answered as he winced under the heat wave.

"Not exactly. I just wish something would freakin' happen all ready."

"Don't jinx it, man. We've already been through enough hell as it is. Don't you agree?"

Bryan cringed as he thought about the protests against the occupation. Egyptians would rally themselves in the streets, set fire to US flags, and chant for all Americans to leave their country. It was a nuisance at times, but he couldn't blame them for how they felt.

"I see your point, but I can't help it. It's been weeks now and nothing's going on."

"Yeah, it has been awfully quiet lately, but we gotta do what we gotta do."

Bryan did everything in his power to keep from laughing. "Where's the fun in that? That's the problem with you, Glenn. You're such a goody-two-shoes."

"And your problem is being a self-righteous dick, Fury." Glenn's dark eyes smoldered and his pointy nose had wrinkled. "I don't know how you got into the military with that attitude."

"Well thanks for noticing, buddy. " Bryan slapped Glen's back."The Army needed some dicks. I figured they could use one more."

"It's not gonna get any easier for us, I tell ya. These people don't like us being here. The way they see it, we're on their turf. Anything could happen at anytime. "

As if to answer his prayers, Bryan saw some spectacle taking place down the street at an outdoor restaurant.

Wonder what's going on there.

He couldn't help wanting to know as Glenn carried on with his nonsense. Bryan looked at his squad and then back at the restaurant. It was either stay here bored or check out the festivity. He'd made his choice.

Bryan snuck away and let his squad move on without him. He bolted across the street and approached the restaurant as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Unable to see from a distance, he whipped out his binoculars and held them up to his eyes. He frowned in disappointment.

Should've known. Just people eating.

Bryan turned on his heel to leave, but then the blaring music startled and reeled him back. The soldier raised his binoculars again and peered through the lenses.

He recognized the strums of an oud and the beatings of a tabla drum. A belly dancer emerged on the dance floor in a black bedlah, spinning with a piece of fabric draped over her shoulders. See-through gauze adorned her stomach and a pair of silver bangles coiled around her slender arms. She was young, appearing somewhere between her early to mid-twenties.

Bryan smiled.

Now that's more like it.

She danced to the tranquil melody of a kaman as the violinist drew the bow against its strings.

Bryan marveled over the bronze glow of her skin, her entrancing amber eyes, and shiny black hair tucked into a tight bun. She spun on demi pointe, with a flirtatious smile, as she swished the fabric over her head, as if in attempt to ripple the sky. He had seen imitations of this dance, but it was nothing more than watered-down, Americanized garbage. This was the real deal.

The belly dancer swayed and Bryan watched every move in amazement. She let the fabric flutter to the ground without interrupting the flow of the dance and spaced out her arms. The tempo of the instruments accelerated and thus the belly dancer unleashed the more tantalizing steps in her arsenal.

All attention shifted to her midsection as her hips slowly began to gyrate and swivel in a smooth motion. Then she took off, the movement of her hips and abdomen synchronizing with every melodic beat of the tabla. Her coin belt jangled and her looped earrings bobbed as her body vibrated like windswept grass.

With feet fixed to the ground, her arms alternated up and down as they assumed the slithery motion of a snake. For Bryan, this could go on forever and he wouldn't care, but to his disappointment, the woman concluded the dance with a bow. She left the dance floor to a loud applause and Bryan could only groan to himself. Yet, a minute later, the belly dancer resurfaced with a bamboo-made cane in hand. A glittery beledi dress encased her body and a triangular headscarf covered her head.

The music took on a more folkloric rhythm with the high-pitched squeal of a ney, and she danced again, into Bryan's head and into her audiences' hearts. Her belly contracted and rolled, teased and seduced, but he didn't mind. Soon, the belly dancer started clapping and put a hand to her ear, beckoning for the crowd's interaction. The audience gathered their courage and started to clap along with her. The women joined her in ululation and the dancer's grin widened. She waved her palm up for all to clap louder and clap louder they did.

Here there were no protests, no anger, or hate chants. Before Bryan was unity, the uplifting of a nation no longer in mourning.

The belly dancer flipped the cane upside down and kicked its handle to her shoulder. In a show of dexterity, she twirled the cane forward like a baton and traced shapes around her body. Then Bryan's focus averted to the wiggling of her quivering rump. He didn't dare look away.

She was unlike anyone he'd seen before; it dawned on him as she balanced the cane atop her head and sunk into a grand plié. Joyous and undaunted, she stepped off her heels in a sprightly side-to-side single-legged hop.

She pivoted on her toes, the hem of her dress flying up as she twirled and flipped her prop. The beat of the music sped up and the dancer bent herself backward, whirling the cane faster the further she arched her back closer to the ground. After she threw herself into a lengthy, energetic spin, she pumped her cane into the air with both hands in a dramatic finishing pose. The applause from the audience was thunderous and with a grateful bow, the belly dancer vanished.

Bryan stood in awe. No doubt about it, her dance was phenomenal.

He had to tell her himself how wonderful her performance was, even if she'd heard the compliment before. It just seemed criminal to let her go without knowing. Then a problem surfaced: he couldn't find her. He scanned every possible exit from the restaurant for minutes, but she didn't turn up anywhere. She was probably gone by now and all he could do was murmur a curse to himself. Just when he was about to give up his search, he spotted her making a hasty exit in a brown kaftan.

Now was his chance.

Bryan jogged after the woman and noticed she was alone. Before he made his move, he put away his M16 rifle and M9 pistol so he wouldn't frighten her. The moment he looked up, his mouth dropped open at two men screaming at the belly dancer. One of them reached for her purse as the other tried to restrain her.

"Uh-oh. Time to play hero!" Bryan muttered. He started to run to her rescue, but stopped as the woman's fists went into motion. Her arms bended in unusual ways and thus began an onset of unorthodox punches and hand swipes that not even Bryan's eyes could follow. The two thieves staggered backward, probably with no idea of what had just happened. The belly dancer threw herself to the ground on all fours and swept her attackers' legs from under them. They fell on their backs and she scurried at them like a spider with an intimidating snarl. Both individuals climbed to their feet and waved their hands in surrender.

Stunned, Bryan tried to deduce if what he had seen was real. Out of nowhere, this dancer had gained an unbelievable surge of strength and speed, and it was enough to encourage the assailants to reel away in retreat.

The woman dusted herself off and Bryan made a bold attempt to approach her.

"Uh…hey. Yeah…I was…um… just getting ready to rescue you."

Her head snapped in his direction and her face contorted into a hateful scowl as she took in his features and Army Combat Uniform. "You Americans always have to be the hero to the damsel in distress. Sorry if I am not that damsel."

"Ah, you speak English…"

"Yes, is that a reason for you to shoot me?" she mocked.

Oh, what a smart mouth she had. In a strange way, he liked it, as well as the way words rolled off her tongue.

"I like your voice. Say something in Arabic."

She glared but attempted to humor him. "Homma kol el-amreekan wehsheen zayyak kedah?"

Bryan smirked. "Laaah , dool awhash bekteer."

The belly dancer paused, dumbfounded.

"Yeah. Not bad for a dumb American, eh?" Bryan chuckled. "I've been around this block long enough to pick up some things."

Up close, her piercing eyes, cold as they were, reminded him of a lion. There were secrets hovering about this woman, some hidden behind that iron stare, he sensed. Was it a cry for help or was it just not his place to care? One thing was certain: this wasn't the same woman he'd seen dancing.

Her icy glare started to annoy him after awhile. "Jeez, I'm not going to hurt you all ready."

"I am not worried about you hurting me. I am worried about you trying to hurt me."

"No, I'm serious. I just saw your performance and wanted to say--"

The belly dancer scoffed. "I do not believe you. You Americans will say anything to save face. You just want the whole world to do as you say as you continue to spill our blood. Your government lies and gets away with murder like they are now just becau--"

"Hold it! I don't agree or appreciate a lot of things my government does. You don't know me enough to know what I'm like, lady, so maybe you should quit passing me off as something I'm not." Bryan's nostrils flared, her comments having struck a nerve within him.

Fed up, she turned to leave and Bryan didn't bother to chase her this time. Strange as it sounded, he liked the conversation he had with her, albeit it was a bit short and rough. Now that she was gone and the dance was over, he figured it was best to head back to his squad before they learned of his absence. On the way, he couldn't stop thinking about the belly dancer and her dance.