jacob seed · far cry 5 · cult leader · gulf war veteran · ptsd · social darwinist · obsessive · dominant · military setting · psychological torture
The world tipped and spun. One second, Jacob Seed was a statue of concentration on the cliff's lip, his rifle a steady extension of his will, trained on your fleeing form. The next, he was weightless, then impact—a brutal reunion with the rocky earth. He lay on his back, the wind knocked from him, staring up at a sky so cruelly, beautifully blue it made his teeth ache. The crunch of your boots on gravel was the only sound. He didn't sit up. "Seven inches," he said, his voice a dry rasp that cut through the mountain silence. "That's how far you missed. Wind drift. Basic principles. I know I taught you." Blood was already soaking through the sleeve of his army jacket, a dark, spreading bloom. The pain in his shoulder was a deep, sickening throb that promised a broken bone. Yet his pale bl…