Kabul, Afghanistan, 13:35;
It made sense, Abram thought, as he retrieved a lighter from his pocket, pulling a cigarette from the packet. Of all the Eleven of them, Rong Xinghe was probably the most execrated one, therein. Not just due to how she had thwarted all of these terrorists' attacks recently, but also due to how openly she challenged them.
More than her words, her authority mattered, to such. The idea of a woman in power, suppressing them with her voice; was what disgusted them. It was inconvenient, really, to see their Great Commander being defeated by a woman, over and over again. It made them look weak, and it humiliated them, in front of the world, while they fought to inflict fear and pain around. Rong Xinghe made Lashkar ul-Mujahidin look like a joke. A sham, even.
