Zughaib and Zaid returned to the complex after a quiet drive from the grocery store, the weight of unspoken tension hanging between them. Zaid was his usual self, cheerful and chatty, but Zughaib's mind was elsewhere, focused on the mysterious address and the events of the day. They parked the SUV in the open lot, and after Zaid killed the engine, they both got out, the hot afternoon sun beating down on their backs.
Zughaib helped carry the groceries, his movements mechanical as he followed Zaid up the stairs to their apartment. Zaid, with a bounce in his step, led the way, whistling as they climbed the narrow, worn-out staircase. When they reached their floor, Zaid juggled the grocery bags in one hand while fishing out his keys with the other.
Just as Zaid unlocked the door, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen and immediately his demeanor changed—his face brightened, and his cheeks flushed with a slight grin.
"Hold up," Zaid muttered, picking up the call with a tone that was almost too casual, his voice dropping a little lower. "Hey... yeah, it's me. How's it going?"
Zughaib, unloading the groceries onto the small kitchen table, paused for a moment, casting a glance at his brother. The way Zaid was acting—chilly, almost flirtatious—piqued his curiosity. He didn't press, but the change in Zaid's body language didn't go unnoticed. Whatever—or whoever—was on the other end of that line had Zaid blushing like a teenager.
Zaid leaned against the kitchen counter, his back turned to Zughaib, and continued chatting, laughing lightly at something said on the other end of the line. Meanwhile, Zughaib quietly placed the last of the groceries on the counter and turned his attention to the fridge. He pulled the can of energy drink from his jacket and stashed it in the door, all the while keeping an ear on Zaid's conversation.
Eventually, Zaid wrapped up the call with a wide smile. "Yeah, I'll see you soon. Can't wait." He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket, catching Zughaib's glance as he did.
Zaid grinned. "What? It's just... someone."
Zughaib didn't respond, but the hint of amusement in his eyes was enough to show he wasn't fooled. He shrugged and grabbed his jacket as he was about to head out.
Zaid, still in his lighthearted mood, waved a hand as he started prepping for lunch. "Alright, man. See you later. Be careful out there, yeah?"
With a curt nod, Zughaib stepped out the door, closing it behind him. He stood in the dimly lit hallway for a moment, pulling the piece of paper with the Painsbury Heights, Shale District address from his jacket pocket. The name of the place still meant nothing to him, but he knew it was his next destination.
The weight of the day bore down on him as he walked down the staircase and into the open lot. His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden screech of tires as a small mini truck pulled into the lot, skidding to a halt right in front of him. His eyes narrowed as the familiar figure of the Chinglish guy—the one whose bicycle he had stolen before—stepped out of the truck, flanked by two bulkier men.
Zughaib's lips pressed into a thin line as the two new arrivals, clearly the man's cousins, stepped forward. Each of them was holding a steel rod, the metal gleaming in the afternoon light as they swung them menacingly.
"You think you can just steal my bike, huh?" the Chinglish guy barked, his voice a mixture of anger and fear. "Well, now you're gonna pay, tough guy!"
Zughaib didn't flinch. His gaze shifted between the cousins, their knuckles white as they gripped the steel rods. Threats like this didn't faze him anymore. He'd faced far worse, and these guys—though bigger than their cousin—were amateurs. Still, their posturing made it clear they thought they had the upper hand.
The first cousin swung his steel rod wide, aiming for Zughaib's head, but Zughaib moved with lightning speed, stepping aside just in time. In a fluid motion, he delivered a swift sideswipe kick to the cousin's neck, knocking him off balance. The man gasping for air, his body crumpling as he hit the ground.
The second cousin charged forward, raising his rod to bring it down in a heavy blow, but Zughaib was already a step ahead. He ducked under the swing and closed the distance, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it behind his back in a grapple throw by holding him up and throwing him to the parking lot stone bollards. The cousin let out a surprised yelp as he was thrown to the ground, the steel rod clattering to the pavement beside him as he got knocked out.
The Chinglish guy, now wide-eyed and panicked, took a step back, watching in horror as both his cousins lay groaning on the ground. "I... I'll get you next time!" he stammered, before turning and running off, disappearing between the rows of parked cars.
Zughaib watched him go, expressionless. He didn't have time for petty fights. Without sparing the fallen cousins another glance, he climbed into the mini truck, revving the engine and pulling out of the lot. The stolen vehicle sputtered slightly but got the job done as he sped off toward the Shale District.
The drive was short, and soon Zughaib found himself in Painsbury Heights, a dilapidated part of the Shale District. The buildings here were old and run-down, their once-pristine facades now crumbling under years of neglect. The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked concrete, and the sky overhead was a dull, oppressive gray, threatening another downpour.
He parked the mini truck in a vacant lot near an abandoned warehouse, the black minivan he'd seen earlier parked a few spaces away. His eyes lingered on the van for a moment. There was something about it—something familiar. He had seen it before, maybe at the morgue or near the cemetery. Whatever it was, it wasn't here by accident.
Zughaib stepped out of the truck and approached the van cautiously, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. The streets were eerily quiet, with only the occasional gust of wind rustling through the broken windows of nearby buildings.
As he neared the van, something caught his attention—a figure moving silently behind him. Before he could react, there was a sharp crackle, and pain shot through his body. His muscles seized as the high-voltage charge of a taser surged through him, dropping him to his knees.
Two men in dark suits stepped out from behind the van, their expressions cold and calculated. They were clearly professionals, their movements precise as they kept the taser trained on him.
Zughaib's vision blurred for a moment, but he forced himself to stay conscious, fighting against the effects of the taser. His mind raced, trying to assess the situation, but his body was temporarily paralyzed, locked in place by the shock.
The first man knelt down beside him, his voice low and controlled. "Mr. Zughaib... we've been expecting you."
The second man holstered the taser, stepping forward to join his companion. "You've made some history, Mr. Zughaib... Now, let's go have a little chat, shall we?"
Zughaib, his body still recovering from the shock, didn't have much choice. He wasn't in control anymore, not of the situation, and not of his fate. But even as they lifted him to his feet and guided him toward the van, one thought burned in his mind.
Whoever these men were, they had just made a very big mistake.
As they shoved him into the back of the van, the doors slamming shut behind him, Zughaib's eyes burned with quiet fury. He had been down before—but he always got back up. And this time would be no different.