Zughaib gripped the steering wheel tightly as the stolen convertible sped through the streets, the wind howling through the open top. The city lights of Asiaville blurred behind him, and the familiar road toward Cadona Street stretched ahead like an endless escape route. His thoughts were racing just as fast as the car, each one laced with the tension of being pursued—by thugs, cops, and something darker that he couldn't quite grasp. He could feel the walls closing in, the weight of every decision pressing down on him.
As he reached the common junction near Cadona Street, the world suddenly shifted.
Without warning, a CounterMercs Minivan swerved into view, cutting off the road ahead with surgical precision. The sleek, dark van with navy blue decals and blue-white siren lights flashing at front; screeched to a halt directly in front of him, blocking the intersection entirely. Zughaib cursed under his breath silently, his instincts kicking in as he slammed on the brakes, the convertible skidding sideways with a shriek of tires. The car came to a jerking stop, its front end just grazing the side of the minivan.
For a brief second, everything was still. Zughaib's pulse hammered in his ears as he caught his breath, hands still gripping the wheel. The air around him felt heavy, thick with the anticipation of what was about to unfold. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, where he saw a cop car pulling up at the side of the road, but it didn't advance. Instead, the cops sat in their cruiser, watching with smug indifference as the CounterMercs moved in.
The doors of the minivan flung open, and several CounterMerc operatives stepped out in unison, their movements sharp and calculated. They were dressed in tactical gear, their faces concealed behind visors, and each one held a stun gun or a baton at the ready. The air was tense with their authority, their presence undeniable.
Zughaib knew when a fight wasn't worth it. This wasn't a group of street thugs or low-level enforcers—these were trained professionals. His odds of getting out of this situation unscathed were slim, and his head was still spinning from the chaos of the last few hours.
He raised his hands slowly, stepping out of the car with deliberate movements, showing that he wasn't looking for a fight—at least, not this time.
One of the CounterMercs approached him and roughly pulled his arms behind his back, snapping cuffs around his wrists with practiced efficiency. They shoved him toward the minivan, his shoes scraping against the asphalt as they forced him inside the vehicle.
The cop car, still parked at the edge of the road, didn't intervene. Zughaib could see the two officers inside exchanging glances, one of them scoffing as they watched the CounterMercs do their job. He caught a snippet of their conversation as the minivan doors closed behind him.
"Look at these guys—always acting like they are with the law...," one of the cops muttered.
The other cop smirked. "Showoffs. Let them deal with this one."
The minivan's engine roared to life, and they pulled away from the intersection, the cops fading into the distance. The interior of the van was cold and sterile, its dark leather seats offering little comfort. Zughaib leaned back, cuffed and silent, his mind swirling with unanswered questions.
---
The CounterMerc HQ loomed ahead after a short drive, a stark and intimidating building nestled between the industrial blocks. Zughaib remained calm, though a small knot of tension sat at the base of his spine, he knew he had to stay sharp. The CounterMercs operatives kept their eyes on him, their expressions hidden beneath their visors, their hands occasionally adjusting their weapons. They knew he was dangerous, but they also knew they had him in check—for now.
Once they reached the HQ, the van came to a stop at the CM secret lot; the CounterMercs operatives dismount with Zughaib restrained, as they entered into the building, then through a dimly lit corridor. Zughaib's shoes scraping against the concrete floor as they led him inside. The cold, sterile lights above flickered as they moved through the long, narrow corridor, the air heavy with a sense of purpose. Zughaib remained quiet, his mind observing everything—the layout, the guards, the exits.
At the end of the corridor, Orwen appeared, flanked by two men in suits. He was as composed as ever, his cold eyes gleaming with amusement as he regarded Zughaib with a faint smirk. It was clear he had been waiting for this moment.
"Well, well," Orwen chuckled, his voice smooth and formal as always. "It seems you're becoming quite popular, Zughaib."
Zughaib's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his eyes locked on Orwen's as the CounterMercs uncuffed him. His wrists ached from the tight restraints, but he ignored the discomfort.
Orwen took a step forward, his smirk widening. "You should know, the hitmark on you? That was from The Cleaner himself. You've made quite an impression on him."
The mention of The Cleaner sent a shock through Zughaib, though he didn't let it show. His mind raced, trying to process this new information. The Cleaner, the man who forced him to step into the criminal underworld, had also put a target on his back. The betrayal stung, but Zughaib couldn't afford to let it distract him.
Orwen gestured for Zughaib to follow, his demeanor suddenly shifting to something more serious. "Come. There's something I want to show you."
Zughaib followed Orwen down another hallway, his senses still on high alert despite the calm atmosphere. They eventually reached a large office, the walls lined with old military memorabilia and various documents. The centerpiece, however, was a large, framed photograph of Jovian—the man who had led the Flanké Platoon, the man Zughaib had once trusted with his life.
Orwen stopped in front of the photo, his expression softening as he stared at it. For the first time since Zughaib had met him, Orwen seemed vulnerable—almost human.
"That's Jovian," Orwen said quietly, his eyes lingering on the picture. "He was my uncle. A good man, despite his flaws - drinking, smoking, encroached flight license, shady contacts for weapon supply... you name it."
Zughaib's pulse quickened. Jovian had been a mentor, a leader, someone they all looked up to. He hadn't known Orwen had a personal connection to him, but the pieces were starting to fall into place.
Orwen continued, his voice tinged with sorrow. "My father—Jovian's brother—died of takotsubo cardiomyopathy. A broken heart, they called it. He couldn't handle losing his brother... they both were really close... so was I."
Zughaib remained silent, absorbing the weight of Orwen's words. He had never seen this side of the man before, and it left him feeling uneasy. Orwen's usual arrogance was replaced by a quiet, simmering rage.
Orwen turned to face Zughaib, his expression hardening again. "Jovian didn't die the way the records say. He didn't drown by accident."
Zughaib's eyes narrowed. Orwen's fists clenched at his sides, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "I've found traces of the ones responsible. DARKCON was involved, but they had help. Someone... someone in our ranks. I want revenge, Zughaib."
Zughaib's mind raced as the revelation sank in. Jovian's death had always felt wrong, like a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit. And now Orwen was offering him a way to settle the score—but it wasn't just about revenge. It was about survival. DARKCON, The Cleaner, the CounterMercs—it was all connected, and Zughaib was stuck right in the middle.
Orwen's gaze locked onto Zughaib's. "I need your help. You're in this whether you like it or not. But if you work with me, we can bring them down."
Zughaib's jaw tightened as he considered his options. He didn't trust Orwen, but he didn't have many choices left. The hitmark, the enemies circling closer—everything was converging, and if he didn't make a move, he would be the one left behind.
Finally, Zughaib nodded, his eyes hard with resolve.
Orwen's smirk returned, but there was something darker behind it now. "Good. Then let's begin."
The weight of the decision settled over Zughaib like a shroud as Orwen's words echoed in his mind. There was no turning back now.