The diesel truck rolled steadily down the empty streets, the engine's low rumble punctuating the otherwise silent drive. Zughaib, still dressed in his funky Englishman disguise, kept his eyes on the road, his face expressionless beneath the facade of eccentricity. Beside him, Alzees shifted uncomfortably, stretching his sore limbs and wincing as the memories of Orwen's interrogation flickered in his mind.
Alzees stole a glance at Zughaib, who seemed lost in his own world, unbothered by the strange company or the circumstances that had brought them together. The disguise was working; Alzees couldn't recognize the man next to him, not really. It was Zughaib's air of silent confidence that threw him off—a presence that was unsettling in its stillness, like the calm before a storm.
"So," Alzees muttered, breaking the silence, "you some kind of freelance guy? Or did they send you?"
Zughaib remained focused on the road, not even sparing a look.
Alzees sighed and rubbed his temples, still trying to piece together his scattered thoughts. "Take me to the Pararity Market lot. It's just a few blocks from here."
Zughaib nodded and turned the truck in that direction, navigating through the labyrinthine streets of the city. The silence between them stretched on, but neither seemed keen to fill it. Alzees kept his gaze on the window, watching the withered cityscape blur by, while Zughaib's mind was already on the next step of his own plan.
---
The Pararity Market lot was a desolate stretch of concrete, barely illuminated by the flickering lights of a nearby billboard. Pale and mostly empty, the lot felt like a forgotten corner of the city, a place where only those with specific business would come. Zughaib pulled the truck to a stop and killed the engine.
Alzees looked around, his eyes scanning the empty lot as he rubbed his bruised arms. "Wait here," he instructed, opening the door and stepping out. Zughaib watched him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, though his face betrayed nothing.
Minutes passed in tense silence before the low hum of an approaching engine broke the stillness. A red Sprint van with dark, tinted windows pulled into the lot, its tires crunching over the gravel as it came to a stop a few feet from the truck. The van looked inconspicuous at first glance, but the air around it felt heavy, like something dangerous lurked within.
"That's the van," Alzees said, nodding towards the van. He gestured for Zughaib to follow as he approached the van's serving station. The dark window slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a figure cloaked in shadow.
Alzees leaned in closer and whispered a code: "19524."
The figure behind the window remained silent for a moment, then nodded, the faint glow of a screen reflecting against the glass. A voice, distorted and modulated by a computer, spoke, cheerful but unnerving. "Well, well, if it isn't Alzees, alive and kicking. Heard you got caught up in a bit of a mess."
Alzees chuckled nervously, trying to hide his unease. "Yeah, got a little too close to the wrong folks. But hey, business is business, right?"
The silhouette inside the van seemed to laugh, the voice metallic and hollow. "Always. Who's your friend?" the figure asked, its head tilting slightly in Zughaib's direction.
Alzees turned to Zughaib, who remained expressionless. "This is… uh… a new friend. Just helping me get back on my feet."
Zughaib gave a small, polite nod, his eyes never leaving the shadowy figure.
The figure inside the van leaned back, producing a decorative business card from the depths of the van. The card was ornate, intricately designed with gold embossing, symbols, and a name that Zughaib couldn't quite read in the dim light. The figure held it out, and Zughaib took it without hesitation.
"Keep that," the voice said, the cheerful tone laced with something darker. "If you ever need anything… unusual.", The figure spoke as Alzees waved to Zughaib before getting into the van.
With that, the window slid shut, and the van's engine roared to life. The vehicle sped off into the night, leaving Zughaib standing in the dimly lit lot; with the ornate business card still clutched in his hand.
---
Back at the BIF HQ, the black coupe rolled into a hidden garage lot, its engine quieting to a low purr as it came to a stop. The two suitmen climbed out, their movements brisk and efficient as they opened the trunk and retrieved the bodybags—one containing the rabid man they had encountered on the road, the other the black van driver. Both bodies were loaded onto medical strollers, the bags zipped tight to hide the grotesque remains within.
The suitmen wheeled the strollers through the back corridors of the HQ, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the sterile walls. They pushed through a set of double doors and into a cold, clinical room where Orwen was waiting, his back turned as he reviewed files spread out on a stainless steel table.
As the suitmen approached, Orwen turned to face them, his expression twisted with a mix of disgust and frustration. He looked down at the bodybags, his eyes flicking between the two corpses with thinly veiled disdain. He hadn't expected this complication—whatever these men were mixed up in, it was worse than he'd anticipated.
Orwen unzipped the first bag, revealing the rabid man's contorted face, frozen in an unnatural snarl. He grimaced, pulling back slightly as the stench of death filled the room. "Another damn mess," he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he studied the lifeless features.
The second bag was unzipped next, revealing the van driver, his body riddled with bullet wounds and his face twisted in agony. Orwen stared at the man's lifeless expression, his mind racing through the possibilities. The evidence was mounting, but it was scattered—pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit together yet.
Orwen grunted, his frustration palpable. "Get forensics down here. I want every inch of these bodies analyzed. Whatever they were involved in, I want to know."
The suitmen nodded and quickly moved to carry out the orders, wheeling the strollers toward the next room where the forensics team would begin their work. Orwen stayed behind, his mind already turning over the new developments. There were too many unknowns, and each new lead seemed to bring more questions than answers.
He pulled out his PDA and sent a brief memo to Zughaib. The game was escalating, and if they were going to stay ahead, they needed every advantage they could get. The night was far from over, and the shadows were closing in on all sides.
---
Back on the streets, Zughaib climbed back into the diesel truck, his fingers still tracing the edges of the decorative business card he'd received. The name on it was unfamiliar, the symbols strange, but something about it felt significant, like a piece of a larger puzzle.
Zughaib sighed, pocketing the card and gripping the wheel. He knew he couldn't trust anyone, not fully, but every move he made felt like it was part of something bigger. The stakes were rising, and every decision, every action, felt like a step closer to something he couldn't quite see yet.
With a deep breath, he started the truck and drove off, the city's lights blurring in the distance as he headed toward his next unknown. The path ahead was unclear, but Zughaib was prepared for whatever came next.