The sound of the engine filled the air as Zughaib piloted the old baron down the runway, the once-rusty plane now fully restored and cutting through the sky with newfound life. The airbase around him was quiet, isolated, with only a handful of personnel attending to their duties. Zughaib pushed the plane to its limits, performing sharp rolls and tight turns, testing the baron's endurance and his own reflexes. The sky was his domain, and for a few moments, the weight of everything else seemed to fall away.
After completing his maneuvers, Zughaib brought the plane in for a smooth landing, the tires kissing the runway as the baron slowed to a stop. He dismounted, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. As he stepped away from the aircraft, Jovian approached, a wide grin on his face.
"That was impressive," Jovian said, clapping a hand on Zughaib's shoulder. His weathered face beamed with approval as he inspected the baron, running his hand along the metal hull. "You've got a hell of a touch for flying."
Zughaib nodded in acknowledgment, feeling a sense of pride from Jovian's approval, though he remained as stoic as ever.
"Come on," Jovian said after a moment. "I've got something to show you. Indoor gun range. Let's see if your aim's as good as your flying."
Zughaib hesitated. Though he was no stranger to firearms, his connection to them had always felt utilitarian, not personal. But he followed Jovian to the range regardless, curious to see what the old man had in store.
Inside the range, Jovian unwrapped a weathered rifle, the barrel long and polished from years of use. "This beauty's been with me since my time in the service," he explained, handling the gun with a reverence that spoke of years of experience. "It's an old friend. Let's see what you can do with it."
Zughaib accepted the rifle, feeling the weight of it in his hands. He lined up the shot, the target downrange barely visible through the slight haze of the indoor lighting. He focused, steadying his breath. With a pull of the trigger, the shot rang out, echoing through the chamber.
The bullet struck dead center, right on the bullseye.
Jovian grinned, impressed. "Well, well, looks like you've got the touch for more than just flying." He gave Zughaib a hearty pat on the back, a gesture that pulled him back to reality.
Zughaib woke up in the cramped RV, his body still tense from the dream. The memories of the past felt sharp, as though they had just happened. He sighed deeply, sitting up on the old cot, the morning light seeping through the narrow windows. His eyes fell on the pistol he had stolen from the goons at the construction site. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, the cold metal against his skin grounding him in the present.
The sound of silence outside the RV was almost unsettling. Painsbury was quiet, too quiet. Zughaib stood and walked over to the small table near the window, where the business card from the red Sprint van sat. The ornate symbols and gold embossing glinted in the sunlight, and his mind wandered back to the strange figure from the flea market.
Zughaib stared at the card for a long moment before pulling out his PDA. He typed a quick memo to the figure, something simple and direct, asking for the next move. He knew he was getting pulled further into a dangerous web, but there was no turning back now.
Less than an hour later, the familiar red Sprint van pulled up just outside the RV, its dark windows giving no hint of who or what was inside. Zughaib prepped himself quickly, strapping the pistol to his side and stepping out into the pale morning light. The figure was waiting for him, hidden behind the tinted glass of the van's serving station. As the window slid open, the same modulated, mechanical voice crackled out.
"Ah, Zughaib," the voice said with a hint of amusement, "I see you're still standing." The figure chuckled, clearly pleased to see him. "I've got a little job for you. There's a police car that's been tailing this van for a while now. I need you to take care of it. Sabotage it, make sure they can't follow me anymore."
Zughaib nodded. The job was clear, and he'd done worse. The figure handed him a small toolkit through the window. "Here's everything you'll need. The car is parked near the Cadonna Street Police Department. You'll know it when you see it."
Without waiting for further instructions, Zughaib took the kit, slinging it over his shoulder. He noticed an abandoned bicycle leaning against the side of the road, likely left behind by some drifter. It would be quiet, and more importantly, inconspicuous. He mounted the bike, its creaky frame groaning under his weight, and set off toward Cadonna Street.
---
The Cadonna Street PD was bustling with activity as Zughaib arrived, the area filled with patrol cars and officers moving in and out of the building. Keeping a low profile, Zughaib scanned the parked cars, quickly spotting the one the figure had mentioned. The police cruiser sat at the edge of the lot, its license plate felt familiar; Zughaib noticed that it's the same police car that chased him at Asiaville before he got captured by CM.
He leaned the bike against a nearby alley wall and casually approached the car. The officers nearby were distracted, discussing something with a group of people outside the station. With practiced ease, Zughaib opened the toolkit and got to work, carefully disconnecting vital wires and planting a small device under the vehicle's chassis that would ensure the car wouldn't start when the officers returned.
As he finished the job, a loud commotion erupted from the entrance of the PD. Zughaib looked up just in time to see a convict—dressed in a white tanktop and orange pants—sprinting out of the station, handcuffed, a wild look in his eyes. Chaos unfolded as two officers gave chase, shouting for backup. The man was spitting out Chinglish, Zughaib felt a pang of familiarity.
Before Zughaib could react, the convict spotted him and changed direction, heading straight for him. Instinct took over, and Zughaib reached for his pistol, drawing it swiftly. The convict closed the distance, his eyes wide with desperation, but Zughaib didn't hesitate. He fired a single shot, hitting the man in the chest.
The convict crumpled to the ground, his momentum carrying him forward for a few more feet before he collapsed, dead. The scene around the station turned frantic as more officers spilled out, weapons drawn, unsure of what had just happened.
Zughaib, knowing he couldn't stay any longer, holstered his pistol and sprinted back to the alley, retrieving the bicycle. As he rode away, 2 police officers that remembered during the Asiaville pursuit rushed to the sabotaged car. As they both enter, the police car exploded, flipped from the rear side.
The police car he had sabotaged had just erupted into flames, the force of the blast shaking the ground beneath him. Smoke billowed into the air as the fire consumed the vehicle, and shouts filled the air as officers scrambled to control the scene.
Zughaib didn't look back. His task was done.
---
Later that day, the red Sprint van returned to Painsbury, parking just as discreetly as before. The figure in the van had been watching Zughaib's every move through the vehicle's surveillance equipment. As Zughaib approached, the window slid open once more, and the modulated voice greeted him with a chuckle.
"Efficient as ever," the figure said, the amusement clear in their tone. "I favor such competency."
Zughaib said nothing, simply waiting for the next move.
The figure leaned forward, passing another small package through the window. "Consider this a token of my appreciation. You may aswell see me driving around vague parts of downtown or you can call me up with this burner phone." The figure gives a burner phone to Zughaib before speaking up. "I sell anything, counterfeit scores, useless junk, special tools... you name it all; just make sure you're alone in your dealings..."
With that, the van pulled away, disappearing down the road, leaving Zughaib alone once more.
Zughaib stood there for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he watched the van vanish into the distance. He didn't trust the figure, didn't trust the van, but for now, they were useful.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the barren landscape, Zughaib returned to the RV, his mind already turning over the events of the day. The game was escalating, and every step he took brought him closer to the heart of the storm.
But one thing was certain: when the storm finally hit, he would be ready.