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Chapter 3 - East Route

At the youthful age of eighteen, Isule, known as the Hand, commanded the underworld with an allure akin to a siren's song, his audacious spirit a striking juxtaposition to the vast fortunes that flowed into his accounts. The East Route Mafia, a creation of his own genius, had evolved into a formidable empire, its influence sprawling across the nation. It had been three years since he had convened with his four closest allies, each a master in the arts of deception, combat, assassination, and commerce, together forging a legacy that would echo through the annals of time.

The grandeur of the two-hundred-thousand-square-meter mansion stood in stark contrast to the humble origins of its owner. This five-story marvel perched elegantly atop a hill, surveying the expanding suburban landscape of New Section. Its shimmering windows captured the hues of the setting sun, casting a radiant glow upon the verdant surroundings. The architectural design was a triumph of modernity, a silent testament to the immense wealth and influence Isule had accumulated in such a brief span.

The boardroom served as a sanctuary of affluence and authority, its walls embellished with tapestries illustrating their audacious exploits and the lives transformed by their ill-gotten wealth. The circular mahogany table at the center gleamed with such polish that it reflected the visages of the five leaders. Each chair was meticulously crafted to suit its occupant's preferences, symbolizing their distinct identities within the unified collective.

As they savored the whiskey, an oppressive silence enveloped them, thick with unexpressed sorrow and the burden of impending challenges. Isule reclined in his chair, his gaze sweeping the room, as if seeking solace in the very essence of the space. The loss of their dear friend, Jinanda, weighed heavily on them all, yet Isule understood the necessity of forging ahead.

He turned to Akhona, whose tears flowed unabated, and reached across the table to clasp her hand. "I vow to you, Akhona," he declared, his voice imbued with a fierce resolve that seemed to still the air around them, "I will hunt down the wretches responsible for this. And when the time comes, I will present them before us, so we may deliver the justice they so rightfully deserve."

Akhona nodded, her grip on Isule's hand firming. She had stood by him from the very outset, her keen intellect and strategic prowess pivotal in their ascent to prominence. The void left by their friend's passing was a profound ache that would linger, yet she was certain that Isule would not rest until retribution was achieved.

The maid returned, following Isule's directive, and placed the gin bottle delicately on the table. She had attended to them countless times, yet never had she witnessed such a palpable heaviness in the room. Understanding the gravity of the moment, she withdrew silently. Isule poured the crystal-clear liquid into their glasses, the soft clink of ice resonating through the charged stillness.

We shall grieve for him, we shall pay tribute to his memory, yet we must ensure that his passing serves a purpose," Isule declared, his tone unwavering and resolute. "Our vigilance must be heightened. We cannot afford to waver in our resolve at this critical juncture." He allowed a moment of silence for his words to resonate before proceeding. "We are poised to penetrate the international market, and we shall do so with an element of surprise. We will leverage the interviews to our benefit, leading them to believe we are merely prosperous entrepreneurs."

The assembly nodded in solemn agreement, the weight of their circumstances settling heavily upon them. They had always shared a profound bond, but this marked their first encounter with such a profound loss. The passing of one among them had forged an even tighter unity, and the thirst for retribution hung palpably in the atmosphere.

"We must exercise caution," Chadlee interjected, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to reverberate through the very essence of the room. "Should the authorities suspect our involvement in the heists, it could invite an unprecedented level of scrutiny upon our operations."

Isule acknowledged this with a grave nod, his mind racing with possibilities. "I understand, but we have always been thorough. This moment has been in our sights for some time. The heists were never solely about financial gain; they were a strategic maneuver. A means to finance our expansion while keeping the authorities in the dark."

Thomas leaned in, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of the impending challenge. "We possess the connections and the product. We can seamlessly infiltrate the elite circles of Europe and North America. The affluent and influential are perpetually in search of novel indulgences. Our cannabis will soon become the talk of the town."

Isule inclined his head, his thoughts swirling with potential. "However, we must proceed with caution. The global arena is vastly different from our own. We can no longer be perceived as the Robin Hoods of the townships. We are about to become significant players in a much grander scheme."

Clinton reclined in his chair, a confident grin gracing his features. "Rest assured, boss. We have everything under control. The carwashes are already a sensation among the elite. A slight adjustment to our approach, a hint of exclusivity, and they will be at our beck and call."

Akhona's gaze sharpened as she contemplated the ramifications. "Yet, we must be discerning with our clientele. We cannot afford to have anyone recognize us from those interviews," she cautioned.

"Indeed," Isule replied, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "We must exercise greater vigilance than ever. Our identities must remain concealed, even in the dimmest light." He surveyed the table, his expression serious. "We will require new identities, fresh faces for the international market. It is time to engage the experts."

Thomas nodded in concurrence. "I have connections who can assist us with that. They are the finest in the field, though their services come at a premium."

Isule leaned back, a knowing smile gracing his lips. "That will not be necessary," he replied with calm assurance. "I have been preparing for this moment since our inception."

Thomas arched an eyebrow, intrigue evident in his expression. "What do you mean by that?"

Isule rose to his feet, his youthful visage suddenly taking on a grave demeanor. "Do you recall when I mentioned the need for heightened caution?" He revealed a hidden compartment within the wall, unveiling a sleek black case. Placing it delicately on the table, the atmosphere shifted to one of hushed anticipation as he opened it. Inside lay five masks, each strikingly realistic and undeniably lifelike. "These represent the pinnacle of nano technology," he articulated, his voice a blend of enthusiasm and gravity. "They serve a purpose beyond mere disguise. They are essential for our survival."

He selected one, and the mask ignited with a shimmering glow, seamlessly adapting to the contours of his face. His features began to blur, and in an instant, he morphed into an entirely different persona. "These are my safeguard," he declared, his voice transformed by the mask. "They grant us the ability to assume any identity we desire. And they are not solely for us. Each of our soldiers possesses one of these as a precautionary measure, should anyone contemplate treachery."

He extended the mask toward Akhona, who accepted it with quivering hands. "But what if one of them chooses to remove it?" she inquired, her voice trembling. "They won't," Isule assured her, his tone resolute. "These masks are embedded with nano-bombs. Should they ever betray us, they will find themselves headless before they can utter a single word."

The atmosphere in the room shifted to a profound stillness, the weight of his declarations enveloping them like a thick mist. Gradually, they began to grasp the intricacies of his strategy, the extensive measures he had undertaken to safeguard their well-being. Thomas inhaled deeply, his thoughts racing with the ramifications. "So, we're diving into the depths," he whispered. "Indeed, very deep," Isule affirmed, his eyes sparkling with resolve.

The four of them lingered in contemplation, pondering the path that lay ahead. Akhona broke the silence, her tone now unwavering. "We must recruit and train more soldiers, individuals we can trust without hesitation." She was acutely aware of the dangers that accompanied their new endeavor, recognizing that their triumph would depend on the unwavering loyalty of their followers.

Isule concurred with a nod. "We have grown too comfortable. It is imperative that we cultivate a new generation of East Route members, those who comprehend the seriousness of our mission." He savored a sip of his whiskey, the warmth of the spirit coursing through him. "However, we shall not employ the same strategies as before. We are no longer mere children pretending to be heroes. We are a formidable enterprise now, and we must conduct ourselves accordingly."

The group acknowledged his words with solemn nods, fully aware of the significance behind them. They had evolved from mere rebels with a cause into leaders bearing responsibilities that transcended their individual lives. "We need to seek out individuals who share our unwavering commitment to this mission," Chadlee asserted, his voice rough yet resolute. "People who will not be swayed by the allure of greed or power."

Isule inclined his head in agreement. "Precisely. Our new recruits must endure a demanding regimen of training and evaluation. They must embody loyalty, intelligence, and, above all, discretion." He selected another mask from the exquisite case. "And these," he proclaimed, elevating it for all to see, "are not mere tools of concealment. They are the finest available, devoid of any nano explosives. They are intended solely for the five of us."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the room, the mention of explosives having cast a shadow of unease. "These will also alter our voices, rendering us unrecognizable," Isule elaborated. "We will navigate among our adversaries with complete anonymity."

Breaking the silence, Thomas focused intently on the mask he held. "What is our strategy for the interviews?" he inquired, the weight of the mask reflecting the gravity of their undertaking. "We maintain our composure," Isule replied, returning his mask to the case. "We adhere to the narrative. We are merely fortunate young entrepreneurs in the business arena."

Akhona nodded, her expression steely. "However, we must not allow them to perceive us as weak or complacent, waiting to be exploited for their narratives." She brushed her nose with the back of her hand, the first hints of her fury surfacing through her sorrow. "We will provide them with ample material to write about, yet not enough to expose our true selves."

Isule's gaze wandered to the windows, where the setting sun cast elongated shadows throughout the room. "We will engage in the game," he concluded. "But we shall establish our own rules."

The group rose gracefully, each member discreetly tucking their masks into pockets or purses. They had ambitions to fulfill, a new realm to seize. Yet, first, they needed to navigate the persistent inquiries of the journalists.

In the week that followed, news outlets buzzed with the exclusive interviews featuring the leaders of the East Route. These young magnates effortlessly captivated their audience, articulating their business endeavors and their deep affection for South Africa. They crafted a narrative of optimism and abundance, a striking juxtaposition to the harsh realities of the townships they once inhabited.

Thomas, radiating newfound charisma and a hint of humility, passionately advocated for the empowerment of young entrepreneurs and the significance of community support. His strip clubs had been transformed into upscale entertainment venues, creating vital employment opportunities for those in need.

Clinton, proudly dubbed the "Car Wash King," extolled the environmental merits of his eco-friendly car washes and his dedication to minimizing water waste. The journalists eagerly absorbed his words, ready to publish flattering stories that showcased the East Route executives in a favorable light, blissfully unaware of their status as some of the nation's most wanted criminals.

Akhona, ever the enigma, articulated the hurdles of being a female entrepreneur in a predominantly male industry. She highlighted the role of her beauty salons in nurturing self-esteem and empowerment among women, all while her astute mind meticulously plotted the next stage of their expansion.

Chadlee, with his characteristic panache, eloquently shared his vision of the arcades. He portrayed them as sanctuaries for the youth, offering a delightful reprieve from the stark realities of township life—a realm of joy and fellowship that also provided a tantalizing glimpse into the technological marvels beyond their confines. His fervor for gaming radiated as he recounted the exhilaration of introducing this vibrant world to those who had yet to experience its wonders. However, beneath this vibrant facade lay a more clandestine operation, where the arcades served as a discreet venue for their covert dealings, conducted through mere gestures and knowing glances.

The interviews had proven effective; the journalists were captivated by their narrative, fully ensnared by the allure of their story. The excitement surrounding their enterprises surged, igniting the curiosity of international clientele. Inquiries began to flood in, the murmurs intensified, and the appetite for their offerings grew insatiable. The stage was impeccably set for East Route's spectacular debut on the global stage.