The night in Krafta was thick with tension, the kind that curled around the bones and refused to let go. Haqim stood in the shadow of an old warehouse, its crumbling walls cloaked in vines and neglect. The sound of dripping water echoed from somewhere deep within the structure, mingling with the distant hum of the city. It was a forgotten place, a relic from a time when Krafta thrived, now a perfect hideout for those who needed to vanish from sight.
A small earpiece crackled in Haqim's ear. The voice on the other end was low, filled with urgency.
"Are you inside?" came the static-laced voice.
"I'm here," Haqim responded, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes scanned the darkened windows above. "Everything's in place?"
A pause. "All set. The shipment is en route. We've got less than an hour before they arrive."
Haqim nodded to himself, though no one could see it. His fingers brushed against the cold steel of the door, pushing it open with a soft creak. The interior was as decrepit as the outside, the faint smell of mold and rust lingering in the air. But Haqim wasn't here to admire the scenery. He moved swiftly through the narrow corridors, his footsteps soft, calculated.
He stopped at the center of the warehouse, the wide, open space dimly lit by moonlight filtering through broken windows. A small group of people awaited him, their faces shadowed by the gloom, but their eyes sharp, alert. Each one was an operative, handpicked for this mission. The stakes were too high for mistakes, and these were the people he trusted to execute the plan perfectly.
"You're late," a voice called from the far side of the room, filled with a mix of impatience and amusement.
Haqim's eyes landed on Yara, a woman with sharp features and piercing green eyes, standing with her arms crossed. She had a reputation for being brash, but she was one of the best at what she did—getting in and out of impossible situations without being noticed.
"I'm never late," Haqim replied, his tone even, though a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "You're just early."
Yara smirked, uncrossing her arms. "Same difference. I assume you're ready for this?"
Haqim nodded, glancing around the room. "Where's Malik?"
"Outside, keeping watch. He'll give the signal when the convoy's close." Yara tilted her head, her eyes studying him. "You sure about this? Faizan's got eyes everywhere. If we mess this up, there's no going back."
Haqim's expression darkened for a moment, but he pushed the doubt aside. "We won't mess this up. Everything is in place, and we've planned for every possible outcome."
A gruff voice spoke up from the shadows. "Faizan's not the only one with eyes. You can feel the tension in the air tonight. Something's different."
Haqim glanced toward the voice. It was Hadi, an older man with graying hair and a scar running down his left cheek—a permanent reminder of a past mission gone wrong. He was a veteran of these kinds of operations and had seen more battles than anyone in the room.
"Trust me," Haqim said, his voice steady. "I've accounted for the risks. Our mission tonight is simple: intercept the shipment, get the intel we need, and disappear without a trace."
Yara raised an eyebrow. "Simple, huh? If by simple you mean sneaking into a heavily guarded convoy, disabling their security systems, and making it out alive, then yeah, sure. Simple."
Haqim's lips twitched into a brief smile. "You always know how to lift spirits, Yara."
Before she could respond, the faint chirp of a bird echoed through the air. It was Malik's signal.
"They're close," Haqim said, his body immediately shifting into action. He looked at the group, his voice calm but commanding. "Positions."
The team moved without a word, each person slipping into the shadows of the warehouse, blending into the surroundings. Haqim moved to the roof, climbing the rusted staircase two steps at a time. As he reached the top, he crouched low, peering through a crack in the roof that gave him a clear view of the street below.
The convoy appeared like ghosts in the fog, three black armored trucks moving slowly through the deserted streets of Krafta. The lead vehicle had its lights off, navigating through the dark with eerie precision. Haqim's heart raced, but his mind remained calm. This was it.
He tapped his earpiece. "They're here. Wait for my signal."
The trucks came to a stop just outside the warehouse, their engines rumbling quietly in the night. A man stepped out of the lead vehicle, his face obscured by a hood, his movements quick and efficient. Haqim narrowed his eyes, watching as the man gestured toward the back of the convoy. Another figure emerged, carrying a metal briefcase.
Haqim's eyes locked onto the briefcase. That's it.
He tapped his earpiece again. "On my mark."
Seconds felt like minutes as the team waited in tense silence. Then, without warning, a distant explosion rocked the night, a fiery blast that lit up the sky from the east side of the city. The convoy's guards immediately tensed, their heads snapping toward the explosion, weapons raised. It was the distraction they needed.
"Now," Haqim whispered.
Yara moved first, slipping from the shadows with deadly grace. In a blink, she was behind the closest guard, a glint of metal flashing in the dim light as she incapacitated him with a swift, silent strike. The others moved in sync, each operative taking down their targets with practiced precision. The convoy guards didn't stand a chance.
Haqim descended from his perch, landing silently on the pavement. He moved toward the man holding the briefcase, who had frozen in shock. With a swift motion, Haqim disarmed him, pressing the cold barrel of a silenced pistol to the man's temple.
"Drop it," Haqim ordered, his voice calm but lethal.
The man's hands trembled as he released the briefcase, letting it fall to the ground with a heavy thud. Haqim kicked it aside, his eyes never leaving the man's.
"Who sent you?" Haqim demanded, tightening his grip on the pistol.
The man stammered, his face pale. "I—I don't know! Please, I'm just a courier. I don't ask questions, I just deliver!"
Haqim's gaze hardened. "Lies will get you killed."
"I swear, I swear! They don't tell me anything. I just drive the shipment. Please, don't—"
A sharp whistle cut through the air, and Haqim's eyes darted up. The sound of engines roaring in the distance caught his attention. Reinforcements. They had been expecting backup.
Haqim released the man and turned to Yara, who was already packing up the briefcase. "We need to go. Now."
Yara nodded, and the team moved quickly, retreating into the darkness as the reinforcements drew closer. Haqim felt his heart racing, the adrenaline surging through his veins.
As they vanished into the night, Haqim couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong. The mission was successful, but the way the convoy had arrived, the courier's fear—it all felt too easy. Too… staged.
But there was no time to dwell on it. Not yet.
"We'll regroup at the safe house," Haqim said quietly, his mind already turning over the possibilities. "And then we'll figure out what's really going on."
The storm was only just beginning.