I watched with bated breath as the Embassy was evacuated of the personnel. The conflict in the region had soared and the Government decided to pull their diplomatic mission out of the country before things got worse.
As the highest authority for the covert operational side of the diplomatic mission, I oversaw the evacuation with an impassive face. "Shots fired! Shots fired!"
Two Days Ago
I was the deputy director for missions in the CIA, under Roger Callum, the Station Chief situated here in Jordan. Last night at 0325 hours, the Mission desk reported that the Station Chief sent an encrypted USB memory stick to the front desk through a local runner boy and instructed the runner to inform the Embassy to deliver the stick to me and only me. He said it was a matter of critical global security.
Then in the early morning, Roger failed to turn up for work, and as soon as a team was deployed to his home, his place was found to be ransacked and Roger was tortured in a chair and his throat was slit.
Langley immediately raised an alert as Spec Ops team was deployed from stateside to assist while local support was used to investigate.
The rebel forces and the several terrorist cells under surveillance suddenly showed irregular movements and chatter was heard about coordinating strikes with Target Alpha. The only discernable intel was that this mission was called Rihat al Jibril.
Loosely translated, the mission name said Rescue/ Saving the Angel Gabriel. Gabriel in Biblical and Abrahamic theology was the Archangel who heralded the significant Biblical events. Gabriel was also said to blow the horn to announce the start of Apocalypse.
The HUMINT (Human Intelligence) was low on chatter, the engaged assets in the desert sounded very nervous and no one was willing to divulge any information. All reports from SIGINT (Signal Intelligence) and coordinated enhanced interrogation of known enemy combatants revealed that Rihat al Jibril was a powerful coordinated large scale attack that would lead to a cataclysmic end to the dominance and economic stronghold of the United States.
Ahmed Kharroumi, a Morrocan native who lives in Syria and arrived two days ago in Jordan for UN sanctioned relief work, was the only name heard on the intel grapevine related to this dangerous enemy operation.
As the acting Chief here, I approved recon of the last known location of this target. I watched from the Operation Room as an operative followed Ahmed Kharroumi, who entered an inconspicuous resident building that had advanced security measures like access code and intercom access to the building.
It felt odd, since this building was a residence and not many residential housing areas in this country have such security measures. The body cam was on during the op, as the operative tailgated behind a stranger and followed Ahmed into the building.
There was no intel about any registered civilian from the building who turned up as POI (Person of Interest). While the operative looked around and investigated the building that had such stringent security measures but surprisingly no camera, the door in the Operation Room opened with a thud and an analyst came running with some papers clutched in his hand.
As a senior intelligence agent who started managing ops after leaving field work, I had heard some colleagues say that rather than black cats crossing paths, or being born in Friday the 13th, seeing an analyst come running to your operation room is the more bad luck and someone is definitely going to die.
"Sir! Sir! You need to see this!"
The analyst yelled across the room, and before I could rush out to him to see what got his knickers in a twist, I heard the operative in the field curse into his mic.
"Shit! This mission is fucked. Our target is in a meeting with the second Prince of Kuwait and leader of Syrian terrorist group Jimmat-al Qadah just walked in. I don't know what they are discussing, but I was just made by the lieutenant of the terrorist group. My cover is blown. I need support. I repeat. I need support."
I looked at the analyst and my look practically screamed "TL/DR" as I stared at the thick binder file of the report.
"Sir!", the analyst gulped, "Jimmat-al Qadah's lieutenant is the brother-in-law of the second cousin of our target. FININT from Egypt just sent a report on priority channel that several transactions from this cousin were flagged after we designated Kharroumi as our target. After we flagged SIGINT about any mention of the keywords, Jibril was the reference code of one initial transaction. It originated from Cayman Islands, and the account holder was tracked to Panama, where two operatives died last year. Sir!"
The analyst spoke all this in a single breath as I impatiently waited for the idiot to get to the bloody point.
"Sir!" He caught his breath and spoke with nervousness that put me on edge. "The operatives in Panama were working in the same black site where the lieutenant of Jimmat-al Qadah was held and from which he escaped. His father and sister were killed in the surgical strike nine months, three months after which, we heard chatter of Rihat-al Jibril. I think the lieutenant is the mastermind of this covert mission, sir. And somehow and for some reason, he is getting ultra-confidential intel of our operatives in deep covert mission."
I frowned at his words. That doesn't make sense. Something is missing here.
"Shots fired. Requesting support. I repeat. Requesting support."
My head swiveled to the screen as I stared at the operative hiding behind a barrel as his backup ran towards him to cover his escape.
"Oh fuck!"
And that was when, things went FUBAR.
All eyes turned to the screen as a raghead terrorist brought out a Soviet era RPG and fired in the direction of the building where the operative ran from.
The explosion threw the operative on the ground from the secondary explosion as the entire building began to collapse like an artillery shell fired down on the structure.
The raghead ran away as the operative stood there amidst dust and debris with blood trailing down his face as the entire backup team in the building covering his exit was definitely buried under the collapsed building, along with the terrorist cell leaders and the target...and the fucking Prince!
After that, things went immediately downhill. Langley was watching the ops go sideways remotely and immediately my phone rang as our entire diplomatic mission was hailed out of the country.
Kuwait, Syria, Jordan, Iran and even Saudi Arabia asked for all the UN and the US diplomatic missions and relief workers to leave their country. This became a national disaster as the US economy declined when the oil prices went sky high and China entered negotiation with the Middle East and with the Russians to counter the US.
And as the lynchpin of this damage, while I was looking into the Rihat al Jibril, I realised my team and our covert operations were part of the terrorists' agenda. Someone within the US orchestrated this collapse of trust and I was the marionette dancing to their tune.
As I was overseeing the evacuation of our forces, I saw personnel running towards the North Gate. "Shots fired! Shots fired!"
I ordered the National Guard to stop the local resistance there. As soon as the military lessened in number around us, I instinctively looked from the corner of my eye at the South Gate where I stood, as the same raghead who shot the rocket, appeared at the gate of the Embassy.
Before I could alert the authorities and the National Guard, the raghead looked specifically at me with a shit eating grin and ran over the barricade with a dead man's switch in his right hand as all greenhorn personnel left behind raised their guns at him.
The raghead, unconcerned by the guns, kept staring at me. "You shouldn't have assassinated my brother. Karim was innocent. So was my wife. Fatimeh was innocent. She was pregnant with my child. Now suffer the Jehenloom, kafir! Allah hu Akbar!"
*BOOOOOOMMMMM*
"That is unfortunate!"
The blinding light from the explosion was the last thing I remembered as I blearily opened my eyes. I saw an old man sitting at the desk, immaculately dressed and with two cups and a teapot on the table between us.
I was sitting on a chair as well, as I looked at the man.
"How am I alive?" I asked him as I distinctly remembered the portable Geiger counter I wore on my trousers go off when the raghead committed suicide in the middle of our evacuation.
Nuclear blast and close range explosion should not mean waking up unharmed with no memories of any bedridden injuries.
"What makes you think you are alive?" The man asked me as I stared at him.
"So this is afterlife, and you are what? The Adjudicator?"
I asked snidely as the man smiled kindly as he waved his hand.
I stared with wide eyes as a translucent screen levitated in the air above us as I saw the explosion go off. Then, there was a flash as the next thing I saw was the President of the United States standing at a funeral with my picture behind him. I saw my colleagues and my wife and my kids there as I stared with grueling pain in my heart.
And as I saw the scene, I knew that it was real. I knew it was my funeral.
I stared at the man with glistening tears as he smiled comfortingly.
"That was, I am afraid, the tragic end of your mortal lifespan. Cut short by the Powers that Be in your world who decided the hegemony of the United States must end. And decided you were the perfect lynchpin to bring about the demise of the world order. It is unfortunate that a man like you was put in that situation, but alas, that is the way your world works. And many others, too."
I looked emptily at him as he sighed. "I am terribly sorry for your loss and you have my condolences. Your prospects for afterlife are not too good, I am afraid. And yet, a man of your skills will be wasted rotting in hell tortured for the rest of eternity."
I looked at him as I tried to understand what he was offering.
"What do you want from me?"
I asked as the tragic and sympathetic expression from the man's face changed into a smile.
"Do you remember enjoying the works of fiction in your youth? Does the word Isekai mean anything to you?"
He asked with a grin as I stared at him blankly.
"The weeb's genre of wish fulfillment and harem fantasies for the virgins?" I asked dryly as the man guffawed.
"The very same. But for the adults like us, consider this. There are infinite Omniverses in this reality, each Omniverse is based around a certain fiction that you may or may not be familiar with. Within each Omniverse are infinite realities of Multiverses. Some happen exactly as those works of fiction depict. Heroes struggle, villains commit tragedies. Mortals strive to preserve. Heroes fight and ultimately prevail. Evil is vanquished and balance is restored. Then the cycle repeats. With new heroes, new idealogies and new beliefs."
I nodded.
"I know what the Hindu concept of Samsara is. The cycle of Creation, Preservation and Destruction. Establishing Morality is Dharmasthapana, the evil that prevails and the good that must rise for the holy war."
The old man smiled genuinely at me.
"I am really glad you read the Hindu scriptures. The wisdom in those works transcends mortality. It is one of the reasons why you were chosen. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Yes, the cycle of the Universe survives and thrives and like an ecosystem births the new world order over the ashes of the old. Civilization and Biology, both work on the same principle. But in these infinite variations within these Multiverses, things go wrong. Cycles are disrupted. The Universe cannot bring the world to its natural equilibrium. The world order suffers and such worlds are termed Death Worlds. Either the good or the evil triumphs over the other and overwhelms the balance. Such imbalances disrupt the fate of that Universe and they are deemed unfit for survival. There is only a natural progression for such worlds: Pruning these realities and timelines like a gardener does to weeds growing around the plants he wishes to protect."
I couldn't imagine the scope of Beings who talk about pruning realities, but the basis of that concept is somewhat clear to me.
"And what does that have to do with me?" I asked as the man smiled.
"It is simple. I said without any external factors, the Death Worlds have the same natural progression: Termination. But what if, there are external agents? Agents who arrive in such worlds to restore the balance. Agents who endeavour to not side with the good or the bad, but become the force of nature and overwhelm the reality to shift and swerve back to the equilibrium?"
I looked at him as his words now make sense to me.
"You want me to be that agent?" I asked as the man nodded.
"You can choose any starting package and create a build as people do in those RPG games. Each world you clear gives you experience and gives you resources to grow stronger. The stronger you are, the more capable you are in handling such complicated and dangerous worlds. Imagine an entire Multiverse where Alduin and Hermeus Mora combine forces and rule the entire Tamriel. Imagine a world where Galactus has devoured One Above All and now devours all realities. Imagine a world where Eldritch Gods descend on the Harry Potter world and demonic forces rule the reality. Imagine the Supernatural Biblical God winning across his Multiverse? The world's and Multiverses you are aware of have several tragic ends. But to right such wrongs, you need overwhelming power to shift the balance."
The man was now smiling as he stared at me, leaning over the table. "That is your incentive. And ours. The more powerful agents, the more balance we can capably restore. And there are infinite, and I mean this without embellishments. Infinite. There can never be enough agents. And your work will never end. It is an eternal task with plenty rewards and plenty to gain. You can have anything you want, any power and any resource you desire. You can have companions and you can have lovers to keep you company. The realities are your oyster. Any resource you want, you can keep as long as it doesn't disrupt the balance and the natural order. And any resource you wish to sell to us, we happily buy it from you for a very competitive price. This is what awaits you. And all you have to do is say, Yes. If you refuse, we can send you back to your natural end. But, I can't imagine you making that choice."
I smiled at the man. "I don't know if this is the delirium or delusion while I am in a coma. But, why not? I accept."
The man smiled. "Good, enough of the expositions. We have work to do. You can call me John. John Wick."