Aaliya sat in her darkened workspace, her eyes red from countless sleepless nights. The hum of her computer was her only companion. She was reviewing logs from various online channels when a notification popped up. It was an anonymous video file sent to one of her secured accounts. Her pulse quickened as she clicked to open it.
The video was grainy, clearly recorded on a low-quality device. Dim lights illuminated a small, grimy room. In the middle of the frame lay a man, his body battered and barely moving. Blood pooled beneath him, and his breathing was shallow. No identifying signs, no flags, no emblems—just a chilling subtitle burned into the footage:
"He's badly injured. He's your man. Get him before he dies."
Aaliya's heart stopped. The man's face wasn't clear, but the build, the slight movement—it could be Zayan. For a moment, her breath caught in her throat. Was this another trap? Another cruel trick?
She quickly saved the video and ran it through her advanced software to analyze every pixel, every detail. There was no metadata attached to the file, and the sender was untraceable. But Aaliya wasn't about to give up. Using every tool at her disposal, she began dissecting the video, searching for any clue to its origin.
After hours of work, her system pinged. The faint background noises in the video—the hum of machinery, distant voices—had been cross-referenced with known locations. The result: an oil refinery in northern Iraq.
Aaliya didn't waste a second. She dialed Hamza's private line.
"Hamza," she said urgently, "I've got something. A video. I think it's Zayan."
There was a pause on the other end before Hamza's composed voice replied, "Send it to me immediately."
Aaliya forwarded the file while explaining, "The location seems to point to an oil refinery in Iraq. But it's heavily guarded. It's not going to be an easy extraction."
Hamza's voice turned grim. "If Zayan's there, we're bringing him home. Get the coordinates locked in. I'll assemble the team."
---
Within hours, the team gathered in the briefing room aboard Captain Rizwan's submarine. The atmosphere was tense, every face a mask of determination. Hamza stood at the front, the video paused on the screen behind him.
"This is where Zayan might be," Hamza began. "An oil refinery in northern Iraq. It's controlled by hostile forces, and we believe Indian and Israeli agents may be involved. They won't let us walk in and take Zayan without a fight."
Ubaid leaned forward, his jaw tight. "If Zayan's alive, we'll bring him back. No matter what it takes."
"That's the spirit," Hamza said, nodding. "Rizwan will deploy you undetected. The refinery is heavily guarded, so you'll need to move in quietly. Aaliya has provided the blueprints. Kashif and Irfan, you'll handle perimeter security. Ubaid and I will lead the extraction."
Salman, the extraction expert, chimed in. "Once you secure Zayan, I'll have the evac route ready. Be prepared for heavy resistance on the way out."
The team nodded in unison, their determination unwavering.
---
By 0200 hours, Rizwan's submarine surfaced near the Iraqi coastline, undetected. The team slipped into the darkness, moving swiftly toward the refinery. The air was thick with tension as they approached the massive complex, its towering chimneys spewing smoke into the night sky.
Using Aaliya's blueprints, they navigated through the shadows, avoiding patrols and cameras. The refinery was a maze of pipes and machinery, the air filled with the hum of engines and the occasional bark of guards.
"Kashif, Irfan," Hamza whispered into his comm. "Hold position at the perimeter. Keep an eye on their movements."
"Copy that," Kashif replied.
Hamza signaled Ubaid to follow him toward the main building. They moved silently, their weapons at the ready. Inside, the corridors were dimly lit, the faint smell of oil hanging in the air.
After what felt like an eternity, they found the room. Hamza held up a hand, signaling for silence. Pressing his ear to the door, he could hear muffled voices inside. He nodded to Ubaid, and together they burst into the room, weapons drawn.
Two guards barely had time to react before they were taken down with precise shots. The third reached for his radio, but Ubaid was faster, silencing him with a single blow.
On the floor lay Zayan, unconscious and barely breathing. His face was battered, his clothes torn and bloodied. Ubaid crouched beside him, checking his pulse. "He's alive, but barely."
Hamza's voice was filled with urgency. "We need to move. Now."
As they lifted Zayan, an alarm blared through the refinery. The guards outside were alerted.
"Kashif, Irfan," Hamza barked into his comm, "we're compromised. Cover us!"
The refinery erupted into chaos. Guards flooded the area, gunfire echoing through the corridors. Kashif and Irfan held their positions, picking off enemies with precision, while Hamza and Ubaid fought to protect Zayan.
"Salman, we need that evac now!" Hamza shouted.
"On my way," Salman replied.
Explosions rocked the refinery as the team made their way to the extraction point. Ubaid carried Zayan, his strength and determination keeping him moving despite the relentless assault.
Finally, they reached the rendezvous point, where Salman waited with a vehicle. "Get in!" he yelled.
The team piled in, bullets ricocheting off the sides as they sped away. The refinery disappeared into the distance, the chaos fading behind them.
---
Onboard the submarine, Zayan lay on a stretcher, surrounded by medical equipment. His breathing was shallow, but he was alive. Ubaid sent a message to Hamza: "Alhamdulillah, sir. Zayan is alive. He's with us, but he's badly injured. Mission accomplished."
Hamza read the message and allowed himself a rare smile. Against all odds, they had brought Zayan home. But as the team regrouped, they knew this was only the beginning. Whatever secrets Zayan held, whatever he had endured, would only deepen the shadowy war they were fighting.