The night air carried the salty scent of the sea as Ali leaned against the truck, watching the waves crash against the docks. Despite the mission's apparent success, a lingering sense of unease gnawed at him. The masked men had said little during the exchange, their cold, calculating demeanor leaving him on edge.
"We're clear, right?" Malick asked as he approached, his voice calm but laced with fatigue.
Ali nodded slowly. "Yeah, for now." He glanced back at the truck. "But something didn't feel right. Did you notice how they were acting? Too quiet, too... tense."
Malick shrugged, lighting a cigarette. "It's always like that. They don't trust us, we don't trust them. That's how it works." He took a long drag and exhaled slowly. "Stop overthinking, man. We did what we had to do, and we're still standing."
Ali wished he could adopt Malick's detached attitude. But the memory of the masked men—the way their eyes had flicked nervously toward the crates, the way they had kept their hands close to their weapons—refused to leave him.
"What do you think was inside those crates?" Ali asked quietly.
Malick shot him a sidelong glance. "Does it matter? Whatever it was, it's out of our hands now. Our job is done." He paused before adding, "Look, if you keep asking questions, you'll drive yourself crazy. Faisal doesn't pay us to be curious."
Ali fell silent, knowing Malick was right. But even as they climbed back into the truck and drove off, he couldn't shake the feeling that they had just played a part in something far more sinister than they realized.
The drive back to the estate was quiet, the only sounds being the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the wind through the open windows. Ali stared out at the city lights, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He had left his home with dreams of a better future, of a life free from poverty and hardship. Yet here he was, entangled in a web of crime, deceit, and danger.
"Do you ever think about what we're doing?" he asked suddenly.
Malick didn't respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but firm. "No. Thinking doesn't help. We do what we're told, we survive. That's all there is to it."
"But what if—"
"There are no 'what ifs,' Ali," Malick interrupted. "This is our life now. You either accept it, or you don't. But if you don't…" He let the sentence hang in the air, its meaning clear.
Ali clenched his fists, frustration boiling beneath the surface. He wanted to argue, to tell Malick that there had to be another way. But deep down, he knew his friend was right. They had made their choices, and now they had to live with the consequences.
When they finally reached the estate, the guards at the gate waved them through without a word. The sprawling mansion loomed ahead, its lights casting long shadows across the perfectly manicured gardens. Despite its opulence, Ali always felt a sense of unease whenever he returned here, as if the walls themselves whispered secrets of betrayal and corruption.
As they parked the truck and unloaded their gear, a familiar figure approached. It was Faisal's right-hand man, Karim, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"Faisal wants to see you," Karim said without preamble. "Now."
Ali exchanged a glance with Malick, who merely shrugged. "Guess we're not done yet," Malick muttered as they followed Karim into the mansion.
Faisal was waiting for them in his study, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He didn't look up as they entered, his attention focused on the fire crackling in the hearth.
"Good job tonight," Faisal said after a moment, his tone casual but laced with authority. "The clients were satisfied."
"Is there something else you need from us?" Malick asked.
Faisal turned to face them, his eyes sharp and calculating. "Yes. There's another shipment coming in next week. I need you both to oversee it."
Ali's heart sank. Another mission. Another step deeper into the darkness. He wanted to refuse, to tell Faisal that he was done. But he knew better. In this world, refusal wasn't an option.
"We'll be ready," Malick said, his voice steady.
"Good." Faisal took a sip of his drink before adding, "And one more thing—keep your eyes open. There are whispers of… unrest among the ranks. I don't want any surprises."
Ali and Malick nodded, understanding the unspoken warning. Trust was a rare commodity in Faisal's world, and loyalty was often bought with fear rather than respect.
As they left the study, Ali couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread. Each mission they undertook seemed to push them closer to a point of no return, a point where they would lose whatever remained of their humanity.
"Are you okay?" Malick asked as they walked back to their quarters.
Ali hesitated before replying. "I don't know. Something about all this… it doesn't feel right."
Malick sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, I get it. This isn't what we signed up for. But we don't have a choice. We keep our heads down, do the job, and maybe—just maybe—we'll make it out of this alive."
Ali didn't respond. He wanted to believe that there was still a way out, that they could somehow escape this life and find a better one. But with each passing day, that hope grew dimmer.
Later that night, as he lay in bed, Ali found himself staring at the ceiling once again. The events of the day replayed in his mind, each memory a painful reminder of how far he had fallen.
He thought of Sonia, of the quiet strength she displayed despite the darkness surrounding them. He thought of Malick, who had always been by his side, even when things got tough. And he thought of Faisal, the man who held their fate in his hands.
As sleep finally claimed him, one thought lingered in Ali's mind—a question that refused to be answered.
How much longer could he keep going before he lost himself completely?