The car rattled over the uneven streets as Ayman slumped against the cold, hard seat of the police car. The voices of the officers swirled around him, muffled and distorted, as if they were coming from underwater. His vision blurred, and he struggled to stay conscious, his head throbbing with pain and confusion.

“Hey, kid! What the hell were you doing there?” one of the officers demanded, his tone sharp and accusatory.

Ayman’s lips moved, but his words were barely audible. “Nadir… Nadir… what happened to Nadir?”

The officer turned to his partner, perplexed. “Who’s Nadir? What’s he talking about?”

“There was no one else there,” the other officer replied, shaking his head. “The place was empty when we arrived.”

Ayman’s body jolted as the car hit a pothole, pulling him back into the present moment. His eyes fluttered open, wild and desperate. “No… no, there were men. Two men. Men in black. They… they had guns. Where’s Nadir? What happened to him?”

The officers exchanged skeptical glances. One of them picked up the radio. “Unit 3 to base, confirm search results. Was anyone else found at the scene?”

A crackle of static followed before the response came. “Negative, Unit 3. The house is empty. No signs of anyone else.”

The officer sighed and looked back at Ayman, who was now trembling. “Listen, kid. Stop with this nonsense. There’s no ‘Nadir,’ and no ‘men in black.’ You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

The police station stood in the heart of the city, an old, decaying building that had seen better days. The walls, cracked and peeling, whispered the weight of years of neglect. The dim light flickered above, casting uneven shadows that seemed to dance across the grimy floors. Dust clung to every surface, and the air was thick with the musty scent of stale wood and rusted metal. Even in the midst of this ruin, the buzzing sound of activity could be heard as officers shuffled from desk to desk, their faces as tired as the building itself.

But it was the cockroaches that gave the place its true character. They scurried along the floors in the corners, darting into the crevices where light never reached, as if the shadows themselves offered them refuge. The officers, too accustomed to the presence of these small invaders, hardly seemed to notice. The only thing that mattered was the job, and for Ayman, this place felt like an echo of his own despair.

The car pulled into the station, its tires screeching to a halt. Ayman was dragged out, barely able to stand, his knees buckling under him. They took him into the interrogation room, where the harsh, flickering fluorescent lights only added to his disorientation.

Seated at the cold, metal table, Ayman’s head hung low as the officers fired questions at him. “Why were you there? Were you stealing? Who was with you? Who is this Nadir?”

He groaned, his voice hoarse and weak. “They kidnapped me… men in black… two men… one had a pistol…

The officers exchanged amused smirks. “Men in black? Really? You been watching too many movies, kid? Or are you high on something?”

Ayman’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and filled with desperation. “No! No! I’m telling the truth. They were there! They—”

One officer interrupted with a mocking tone. “Kid, the house was empty. We’ve got nothing there except you. No Nadir. No men in black. Nothing.”

Ayman shook his head violently, his voice breaking. “No, no, no… You’re lying! They were there! I saw them… I—”

“Enough!” one of the officers barked, slamming a hand on the table. “Stop wasting our time. You want to talk sense, or do you want to spend the night in a cell?”

Ayman’s shoulders slumped, his mind spiraling deeper into confusion. The faces of the men in black, the image of Nadir, the sound of his own voice screaming—it all swirled in his mind, becoming a chaotic blur. He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

The officers watched him, waiting for a coherent response, but all they got was a faint whisper, almost inaudible: “Nadir… Where are you?”

The fluorescent lights in the interrogation room buzzed faintly as the officers leaned closer to Ayman, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. One of them tossed a small bottle onto the table, the sound echoing in the silent room.

“This was in your bag,” the officer said, his voice sharp. “A bottle of Celtia. You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? That’s why you’re acting like this. Are you drunk? Is that why you ended up breaking into a house? Tell me, what’s your excuse?”

Ayman’s head felt heavy as he struggled to lift it. His voice was slurred, almost incoherent. “No… no, I’m not that drunk. Nadir… we… we were attacked. Men in black…”

The officer slammed his hand on the table, causing Ayman to flinch. “Enough with the men in black nonsense! Stop lying! What the hell were you doing in that house? Do you even know whose house that is?”

Ayman blinked, his mind struggling to piece together the fragments of memory. “I… we… we wanted to find money… but we didn’t. We tried to leave, but then… then two men… they attacked us.”

The second officer leaned in, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Attacked you? Kid, you’ve got to be kidding me. We received a call from the neighbors. They heard someone on the rooftop. They didn’t say anything about two people or attackers. Just one person sneaking around.It was you.”

“No, no,” Ayman stammered. “Nadir… he was with me. We were… we didn’t mean…

The officer interrupted, his patience wearing thin. “Listen to me. That house belongs to a Tunisian family living in France that recently moved there. They’re immigrants. They left it under protection, and you thought you could just sneak in and steal whatever you wanted? Do you even understand what you’ve done?”

“France…” Ayman muttered, his voice distant as if trying to grasp onto something. His eyes widened slightly, a spark of recognition breaking through the fog in his mind. “Wait… the man… the rich man in the car… and the woman… What about them?”

“What man? What woman?” the officer snapped, now visibly annoyed. “What are you talking about? Are you just making this up as you go?”

Ayman’s breathing quickened, panic setting in as he tried to explain. “No, no! There was a man! In a car! With a woman… they… they had something to do with this. I saw them… I saw—”

The officer cut him off with a groan, leaning back in his chair. “This is ridiculous. First, it’s Nadir, then it’s men in black, and now it’s some mysterious rich guy and his girlfriend. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Ayman’s eyes darted around the room, desperation etched across his face. “You have to believe me… I’m not lying. I’m not…”

The officer shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Kid, you’re digging yourself into a deeper hole. Either start making sense, or prepare for the consequences.”

But Ayman’s mind was elsewhere, spinning in circles as he tried to piece together the fragments of a night that had spiraled into chaos.

The officer leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he stared at Ayman. “Now we’re getting somewhere. So, you admit it? You’ve been drinking, and it made you lose control, right?”

Ayman hesitated, his eyes darting between the two officers. His mind raced as he weighed his options. If I tell the truth, they won’t believe me. If I keep pushing, they’ll think I’m crazy or worse… He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their stares.

“Yeah,” he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think… I think the drinks got to me. I don’t… I don’t remember much. Maybe I… maybe I fell. I don’t know…”

One of the officers smirked, a look of triumph flashing across his face. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it? Just tell the truth next time, kid. You’re lucky you didn’t actually steal anything, or this would’ve been a much bigger problem.”

“But…” Ayman began, but the officer cut him off.

“No buts. You were drunk, you messed up, and now you’re here. That’s the story, right? That’s what we’re going with?”

Ayman nodded slowly, feeling his stomach churn. The guilt of lying about what had happened gnawed at him, but he could see no other way out. “Yeah… that’s what happened. I… I’m sorry.”

The other officer scribbled a few notes on a pad and glanced at his partner. “What do you think? Release him with a warning? We can’t hold him for trespassing if he didn’t actually steal anything.”

The first officer shrugged. “Yeah, let’s process him and let him go. But, kid,” he said, leaning closer to Ayman, his voice low and firm, “stay out of trouble. You’re lucky this time. Next time, you might not walk out so easily.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Ayman nodded, his voice barely audible. “Understood.”

As the officer prepared to finalize Ayman’s release, the interrogation room door swung open again. Four men in dark suits stepped inside, their presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. The lead officer blinked in surprise. "Who the hell are you?"

One of the men stepped forward, flashing a badge. "French Embassy. These matters concern us. This house belongs to a Tunisian family living in France, and their property is under our protection. We’ll take it from here."

The officer hesitated. “Embassy agents? Look, this kid didn’t steal anything. He’s probably just some drunk trying to make trouble. Don’t make this a diplomatic circus.”

The agent didn’t respond, his cold stare silencing the officer. After a moment, the Tunisian police left the room, closing the door behind them.

Inside the room, the agents split into two groups. Two men stood by the door, their eyes scanning the room silently, while the other two took the lead. One of them approached Ayman, standing directly in front of him. The second agent whispered with his colleagues by the door, their conversation inaudible.

The man in front of Ayman leaned in, his tone calm but firm. “Alright, Mr. Ayman, let’s not waste time. What were you doing in that house? What was your aim to get inside it?”

Ayman’s eyes darted between the agents, his heartbeat quickening. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was drunk. I just… I just ended up there trying to find some money.”

The agent’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games. You were inside a private residence that belongs to a family we protect. This isn’t some random house. We need the truth, and we need it now.”

Ayman swallowed hard. “I… I wasn’t alone. I was with someone. My friend, Nadir. We were just… we were looking for money. But then these men… these men in black, they came out of nowhere. They had guns, and they attacked us. I—I swear!”

The agent raised an eyebrow. “Men in black with guns? Do you think this is a joke? This is Tunisia. Guns aren’t just floating around, and neither are mysterious armed men.”

“It’s true!” Ayman insisted, his voice trembling. “They knocked me out. That’s why I was on the floor when the police found me. They took Nadir! They kidnapped him!”

The agent’s expression remained stoic as he exchanged a brief glance with his colleague by the door. Then, leaning closer, he said, “Let me make something clear. If you’re lying, this won’t end well for you. Tell me the truth, or you’ll face consequences far worse than whatever you’re imagining.”

Ayman hesitated, his thoughts spiraling. Should he keep telling the truth? Or was it time to lie his way out of this mess?

The atmosphere in the room grew heavier as the agent questioning Ayman leaned closer. The other agent, who had been quietly whispering to the two men at the back, occasionally glanced at Ayman, seemingly translating his responses for his colleagues. Their low murmurs and glances made Ayman feel cornered, like a rat under a magnifying glass.

The lead agent’s voice hardened. “Stop lying. What were you doing in that house?”

Ayman hesitated before blurting out, “I was searching for money! We… I thought we could find something, but we didn’t find anything. We tried to leave—”

The agent cut him off sharply, his tone rising. “We? Who is ‘we’? The police report states you were alone in that house. Alone. There was no one else. So stop with this Nadir nonsense! There is no Nadir. It’s just you, caught in the act. Now tell me the truth. Why that house? Who sent you there? Was this Nadir who told you to go to this exact house?”

“No one sent me! and no Nadir was with me! We picked this house by luck, Ayman stammered, sweat forming on his brow.

The agent’s voice turned ice-cold. “Again, who sent you? Out of all the houses on that block, why did you choose this one? What makes this house special?”

“I don’t know! I swear, I don’t know. I thought—there was this man… a man in an expensive car. He looked rich, like he lived there, so we thought he had some money there,” Ayman said desperately.

"Look, sir, my friend and I... we are... losers from poor streets in the town. If we see such a wealthy man in such a house, we thought, why not go there and steal it? But we didn't steal anything in the end; that's all. I swear," Ayman said, eyes in tears, telling the motivation behind their actions.

At this, the interrogating agent’s demeanor shifted. His voice dropped, steady and calculating. “I don't care! Just answer me, what man? Who is this man you’re talking about?”

“I… I don’t know him. I saw him outside the house. He looked like he was rich, like maybe he lived there or owned it or something,” Ayman said, his voice shaky.

The agent exchanged a sharp glance with the whispering man at the back, who immediately turned and whispered more urgently to his colleagues. The agent questioning Ayman narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying. This house belongs to a family living in France. No one has lived there for months. So who is this man? Do you know him?”

“No, I don’t! That’s the problem! I don’t know who he is or why he was there. He just… he looked like he belonged there,” Ayman said, almost pleading now.

The agent leaned back slightly, his gaze piercing. “Are you sure you didn’t take anything from the house?”

“I didn’t take anything! I swear!”

The agent suddenly asked, his tone probing, “What about the briefcase? Did you find the briefcase?"

Ayman blinked in confusion. “Briefcase? What briefcase? There was no briefcase!"

Now, the tension in the room shifted. The two agents at the back stopped whispering and stared at Ayman more intently. The lead agent leaned forward again, his tone shifting from accusatory to almost curious. “Tell me more about this man you saw. What did he look like? What kind of car was he driving?”

“I—I don’t know,” Ayman stammered. “It was a fancy car, black, maybe… and he was wearing a suit. That’s all I remember.”

The agent tapped his fingers on the table, his expression unreadable. “This house belongs to a French family. No one else. If there’s a man involved, you better tell us everything you know. Because if you’re lying, this will go very badly for you.”

The questions continued, oscillating between inquiries about the house and the mysterious man, leaving Ayman caught in a web of confusion and fear. The agents seemed less interested in his supposed burglary now and more focused on extracting information about something—or someone—else entirely.

The room felt colder as the second man approached, speaking lowly to the lead interrogator, his words sharp and deliberate. "Ask him about the safe. Did they find it? Did they open it? Did they take the papers?"

Ayman's heart sank. He wasn’t just scared anymore—he was terrified. Something about these men didn’t feel right. Their suits were immaculate, their demeanor too calculated. He started to think, These aren’t embassy agents… Who are these people?

The lead interrogator turned back to Ayman, his eyes narrowing. “What about the safe? Did you find it? Did you see the papers?”

“What? What safe? I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ayman stammered, his voice shaking again.

The second man stepped closer, his presence imposing. “We know the safe was opened. Someone took a look at the papers. Was it you? Did you see them?”

Ayman, now visibly sweating, shook his head furiously. “I—I don’t know anything about a safe or papers! I was just… I was just looking for money! That’s it! I swear!”

The second man’s tone turned colder, almost a growl. “Stop lying. The safe was open. You were there. Tell us the truth. Did you read the papers?”

“What papers?!” Ayman cried, his voice rising in panic. “I don’t know anything about papers or a safe! I was just drunk! I… I thought there was money in the house, that’s all! I didn’t see anything!”

The second man leaned in closer, his face inches from Ayman’s. “You’re lying. Did you see the papers or not?! Do you know about the Dark Caesar? Tell me now.”

Ayman, desperate and overwhelmed, started to babble. “No! I swear! I didn’t see anything! I was just trying to steal money, but I fell! That’s it! There was no man in black, no safe, nothing! I… I was drunk, okay? It’s my imagination! I’m sorry!” crying loudly

The men exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. The lead interrogator stood silently for a moment, his gaze piercing through Ayman, while the second man continued to study him intently.

The silence was suffocating. Ayman felt like he was drowning in their scrutiny. The second man finally straightened, his cold eyes fixed on Ayman. “If you’re lying, you’ll regret it. You won’t leave this room until we know everything.”

Ayman, trembling, could only repeat, “I don’t know anything… I don’t know…”

The men didn’t respond, their silence more ominous than their words. Ayman couldn’t tell if they believed him or if they were merely biding their time. The air in the room grew heavier, and the sense of unease deepened as he realized these men weren’t here to release him—they were here for something far more dangerous.

Ayman, still shaking, stammered, “I was just there for the money, I swear. I didn’t find anything, so I tried to leave. But I tripped in the house, and that’s when the cops caught me. I panicked and told them some lies. I didn’t know it was a French family’s house—I didn’t even know they weren’t there. Maybe I was wrong about the man and the car. Maybe I imagined it. I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry!”

The four men stood in silence, their gazes piercing him. One of them turned to the others and started speaking in a language Ayman didn’t recognize. It wasn’t French, and it wasn’t Arabic. The sounds were sharp, alien, and unsettling. Ayman’s fear grew. What the hell is going on?

The two men at the back kept repeating words Ayman could understand from their strange language that he had never heard before as he listened carefully: "Kaiser... Al Dalem... Dark... Caesar... Hitman..."

While they stare at him. Then the man who had been asking him all these questions returned with a voice icy and calm and said, “Be quiet. You will not mention anything about the questions we asked. If the police ask, you tell them we were investigating your involvement in a simple theft. That’s it. Nothing about a man with a car. Nothing about papers or a safe.”

The other leaned closer, his tone dropping to a menacing growl. “If you say anything—anything—about the man or the safe, you will be in serious trouble. Do you understand, kid? You’ll spend the rest of your life in a cell, or worse. So keep your mouth shut.”

Ayman nodded frantically, his throat dry, his heart pounding. “Yes, yes, I understand! I won’t say anything, I promise. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

The men stared at him for a long, chilling moment, then turned and left the room. The door closed behind them with a metallic click, leaving Ayman alone with his thoughts.

Who the hell are these people? He wondered, his terror now mixed with confusion. This isn’t normal. These aren’t just embassy agents. What have I gotten myself into? Hitman? Black Caesar? What is this?

Ayman sat across from the mirrored glass, his hands cuffed tightly to the cold metal chair. The sterile white walls were suffocating, the air thick with the tension of the looming interrogation. But as his eyes shifted, his attention caught on something moving across the floor: a cockroach, its black body darting across the linoleum in a hasty zigzag.

Ayman's lips curled into a wry smile as he stared at the creature, his nerves suddenly giving way to dark humor.

"Ah," he murmured under his breath, "You’ve been captured too, huh? Maybe those agents are looking for you as well."

He let out a low chuckle, his mind briefly slipping from the harsh reality of his situation to the absurdity of the moment. It was a small escape, a joke that felt out of place but strangely necessary in the midst of everything.

Moments later, the door opened again, and a police officer stepped inside, a smirk on his face. “Well, kid, looks like you’re good to go. Lucky for you, huh?”

Ayman’s head snapped up, and his fear momentarily subsided. “My brother… is he here?”

The officer grinned and nodded toward the door. “Yeah, he’s waiting outside. Try not to get into more trouble, okay?”

Ayman nodded quickly, practically stumbling out of the room. But even as he stepped into the sunlight and saw his brother waiting for him, the words of the strange men still in his mind. Their warning, their strange language, and the unsettling presence—they would haunt him for a long time to come.