Hale sat in his cramped office, the dim glow of a single desk lamp casting long shadows across his papers and screens. His phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the heavy quiet of the room.

“Hale,” he answered, his voice calm but strained.

“It’s done,” Marcus said on the other end, his tone cold, emotionless. “Every single one.”

Hale’s chest tightened. “And the others?”

Marcus didn’t hesitate. “If they were in the house, they’re dead too.”

Hale leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Marcus. You were supposed to eliminate the targets, not torch the town.”

“No loose ends,” Marcus replied, the edge in his voice like ice. “They harbored these men. They knew who they were protecting.”

Hale fell silent, the weight of Marcus’s words hanging heavily between them. He had expected ruthlessness—this was Marcus, after all—but the sheer scale of it was unsettling. Finally, he spoke, his voice careful. “You’ve turned Mandali into a ghost town. People are going to notice.”

“Let them,” Marcus said flatly. “If anyone’s watching, I want them to see what happens when they come after me and mine.”

Hale felt a chill run through him. He had heard stories about Marcus—whispers of the man who became war incarnate—but this was different. This wasn’t the controlled destruction of a soldier following orders. This was personal.

“Are you moving on to Khalid now?” Hale asked, trying to focus.

“Not yet,” Marcus said. “I’m resting, then I’m heading out. Send me updates on his movements.”

The line went dead before Hale could respond. He stared at the phone for a long moment before reaching for another.

He dialed quickly, the tone sharp in his ear. On the third ring, Kessler picked up.

“Hale,” Kessler said, his voice calm but heavy with expectation. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” Hale replied, exhaling slowly. “Marcus went through Mandali like a hurricane. Every member we knew of in Mandali are gone. But he didn’t stop there. Everyone who was in the same house—men, women… everyone.”

There was a pause. When Kessler spoke, his tone was almost resigned. “You knew what he was when you sent him.”

“I know,” Hale said, his voice tight. “But this isn’t just precision, Kessler. It’s a purge. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Kessler’s voice was cold. “You’re not supposed to ‘see’ anything. Keep doing your job, and let Marcus do his.”

“But—”

“No buts, Hale. That man’s on a warpath. You try to stop him, and you’ll be part of the body count. Sometimes these animals needs to be reminded that we have bigger and meaner animals in our leash, and when they fuck too much with us, we will unleash ours. Get him the intel he needs on Khalid and stay out of his way.”

Hale nodded silently, though Kessler couldn’t see it. The call ended, leaving Hale alone in his dim office, the weight of Marcus’s rampage settling over him like a shadow.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

------------------

Khalid bin Zahir sat at a small wooden table in his quarters in Albu Kamal, his fingers drumming anxiously against the worn wood. The dim light from a single bulb overhead flickered slightly, adding to the oppressive atmosphere of the room. His phone lay before him, silent and unresponsive, as though mocking his growing unease.

For hours, he had been trying to reach his men in Mandali. Call after call had gone unanswered. First, the main safe house. Then, the secondary hub. No response from anyone. The silence wasn’t just strange—it was terrifying. Khalid prided himself on running an efficient, disciplined operation. This kind of breakdown was unprecedented.

He dialed again, his jaw tightening as the line rang. Once, twice, then it disconnected. Khalid cursed under his breath, slamming the phone onto the table with a force that made his two lieutenants in the room flinch.

“Still nothing?” one of them asked cautiously.

“Nothing,” Khalid snapped, his voice sharp and brittle. “No calls, no reports, no movement. It’s as if the entire town has gone dark.”

The other man, leaning near the window, spoke hesitantly. “Could it be interference? A technical issue?”

Khalid turned to him, his glare cold and cutting. “No. This isn’t interference. This is something else. Something deliberate.”

He picked up his phone again, scrolling through his contacts. If his men wouldn’t answer, perhaps someone else could give him answers. He stopped on a name—Hassan, a neighbor who lived near one of the safe houses in Mandali. Khalid had used him before as a quiet observer, someone who could keep an eye on things without drawing attention.

He pressed the call button, his breath quickening as the line connected.

“Hassan,” Khalid said quickly when the call was answered, his voice low but commanding. “I need you to do something for me.”

There was hesitation on the other end. “Khalid? It’s late—”

“I don’t care,” Khalid interrupted, his tone sharp. “Listen carefully. Go to the safe house near your home. I haven’t heard from my men there. Check it and tell me what you see.”

Hassan paused, his voice uncertain. “Now? At this hour?”

“Yes, now!” Khalid barked. “And don’t waste time.”

The line went silent, and Khalid sat back in his chair, tension radiating from him. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one dragging like an eternity. His lieutenants shifted uneasily in their seats, glancing at each other but saying nothing. They could feel Khalid’s growing unease, the air in the room thick with unspoken dread.

Finally, the line crackled back to life. Hassan’s voice returned, trembling and weak. “Khalid… something’s wrong. They’re all dead.”

Khalid’s breath caught in his throat. “What do you mean, dead?”

“I mean everyone,” Hassan stammered. “Your men, the guards, everyone inside. They’re… they’ve been killed.”

Khalid leaned forward, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. “How? What happened? Did you see anything?”

“I… I don’t know,” Hassan said, his voice shaking. “It’s a bloodbath, Khalid. Whoever did this—this wasn’t normal. It wasn’t random.”

Khalid felt a chill creep through him, the kind that settled in his bones. His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information. An entire safe house wiped out in one night, with no alarm raised, no sign of a struggle. This wasn’t the work of amateurs or local forces. This was precision.

“Is it just that house?” Khalid asked, his voice tight. “Check the others.”

“No,” Hassan said quickly, his voice still trembling. “No. I won’t go near them. Whoever did this is… they’re still out there. I won’t risk it.”

Khalid clenched his jaw, his breathing shallow. “Stay out of sight,” he said finally. “Don’t contact anyone. Do you understand?”

Hassan muttered a quick affirmation before ending the call. Khalid sat back, the words slicing through his composure. A single safe house, wiped out entirely. The silence on the phones now felt like an omen, heavy and inescapable. If no one in that safe house survived, then the silence across Mandali could mean only one thing: the entire network in the town was dead.

His hands trembled as the enormity of it hit him. Mandali wasn’t just one hub—it was an entire system of interlinked operatives, fighters, and assets. For the whole town to go silent in one night meant someone—or something—had dismantled everything.

Khalid’s gaze was distant, his voice hollow. “Mandali is gone. All of them—dead.”

“What do we do?” the first man asked, his voice laced with fear.

Khalid’s expression hardened, though his unease remained. “We double the guards. No one enters or leaves without my permission. And pray that whatever happened in Mandali doesn’t come here.”

But deep down, Khalid knew that prayers wouldn’t save them. Whatever force had wiped out his men was coming. And there would be no escape.