The sun rose over the barren landscape as Marcus drove the stolen pickup truck along the dusty road toward Dehloran. His shoulder throbbed beneath the hastily bandaged wound, but he ignored it. Pain was an old companion, a reminder that he was still alive and moving forward.
Dehloran lay on the border between Iran and Iraq, a small city surrounded by rocky terrain and crisscrossed by smuggling routes. It wasn’t a place people went to willingly, but Marcus wasn’t most people. It was a hub for black-market activity, and Karim Hassani—a financier for the network Marcus was dismantling—had made it his base of operations.
The intel from Khalid had been sparse, but it was enough. Karim worked for Al-Ra’ib, funneling money through shadowy channels to fund weapons, logistics, and the operations that had led to the attack back in the States. Marcus clenched his jaw as he thought about his family, their lives snuffed out by the violence this network had sown. Karim wasn’t just a stepping stone—he was another piece of the puzzle, another name to cross off the list.
---
By the time Marcus reached the outskirts of Dehloran, the city was already buzzing with activity. The streets were narrow and crowded, filled with traders hawking goods and locals going about their business. Marcus parked the truck in an alley and stepped out, blending into the throng as he made his way toward the central market.
He moved carefully, scanning the faces around him, looking for signs of trouble. Dehloran wasn’t a place where strangers were welcomed, and his presence was bound to draw attention. He kept his head low, his Glock concealed beneath his jacket, and focused on the task at hand.
The market was loud and chaotic, a maze of stalls selling everything from spices to bootleg electronics. It wasn’t long before Marcus spotted his first lead—a man leaning against a wall, smoking and watching the crowd with a sharp, calculating gaze. He matched the description of one of Karim’s associates, a courier who handled deliveries for the financier.
Marcus approached slowly, blending into the crowd until he was close enough to strike. With a swift motion, he grabbed the man by the arm and dragged him into a nearby alley, slamming him against the wall.
“Karim Hassani,” Marcus growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Where is he?”
The man’s eyes widened in shock. “Who—who are you?”
Marcus pressed the edge of his knife against the man’s ribs. “Answer the question, or I’ll paint this alley with your blood.”
The man stammered, his fear palpable. “He’s… he’s at the warehouse near the southern gate. That’s all I know, I swear!”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Marcus stared at him for a long moment, then pushed the knife rest of the way in to the heart. The man crumpled to the ground, still alive but already loosing his conscious. Marcus stepped back into the alley, his mind already mapping the route to the warehouse.
---
The southern gate of Dehloran was quieter than the market, but the air was thick with tension. The warehouse stood alone, its windows darkened and its entrance guarded by two men. They were armed, their postures tense, but their attention was elsewhere. Marcus watched from a distance, assessing the situation.
Two guards outside meant more inside. Karim wouldn’t be alone—men like him rarely were. Marcus flexed his fingers, his body tense but ready. This was familiar territory: infiltration, precision, destruction.
He moved quickly, darting through the shadows until he was behind the guards. The first fell silently, Marcus’s blade slicing across his throat. The second turned, but Marcus was faster, slamming his elbow into the man’s temple before finishing him with a quick stab.
Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit, the air heavy with the smell of oil and dust. Crates and barrels were stacked high, creating a maze of cover. Marcus moved carefully, his Glock raised, his ears straining for the slightest sound.
Voices echoed from deeper inside. Karim’s men were talking, their tones casual, unaware of the danger creeping toward them. Marcus rounded a corner and spotted them—four men seated at a table, rifles propped against the wall. At the head of the table sat Karim, a wiry man with sharp features and a nervous energy.
Marcus moved into position, his breathing steady. He raised his Glock and fired, the silenced shots dropping two of the men instantly. The other two scrambled for their rifles, but Marcus was faster. A burst of gunfire echoed through the warehouse, and both men fell before they could fire a shot.
Karim bolted from his chair, making a run for the back exit. Marcus pursued, his injured shoulder screaming in protest as he sprinted through the maze of crates. Karim was fast, but Marcus was relentless. He caught up to the man near the exit, tackling him to the ground.
Karim struggled, his fists flailing, but Marcus pinned him with ease, pressing the barrel of his Glock against his temple.
“Don’t move,” Marcus snarled. “We’re going to talk.”
Karim froze, his chest heaving as he stared up at Marcus with wide, terrified eyes. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I want answers,” Marcus said coldly. “You work for Al-Ra’ib. You funnel money for him. Who’s backing you? Who’s supplying the funds?”
Karim shook his head frantically. “I don’t know! I just move the money!”
Marcus activated the System, the cold surge of energy sharpening his focus as the notification flickered in his vision.
**Skill Activated: Interrogation (Base Potency). Duration: 60 seconds.**
“Try again,” Marcus said, his tone like ice. “You might not know Al-Ra’ib’s identity, but you know someone. Who gives you the money? Where do the orders come from?”
Karim hesitated, sweat dripping down his face as the pressure mounted. “There’s… there’s a contact. In Zahedan, near the Iranian border. He’s the one who sends the funds. His name is Reza Khalili. That’s all I know, I swear!”
Marcus studied Karim for a long moment, the timer ticking down in his mind. He had the information he needed, but his work here wasn’t done. He raised his Glock.
“Wait—” Karim began, but the silenced shot cut him off.
---
As Marcus stepped out of the warehouse and into the quiet streets of Dehloran, he felt the weight of the hunt pressing down on him. Reza Khalili was his next target, another link in the chain leading to Al-Ra’ib.