Marcus crouched in the narrow hallway, his eyes scanning the tripwire. It was crude but effective, connected to a series of improvised explosives embedded in the walls. He carefully stepped over the wire, his Glock raised as he continued forward.

The sound of boots on concrete made him freeze. Voices echoed from the next room, speaking in Arabic. Marcus recognized key words: intruder, alive, orders.

He pressed himself against the wall, waiting. A group of guards passed by, their weapons ready, but they didn’t see him. Marcus slipped into the next room, his movements silent.

The room was empty, but the maps and documents scattered across the table caught his attention. He moved quickly, scanning the papers for anything useful. Then the door slammed open.

“Freeze!” a voice shouted.

Marcus spun, his Glock raised, but a sharp blow to the back of his head sent him sprawling to the ground. The room spun as boots thundered around him, and a rifle butt struck his shoulder, driving him into unconsciousness.

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Marcus woke to the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the sting of pain radiating from his skull. The cold metal of the chair pressed against his back, and the harsh glare of a single bulb overhead illuminated the room. He blinked, his vision clearing as he took in his surroundings—a barren room, the air thick with the scent of oil and sweat. His wrists and ankles were tightly bound.

Footsteps echoed from beyond the door. Marcus’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. The System hummed faintly in the back of his consciousness, but his skills were unavailable in his restrained state. For now, he was on his own.

The door creaked open, and a tall figure stepped into the room. The man’s sharp features were shadowed in the dim light, but Marcus recognized him immediately: Al-Ra’ib.

“Welcome,” Amir Qadir said, his voice smooth and cold. He stepped closer, his piercing eyes scanning Marcus with a predator’s focus. “You’ve caused quite a stir.”

Marcus glared at him, his expression unyielding. “You’re Al-Ra’ib.”

Amir smiled faintly. “You say that like it’s a revelation. But let’s not waste time with formalities. I already know who I am. What I want to know is… who are you?”

Marcus said nothing, his silence a deliberate challenge.

Amir chuckled, pacing slowly around the room. “Strong and silent. I expected as much. After all, it takes a certain kind of man to dismantle an entire network on his own. Mandali, Albu Kamal, Dehloran… You’ve been very thorough.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He stopped directly in front of Marcus, leaning in slightly. “But you made a mistake. You came here. And now, you’re mine.”

“You’ll regret keeping me alive,” Marcus said evenly, his tone devoid of fear.

“Will I?” Amir asked, his smile fading. “You see, I have questions. And something tells me you have answers.”

Amir gestured, and two guards entered the room, standing silently near the door. Their presence was a clear reminder of Marcus’s current vulnerability. Amir resumed his pacing, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Let’s start simple,” Amir said. “Who sent you?”

Marcus remained silent, his gaze fixed on Amir.

“No answer?” Amir said, his tone mockingly disappointed. “That’s fine. I have all the time in the world. And eventually, you’ll talk. They all do.”

He stopped, his piercing gaze locking onto Marcus. “But let me make one thing clear. You didn’t find me by accident. You think you’re the hunter, but in reality, you’re just another pawn in someone else’s game.”

Amir leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Does the name Harrington mean anything to you?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, his first hint of recognition breaking through his stoic facade.

Amir’s smile widened. “Ah, so you’ve heard of him. That simplifies things. You see, Harrington and I… we have an arrangement. He ensures that I have the resources to operate, and in return, I provide him with something far more valuable. Chaos. The kind of chaos that keeps your country’s wheels turning.”

“You’re lying,” Marcus said, his voice low but sharp.

“Am I?” Amir asked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Think about it. Why were you so successful? Why were the pieces so perfectly placed for you to follow? Harrington wanted you here. He needed you to clear out the network. You’ve been doing his dirty work this entire time.”

Marcus’s mind raced, the weight of Amir’s words settling like a heavy stone in his chest. He had been hunting Al-Ra’ib, dismantling a terror network, only to discover that the man at its center was a protected asset—an instrument of the same system Marcus had trusted to safeguard his family.

“You’re nothing but a tool,” Marcus spat, his anger bubbling to the surface.

Amir’s smile faded, replaced by a look of cold amusement. “Perhaps. But I’m a useful tool. And unlike you, I know how to stay on the right side of the system.”

He turned to the guards, gesturing toward Marcus. “Take him to the holding cell. I have more questions for him later.”

The guards moved quickly, unlocking Marcus’s restraints and dragging him to his feet. He struggled briefly, but the blow to his head and the bonds around his wrists made resistance futile. They pulled him toward the door, but Marcus’s mind was already racing, plotting his next move.

As he was hauled out of the room, Amir’s voice followed him. “You’re a skilled killer, I’ll give you that. But skill without direction is wasted. And you, my friend, have wasted yours.”

The guards threw Marcus into a small, windowless cell, the door slamming shut behind him. He landed hard on the cold concrete floor, but he barely registered the pain. His mind was too focused, his fury too sharp.

Harrington. The name burned in his thoughts like a brand. The betrayal was almost incomprehensible. The same system that had destroyed his family was using him to dismantle a network it secretly controlled. He had been a pawn, manipulated into doing their work, and now they thought they had neutralized him.

Marcus clenched his fists, the faint hum of the System sparking in the back of his mind. His skills were still locked, but he knew their potential. If he could find an opening, even the smallest one, he would make them pay.

Amir’s words echoed in his mind: “Harrington wanted you here.”

Marcus took a slow, deep breath, his rage hardening into resolve. They had underestimated him. Amir, Harrington, all of them—they thought they had won. But Marcus had spent his entire life defying impossible odds.

And he wasn’t finished. Not yet.