Adam drove his car through the rain relentlessly. Most guns were easy enough to dispose of. Just use a cloth and wipe the fingerprint off. Or at least, that was what he had heard. No doubt there were other ways to catch crooks.

Nonetheless, Maroof’s gun was not like most firearms. Its computerized mechanism recognized his DNA so that only he could fire the pistol. An algorithm that Qasim had somehow broken through in seconds and used to fire upon Maroof. It was quite a unique situation. Had Qasim not hacked it, it would have been fine. As the man had put it, he left a noticeable mess that any mercenary company would notice. Maroof could not admit to what he had done without facing severe consequences. However, Qasim could not have revealed what had just occurred without mentioning the use of the pistol, which would cause any case to tread into murky waters. Who was more righteous, the fist fighter who struck first or the gunman who fired from the back?

Qasim stared intently at Adam, who quickly became annoyed.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it's rude to stare?”

“You don’t look like a cop.”

“That was not the reply I was expecting.”

“Are you with the army?”

“No.”

“Where’d you learn to fight?”

“From a friend.”

“Giving every dead-end answer today or just all the time?”

Qasim did not look particularly intimidating when he had been outside the car. Proximity with him in the car made him look like a child in a man’s body. His fingers twitched involuntarily, tension was present in every facet of the man. He wore a thick brown hoodie that was ragged around the arms. The man had no sense of fashion. His face was average looking but those eyes spoke of a keen intellect.

The road was lit up by yellow lights. From a distance, Adam saw the blurred outline of the apartment complex where he had met his previous client. He reached for his sunglasses. Then the structure closed. It was not blurred as he had assumed. Rather, there were tendrils of smoke appearing from inside the building. No screams were heard and if there was a raging fire in there, it didn’t seem to alarm anyone. He stopped the car at a corner and opened the door. Qasim’s eyes were glued to the structure.

Adam patted his shoulder and the man flinched. Nodding at Adam, Qasim opened the door and the two left the vehicle. Closing the doors, Adam reached for his keys and locked the car. In the air, he could not smell the smoke. In an instant, it vanished. Gesturing to Qasim forward, Adam walked towards the complex through a shifty-looking neighborhood. Graffiti outlined the walls, giving crude messages about foreign powers and just outright insults to anyone who like Adam, could speak Balochi. All of the words on the wall were made of yellow paint. The red bricks and piles of garbage made it look refined. The graffiti was the work of someone who had practiced well.

One of the words on the wall was different from the others. It was in white paint and it wrote out Zulfiqar. Perhaps the artist's name? It meant nothing at the moment. Moving forward, Adam arrived at the base of the building. It was cozy. Tables and chairs were present in abundance, alongside vending machines and stalls. The stalls were closed. Bundles of belladonna were present in pots on the four corners of the building with a strange type of covering that allows air and light to enter.

At the top of the stairs stood a couple of security guards. They wore heavy ballistic armor and carried an assault rifle. One of them moved into the building while the other descended the stairs with a smile on his face. He beckoned to us to come forward and Adam hesitated. Taking another look around, something was off. The air smelled rotten and dusty. People were present near the basement. Children were hugging their parents tightly, clearly of afraid of something in the building. Something the guards were keeping inside.

Or someone.

“Hello,” said the guard, “how are you fine gents today?”

“We’re cool,” replied Qasim, “can we go in?”

“Sorry, but there’s a small fire hazard we gotta clear out. Standard safety procedure, you know?”

“I see. Alright, we’ll come back in an hour.”

“Oh sorry, we’ll likely be here until tomorrow. Can you come back tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

Adam was baffled. Why had they come so far, only for Qasim to give up so easily? He considered speaking out but the conversation had finished. Qasim turned back towards the car and this time, Adam followed. Questions abounded in his mind. Passing through the alleyway again, instead of going to the car, Qasim turned left towards a chain-link fence. He went back into the alleyway and grabbed a trashcan. He went to the fence and placed the trash can. He went back into the alleyway and rinse and repeat.

He was building a pile to climb over the fence. Once the pile was big enough, Qasim climbed it and jumped over the fence. Quite the use of his intellect. Using his fingers, he beckoned Adam forward. In response, Adam smiled. He crouched into a running position and ran straight toward the wall at the side of the fence. With a brave jump, he grabbed a brick that was looser than the others and climbed up a bit before jumping back down toward the direction of the fence, ignoring the pile of garbage that Qasim had made.

Qasim chuckled. “Showoff.”

This part of the neighborhood looked much cleaner. A basketball court with green grass had a random basketball in the center. Adam grabbed it and made a shot for the hoop. It missed and with a resounding clang on the hoop, the ball landed back down. It rolled towards Qasim who grabbed it and went towards the hoop. He got on top of a dumpster near the hoop and threw the ball in.

“What is it with you and trash?” Asked Adam.”

“I find that even the worst of rubbish has its uses.”

With that, Qasim grabbed the ball and continued on his merry way to the back of the building. Crates of food and medical supplies littered the place, a reminder of the horrible quarantine that had occurred only recently. They were mostly empty, save for a few bandages and chips. Along the road, a symbol was etched out. A pentagram with spilled milk around the edges. It was painted white.

Was this the work of Zulfiqar? Perhaps he had inspired someone.

Adam glanced at the side, where he had guessed their destination. The fire escape is a series of metallic stairways that lead into the various occupants' rooms. You could not access the rooms from the outside unless someone had opened their windows to escape a fire from the inside. You could also break the glass and alert everyone in the complex to come at you with everything they had.

Qasim grabbed a box and set it down beneath the bottommost ladder. He climbed the box and jumped for the ladder. He missed and fell on the box, which almost instantaneously, broke under the stress of his weight. Chuckling, Adam ran and jumped at the ladder, easily making the jump that Qasim had failed at earlier. His hands grabbed the bars of the ladder and he let one of his legs down.

Qasim looked up and said, “Use your arms, man!”

“This is better. Trust me.”

Sighing, Qasim jumped, reaching Adam’s leg. With much effort, Adam climbed the ladder and pulled Qasim up towards the bottommost bar. The duo climbed the ladder and looked around. The windows were made of a pane that prevented anyone from looking inside. They were a pain for firefighters, who did not wish to invite further oxygen into a place with fire inside. Such were the times when people valued privacy over safety. At any rate, how often did fires occur?

Why hasn’t the fire department arrived yet?

Shoving his thoughts to the back of his mind, Adam walked up the stairs, careful to not awaken any sleeping residents. At the same time, something didn’t click. Had he not seen the residents outside already? Qasim did not care for secrecy. He ran up the metallic stairs, making much noise, and did not seem to stir anyone. He stopped around the middle of the stairs where conveniently, a window had been smashed in.

The window had been smashed in. So someone broke into the building?

Slowly, Qasim put his feet inside the building, avoiding bits of broken glass. Adam followed, far too invested in this to stop now. He felt Maroof’s gun in his pocket. It was a comfort to have since the breaking of the algorithm meant anyone could use it now.

The rooms were desolate. A pink bed with collector's editions toys was present in one room and in the next, nothing. Just a bare frame of a chair. Opening the door to the outside, Adam read the room number. It was not the one that had been assigned to his previous client, nor did the outside match with what he had sat in before. He crouched and walked up the stairs, looking both ways before entering the upper floor.

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The upper floor had a singular door. It was wide open with a broken handle. Peeking around again, Adam went through the door and arrived at the hallway he had been in earlier. The lights were blinking on and off and the chairs looked as dead as ever. In a dustbin lay a single item, a wig. It was improper for him to know the exact room number of his client but his company had hardly cared. If they couldn’t meet the required destination, they’d meet straight at home.

Adam walked through the complex and opened the door that lead into a lavish hallway. Well-adorned walls with patterns of flowers and symbols were the main theme. A marble floor and hanging chandeliers made it quite obvious that in this hallway were those rooms that catered to those who were better off than the rest. It was also empty. No staff, no employees, no guests. Something wasn’t right.

Whilst contemplating his thoughts, Qasim barreled past and arrived at a table. On the table, an assortment of chocolates was present with a label saying DO NOT TOUCH. Qasim touched it and unraveled the box, eating the chocolates inside.

“Really?”

“I’m stressed, piss off.”

After eating the chocolates, Qasim went to the end of the room. On the right was a massive window that looked down below. Qasim went left and then he stopped. He stepped back. Alarmed, Adam ran towards him and peered into the hallway that Qasim had refused to enter. It was not hard to see why.

Stray bullets littered the floor. The walls had been torn apart with craters all over. Doors had been busted open and stray lines of blood lined the hallway. The vending machine had been taken down and used as a cover at some point in time. Looking through the various inhabitants' rooms, Adam saw the carnage. Bodies had been spread all over, with various arms and legs and torsos. It was hard to tell the age but from the size, they were all adults. Small mercy that there weren’t any children in there. That Adam could see anyways.

The scene was familiar to him. A cold rage burned in his heart as he walked towards his clients' room. It didn’t even have a door. A massive gaping hole was present that exposed the room to the elements. Bits of fire and rebar stuck out of the damage. The furniture had been toppled over and filled with bullets. Of different sizes and caliber. The kitchen was almost completely unharmed while on the side, a small room had a hole blasted into it, with bits of concrete on the inside.

The hole revealed the contents of the room. A massive computer, with multiple monitors. Along with bags of food and garbage. There were also a couple of cans of white paint and a bookcase containing different fantasy novels. Adam looked through the gap and saw nothing behind the actual door of the room which had an auto-lock on it. Avoiding the bits of rebar that stuck out, Adam took in the details of the room. The computer likely held all the secrets but there was a password on it. The books might have been a clue for something but they didn’t look like they were placed in a particular order. A few books Adam could even recognize. All of those involved the use of a system and were once found on the same website. Perhaps these classics meant something.

On the floor lay a picture of a sword. It looked like two fully black, curved swords had been taped together with one handle. There was a fracture in the tip. Strangely, it was unharmed. Adam bent down to pick it up and did so with some strain. It was much heavier than it looked. Placing it on the kitchen table, Adam browsed through the cabinets.

“Are you hungry too?”

“No. There’s a clue in here that helps us solve the password.”

Qasim looked over to the computer. He attempted to open the door, not knowing it was auto-locked.

“I don’t know why you think that the person in this room left clues for people to unlock his computer. Are you going to elaborate? I remember my password pretty clearly.”

Adam emerged from the kitchen. There wasn’t anything in there. Plenty of stuff in the cabinets but they were unnecessary details, like where the salt was. That kind of information tended to get filtered out. The oven was undamaged. It was as though the damage had been kept to one part of the room. He opened the fridge and found a box of cornflakes. Feeling a bit peckish, Adam tried to pull the box out but it was stuck. He grabbed it and slanted it. A clicking noise occurred.

The door to the room slid open, much to the surprise of Qasim who jerked back. He entered the room and sat on the chair next to the computer. Adam could see him through the hole made in the room. He supposed they could have climbed through the hole too but if they messed up while moving, they could have gotten themselves hurt on concrete or rebar. Qasim opened up the computer which had a password, a surprise to no one. At least Adam would witness Qasim’s hacking skills.

Qasim started brute-forcing the password.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Is that what you did with Maroof?”

“His wasn’t too difficult. I just rubbed it against his hand while he was fighting you. Let me try all the commonly used passwords, then I’ll resume brute forcing it.”

“You’ll be tracked if you try that!”

“We broke into this guy’s apartment, which, if you remember is in shambles. If anyone tracks us down, they’re gonna be surprised by what they see. At any rate, we already broke into this place so a little hacking from the guy's room shouldn’t cause us further trouble.”

With that out of the way, Qasim inputted all the commonly known passwords such as password, password123, and PASSWORD.

Adam’s mind wandered over to the stack of white paint. Had he been the artist outside? If that was the case, a few things could be put together. One, he liked artistry. Two, he liked Zulfiqar. Three, he had a picture of a sword made that was surprisingly durable. And four, he kept an entrance to his secret room hidden in his fridge. Whoever lived here was either a genius or an idiot.

“Try Zulfiqar,” suggested Adam.

“What?” Qasim turned around and saw the picture of the sword on the floor. His eyes brightened with knowledge.

“Ah, I see. Zulfiqar, the sword of Allah.”

It was Adam’s turn to be surprised.

“Don’t look so surprised. I was thinking the same thing you were. If this guy was the artist, he’s taunting his enemies. Here’s the password, now piss off.”

“Tell me about the sword.”

“What’s there to say? It was given by Allah to the Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W) who then gave it to Hazrat Ali (R.A) when his sword broke in battle. Now I could be wrong, it’s been a while since I read the actual Islamic history but I believe the sword looked like the one in that picture and that its design was copied by many warriors. I’m not sure that was a good pragmatic decision, it wasn’t the actual sword and regular swords do not cut through armor but you do you.”

“I thought you couldn’t make pictures of early Islam?”

“Of people? No. But I think a picture of a sword is not going to upset anyone, especially if its design has been copied in other parts of history.”

Qasim typed in the password. Nothing happened. He turned on Capslock and typed in Zulfiqar. Nothing happened. He typed Sword Of God and nothing happened. He typed it again without spaces and nothing changed. Frustrated, Qasim pressed enter without a password and the screen unlocked.

There was a brief silence.

“What the hell, Adam? Why did the guy leave so many hints if he didn’t have a password on?”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know how people are. I don’t know what they think.”

“Well, I’m looking at the screen. He has Minesweeper and Solitare.”

“What about information?”

“Uh, I can’t access the internet. There’s no wifi router or USB.”

Qasim browsed through the computer while Adam searched around for an internet USB. The files locally stored in the computer contained random pictures of cats and dogs. There were certain programs that when put together, created some nice animations. The hacker was indeed the artist and employed more than one type of art. The more Adam thought about it, the more he realized that all the evidence was there, he simply reached the wrong conclusion.

The sword of God could have meant that the hacker felt safe. The pentagram warned them to stay away from his apartment. And no one could have guessed the entrance to his room was in a fridge. These were logical conclusions. However, the hacker was not a logical man.

With that in mind, now he could see things from a different point of view. The hacker taunted his enemy through the sword, as in to say, come get me. He made the pentagram as a big X marks the spot. Here’s the fire escape, here’s how you get inside my domain. He left the key to his room in the fridge because his enemy would search for everything anyway. And in the end, he scrubbed everything valuable off his computer. He was the kind of guy that would make false promises.

Perhaps that last conclusion was also wrong but Adam had little else to go off of at the moment.

“Hey Adam, I found something. Not entirely sure if it helps us find your client though.”

Adam went inside the room. Qasim made a couple of clicks and on the screen appeared a video of Adam’s meeting with the client. Once Adam’s back turned, the client’s hair color changed and he then discarded said into a bin. The wig from earlier. Why he had bothered to change the color of the hair on a wig was beyond him at the moment.

Adam pulled out the gun. There wasn’t much else to do other to discard it in a bin and hope no one would find it. A false hope, it likely had a tracker that would immediately alert the mercenary company should anyone try to take it off. Still, in a place like this, perhaps the best option was to just drop the gun and go. It could be assumed that the hacker stole the gun amid a firefight.

Adam held the gun and with a great heave, ripped out the biometric scanner. A small spark of electricity followed and Adam dropped it into a bin. Sighing, he walked outside the room with a breath of fresh of air, with Qasim on his heels.

As he left the room, out of the corner of his eye, a hint of steel flashed toward him. A gunshot rang out, deafening the room.

Qasim held the gun, pointing at an intruder to Adam’s left, who quickly moved back. The intruder was a woman, with yellow and red eyes, in a black tank top and military pants. Well-muscled, her hands were covered with black gloves. She wore a black face mask. She held a knife in each hand. The bullet from earlier had missed, striking the wall next to her. She had been crouched earlier.

Now she rose to full height and was as tall as Qasim, if not slightly more so.

“Drop the knives,” said Qasim coldly. He aimed his gun at the woman’s chest. She seemed to comply and dropped the knives, with them clanging on the floor.

“Turn around,” commanded Qasim. The woman did so and Qasim neared her, aiming the gun at her head. Then things went to hell. The woman swerved to the left and Qasim missed the shot by inches. She turned around and launched a roundhouse kick, launching Qasim to the ground and sending the gun away. In a quick motion, she picked up the knives and flipped toward Adam.

In a situation where you had a weapon and you didn’t, the best thing to do would be to run away. Adam did so and then recalled that Qasim was still back there. If he left, Qasim’s death would have been on his hands. So he made a lunge for the gun, narrowly evading a set of knife attacks from the front. From the ground, he attempted to aim at the woman and fired three separate shots. Each time, it looked as though the intruder was dodging bullets. At the fourth shot, she threw one of her knives at Adam who blocked it with the gun. The knife went straight into the barrel of the gun, rendering it inoperable. With a start, Adam jumped up and engaged the warrior.

She raised the knife and went for Adam’s shoulder. Adam’s hands caught the arm that held the blade. Thinking fast, Adam spun around and threw her into the wall. She jumped back and swung around at Adam, hoping to cut him somewhere. Adam held out his arm and as the knife came down, he pulled it back and swung with his other arm, hitting the enemy straight in the face. She staggered a bit before entering a defensive posture, tossing the knife between her hands. Too much could go wrong too quickly.

She sprinted at Adam, intending to stab him in the gut. Adam ran forward, starting her long enough for Adam to lengthen the index and middle finger. He struck her as fast as he could in the eyes, blinding and enraging her, causing the knife from her hands to fall. Moving fast, he then struck her neck, depriving her of air. Gazing down her side, Adam clenched his hands together and struck full force into it, for a liver shot. Her balance instantly collapsed and she went down into the floor with a wheezing fit. Adam raised his foot and stomped down on the woman’s gut. He knelt and grabbed her hair, striking her in the face repeatedly with his left hand. Bruised and battered, the woman struggled desperately, to no avail as Adam ended the struggle with a headbutt, knocking her out.

“My God, Adam,” said Qasim, rising from the floor. “You’re pretty brutal.”

“You shot a man and you call me brutal.”

“I could see that Maroof was wearing a vest. He’d be fine, I’d just broken a couple of his ribs at best.”

Wait really? Oh god, and here I thought I was dealing with a super soldier.

The woman attempted to stand and Adam ran straight at her, jumping up and slamming his fist on the way down straight to her forehead. She was made of sterner stuff, for she still attempted to rise. Qasim looked out the window and his eyes widened his shock. Emptying the magazine of the gun, he walked over to the woman and grabbed her arms. He placed the gun into her hands, much to her abundant confusion, and picket up her knives.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Giving someone else a target. Get ready, his entrance might be a bit loud.”

“Huh?”

Far away from the duo, a rocket fired into the end of the hallway, blowing it open and the Dragon stepped through.

Adam turned around and witnessed it in full. A Komodo Dragon with robotic armor stepped through, poison leaking through its mouth as miniguns erupted from its arms. The DRGN-1 as it was called, was a Komodo dragon that had been genetically altered and resembled more like an overweight orange dinosaur. It carried rocket launchers and machine guns while wearing a helmet made of blackened bones. Its history was hilarious and a topic for a different time.

Its goofy face was intentional for it would allow people to feel safe around it. At the moment, no one felt particularly safe. The Dragon’s eyes skimmed over Adam and Qasim. They lingered on the gun before a red light analyzed the woman, changing to green. The Dragon raised its hand and a grappling hook shot out, wrapping around the woman. With a scream, she attempted to fight off the creature and was mercilessly dragged back to it. She shot a look of pure venom and hatred at the duo before the dragon grabbed her in his fist. He sent out an electric current, making her go unconscious, ending the dirty duel.

Qasim walked over to the Dragon and petted it. Its head tilted in response.

The dragon carried the woman in its arms and gestured for the duo to get on its back. Qasim grabbed its left and Adam its right as it descended down the building, landing straight at the front of it. There, a lone soldier stood, a curious look on his face.

The past

I am Misaq, I was a merchant and a victim of slavery. My parents are... Misaq's thoughts trailed off. He stood up from his bed, alone in his bare room. Naked and sweating, he knelt down and vomit was unleashed from his mouth, a mixture of green and purple. Wobbling around, he reached a pot in the corner of his room, containing a purple liquid.

In a flash of light, Jabbir and Jubair appeared. With their aid, Misaq raised the pot and drank it. The mixture once more cleared away the doubt. He was what Jabbir had told him he was. Another victim of another day.

With that unpleasant business out of the way, Misaq picked up his gear, wore his clothes and set out into the market.