The day of the event arrived, and the city was abuzz with anticipation. The arena, situated in the heart of the capital, had been transformed into a grand stage. Banners bearing the event’s emblem fluttered in the wind, and the streets leading to the venue were lined with makeshift stalls selling food, drinks, and trinkets. The scent of roasted meat and spiced pastries wafted through the air, mingling with the excited chatter of thousands who had gathered to witness history in the making.

Badr arrived early, accompanied by a contingent of guards. He wore a ceremonial robe, its dark fabric trimmed with gold embroidery, and carried himself with a calculated air of authority. As he stepped into the arena’s central platform, his eyes scanned the swelling crowd. Already, it was clear that this would be no ordinary event. The stands, built to hold 25,000 people, were already near capacity, and outside the gates, a growing throng of eager spectators jostled for entry.

The atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation and a restless energy. Families sat together, some with children perched on their shoulders, while vendors shouted over the din, hawking everything from banners to snacks. At the heart of it all stood the arena, its massive gates creaking under the weight of expectation.

But as the event’s scheduled start time approached, the first signs of trouble began to emerge. At the main gates, the ticket inspectors were overwhelmed. A line of attendees stretched as far as the eye could see, but the flow of people was chaotic. Some presented official tickets, meticulously printed and distributed in advance. Others, however, held crude counterfeits—poor imitations hastily produced by opportunistic forgers.

The first clash came just after noon. A man holding a counterfeit ticket argued loudly with a ticket inspector, his voice rising above the murmur of the crowd. “This is legitimate!” he shouted, waving the flimsy piece of paper. “I paid for this! Let me through!”

The inspector, flanked by a pair of guards, shook his head. “This ticket isn’t valid,” he said firmly. “You’ll need to step aside.”

The man’s protests grew more aggressive, drawing the attention of those nearby. Tensions flared, and within moments, others holding counterfeit tickets joined in, their voices rising in a chorus of frustration and anger. The guards attempted to maintain order, but the crowd’s mood shifted dangerously. Shouts turned to shoves, and in the chaos, someone produced a pocket knife, its blade catching the afternoon sun.

The first skirmish broke out at Gate 3. A group of men, emboldened by the commotion, attempted to force their way through the gates. Guards moved to intercept them, but the sheer number of people made it impossible to contain the surge. Fists flew, and the clash quickly escalated. Police reinforcements were called, but by the time they arrived, the situation had spiraled out of control.

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Inside the arena, Badr was informed of the growing unrest. A harried aide approached him, his face pale with urgency. “Sir, we have a situation at the gates. Thousands are trying to enter with counterfeit tickets. The crowd outside has swelled to over 60,000.”

Badr’s eyes narrowed. “Sixty thousand?” he repeated, his voice low and measured. “The arena’s capacity is half that.”

“Yes, sir,” the aide said, his voice trembling. “The gates are overwhelmed, and fights have broken out. Some attendees are armed.”

Badr stood silently for a moment, he was beyond ecstatic “ this was perfect “ he thought to himself… he was the one that made and distributed those counterfeit tickets.

“Seal the gates,” he finally ordered. “Let no one else inside until we can assess the situation.”

The aide hesitated. “Sir, sealing the gates may incite the crowd further.”

Badr’s gaze hardened. “Do it. If the crowd outside breaks through, we’ll have a massacre on our hands.”

As the gates were closed, the tension outside reached a boiling point. The crowd, already restless, erupted in anger. Shouts and screams filled the air as people pushed against the barricades. The police, outnumbered and underprepared, formed a defensive line, but pockets of violence erupted as frustrated attendees clashed with law enforcement.

Inside the arena, the atmosphere was equally charged. Those who had successfully entered were growing impatient. Murmurs of discontent rippled through the stands as the scheduled start time came and went with no sign of the event beginning. Badr knew he needed to act quickly.

Stepping onto the central platform, he raised his hands, calling for silence. The murmurs subsided as thousands of eyes turned to him.

“Citizens,” he began, his voice amplified by the arena’s acoustics. “Today is a day of justice, a day where we take a step toward building a better future for our kingdom. I understand your frustration, but I ask for your patience as we address the situation outside. We are committed to ensuring the safety of all attendees, both inside and outside these walls.”

The crowd’s response was mixed. Some cheered, while others shouted demands for the event to begin. Badr held his ground, projecting an air of calm authority. “I promise you,” he continued, “this event will proceed, and justice will be served. But we cannot allow chaos to undermine our cause. Your cooperation is vital.”

As he stepped back from the platform, an aide approached him with a grim expression. “Sir, the crowd outside isn’t dispersing. Reinforcements from the city guard are on their way, but it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

Badr nodded, pretending that he is already working on contingencies. But from his perspective this was going exactly as planned, he wanted this to spiral out of his control.

“Send word to Kassim,” he said quietly. “Tell him we need his support. And prepare to address the crowd outside. If they want justice, we’ll give them justice—but on our terms.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the arena, the tension inside and outside reached a fever pitch. The fate of the event—and perhaps Badr’s future—hung precariously in the balance.