Muttar looked blankly at the burly man standing in front of him. He had been surprised rather than shocked by his sudden arrest. The adrenaline in his veins suppressed his fear. The people who captured him were fairly reasonable under the circumstances. And they offered him an amazing deal. It was like manna from heaven. He thought to himself, maybe there is a Go…
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Khalat was the assassin Etuarti Takatunuye hired to kill Muttar. He was a large man. He had a lot of scars on his body. He seldom spoke. He often responded with grunts or nods. He was terrifying. He looked as though he was dead. He was even more frightening for his victims. He was precise, and inflicted as much pain as possible without batting an eye.
He had a contact in the Kuthernburg forces and police who kept him updated on important developments. That day, Khalat found out that Muttar had been taken by the authorities. He had been tracking Muttar for a while and then the sent suddenly went cold. He finally knew why and he did not like it. The Oan was paying him a handsome amount of money to see results. If he failed capture, torture and kill Muttar – as he had been instructed – his reputation would be damaged. His contact did not where they were keeping Muttar and what they wanted from him.
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The last thing Muttar had expected was to be captured. The last thing he expected was that his captors would be merciful. They were, however, asking him to do something that conflicted with his beliefs and emotions. The Al Jaheed were not the most kind, but they did take him in. When he agreed to join them and take up their cause as his own, the lines had been drawn. There was no going back. Or was there? He kept fighting within himself. This is the choice many prisoners of war are faced with. They are often so warped by war, that they have no clarity on what they know or – at least – believe is true.
Muttar sat quietly through a day of interrogation. He did not speak or show any emotion. He just listened to and watched this man. He was fascinated by how he transformed from a reasonable to a wild man. This was the change he had observed in the people around him when they did not ge their way. But there was always someone who overcame this basic human response: General Laheed. He was wicked, cruel, unkind and terrifying, but he was always calm. He concealed his true emotions from most people. He was always the master of his own body, mind and purpose. He could slay children as though he was merely chopping Pax Fruites. It was difficult to grasp where that kind of calm came from. He had once heard the General say, “Our conscience and the conflict it brews within us when we commit acts that weaker men say are inhuman, are the result of our souls, God’s humourless way of controlling mankind. I sold mine, so I no longer have to trouble my mind with such things”.
Muttar did not understand why the man or those who had sent him actually thought he would or could help them. But he knew why. He had been close the thing that they hated, that curled their blood and left a fowl taste in their mouth: The General. He had walked the same corridors, touched the same knife and shot the same gun. He had always resented the distance that the Al Jaheed had between him and them. He realised that he had been closer them than he could have ever thought.
Could he really betray them now?
After a difficult interrogation, he was sent to a cell. There were no comforts except a bucket to shit in. At least the blue collars had a sense of humour, he thought to himself. He lay on the concrete floor and tried to get some sleep. He struggled with the hard and cold floor. Eventually his body was overcome with exhaustion and slept.
He had a dream. It was far more real than a dream. He could smell the air and feel it caressing his skin. He was in a country that he had never seen before. He was in a time he never had never lived in before. It seemed like an ancient place, like a ruin that had come alive again, carrying the weight and secrets of a dark past. There were no people at least none he recognised. They were like foxes. They had long tails and were covered in fur like a fox, but they spoke likes human and walked on two legs like human. He saw a crowd of people standing around something. He went over to the people to see what they were looking at. He made his way through the fox people and saw a horrifying image. He saw a young girl sitting on the floor. She was like a pile of bones that was tented by thin skin. She was so thin she looked like she was going to die. Then he looked at her eyes. He had never been so frightened. Her eyes wefe full of a powerful fire. When she finally looked at him, it was as though they were locked together and there was no one in the universe. When she spoke it was as though a choir of saints were speaking as one.
“Do you not know who I am? I am the great I AM. I know what is in the darkness and the light dwells with me. Those who make peace shall be blessed and they shall be known as my children. I shall contend with him who contends with them, for I am…”
He woke up. His heart was beating. He was panting. He held his chest and looked into the darkness. Sweat shot out like bullets. Incoherent thoughts ran through his head and all he could think of was:
I AM.