🔴The dim light of dawn barely pierced through the thick curtains of the modest apartment that belonged to Zamir's uncle. It was an old, unassuming place—far from the city's glittering towers and chaos—offering temporary refuge to the two men.
Almir Zahid sat quietly on a worn-out sofa, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake off the lingering fatigue of the night. Across the room, Berkan Zamir stood near the small kitchenette, carefully preparing breakfast on a cast-iron 'egg menemen'. The sizzling sound of eggs meeting the hot surface broke the silence.
Zamir moved with practiced ease, flipping the spicy, aromatic dish with precision. "This recipe's from back home," he said without looking up. "Eggs, green chilies, onions, and a pinch of black pepper. The kind of breakfast that wakes you up without mercy."
Almir smiled faintly, the tension easing for a moment as the smell filled the room. They shared the simple meal in near silence, the weight of the city and their work momentarily set aside.
Suddenly, Almir's phone vibrated sharply on the coffee table. He glanced at the screen: Maaz.
He sighed, answering the call.
"Boss wants you both," Maaz's voice barked, clipped and impatient. "I know you're with Zamir and not in the living quarters."
Almir's jaw tightened. "We're already on our way."
Before he could say more, Maaz grumbled a string of curses, his tone thick with irritation. Then the line went dead.
Zamir laughed quietly, shaking his head. "That guy's got a permanent scowl and zero patience. And a mouth like a factory whistle."
Almir smirked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Short temper and long curses."
They stood, gathering their things. Zamir reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "Uncle's old Volvo," he said with a grin, nodding toward the sleek but modest car parked just outside. Not the flashiest ride in Istanbul, but enough to get us where we need to be."
He tossed the keys to Almir with a playful smirk. "You're driving. Today, you're on overdrive."
Almir caught the keys mid-air, raising an eyebrow.
"Maaz's kid already scrambled my brain this morning," Zamir added, chuckling. "Thought you could use a little fun behind the wheel. Might help clear your head."
Almir couldn't help but crack a small smile as he slid into the driver's seat.
With a low rumble, the engine came alive, and they pulled away from the quiet neighborhood.
🔴The headquarters was a fortress hidden deep within the labyrinthine alleys of Istanbul—a place known only to a select few. As Almir and Zamir finally arrived, the building buzzed with the quiet tension of a war room in full swing.
Inside, the team gathered around a large, wall-mounted screen where images, charts, and live feeds flickered in rhythmic succession. At the center of it all stood Sir Moeen—their unyielding leader, a man whose presence demanded respect and whose voice carried the weight of authority.
On the screen, a woman's face was pinned beside a complex web of data—a digital map of connections, movements, and suspicions. Eira Mali, the investigation's key operative, orchestrated the relentless pursuit of truths that lurked in the shadows.
Sir Moeen's gaze shifted sharply as his eyes caught the late arrivals—Almir and Zamir standing awkwardly near the doorway. Both men bore the weariness of their long night away at Zamir's uncle's place, the absence from their own living quarters a clear mark against them.
His voice cut through the room like a blade. "You two are late."
The room fell silent as Sir Moeen's stern eyes locked onto them. "Yesterday, you were absent from your quarters the entire day. Do you understand what that means?"
Almir and Zamir exchanged a brief glance, the weight of unspoken explanations hanging heavy in the air.
Sir Moeen continued, his tone unyielding yet purposeful. "This isn't a playground. None of us are here for idleness or distraction. We are here for a purpose—a mission far greater than personal convenience."
Maaz, standing nearby with a faint, almost amused smile, murmured under his breath loud enough for only a few to hear, "Five out of six, and two of them still useless..." His words were pointed, clearly aimed at Zamir and Almir.
The leader's gaze swept across the room once more before returning to the screen. "Now, about the woman."
The team leaned in, the tension thickening as Sir Moeen prepared to reveal the next crucial piece of the puzzle.
Sir Moeen glanced at his watch before fixing his gaze on the team. "I want to make something clear to all of you. The woman you see on the screen—Eira Mali—was chosen to lead this team."
đź”´Everyone's eyes were locked on the screen where Eira's image flickered.
"But before we even arrived, Zarrar Azar—the notorious figure behind the trafficking of girls to several large countries—was on the move. We had gathered solid evidence against him, but Eira never made it here."
A tense silence filled the room.
"Zarrar has committed countless crimes, yet he keeps slipping through the police's fingers. It seems he's deeply connected to some very powerful people."
"That's why we've been sent here—to find out what happened to Eira and to finally take down Zarrar."
Zamir's voice cut in sharply, "Sir, don't you think by now they would have found out about us?"
Almir replied quickly, "No. If they had, something bad would've happened to us by now."
Sir Moeen nodded slowly, "Yes, you're right. Eira was an honest member—successful in many missions. She could make heads roll, but betrayal wasn't in her nature. She knew how to deliver justice to criminals."
Almir frowned, "Then who could be backing her in these illegal activities?"
Maaz interrupted in his usual gruff tone, "Almir, do you really think you'll get all the answers just by standing here? You'll have to work for it."
Zamir looked towards Almir and said, "I don't know why Maaz is so annoyed with both of us."
Then, everyone got back to their own work, each absorbed in their tasks.
***
đź”´The night was heavy over the vast, sprawling mansion. Berkan's room was dimly lit, the warm glow of a vintage chandelier barely reaching the dark corners. The air smelled faintly of expensive wine and old wood. He sat in a deep leather armchair, a half-full glass of red wine in his hand, staring out at the moonlit gardens.
Then—
A muffled voice from outside the door: "Sir… your father has arrived downstairs."
Berkan froze for a moment. The words seemed to echo in his mind.
Without hesitation, he hurled the crystal glass to the marble floor. The sharp shatter rang through the room, crimson liquid spreading like blood. His jaw tightened, eyes burning with fury as he strode toward the grand staircase.
The mansion was enormous—polished floors, towering ceilings, and a staircase so wide it felt like a stage. Faris Zarim stood waiting below, looking as though he belonged in the shadows of this house he did not own.
Berkan descended slowly at first, then faster, his voice cutting through the silence.
Berkan: "No one asked you to come here, Mr. Faris Zarim. Whatever business I have with you will be discussed outside this house. You will leave—now."
Faris (raising his voice): "What are you saying? I am your father! All of this business belongs to me. I am your head! I came here to ask you—by whose permission did you throw acid in that man's eyes? Every single decision you make must be approved by me! Do you understand?!"
Berkan stopped halfway down the stairs, his face twisting into a mocking smile.
Berkan: "Lower your voice. You seem to have forgotten, Faris—everything you see here is mine. Twelve years ago, you manipulated my mother into marrying you… only for her money. Before that, what were you? A mere bodyguard."
His tone dripped with venom as he stepped closer.
Berkan: "And you are not even my real father. Hah… hahahahaa…"
Faris stiffened, but Berkan's voice only grew colder.
Berkan: "You killed my mother with your own hands. Wiped away every trace of your crime. Took every business she owned… every bit of her wealth… and put it under your name. The only reason you didn't kill me was because you needed me. You needed to play the good man in front of the world."
Berkan's eyes glinted in the dim light, his smile widening.
Berkan: "But you think I don't know? I remember everything. Even as a child… I saw you torture her, day after day. And I never forgot".
"You stole the business," he said, his voice calm but laced with fire. "And I built it into something you could never have imagined."
Faris took an involuntary step back.
Berkan: "I also know you're grooming your precious son Ammar to take over your empire. Yesterday, you made him manager of the pharmaceutical company. Do you think he'll climb the ladder and steal my throne? Huh? That's your mistake. If I wanted to, I could have removed you and your son long ago, taken everything for myself. But where's the fun in that?"
Berkan's voice dropped to a near-whisper, then burst out in a manic laugh.
Berkan: "No, I want you to hand over every single business with your own hands. I want to watch your helplessness… taste it… enjoy it."
His laughter echoed through the entire mansion, bouncing off the marble walls, wrapping itself around Faris like a noose. Faris stood frozen, his face pale, his confidence draining with every second.
****