The sun had just set beyond the horizon and with it left any warmth that it provided. A cold desert chill creeped up on the denizens of the northern Kabul province. Those that were outside rubbed their arms to try and maintain some warmth, but even they failed and were overwhelmed by the chill. 50 miles outside of Kabul was a compound one that's not very many people knew about this compound was a terrorist cell that used to be associated with the Taliban, but recently split away as they did not believe they were doing enough to bring the downfall of the West.
This cell called themselves الجديد. In their own words that meant the New Dawn. Their leader Farooq al Rasheed. Or as he was known by his men, Amir. He was a charming man equally skilled in diplomacy and violence, though he preferred the latter rather than the former. For his entire life, he had been fighting, his sole purpose in life was to bring the downfall of the west and to kill as many non believers as he could. In the 40 years or so, he had been alive, he managed to kill thousands, whether by himself or on his orders.
He didn't want to negotiate nor did he want to reason nor did he even want them to repent. He just wanted them to die. He wanted a world that was pure and gone with the taint of America and the capitalist Society. His charisma and charm had managed to win many people over to him, all of them just righteous in their beliefs as he is.
Zubair Wardak was the first of the men he kept close, one of the first men he discovered that was different from everyone else. Zubair had grown up in a village where boys learned to wrestle in the dust behind the mosque, he had grown up fighting and he had been good At it. Even before he was different, he was able to carry stone across his back like it weighed nothing.
When the change came to him it did not show in a flash. He woke one week and found he could lift the front of a truck to change a tire by himself and it did not feel like heavy. A steel gate bent in his hands when the hinge jammed and he laughed because he had not put his full effort into it. Zubair was a mutant and he had activated his X-gene, and it gave him super strength. Amir saw the opportunity and swooped him to recruit him; he had settled some debts with Zubair's family and since then the man had been loyal, some even went as far as to call him Amirs dog. But in the end, Zubair was a quiet man who ate more than the others and did not brag. When he gave his word he kept it, and he never let anyone insult Amir.
Samir Popalzai was the one the others that Amir had managed to recruit and arguably much more dangerous. His sweat was not water but nitroglycerin, and he was able to ignite the substance, creating explosions in his hands that he could direct and hurt people with. He once blew up an American convoy by himself, his addiction to using his power however managed to get him in a lot of trouble, which was where Amir came in to save him. While Samir was not as loyal, he shared the same goal as Amir.
These three men and many more were in the compound tonight to celebrate. They had a reason to celebrate. An unnamed sponsor had stepped in a few months ago and supplied them a large amount of money and a viable plan that aligned with their goals. The plan was simple, they would hit multiple American army bases in Iraq and steal as much of the equipment as they could that included jeeps, guns, tanks, even helicopters and planes if they were able to. They would also kill everyone they could, with the element of surprise on their hand, they couldn't lose. This was a reason enough to celebrate, a great victory was coming, soon the world would know their name and soon the West would come to fear them.
You could tell the celebration started as meat hissed and popped on skewers over the steel drum in the yard, the smoke drifting in with every push of the door. Pots of rice steamed sat on the long table against the wall, trays of flatbread leaning beside them, and every plate was filled without hesitation.
Amir sat in the wide cushioned chair at the far end, the only real seat in the room, a low table in front of him piled with plates of meat and dishes of spiced rice. Two women knelt at either side of him, pouring tea into small glasses, their eyes lowered. Another moved behind him, fanning the smoke away whenever it drifted too close. He leaned back, watching the room as men ate and talked and laughed, his hand resting lazily on the armrest while he let the noise wash over him.
Near the food line, two men were boasting about the plan, their voices raised so others could hear.
"Three bases in one night," one said, grinning around a mouthful of bread. "They won't even know which way to run."
"They'll run west," the other replied, "and we'll have people waiting there too. They'll be like dogs chasing their tails."
A man across the table spat on the floor. "The Americans won't fight. They'll hide behind their walls and call for help. Let them. By the time they finish talking, we'll be gone with everything they own."
From the center of the room, Samir was in the middle of a demonstration, rubbing his palms until they gleamed, then snapping them together. The sharp crack made a few of the younger men jump back, which only made him smirk.
"You jump now, you'll just die later," he said with a grin. "Better get used to it. This will be louder when it's pointed at the American dogs."
"You'll set yourself on fire one day," someone called from the side.
Samir grinned without looking over. He didn't look too concerned over that happening.
Zubair was harder to draw into the conversation. He sat near the wall with a plate balanced in one hand, eating in silence until two boys from the watch came over, nervous to interrupt. "The storehouse gate's stuck again," one said.
He didn't answer. He set the plate down, walked to the door, and put both hands on the bent frame. The metal groaned and gave under his grip, shifting back into place. The boys stared like they'd seen a magic trick. Zubair looked at them flatly. "If it's stuck again, get someone to fix it, I can only break things." Then he went back to his seat without waiting for thanks.
The music had started when one of the older men brought out a drum and a young fighter fetched a battered lute from his bunk. While they would not usually listen to music tonight, they wanted to celebrate, some people would not make it through tomorrow, so they wanted to have a celebration here to send them off to heaven.
Amir rose only when the room's attention was his. The music slowed without a word. He stepped forward, the women following, one carrying his tea, another holding a plate of meat like an offering. He didn't need to raise his voice. "You've all worked for this," he said, looking from face to face. "You've trained. You've planned. And soon, you'll act. Our enemies will not see you coming, and when they know you are there, it will already be too late. Tonight is for celebrating. Tomorrow is for victory!"
There were murmurs of agreement, a few shouts of "God is great!" from the back.
Amir sat back down, a woman kneeling to place the tea in his hand. "Let them eat," he said quietly to Zubair, who had stepped closer. Zubair nodded, before heading over to a door and opening it, letting the women out to join the men.
The celebration reached its Apex and it continued to go on as people talk and laughed together, they had fun, they ate, they told stories. But all of that ended when a massive explosion shook the building from out outside. The women and children screamed, the former grabbing the latter close and holding them. The men however were used to such things and they moved into action. They dropped their drinks, food was smashed onto the floor. Weapons were grabbed as the men started to make their way outside. Zubair and Samir led them, while Amir pulled out his phone and started to call someone.
When they got outside into the courtyard of the compound, they were greeted with an eerily quiet atmosphere. They didn't know why, but every man there felt like they were being watched. Only the veterans among them managed to keep their calm, the younger ones found themselves nervous, their fingers brushing across the trigger.
"Stay calm brothers!" Zubair shouted as he looked around while moving as pistol.
Then the gate rattled. At first it was light, just a shake like the wind had caught it, but then it got heavier, clanging hard enough that the whole frame shuddered. That was all it took. One of the younger fighters panicked and opened fire on it. The noise of his shots set off two others, and before long they were chewing into the steel with bursts from their rifles. Sparks flew, bullets ricocheted back, and Zubair snapped, shouting at them to stop wasting ammunition. Samir did the same, cursing them until they finally stopped. The sound cut out and the silence came back, and now all eyes were on the gate.
That was when one of the men in the back slowly raised his pistol and aimed it at the back of another fighter's head. Nobody noticed until the shot went off. It dropped the man instantly, face-first into the dirt. For a second everyone just froze, confused at what they'd seen. The one holding the gun should have been terrified of the response, but instead he smiled. And then his face started to change.
At first it was subtle, like the lines of his jaw shifting, the skin moving, but then the whole body twisted until he looked exactly like the man he had just killed. The confusion got to all of them and have her an opportunity. She didn't hesitate. She shot one man twice in the chest at point-blank range, dropped to the ground, and snatched up his rifle. Before the others had a chance to react, she fired, cutting another across the legs and putting him down. She moved too fast, rolling across the dirt, then kicked one fighter's knee out from under him. He went face-first into the ground and she pressed the barrel to the back of his head and fired.
Another fighter came at her with a knife. She caught his wrist, twisted it, and shoved the blade into his stomach. He fell away and by the time the next man got close she had already shifted again, her skin rippling so she looked like Zubair after she slipped past him. That created even more panic. Some of the younger men turned on the real Zubair, shouting that it must be him, and in that second of hesitation she struck again.
She ducked under wild shots, sprung up, and used her legs like a trap, wrapping them around one man's neck and slamming him to the ground hard enough to break it. She snatched his weapon, clubbed another in the face with the stock, and when someone tried to flank her. She smashed the rifle butt into the man's nose, dropping him cold.
But eventually, sheer numbers forced her into a corner. The surviving fighters regrouped behind Zubair and Samir's orders. She stopped moving then, standing in the center. Her disguise dropped, her skin turning blue, her eyes glowing yellow, her red hair falling back.
Zubair shouted the order to fire, but before they could, the gates blew inward. The entire frame ripped off its hinges and crashed into the dirt. Dust and smoke rolled in, and through it came shapes moving forward. At the front was an old man floating above the ground. He had a helmet covering most of his head. The fighters opened fire instantly. Bullets filled the air but stopped short of him, hanging in place like they had slammed into a wall. Then, one by one, they twisted back and flew into the men who had fired them. The screams filled the courtyard as bullets tore through throats, shoulders, and chests.
Only two were left untouched. Zubair and Samir.
The old man lowered his hands. "Come now, brothers. We have much to speak on, and you have much to learn of your people."
He hovered closer.
"You're home now."
(AN: Bit of an Interlude chapter, just introducing a future villain and some other important people. As some of you may know I'm a big fan of blue, especially when that blue happens to be female.)
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