Chapter 37 – Just When I Thought It Was Over… Now There’s a Problem?!

The late afternoon sun spills golden light across Marina’s old home, painting the world in hues of nostalgia. The breeze is gentle, the air fragrant with blooming flowers, and yet…

The atmosphere around me is tense.

Natalie’s presence alone is like a magnet—elegant, radiant, quietly dangerous. She stands not too far, scanning her surroundings with a calm yet calculating gaze, as if reading every heartbeat in the room.

Meanwhile, Priscilla, usually relaxed and cheeky, has drawn unusually close to me. Her body brushes against my shoulder as she leans in, her arms folded, clearly on guard.

I could hear her mutter under her breath, voice laced with her Aussie slang and disapproval.

“Fair suck of the sav… she’s a bloody ripper, ain’t she?”

I blink.

Sylvia sits on my left—eerily silent. Her presence is always elegant, but there’s a tension in the way she grips her skirt, eyes occasionally flicking toward Natalie with quiet intensity.

This... triangle is gonna kill me someday.

But I can’t focus on the cold war between these three. Not now.

Because Marina’s mom had just called me aside.

We sit at an outdoor wooden table. Beyond us, the mountains stand solemn, like silent witnesses to everything that has come and gone. Wind stirs the windchimes near the patio roof.

She exhales softly, eyes gazing at the horizon as if searching for an answer.

“Alex… I need your help.”

That tone. It’s serious.

I nod. “Yeah… sure. What’s going on?”

She slides a paper across the table. It’s a pamphlet. Simple. Innocent. At first glance.

But when I see the face printed on it—

My chest tightens. My pupils shrink.

No way… it’s him…

Suddenly, like a storm breaking through a dam, memories crash into me.

[Flashback]

A man. Broad-shouldered. Silver tongue. Poisonous charisma. He was the one who twisted Wan and the others… brainwashed them with charm and holy words that masked something rotten underneath.

I remember how he stood above us, speaking of “righteousness,” but his hands were stained in Marina’s tears.

The way he cornered her that night—

That monster… he’s alive?!

Back to present.

My breath shortens.

“I thought he was in prison,” I say, clenching the paper.

She nods grimly. “So did we. But there’s word going around… someone’s taking up his cause again. Maybe a copycat. Or maybe… he never really left.”

My mind spins.

“Where’s this happening?”

She points toward a map. “Here. Remote spot. But they’re operating quietly—trying not to draw attention. Majid told me someone came to the school recently. Preaching. Calling for ‘Islamic awakening’ but... something felt off.”

I raise an eyebrow. “It’s a multi-faith school. That’s dangerous ground.”

“They’ve been targeting the non-Muslim students, subtly trying to convert them. The principal's ignoring complaints.”

I inhale sharply. “...Alright. I’ll handle this.”

Without wasting time, I pull out my phone and dial Mr. Hakeeb, my old contact. The man who once served as our underground intel.

“Alex?” his voice is rough but reliable.

“I’ve got something you need to look into. Remember the name Sharil?”

A beat.

“Sharil? He was supposed to be locked up.”

“Someone matching his style is moving again. Might not be him, but the doctrine is spreading.”

“Understood. I’ll get eyes on this. Be careful, son. If it is him… this could turn dark fast.”

We end the call.

“Do you know where they gather?” I ask Marina’s mom, slipping the pamphlet into my pocket.

She nods solemnly and hands me a sketched map. “Here. No one goes near it. Locals say it feels cursed.”

I nod. “Got it.”

Later, outside the house—

“Mom, just hang here for a bit,” I say. “I’m doing a favor for Marina’s mom.”

She gives me a wary glance. “Be safe. Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t.” (Lie.)

I hop on my bike and ride through the dusty back trails, dodging potholes and low-hanging branches. The wind rushes past, the mountains drawing closer as the sun dips low.

Finally, I reach it.

An old abandoned compound. Crumbling walls. Broken signage.

Dead silence.

But my instincts scream—

You’re not alone.

I quickly hide my bike in the underbrush and duck behind a thick tree. The leaves rustle slightly as I peer out.

Footsteps.

A group of men in long robes and white skullcaps walk toward the compound.

They look peaceful.

But I know better.

“Tabligh…” I whisper.

They look normal. Harmless even.

But I’ve seen how evil hides behind piety.

This is just like last time… just like what happened to Wan… and Marina…

And this time—I won’t just watch.

I grit my teeth and silently slip into the shadows.

I arrive at the place Marina’s mom marked for me—a plain-looking building, minimal in design but unmistakable in purpose. A crescent moon logo sits near the gate. From the outside, it looks like just another modest religious complex—part mosque, part school.

But something feels... wrong.

The compound is eerily quiet. Too quiet for a place that should be filled with evening prayers and children’s laughter.

“Let’s not make the same mistake as last time…”
“No noise. No presence. Stay invisible.”

There’s a fire escape ladder rusted but climbable at the back.

Perfect.

I scale it quietly, each step a creak waiting to betray me. When I reach the rooftop, I crawl low, silent. One open skylight gives me a partial view inside.

I press myself to the edge and listen.

“Assalamualaikum…”

“Waalaikumsalam…”

Two men. Voices calm. Polite. One of them hands over a stack of documents.

“Here is the itinerary.”

“Good… let me check. Hmm… looks like everything is good to go.”

I squint, narrowing my eyes to study them. They're dressed plainly, no obvious weapons, no insignia. But the tone of their words—coordinated, careful, covert—feels nothing like a religious meeting.

“Do you think it’s a good idea..? I mean… we’ve got a good number of people.”

“Because of Imam Sharil… we have to hide underground. There’s no chance for us to go public like before. Not after what happened…”

Sharil… again. That name haunts me.

“Our influence is diminished… operating in shadows is our only path.”

“But… I want to ask, Imam…”

“Yes?”

“Why the Brotherhood?”

I freeze.

Brotherhood?

“What I know… is that they align with our cause. They want more men involved. More reach. It’s… against our original principles. But we have no other choice.”

They fall into silence. A heavy one. Like they’re walking a tightrope over a volcano.

I study the speaker’s face. It’s… similar. The jawline. The posture. But this isn’t Sharil.

So he’s still in prison… but who is this guy? A relative? A copycat?

I try to focus, commit every word and face to memory. But then—

Another voice joins in. Colder. Arrogant.

“So… it remains as it is. Hiding like cowards. Using my stupid brother’s legacy as a mask…”

That voice jolts something deep inside me. It's not one of them.

“You don’t care what happens to him?”

“He made a blunder in Arizona five years ago. I warned him not to escalate things. And now, we’re the ones cleaning the mess.”

I peer deeper—and I see him.

“No way…”

My blood runs cold.

A man stands in the shadows near the curtain. His aura is off—too polished, too detached. Dressed in a black thobe with combat boots. Clean-cut beard. A Brotherhood enforcer. I’ve only heard whispers about them, but now—he’s right there, in flesh and blood.

“As long as SSX doesn’t interfere,” he says, “we're in the clear.”

SSX...?

I clench my fists. That’s not a name you throw around lightly. If SSX is involved, this goes beyond some fringe cult.

“Payment’s been made,” the man says, slipping something into the imam’s hand. “You get your recruits. We get our foothold.”

My breath catches.

This place—it pretends to be a center for spiritual growth. But beneath the surface…

It’s a recruitment ground for extremism. A place to shape shadows into blades.

Suddenly, someone moves near the window. I flinch back, heart pounding, adrenaline flooding my system.

Did they see me?!

I stay still.

A full minute passes.

Then another.

Only the cicadas buzz in the distance.

I exhale—barely.

This is way bigger than I thought…
And if I don’t act now… more kids, like Wan, like Marina, will get pulled into this darkness.

I lie low, chest pressed against the cold rooftop tiles, my breath barely audible. From this angle, I can see through the slit of the skylight, watching the shadows dance beneath the flickering fluorescent lights.

Then—

A new voice. Soft. Feminine. But with a venomous undertone.
A familiar one.

Cold shivers race down my spine.

That voice…

No way… it can’t be—

I lean closer, carefully peeking down from my vantage point.

She steps into view. A girl with jet-black hair tied into a ponytail, sleek tactical attire, and cold, impassive eyes. There’s no mistaking her—she looks exactly like Frederica.

The same girl I fought months ago. The one with impossible reflexes. The one cloned from that insane project…

Frederica’s clone. She’s here.

And she’s talking to him.

“So… Eldar Samir?” her voice carries a slight metallic crispness, like she's half-machine.

The man turns, calmly.

“Yes? I see you decided to appear after all.”

“Looks like everything is going according to plan. But what’s this ‘event’ you’re referring to?”

He adjusts his cuffs, cool and composed.

“Just ensuring the narrative sticks. This isn’t a cult—at least not publicly. This nation won’t tolerate such things. So, we adapt. Rebrand.”

“And what about the promise to the Cardinal?” she presses.

“Of course. More soldiers. More believers. They’ll make fine weapons.”

Her lips curl slightly. A smirk? Approval? It’s hard to tell.

But then the atmosphere darkens with a single name.

“Since the last battle… that SSX squad… and that yellow-eyed assassin... have done a number on us.”

I freeze.

Yellow-eyed assassin…?
Soro… that bastard again.

I grit my teeth.

“You just make sure SSX doesn’t catch a whiff of this,” Eldar says. “The school’s principal has already been compromised. No one’s talking. Anyone who does—disappears.”

Suddenly, another voice interrupts.

A nervous man.

“What about that farm…? The woman…?”

Marina’s mom…?
They know…!

Eldar doesn’t hesitate.

“Tell the others not to engage. No contact. No scenes. The last thing we need is another leak.”

Then, the doors swing open again.

SLAM.

Footsteps echo. Another man storms in, practically shouting.

“Why should I follow orders from a Christian woman!?”

“Shut up and listen—” someone tries to stop him.

“No! I’ll do what I want! We need numbers—Sharil had the right idea! He did more than you ever could!”

I flinch.

Sharil’s loyalist…?

But the other man isn’t having it.

“Right… and now he’s rotting in a U.S. prison. Care to explain that part?”

The room bristles with tension. I can sense it even from above.

“But—”

The calm voice returns. Cold. Final.

“You’re the one I’ve been watching. Seven years ago… you let Sharil and you told him to ‘expand’. Told him to ‘recruit’. And now? He’s gone.”

“…..”

“I’m done tolerating this.”

“Wha—wait! What are you—?!”

SHHHKKKK—!!!

A slicing sound—quick, efficient, like a blade through meat.

THUD!!

A body hits the floor. Heavy. Final.

I flinch back, heart hammering.

Blood… I can smell it even from here.

My hands curl into fists.

They’re eliminating dissenters. Silencing anyone who steps out of line. This isn't just extremism… this is something far more dangerous. It's militarized indoctrination... backed by someone even worse than Sharil.

That clone girl… Eldar Samir… the Brotherhood… and now SSX is somehow on their radar. Just what the hell is going on?

The rooftop tiles are cool beneath my body as I remain motionless, my hoodie blending with the evening shadows. The moonlight flickers faintly through the clouds, casting a silver sheen over the dull complex below—plain concrete walls, modest domes… a typical religious school on the outside.

But on the inside? A festering nest of manipulation.

For now, I pocket the phone again and tune in—ears sharpened, heart calm.

From the skylight below, the conversation turns cold and tense.

“Tell the other tabligh not to follow this idiot’s instructions anymore,” one man says—clearly frustrated.

The voice is deep, commanding. That’s Eldar Samir, no doubt.

His tone doesn't sound like religious zeal… it’s colder. Calculated.

This isn’t about faith… it’s about power.

The girl steps forward—the clone. Her ponytail sways as she speaks with unsettling grace.

“So… let me clean this mess up. I’ll make sure no one ever links this place to us.”

“Heh. We’ll see…” Eldar Samir responds with amusement, but his eyes never smile.

Suddenly, she turns on her heel and disappears into the dark hallway.

I stay low.

Another voice now.

“Looks like money’s flowing well again.”

“Yes… what about the others?” Samir asks.

“Under control. No complaints… except one.”

“Hmph… Maruk. That bastard is with SSX.”
Eldar spits the name like venom. “We can’t afford to go toe-to-toe with him or his men.”

So they know about Maruk… That means they’re more connected than we thought.

“Then we relocate,” says the voice calmly. “Too much noise here. We need another site.”

Samir exhales, annoyed.

“This makes the third move in two months. I swear if that brother tries to play messiah again…”

Wait—what did he just say?

Suddenly—bang!

The wooden doors below burst open. A man runs inside, out of breath and panicked.

“Eldar Samir!!”

“What now?”

“One of the brothers… he’s holding a gathering in the backroom. He’s trying to expand the daawah without permission. They're agitated.”

Samir’s fist clenches.

“This is not good…”

“They’re saying we’ve betrayed the original teachings.”

“Tch. Fanatics arguing with fanatics,” Samir growls. “This is why cults don’t last.”

“Do we pull out?”

“Yes. Get the clone. Get the transport ready. We leave in fifteen.”

I look down again.

Interesting…

Tension ripples across the floor below. I spot shoving. Heated words. One man grabs another by the collar.

Then—

A gunshot.

CRACK!!

Screams erupt. Men start running. Chaos explodes like wildfire.

Holy shit… they’re killing each other.

Blood sprays across the wall. Samir doesn’t even flinch. He watches like a chessmaster watching pawns cannibalize each other.

“Idiots. Wipe the scene clean. Burn the files. Leave nothing.”

Suddenly—bzzzzt!

My phone vibrates violently.

Shit!

I scramble to silence it again. Too late.

I answer in a hushed whisper, moving back behind the chimney.

“Mr. Hakeeb?”

His voice is calm but urgent.

“Tell me you’re inside the place.”

“Yep,” I whisper. “Still breathing. Not doing anything… flashy.”

“Good. We’re approaching. We got backup. I sent a unit from the Kundasang station to the outer perimeter. They apprehended one of the fake missionaries near the school earlier today.”

“He cracked. Said it wasn’t daawah at all. Recruitment… disguised. Just like what you reported.”

“Terrorism is the mark.”

I look down again. Smoke’s already starting to rise from a back room. Files being burned.

“They’re cleaning house. It’s a purge.”

“Understood. Just stay alive, son. You’ve done more than enough. If you get spotted, vanish. You hear me?”

“…Understood.”

The line cuts.

I exhale, pressing my back against the roof, staring at the night sky.

This isn't just local. This is global. Clones. Cults. Arms deals. Recruitment. And SSX is already in the shadows of this game.

This isn’t my style.

Usually it’s fists flying, chaos erupting, the sound of shouting and sirens in the distance. But now I’m moving like a shadow, one breath at a time, keeping my heart still and my steps silent.

I’m not here to fight a war… I’m here to stop one before it starts.

Below me, the facility is unraveling.

They’re burning papers, tearing down banners, smashing hard drives. They're covering their tracks with fire and panic.

I hear them again—shouting through the smoke.

“Hey! Clean this up! Useless bunch of religious fanatics!”

The man tosses a stack of flyers into a barrel fire.

Suddenly, from the corner—

“ALLAHUAKBAR!!”

One of the older members rushes him with a blade, yelling in rage—not at me, but at them.

He’s not attacking out of faith... He’s desperate.

But the gunman is faster. He raises his pistol and fires.

CRACK—!!

The man drops. Not dead—just groaning, hit in the leg.

They're silencing their own. Anyone who might turn. Anyone too loud.

“What about the kids?” another voice asks.

“Eldar Samir said wipe everything. Even them if they talk,” the man says coldly. “But they're just seven, ten years old… Tch. We move again.”

My chest tightens.

No. Not again. No more kids getting pulled into this.

I tail them—quiet and fast—through a side corridor.

I pass a doorway and hear a voice from inside.

“Now children, remember... always be kind to others.”

A teacher’s voice. Calm. Normal. Nothing suspicious in tone.

I peek in.

It’s a classroom. Whiteboard. Chalk dust. A few children sitting on floor mats. And the teacher—a man in his late twenties, neat beard, mild eyes.

Then—

“Hey, Amri!” one of the armed men calls from outside the door.

Tch. They’re coming in here? Armed?

I act on instinct.

I drop from above, kicking the door open wide.

Before the guards can react, I grab the first one’s wrist—twist the pistol out of his hand, and shove him face-first into the wall.

Thud!

The second tries to draw a weapon—but I’m already behind him. A firm hook under his jaw and a twist of his arm, and—

Snap!

—his shoulder pops, and he slumps down groaning, still breathing.

Non-lethal. Always.

The kids scream in surprise, huddling behind the teacher.

“Wha—what is this?!” the teacher stammers, holding his hands up.

I close the door behind me, lock it, and face him.

“Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. But we need to talk.”

He stays still, nervous. But something in his posture tells me—he’s not part of them. No tension in his fingers. No weapon. No fake preaching tone.

“This place—it’s not what it looks like, is it?”

He looks away.

“I… I suspected something. But I didn’t want to believe it. Eldar Samir was… different when I joined. I thought I was helping. Teaching real values. Not... this.”

I’ve heard that before. Too many times. Good people stuck inside bad systems.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“To teach. The right way. Not to twist beliefs into fear. Not like Sharil did.”

I narrow my eyes.

“You knew Sharil?”

“Everyone in this field knew him. He ruined so many lives.”

I nod.

That settles it.

This guy’s not one of them.

I press my phone to my ear. One buzz. Mr. Hakeeb picks up instantly.

“I found the kids. They're alive. There's a teacher here—seems legit. No threat. I secured the room.”

“Good. We’re two blocks out. Can you create a safe route to the side alley for extraction?”

“Yeah. I’ll guide them out one by one.”

“Mark anyone who’s not involved. If there’s anyone clean, we’ll take them in for questioning—not arrest. And Alex…”

“I know,” I say before he finishes. “No hero stunts.”

He chuckles.

“No killing either. Just keep them safe.”

“You know me, Hakeeb. I'm not like them.”

I crouch next to the kids, calming them down.

One of them, a little girl in a pink scarf, tugs my sleeve.

“Mister… are you a ninja?”

I blink—then grin.

“Maybe. But don’t tell anyone, okay?”

She giggles.

Even in the middle of this madness, that laugh reminds me why I’m doing this.

Because even if the world is burning… someone still needs to protect what’s innocent.

We’ve turned the classroom into a makeshift safehouse.

Curtains drawn. Lights dim. I’ve pushed a few desks toward the windows just in case. The kids sit in small groups on the floor, whispering softly, clutching bags and water bottles like they’re safety charms.

Amri paces near the door, still catching his breath. The guy’s been trying to play it cool, but I can tell—he’s shaken.

I check the hallway through a crack in the door. Clear.

That’s when Amri speaks up beside me, low enough that only I can hear.

“There’s another teacher,” he says. “Ustazah Khaliza. She’s with the girls’ class, just across the courtyard. I… I didn’t have time to warn her.”

I glance at him.

“She still alive?”

He nods, hopeful.

“If anyone could stay calm in a mess like this, it’s her.”

Guess I’m moving again.

I slip out of the classroom, ducking through the hallway shadows. The sound of fire still crackles faintly somewhere behind me—probably the last of the documents being destroyed. The compound’s tension is thick, but this wing… it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

I reach the classroom Amri described. Inside, I hear a soft, composed voice.

“…and that’s why we respect even the smallest of Allah’s creations. Because everything has its purpose.”

The voice is so… familiar.

I slowly ease the door open.

“Assalamualaikum…”

She turns, calm and kind, with a warm smile etched into her weathered face.

“Waalaikumussalam…” she replies gently. “Yes, can I help you?”

“Are you teaching here?”

“Yes. For now, I am.”

Her students glance at me with confusion. Older girls. Just two young boys at the back. They seem calm—not aware of the chaos just a few corridors away.

She really looks like…

I step forward.

“There’s an emergency in this building. I need you to bring your students with me—to a safer room nearby.”

She studies me. Not panicking. Just assessing.

“Hmm. Must be one of those ‘management’ issues again…”

That tone. That knowing smile.

Wait… is she—?

“Alex…?” she says softly, tilting her head. “Is that you, son?”

I blink.

“Yeah… yeah, it’s me.”

And before I can react—she steps forward and hugs me.

It’s warm. Familiar. Like an anchor in the middle of a storm.

“My… how much you’ve grown. You were barely up to my elbow when you left. And now look at you… so tall. So serious.”

“Thanks, Ustazah. But—really. We have to move now. It’s not safe.”

She nods and gathers the girls with a calm authority that makes even me feel like a kid again.

Still has that teacher aura…

We arrive back at the safehouse. Amri’s eyes light up when he sees her.

“Ustazah Khaliza!”

“Oh hush, Amri. Don’t look so shocked. I can still walk, you know.”

Some of the girls help the younger ones settle in. The room's starting to feel like an actual shelter—a pocket of safety in a collapsing world.

I scan the group.

“Is this everyone?”

Amri nods solemnly.

“This is all the children from primary and intermediate levels. But the others—the teens, the young adults… I don’t know. They might’ve been taken elsewhere.”

Damn it.

Ustazah Khaliza sighs as she settles onto a chair.

“This school… it was never the same after the management changed. They said they needed more 'relevant doctrine.' I told them, our job is to guide, not manipulate. But they didn’t want teachers like me anymore.”

“Then why stay?” I ask.

She looks toward the children.

“Because someone had to protect them.”

I exhale slowly.

“Stay put. Keep them calm. If anyone comes, don’t engage—just hide.”

She nods. “Understood.”

I turn toward the hallway.

I’ve got more shadows to chase.

I stand guard just outside the makeshift safehouse. My ears tuned to every sound, my eyes locked on every corner of the silent corridor. The tension is suffocating, but I can’t afford to blink.

This isn’t a battlefield. This is a rescue.

Then—my phone vibrates.

I answer it instantly, voice low.

“Alex, son… we’re in position.”

It’s Mr. Hakeeb.

But his next words carry a tremble.

“Damn, son… I didn’t expect this. This isn’t just some rogue da’wah circle…”

Without skipping a beat, I whisper back.

“They’re linked to the Brotherhood. I overheard someone—he called himself Eldar Samir.”

Silence on the other end.

Then—

“!!! Are you sure?!”

“Not just that… they know about Maruk and Soro’s men. They’re paranoid, especially about SSX getting involved.”

“Well… they should be,” Hakeeb grunts. “Soro’s team is busy sweeping their northern flank. Meanwhile, Faruq and I are taking the perimeter. Alex—on my signal, get them out. What’s your position?”

I glance outside through a slit in the boarded window, past the moonlight, into the forest beyond.

Movement.

I flash a small red signal light from my belt.

Seconds later… a blue blink replies from the bushes.

“You see that?”

“Got it. That you, son?”

“Yeah. We’re locked in and ready.”

“Good. No heroics. Get the kids out when we breach. How many?”

“Thirty-plus children. Two teachers. The others—teenagers and staff—I couldn’t reach.”

“That’s good enough for now,” he says with resolve. “Faruq’s team is tightening the net. Get them to the evac bus.”

“Understood. Waiting for the breach.”

Suddenly—crack!

A gunshot echoes from the upper floor.

Then another. And another. Rapid.

They’ve started.

I rush back into the classroom.

“Everyone, get down! Stay low—don’t move unless I say!”

Amri helps gather the younger kids, while Ustazah Khaliza stays shockingly calm, shielding a few of the smallest girls with her arms.

Gunfire rattles the hallway.

“POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR!!”

Another burst—ratatatatat!

This isn’t just a raid. This is a battle zone.

Amri tugs at my sleeve.

“What’s happening out there?!”

“Just… hold on.”

Then—a pounding at the side wall.

A voice.

“Alex! Is that you?!”

I rush to the back.

One of the officers, face masked, gives me a nod.

“Follow the path. Fence is cut. Evac team is outside.”

I guide the teachers and children carefully through the hallway, then through the breach in the fence. Police form a perimeter—some still firing suppressive rounds at the upper building as we pass.

One of the SWAT members hands me a pistol.

“Here. Just in case.”

I shake my head.

“I don’t need to shoot anyone.”

But I take it. For protection—nothing more.

The officer nods.

“Fair. But be warned. We’ve still got active resistance near the west block.”

Just then, I hear a familiar voice approaching from behind.

“Son.”

Mr. Hakeeb.

He walks over, breathing heavily, vest dirty from the scuffle.

“You did good. You kept them alive.”

“We saved some… but not all. There’s more inside. I couldn’t—”

He places a hand firmly on my shoulder.

“Alex. What you did… was more than enough. You got thirty kids out of a war zone. That’s a win.”

I nod slowly, fists still clenched.

It doesn’t feel like a win. Not yet.

We arrive at the evac point—just past the tree line. A white minibus hums gently, parked beside a field tent. Emergency lights flash softly.

I help usher the kids in, one by one.

“Alright everyone, inside. This bus will take you somewhere safe.”

The teachers thank me quietly.

“You really saved us today,” Ustazah Khaliza says, hands shaking.

“Yeah… don’t worry about it.”

Amri smiles weakly. “I owe you, man.”

Then, a tug on my sleeve.

A girl with big round eyes and pigtails stares up at me.

“Thank you, Mister Ninja…”

I blink. Then chuckle.

“Next time, I’ll teach you how to disappear in the shadows, okay?”

She giggles and hurries into the bus.

I remain behind.

The gunfire’s faded, but there’s still shouting in the distance. Sirens. Orders.

A police truck rolls up beside me, armored and mud-splattered. One of the officers hops out and hands me a folded item.

“Want a scope?”

“Can I?”

He grins.

“You’re already listed under Deputy Operative clearance by Sergeant Faruq and Director Hakeeb.”

Didn’t think I’d get promoted during a rescue.

I take the scope and climb into the truck bed.

From here, I see it all—officers breaching the last building, suspects handcuffed on the ground, paramedics treating the injured. A twisted garden of chaos, slowly being cleared.

I look through the scope.

They’re pushing the rest out. Some are surrendering. Others… not so much.

This is far from over.

But for tonight—we saved thirty lives.

And that’s something.

My phone buzzes again.

I press it to my ear, already knowing who’s on the other end. The voice that cuts through isn’t rushed—but cold, sharp, and calculated.

“Clones are my prey. Your focus is keeping Faruq and Hakeeb in one piece. They’re not just cops, Alex. They’re ex-MNLF—battle-hardened. I’m in pursuit.”

Soro.

Always one step ahead, always buried in shadows. That tone? He's in kill mode.

“Get ahead, newbie,” he continues. “Maya’s got your back. Since you're still in your pacifist ways… at least she can be your blade.”

“Whatever,” I mutter, ending the call.

Just as I step toward the stairwell—

she appears.

Maya.

Dressed head-to-toe in tactical gear—military vest, black combat pants tucked into Delta-style boots, twin kukri blades gleaming on each hip like something out of an elite unit.

She flashes a cheeky grin.

“Big brother Alex~ Let’s help the police clean up the mess, ne?”

Despite her teasing tone, her movements are razor sharp—like a dancer trained in war.

Behind her, three men trail in silently.

Maruk’s unit…?

One of them steps forward, and even through his face covering, I recognize that aura.

“Hey, Lobo,” I say, bumping fists. “Looks like you’re handling this better than the airplane incident.”

He chuckles and clasps my shoulder—solid, reassuring.

Another man steps up, his accent cutting through like a character out of a spy flick.

“Well done, sprog! Not bad for a day's graft, eh? Bit of a result, innit?”

I blink.

“And… you are?”

He just grins.

But then, the air shifts.

Heavy... familiar.

Maruk emerges from behind me.

Towering. Calm. Almost too calm.

“Looks like you just found the motherload, boy.”

I nod slightly, heart still pounding.

“Uh-huh.”

He tosses something to me—a dark head wrap, designed to veil everything except my eyes. Then another—a sleeker, ancient-style face mask carved from lightweight alloy, the kind that clings to tradition and legacy.

“Wear it. That mask… it’s old. Our clan’s symbol. Yours.”

“Clan…?” I echo, confused, but obey.

The moment I put it on—something changes.

It’s like I can breathe differently. Move with more clarity.

Maruk passes me a set of gear—bulletproof vest, a standard-issue Glock, and an MP5 with tactical grips and low recoil.

This is real now.

As we make our way deeper into the building again, the final push begins.

“Soro’s on the clone,” Maya says as we move past a scorched hallway. “She’s faster than usual. Might be adapting.”

“Great,” I mutter, scanning corners.

“With all this noise,” Lockbolt adds, “someone’s gotta report this. Or the media’ll blame us.”

Maruk snorts.

“Good job earlier, Alex. Just one thing…”

He slows his pace.

“Why were you here, really?”

I sigh.

Do I tell him?

I glance down, voice tightening.

“Because this... this happened before. In the States. A man named Sharil. Manipulated the community, pretended it was faith—but it was hate. Marina and Faiz got pulled into it. People got hurt. I couldn’t stop it back then.”

Maruk listens quietly.

Then finally—

“Sharil, huh? That dumb kid… He’s lucky prison’s all he got.”

He places a hand on my shoulder.

“But let it go, son. This ain’t your burden to carry alone.”

We finish the sweep—arresting the final cells hiding underground.

But one name keeps echoing.

Eldar Samir.

Gone. Slipped through the cracks. Like smoke.

Then—my radio buzzes.

Soro.

“Target locked. Movement detected. Pursuing. Will provide updates on position and status. Stand by.”

Maruk’s gaze meets mine.

“Kid… go. Assist Soro.”

I nod. No hesitation.

“Got it.”

I pull down the mask, steel my breath, and take off—disappearing into the night.

To be continued…