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To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.
—
Egypt
Siwa Oasis
"How do we do this, boss?" Baraka asked, walking with him on the busy streets of Siwa Oasis.
"Simple. Follow the trail of the money," he replied.
As the one common language humanity spoke, the doors it could not open were very limited.
Karen turned to him. "If it was that simple, why haven't the local forces found him yet?"
"There are two options; who can guess them?" The reward on Fayrouz's head would make any legal contact sell him out, and he could not have survived this long without having friends in good places.
"He is paying them off most likely," Claire said, snapping her fingers.
"But the reward on Hassan's head is great too. More than he would be willing to pay," Baraka said, echoing what Miles was thinking.
"Then he is threatening them," Karen added.
Miles was silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
"Both," the three of them replied at the same time. They stopped, gazing at each other before Karen continued. "He is threatening them to stay quiet and is paying them off so the cops would be content."
"Correct. Now, you are a fugitive being sought by the law enforcement. You either have dirt on them, or you threaten their lives and families. Who would you target?"
"The local head of law enforcement, or one of his lieutenants," Claire finished.
"Excellent reasoning. Let's see if we can arrange a meeting."
—
Tourists drew attention.
Wealthy ones, even more so.
All the vendors wanted to sell something. Herbs, trinkets, souvenirs, and food were thrust in their faces. He purchased a little bit of everything, waiting. The chief of police would no doubt be interested in rubbing elbows with such generous guests.
The actions of an individual were simple to predict once you understood their nature. The vendors they had met so far did not speak highly of the man; in fact, they were not willing to talk about him at all. The darting eyes and hushed words were an obvious sign as to why.
Karim was not well received by the honest people of the town.
It took a couple of hours for someone to send word to him.
He marched into the market, hands behind his back, sunglasses complementing his khaki drill cotton. The hustle and bustle began to die with each step he took.
Miles saw the man coming but continued to observe his latest purchase with Karen, a glass pyramid. Claire had leaned on a wall on his right, waiting. Baraka stood right behind him, moving aside as their query approached.
"My American friends, welcome. I hope you have been enjoying our humble town," Karim said, the officers he had brought dispersing to keep the curious gazes away.
"Thank you, officer. It has been great so far."
"I am Captain Karim. If you are ever in a pinch, I can be of help."
"Actually, there is something. I am looking for an old friend of mine. Hassan al-Fayrouz. I am certain a man of your stature can assist me."
"Fayrouz?" Karim took a step back, his jovial smile gone.
"Yes. You see, he owes me a sizable sum. I would be quite willing to part with a portion of it if you can find him for me."
"I don't know any Fayrouz, but I will be on the lookout."
"Ah, no matter," he said, patting the man on the shoulder. "Thank you regardless."
Done with his shopping, he took his friends to lunch.
—
"Do you think he'll really contact Fayrouz?" Baraka asked after ordering his food. Calling this place a restaurant would be akin to calling a burger franchise joint a three-Michelin-star dining experience, but at least the food was good.
"What would you say the captain felt when I mentioned the name of our query?" he asked in return, continuing the lesson.
"He was afraid."
"Yes. We can be reasonably sure it would be in Karim's best interests to see Hassan caught."
"But he is not helping us. He is afraid that Hassan would retaliate, regardless if he was involved or not," Karen supplied.
"What are the chances he informs Hassan for the sake of his own life?" he asked. As if to answer his question, the application on his phone sent a notification.
He opened it, putting the phone in the middle of the table, the translation program already running.
"Where are you?" The good captain asked, voice curt.
"What is it, Karim? I am busy."
"There is a young man out there who claims you owe him three million dollars. Asked about you. Has three people with him, an African boy and two females, one blond and one ginger."
"What did you say?"
"That I did not know you. What else could I say?"
"Good. I don't know who this boy is; I don't owe anyone a single piastre. Where is he?"
"You know Mahmoud's restaurant? He is there, having lunch right now."
"You did well, Karim; leave the rest to me, and speak to no one about this."
"Of course I won't."
The call ended, leaving the table in smiles.
"Not bad, fedora, not bad at all."
He winked at the Kryptonian. "My pleasure."
—
Done with lunch, Miles walked out of the door, tipping the establishment generously.
Fayrouz had acted fast. Two vehicles were already waiting for them outside. Upon seeing four people who matched the descriptions, the men surrounded them. Each one looked rough, hired guns that had seen action in the field. Scars, calluses, practical clothing—they meant business.
"Get in. Hassan wants to see you, blondie."
Miles smiled.
"Took him long enough. Is the invitation just for me?"
"No, all of you."
He glanced at the ginger-haired female next to him, taking a step towards the car. She followed without a complaint.
The rest took the remaining truck, following along.
—
"What is your name, blondie?" The goon with an x-shaped scar on his right cheek asked. The rest of the men deferred to him, making him most likely Fayrouz's right hand.
"Raymond," he said.
Once surrendered to the US forces, Hassan would be questioned on who his mysterious captors were. The more wrong information he had, the better.
"And your ginger friend?"
"Kara," she replied, voice colder than outer vacuum.
The men shuddered at her tone. They were seasoned enough to understand on an instinctual level that she was dangerous.
Whether they would heed it was another matter.
"You are very brave to come here. What do you actually want with the boss?"
"That is between us."
He glanced at the watch on his wrist. The armor was already active, disguising him to avoid recognition once Hassan was handed over to the USA authorities.
Two females, one ginger, the other blonde; a young man in a suit; and a Black boy.
—
The journey was long enough that he took a nap. Hassan lived outside the oasis, near a system of caves. An excellent place for a rat to hide.
The view did not match what he had seen in the show. Still, of the myriad of changes he had seen, one concerning a landscape would not be out of place.
The trucks came to a stop.
Hassan's men opened the doors, pushing them out at gun point. He was scanning the area, same as his companions. Nothing extraordinary appeared yet, but there was still a chance.
"Inside," the head honcho with the scar on his cheek ordered, pushing him towards the largest cave entrance.
There weren't that many men inside the cave. With the eight that had brought them here, it came to twenty in total. Not that the numbers would matter against them.
"Boss, we brought them."
"Who are you, boy?" Hassan asked, sitting on a stool, shaving himself with a knife. Whether it was because he couldn't find a razor or wanted to look edgy, he could not say.
His photo in the system was outdated. Hassan's face looked far more sunken, and his hair had grey tints, though his eyes were still sharp.
"Forget who I am; I just want to ask a question. Have you ever come across a cave that has the word "cave" carved outside on stone?
"You came all this way, claiming I owed you money, just to ask me if I knew a specific cave?" he huffed, turning to Karen. "Tell me, girl, is he mad or something?"
"Seeing as this played out exactly as he predicted, no."
He clapped his hands. "If we could get to the matter of the cave."
Hassan shot up from his stool, the shining survival knife glinting in the dim light of the cave. He struck at the liver, but his knife did not go through the clothes. He swung, going for the neck this time. The sharp edge grating on the nanotech armor produced an ear-scratching sound.
Miles' hand lashed out, wrapping around Hassan's throat.
Karen took the initiative. Her fists struck backwards, knocking two men out. Gunfire lit up in the cave, harmlessly pinging off her armor, just as it would her skin. She slapped one of the gunmen to the ground. She tore the rifle off the last man's hands, ripping it apart to pieces, a Spartan kick sealing the goon's fate.
All in the blink of an eye.
She did not stop there, moving outside to neutralize the rest.
He threw Hassan to the side, following Karen to give Hassan the chance to escape. The smuggler was still conscious but had chosen to lie in wait, playing the possum.
Outside, it had already come to an end. Two metahumans and a Kryptonian in advanced nanotech armor vs. gunmen armed with AK-47s was easier than taking candy from a child not even born.
"What now? Do we call the feds?"
"No. Let's give Hassan a chance to run. I believe they pay extra for valuable information. He can lead us to weapon depots and hideouts," he said. He could interrogate the man, but Karen was still a hero. She would not appreciate his methods.
"By the way, what was that about the cave?" Karen asked.
He had not explained the true reason behind this hunt to her yet, busy as they were.
"There is a cave with a crystal that contains the evil spirits of a serpentine race. I want to find and throw it into the sun."
She placed her fingers on her forehead, eyes closed tightly. "I think I heard something about it back in my dimension."
"Any details you can share?" he asked. He had not considered that she might know something, an oversight on his part.
"Not really. It was just something Flash told me."
"No matter. Either this Hassan or the one in Iraq is familiar with the location of the cave."
"Why hunt it though? Is someone else looking for it?"
"I could afford to spare some time to destroy it just in case, while bringing two criminals to justice."
"Hey, he is running," Claire said, pointing at the car. Hassan had already started the truck and was backing away.
"Let him go. I have a tracker on him."
—
To fly was to be free from the shackles of gravity.
The four of them, invisible among the warm orange colors of the setting sun, followed the car after tying the goons back at the caves. Hassan was driving in the opposite direction of the Siwa Oasis, leaving a chance that he might take them to where the crystal lay.
Alas, it was not meant to be.
The new cave system did not match the valley in his memories. Once again, there was no sign of the crystal and Mophir. Hassan was the only human in the area.
The weapons cache was a rather nice touch, though.
—
Hassan abandoned the car, making a break for the cave. Once inside, he would be armed and safe.
He looked back, searching for any sign of those damned freaks. His escape was too easy. They had not even given chase.
He turned ahead. A brown blur was all he saw before something impacted his face, sending him to the ground. He groaned, feeling his nose burn, blood flowing freely.
He looked up, seeing the blond man checking an AK-47, one that had a fresh smear of blood on the stock. "My, Hassan, wherever did you get all these? I get the AKs, but the mortars, the Stingers, the plastic explosives, and the rest? I can see why the US government wants you alive."
Hassan closed his eyes, groaning.
—
The handover was simple. The US Special Forces, in conjunction with the Egyptian military, would arrive to take custody of Hassan. The payment, with the location of Hassan's weapons depot, initial hideout, and his men, had doubled to six million dollars.
Which required identification and cooperation with the authorities.
They were not going to hand six million dollars in a suitcase to anyone.
The disguises weren't random. Zalika had created a background for them as part of a now-defunct PMC. The four of them were tracking a smuggling line that had led them to Hassan Fayrouz. As they were in Siwa Oasis, and there was a reward attached, they had gone after Fayrouz to assess the risk of capturing him.
Which had proven to be easy.
Since the capture had happened unarmed, the legal trouble was on the nonexistent side. The four of them fully cooperated, and the reward would flow into their accounts soon.
If not, he would just steal from the government.
The temporary handler was curious as to where they would go next. Coincidentally, another lead had pointed them to Iraq, to the Sinjar Mountains, and another Hassan.
Rashidi's bounty was even higher than Fayrouz's, and the handler was very interested in any intel they could share. Except for the fact that the Rashidis' little drug empire created the money that eventually led to the Taliban buying weapons from Fayrouz, they knew nothing else.
Though, he would be kept in the know if the four of them discovered more. If nothing else, the promise of further intel would be an incentive for them to not drag the process out.
Traveling to Iraq by plane would take time. Time they would use to return home and prepare.
—
Metropolis
"Have to admit, this was actually fun," Karen admitted. Bringing that weapon smuggler down felt really great, and all in twenty-four hours too, mostly spent on waiting for the US forces.
"Keep hanging out with us; you'll get all the action you want," he said, handing her a bottle of soda.
"Maybe."
"What happened to your mother from another dimension?"
He rolled the bottle, watching the liquid inside. "I had her memories of me erased, gave her an ID, and a couple million dollars. The rest is her business, not mine, and I would truly appreciate it if you kept silent on the matter."
"My lips are sealed."
"How is my cousin?"
"Clark is doing good, as is your counterpart." They had actually started to patrol together, the beginning of a new era in Metropolis' history, as Mr. Kent had reported.
He didn't realize how fast the time had passed while sitting on the porch, just having a simple, honest conversation.
—
In the next chapter:
"What about his nose?" Claire asked. They had the man change his clothes to not look like a mess for the meeting, but his nose looked like a giant, angry,
"He hit his face on the door, nothing else. Isn't that right?" Miles said, while Baraka glared at their prisoner. He seemed to be especially furious at the dealer, most likely from seeing the state that young man has been reduced to.
Marouf nodded slightly, shying away from Baraka. "If Rashidi comes, it will be with a lot of men."
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