The desert wind tasted different in Saudi Arabia.
Baako felt it the moment the ship's hull groaned against the dock, the metal shuddering like a beast reluctant to kneel. The air carried heat even at night, a dry warmth that clung to the skin and whispered of endless dunes beyond the horizon. He stood beside Commander Nakia on the lower deck, both of them staring toward the cargo port of Jeddah as the crew prepared to disembark.
But neither of them moved.
Not yet.
They still had unfinished business.
The interrogation room sat deep within the ship's belly, a cramped metal chamber that smelled of rust, sweat, and the faint chemical tang of sterilized instruments. Baako had spent hours inside it earlier, watching the intruder strapped to the reinforced chair—watching the way the creature's eyes never blinked, never wavered, never showed even a flicker of pain.
He remembered the way Nakia's jaw tightened during the session. She didn't show emotion, not openly, but Baako had learned to read the subtle shifts in her posture. The slight narrowing of her eyes. The way her fingers flexed once before going still again. She was a storm contained in human form.
Now, as they stood on the deck, she finally spoke.
"Before we leave," Nakia said, her voice low, "we should review what we learned."
Baako exhaled through his nose. "We didn't learn anything."
Her eyes slid toward him, sharp and assessing. Even covered head to toe in black attire, she radiated authority. Only her eyes were visible—dark, vigilant, and strangely captivating. They held a depth Baako couldn't quite decipher.
He cleared his throat. "The interrogation was… fruitless."
"That's an understatement."
Fruitless didn't begin to describe it. They had inflicted pain that would have shattered any normal human mind—pain designed to break even hardened soldiers. But the intruder wasn't human. It wasn't even a cyborg in the traditional sense.
It was something else.
A Biotic.
A creature whose biology had been fused with machine augmentation so seamlessly that the line between flesh and metal had dissolved. It didn't scream. It didn't beg. It didn't react. It simply stared at them with cold, unblinking eyes until Nakia gave the order to end it.
Baako still remembered the sound—the sharp, wet crack as the intruder's skull split under the final blow. And then the metallic clink of something hitting the floor.
A chip.
Embedded deep within the creature's brain.
Their only gain.
Nakia crossed her arms, the fabric of her attire shifting softly. "Central Command has the chip now. They'll analyze it."
Baako nodded. "Do you think they'll find anything?"
"Something," she said. "Even if it's only confirmation of what we already suspect."
Baako hesitated. "About cyborgs?"
Her gaze sharpened. "About the illegal nature of them. And why they were banned."
He swallowed. He knew the history, but hearing it from her carried weight. He was beginning to learn Nakia wasn't just a commander—she was the elite of the Songhai military, trained in the art of Focus, shaped by the empire's most guarded traditions.
She turned slightly, looking out toward the port lights flickering in the distance. "Two hundred years ago," she began, "robotic augmentation was everywhere. Every nation embraced it. Every society depended on it. Except ours."
Baako listened, the familiar story settling over him like a heavy cloak.
"The Songhai Empire refused to adopt augmentation," Nakia continued. "People mocked us for it. Called us primitive. Backwards. Resistant to progress."
Baako's lips twitched. "They weren't mocking us for long."
"No," she said softly. "They weren't."
Machines had begun influencing cognitive thought—subtle at first, then overwhelming. People acted without knowing why. Governments shifted overnight. Civil war erupted across continents. The world fractured under the weight of invisible control.
Machine versus human.
And humanity was losing.
Except in Songhai.
Baako felt a familiar swell of pride. "Our Focus abilities."
Nakia nodded. "The one advantage machines couldn't predict and had no knowledge of. Couldn't counter. Couldn't corrupt."
Focus—the ancient discipline that allowed the awakened people of the Songhai Empire to channel their minds with impossible precision and otherworldly powers. To perceive beyond normal senses. To sever machine influence with sheer mental force.
"With Focus," Nakia said, "we purged the robotic resistance in less than twenty years."
"A billion lives lost," Baako murmured.
"But five billion saved," she finished. "Freed and reversed from augmentation. Freed from control."
Silence settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Baako glanced at her. "Do you think the intruder was connected to the old machine networks?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "If it was, then someone is rebuilding what should never have existed."
He felt a chill despite the desert heat.
In his mind there was no doubt that they will find an answer while on this very mission.
Another thought crossed his mind, however.
If the biotic was sent to hinder their mission. Then there is a traitor in our military.
He didn't know if Commander Nakia made that connection, but he decided to keep it to himself. There was no need to alert if she wasn't someone he could trust.
"And that's above our pay grade," Nakia added. "Central Command will decide what to do with the information."
Baako nodded. "So, we focus on our mission."
"Yes." She turned fully toward the port. "We gather information about the state of the Middle East. Riyadh is our destination. Jeddah is only the first step."
The ship's engines quieted. The crew began lowering the ramp.
Nakia's posture shifted—subtle, but Baako felt it. Her focus sharpened. Her presence intensified. She was entering mission mode.
"We move," she said.
Baako followed her down the ramp, both of them dressed in traditional Saudi attire. Nakia wore all black, her hijab and niqab covering everything except her eyes. Even concealed, she moved with lethal grace. Her eyes remained militant, scanning every angle, every shadow.
Baako wore a white thobe and head covering. His darker skin stood out, but after shaving his face clean, he looked like a different man entirely. Less recognizable. Less threatening.
They stepped onto the dock, blending into the night.
Port workers moved crates. Port Police patrolled lazily. Regardless we avoided wandering eyes. Eyes that were too focused on their jobs in front of them.
Nakia didn't speak.
Baako didn't either.
They communicated with their eyes—brief glances, subtle gestures. She led. He followed. And every step reminded him of the truth he had been avoiding.
He wasn't on her level.
Not yet.
Not even close.
She had saved him on the ship. She had taken care of his mark after he let his guard down. She had moved through the interrogation with calm precision while he struggled to keep his emotions in check.
He felt… inadequate.
The realization stung more than he expected.
They slipped behind a stack of cargo containers, avoiding a pair of port officers. Nakia raised two fingers, signaling him to wait. Her movements were fluid, controlled. She peeked around the corner, then motioned him forward.
Baako followed, silent as a shadow.
Fifteen minutes passed like this—ducking behind crates, weaving through narrow alleys, avoiding workers and guards. Nakia never hesitated. Never faltered. She moved like she had memorized the port layout before arriving.
Finally, she stopped beside a row of parked vehicles.
Baako blinked. "We're stealing one?"
She didn't answer. She simply approached a dusty sedan, crouched beside the driver's door, and within seconds—
Click.
The door opened.
Baako stared. "How did you—"
She slid into the driver's seat. "Get in."
He obeyed, still stunned. She reached under the steering column, fingers moving with surgical precision.
Wires shifted.
Sparks flickered.
The engine roared to life.
Baako's jaw dropped. "Commander… that was—"
She didn't look at him. She put the car in gear and pulled away from the port, merging into the quiet streets of Jeddah.
Only once they were clear did Baako finally speak.
"I'm impressed," he said, unable to hide the awe in his voice. "You stole that car like you've been doing it your whole life."
Nakia glanced at him.
Just a glance.
But Baako saw it—the faint curve of her lips beneath the niqab. A smile. Small, controlled, but undeniably there.
She raised her hand and jingled something between her fingers.
Keys.
Spare keys.
Found under the seat.
Baako stared for a second.
Then he burst out laughing—genuine, loud, unrestrained. The kind of laugh he hadn't felt since before he left the Palace. Since before everything got serious.
Nakia didn't laugh, but her eyes softened.
Just a little.
And Baako felt something shift inside him.
Something warm.
Something dangerous.
Something he wasn't ready to name.