Chapter 5: Amina's sarcastic anger
7th April 2026
Flames engulfed everything, the scent of smoke and burning filling the air.
Harith stood for a moment, noticing how the punch had caused something to crash in the distance.
(That's weird… is my vision bad, or did his body strike something on the way?)
Harith stared at the spot, sweat beading on his forehead, his vision whirling.
(But most importantly…)
He looked down at the unconscious Tariq and Aboutrika.
Quickly, he rushed to drag them one by one out of the flames.
He crouched to try and wake Tariq.
"Tariq, wake up!"
He raised his voice while shaking him, worry etched into every movement.
He shook him aggressively.
"It's no use…"
He tried the same with Aboutrika.
"Hey, ABOUTRIKA! Wake up!"
Still, it didn't work.
(Though… thankfully, they're still breathing… and their heart rates are normal.)
Then Harith noticed something off.
"Wait… Amina was also sleeping… where did she go?"
He began searching for her, meanwhile…
After the badly drawn, invisible autobus had exploded, the second twin, 40, suffered from both the blast and the fall.
"Cough… cough…"
(Chatbubble)
His armor was severely cracked, injuries visible. Crawling on the floor, he sensed a presence behind him.
40 quickly pulled a knife from his hip. Through the intense pain, he swung at whatever was behind him.
Then, with precision, Amina grabbed his wrist tightly, just before it struck her waist.
"Don't take it personally."
She said it with a slight smile. Her grip tightened, and she lifted his wrist.
Out of nowhere, she sliced it off at incredible speed, leaving a faint dark bluish blur behind her swing.
40 screamed internally in a chatbubble, jagged and sharp.
"Oh, now… don't go around screaming…"
She stepped closer.
40 had his other arm behind him.
"Weren't you the one who tried to assassinate us? Why play the victim now?"
He quickly pulled out a can of sleeping-inducing spray.
"Hold it right there," she commanded—but 40 sprayed anyway.
Amina easily formed a shield on her wrist, blocking the gas.
"Well… I told you to wait…"
Droplets fell with an audible patter.
"But I guess… words won't do it with you… so just look at the can you're carrying."
40 glanced at the spray, noticing the whitish-blue, almost transparent thick stain.
"And with just a snap…"
He tried to throw it away, but it was too late.
She snapped her fingers. The can exploded in his face, releasing all the pressurized gas.
Before he could fall asleep, a long, sharp, blue-transparent blade struck his chest, cutting him in half.
"HAYEAH!"
The gas reached her—it was much stronger than before—but she continued slicing him rapidly in quick succession despite the sleepiness.
40 turned into small cubes mid-air.
Eventually, he became dust, fading away into the wind.
Amina fell to her knees. The sleepiness threatened to consume her, but after eliminating him, it vanished as if it had never existed.
She rose, dusted off her knees, and her phone rang—it was Harith.
She picked it up.
"Amina, where the heck are you?!"
She looked toward the flames.
"Yeah… and I think…"
Tariq and Aboutrika began waking up.
Stretching and yawning, Tariq said,
"Ahhh… one's never had a good nap in a long time. I get why Amina loves sleeping now."
Aboutrika also woke, picked up his penknife, and tucked it into his pocket as a toy. He rubbed his head and groaned.
"What the hell happened, Harith?"
Harith lowered his phone, relieved to see them fine, a smile spreading across his face.
"N-nothing to worry about… it's all good now."
(I'm really thankful they woke up… I thought otherwise.)
(But… this isn't over.)
Harith recalled the name "Mutakamel," echoing in his head.
(Someone's after us… I can't guarantee our safety. I'll talk to them about this later.)
Meanwhile, in the dark, the same figure who had drawn the twins and Nassap—Mutakamel himself—fumed.
"THIS ASSSHIT! I TOLD HIM!"
Mutakamel yelled furiously in his mansion to nobody.
"I TOLD HIM TO NOT EVEN MENTION ANYBODY SENDING HIM!"
He knocked everything off his desk; items shattered on the floor.
Angrily, he pulled out a stylus and began drawing. His grip was rough, his movements harsh.
After seconds of scribbling, the paper tore loudly.
But it slowly regenerated, fixing itself.
The drawing wasn't complete—but the ghostly shape had already begun emerging.
To be continued.