Chapter 2: The Doda Withdrawal - Part II

Doda has tainted the city - filling its veins with his filth for years, he has made it an addict.

It is time the poison was flushed out, and the city went into rehab. It must be cleansed, of the drugs and of Doda. He has thrown down the gauntlet.

I am Salar, and I have taken up the challenge!

The parking lot was deserted, just like it had been the night Salar had busted up Adeel Doda’s drug deal, earning the drug lord’s eternal hatred in the process. Salar’s memory of that night was still hazy, but he could well remember the gunshots, particularly the one that had caught him in the shoulder. He remembered the flash of moonlight on his daggers and the flow of blood that followed. Tonight, there would be no drugs, yet blood would surely flow and come dawn, Doda would either be behind bars or he would be dead!

x---------------x

The cars pulled up outside the parking lot, five of them, and fourteen men clambered out. Each of them was clad in black, and each had a weapon of choice - steel knuckles, sticks, crowbars, daggers, and baseball bats, yet no guns. Doda had expressly forbidden them - he wanted Salar alive, broken and beaten to a pulp, yet alive. He watched from one of the cars as his men spread around the lot in pairs, searching for the masked vigilante. Tonight, Salar would lie at his feet in a pool of blood and come dawn, he would be dead!

x---------------x

The night had grown colder, and Salar’s shoulder wound tickled. He shrugged it off, weighing the Kali sticks in his hands, adjusting his grip. He had counted the men as they entered the parking lot, taking mental notes of their weapons, their height, and their mass. Perched atop the closed restaurant, he couldn’t help but feel a touch disappointed - fourteen men. They were too few. This was too easy! Salar grinned, and jumped off the rooftop.

The first pair never saw him coming. Salar took them down with simultaneous blows to the back of their heads, silently and efficiently, and then dispossessed them of their weapons. He moved onto the next, and then the third, knocking them out quickly, balancing the odds stacked against him. It wasn’t until he spotted the fourth pair of Doda’s men that Salar encountered his first real problem of the night.

Salar assessed his options, watching the two men as he crouched in the shadow of a large SUV. These men were sharper, smarter - it would be difficult to catch them unawares, impossible to prevent them from calling out. Boring, thought Salar, and then made his decision. He placed the Kali sticks on the ground, then launched himself off the fender, and vaulted over the vehicle, drawing his swords mid-air and descending upon the wide-eyed thugs, even as they shrieked for help.

x---------------x

Adeel Doda stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the terrified shriek, He is HERE! He had been pacing next to his car, restless with anticipation, his mind raging with a single, all consuming desire when - ‘Found the bastard!’ He moved towards the sounds of weapon striking weapon, flanked by two of his henchmen, smug with thoughts of his inevitable victory until he came upon Salar, engaged with six of his men at once.

Doda’s smile faltered then, as he observed the atrocious skill that the vigilante displayed in battle. Gone were all traces of the smugness he had displayed but a moment ago, as he watched Salar dispose of his men with astonishing speed and ridiculous ease. Doda signalled his two bodyguards to join the fray as well, and watched with increasing horror as they too fell, succumbing to the flurry of Salar’s swords.

Sketch n' Design: Tehreem Naeem

x---------------x

The night grew quiet again, and then broke into morning as the first rays of dawn appeared over Ittehad City. Salar sheathed his swords, surveying the eight bodies that lay strewn around him. He looked up to find Doda rooted where he stood, too scared to attack and too shocked to run away. “Go now. Leave this city, and never return. You are banished, under pain of death!”

Doda twitched, hands clenched into fists, eyes full of hate, trying to burn holes into Salar merely with their gaze. “Banished?” he screamed at last. “This is my fucking city!” He ran towards Salar with a bellow, and swung his arms mightily, only to catch empty air with the steel that encased his knuckles. “Fight me!” he raged, as Salar evaded his blows. “Fight me, you arrogant little pissant. No one banishes me from my own fucking city!”

Salar stopped him with a single punch, hard into the sternum, robbing him of his breath and his voice. He then grabbed Doda by the collar, slammed him into the side of the SUV, and punched him twice more, this time in the right kidney. “I gave you the chance to run. Now, you will rot in prison, and you will watch as this city cleanses itself of your filth. What is so fucking funny?” asked Salar, as Doda began laughing.

“Look at you,” replied Doda with a smirk. “You don’t even know the city you are trying to save. Send me to jail. Go ahead. I will be out in a few hours, and I’ll rule over Ittehad again after I have killed you!”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Salar grimly, “Maybe I don’t know this city anymore. But you, you will never corrupt it again.”

Salar stepped back, then rammed the heel of his boot into Doda’s right kneecap, and Doda screamed, a bloodcurdling shriek that drowned the sound of bone shattering into a hundred fragments. Salar held him up against the SUV, then broke his left arm at the elbow and Doda howled again, writhing in agony. Salar then punched his right side, breaking the two lower ribs, and walked away, as Doda crumpled into a heap on the ground, whimpering hoarsely.

x---------------x

The tension in the front room of Zaray’s farmhouse was almost palpable. Zaray paced its length, as she had done through the night, and let out another frustrated huff. She shot an ugly look towards Süleyman, who had neither moved from his vigil in the armchair, nor said a word since Salar had left to confront Doda. He could have saved her, and himself, all this stress had he but allowed her to go with Salar.

Zaray hadn’t slept since before Maryam and Salar had shown up almost twenty-four hours ago, followed by the dead body and the gruesome message on her surveillance screen. They had spent the morning with their eyes glued to the screen, until it had become clear that the police had no intention of moving the body. Süleyman had arrived in the afternoon, and had then arranged for the corpse to be brought to the farmhouse.

They had examined every inch of it, but the only thing of interest was the note they found in the shirt’s front pocket: ‘Tonight - where the drug deal went wrong for both of us.’ The rest of the evening, they had debated how to deal with the situation, and Zaray had pleaded to go with, but in the end, Salar had gone out into the night alone.

Maryam had smoked her way through half a dozen cigarettes after he left, before Zaray had to snatch the pack away from her. She had since worried herself to sleep, and lay curled up on the couch, dozing fitfully and murmuring in her sleep. She awoke now, to the sound of a car coming up the driveway, as Süleyman finally stirred, sitting up straighter and more alert.

“How did it go?” she asked, as soon as Salar had stepped in through the front door. “Are you hurt? What about Doda?”

“Not a scratch,” said Salar with an easy smile, collapsing into the armchair next to Süleyman. “As for Doda, he has been permanently withdrawn. There might be a problem though. I had to take extreme measures.”

Süleyman leant forward as Salar unsheathed his swords and placed them on the coffee table. He ran a finger across one blade, and held it up, blood glistening in the light. “How many were there?” he asked quietly. “Tell me what happened.”

Salar explained the events of the night - how he had been forced to use his swords, and how he had dealt with Doda. Zaray glared at Salar throughout the story, huffing with exasperation, and swore loudly when Salar described taking on eight men alone.

“Well, we will deal with it - me and Zaray. You, Salar, you have quite another problem to take care of now,” said Süleyman. “An old friend of ours has followed you to Ittehad, and that does not bode well for the city.”

“Who is he?” asked Zaray and Maryam together, just as Salar said, “Which friend are you talking about?”

“She,” corrected Süleyman, his eyes fixed on Salar. “She is someone who will lay to waste everything that we have been trying to build here.”

“Are you absolutely certain that it is her, and she is definitely here?” asked Salar.

“Without a doubt, son. It is her. Marijana has come to Ittehad.”

Chapter 2: The Doda Withdrawal - Part I

Salar! His name is … Salar. The name taunts me all day, and haunts me all night.

He thinks he can protect this city, save it - change it even. He is very much mistaken! The city will burn and I’ll be dead before I let that happen.

I am Doda, and Ittehad City is mine to rule!

Adeel Doda, the supreme drug lord in Ittehad City, maybe even across all of Pakistan, leaned back with grim satisfaction as he dismissed his most trusted lieutenants for the night. They each knew what they had to do and what would happen should they fail him. He finally had something to go on, something that would allow him to fight back against this mysterious masked vigilante.

His plans laid, he rose from the plush couch, and stood at the windows of his penthouse, gazing down at the sprawl of Ittehad City - the city of dreams and the salvation of an entire nation. Built at the junction of what used to be three provinces, it represented hope for many - the hope that it would end the ethnic conflict raging within the country for decades, and bring its people together. To others, it was merely another metropolitan city, a place of employment and of trade. Adeel Doda knew different. The country would never truly unite, not as long as the politicians still needed votes. To him, the city was simply an opportunity.

Born Adeel John, to Christian parents in an extremely poor family, he had become acquainted with ethnic hate and violence aged twelve. Some arsehole, somewhere in Europe had decided to insult Islam in some way, the local politicians had gone to work, and in a spate of senseless brutality, his entire family had been murdered by misled fanatics in Pakistan. He survived by virtue of being held up by a late customer at the mechanic’s where he apprenticed.

He ran away from the orphanage at sixteen, took to drugs, dealing, mugging, and grand theft auto, and landed in prison a dozen times or more over the next decade. At twenty five, after his latest stint behind bars, he packed up his meager belongings and joined the millions flocking to the newly unveiled, purpose-built Ittehad City. Within weeks of his arrival, Adeel John had found his place in life.

He caught the eye of one of several drug lords who had established themselves in the new city, and quickly realized his true potential - turf wars. Swiftly he rose through their ranks, working from the shadows and systematically wiped out the competition. Ten years later, the only man standing in his way was his own boss and mentor. Adeel John slit his throat in cold blood, and reemerged to the world as Adeel Doda.

Doda spent the next five years consolidating his power. He eliminated all who opposed him, bribed the right officials and expanded his operations until at forty years of age; his rule over Ittehad City’s drug trade was absolute. Now there was one who would ruin his life’s work, destroy what he had worked so hard to build. Doda could not, would not, allow that. This Salar, whoever he was, would pay for his insolence in blood!

Sketch n' Design: Nida Asim

x---------------x

Salar’s mind was raging with questions as they finally got out of the heavy city traffic and turned onto the highway. In the six weeks he had lodged with Maryam, he had never once considered prying into her past. He had been too consumed with his mission to spare much thought to anything else. Yet now his curiosity was aroused.

“How is it you never mentioned your sister was a part of the program too?” he asked, thinking back to the conversations they’d had. Somehow, as if by unspoken consent, their families had never come up in discussion.

“It was never important before,” said Maryam, turning away from the car window to look at him. Salar raised an eyebrow at her, and she continued, “Zaray is the one who got me into this program. Süleyman required someone to run liaison for him and to provide temporary sanctuary to his agents in Ittehad. So Zaray recommended me, her no-life, tech-savvy nerd of a kid sister.”

“And you simply chose to go along with her decision, joining a top secret, revolutionary program and putting your life at risk?” asked Salar.

Maryam gave a small shrug. “It wasn’t much of a life to begin with,” she said softly, looking out through the window again. “This smoking habit I have, it’s the remnant of a darker time - when each day would pass in a drug induced haze. I had no job, no friends, and my only family, Zaray, was estranged to me. I would sleep through the day and attempt to lose myself in the fog each night. This program has returned to me the semblance of a normal, sober life. I get paid now and I have a cute little apartment to call my own.”

Salar remained silent in response to Maryam’s reminiscence, unsure of what to say. He had questions but didn’t think they would be entirely appropriate just then. She reminded him of someone he had known a lifetime ago, and he felt his affection for her growing stronger. It bothered him too - his fondness for her - for it could hamper his mission and put her in danger were his feelings to become commonly known.

“Take a left here,” said Maryam, bringing him out of his reverie. “You know, in recounting my story for you, I realized I know practically nothing about you. How did you join the program? Is Salar even your real name?”

“That is a story for another time,” replied Salar, winking mysteriously at her as he pulled up in front of a quaint little farmhouse on the outskirts of Ittehad. “Is it supposed to be this dark?”

“I should think not.” said Maryam, peering into the darkness. “If there’s one thing Zaray hates, it is being surprised. Do you think it’s possible that Süleyman didn’t tell her we’re coming?”

“No, he’s meticulous,” said Salar, getting out of the car quietly and beckoning Maryam to follow him. “Something is not right here. Stay as quiet as you can, and stay right behind me. I need to know where you are at all times, alright?”

Maryam nodded and followed Salar up the short cobblestone driveway, then stood to one side as he opened the door, nervously wondering what could have happened to Zaray.

x---------------x

Zaray stood in the darkness, unmoving in breathless anticipation. If even half of what she had heard about this man was true, she just might have bitten off more than she could chew. She steadied her weapon nonetheless, feeling its weight settle in her hand, then raised it up high and brought it whistling down as the door finally swung open.

Steel thundered upon steel with a resounding clang, as her blow was parried with astounding reflex. Damn, he was fast! This could be dangerous. This could be fun. Zaray grinned and danced away, then swung her sword again - lower this time. Again and again she thrust, and he parried with an elegance that was almost lazy. Engaged in furious ballet as she was, she couldn’t help but admire his skill.

Forth and back, and forth again they danced until, “Enough!” The near hysterical command brought them both short. Zaray felt a touch disappointed - she had been rather enjoying herself. The lights came on, and revealed a red faced Maryam standing furious by the front door. “Have you lost your mind Zaray? You two could have killed each other!”

“This is your sister?” asked Salar incredulously, relaxing his defensive stance. He then turned to Zaray and said in an impressed tone, “Such skill with the sword is rare indeed.”

“That is high praise, coming from you,” said Zaray with an easy laugh. “You are amazing! I can see now why Süleyman can never stop talking about you. I am Zaray.”

Salar began to respond, but he was interrupted by a door opening at the far end of the hall. A young, skinny guy with a bushel of hair poked his head out and said, “Miss Zaray, umm … I’m sorry to interrupt, but I er … I think you will want to see this.” He looked a little shell-shocked as he waited patiently, yet expectantly, until they all followed him through the door.

The room beyond was a geek’s dream, and Salar saw Maryam’s eyes light up as she entered. Flanking them, along each wall, were rows of powerful laptops and an array of high tech electronic gadgets. The far wall was dominated by a huge screen, surrounded by at least a dozen smaller ones. It was the big screen towards which the young tech drew their attention.

Salar saw a body lying crumpled and bloody, next to a trash dumpster in an alley. Moving closer, he noticed the slit throat, and thought he could vaguely recognize the man from a drug house bust up. He heard Maryam’s sharp intake of breath, and only then did he notice the writing on the wall. The corpse was grim certainly, but the message was more sinister still. For scrawled in large letters, apparently from the dead man’s blood, was:

“SALAR IS NEXT!”

Stay tuned for a blast from Salar's past in a bonus Valentine's Day chapter coming up soon!

Feel free to leave your feedback in the comments section below :)

Cover Art I

Sketch: Nida Asim

Design n' Edit: Umair Mirxa

Chapter 1: Homeland - Part III

Ittehad City - destined to bring a nation together, failing gloriously in its purpose.

The city has changed since last I knew it - evolving into a terrible beast, tearing itself apart from within. I too have changed, and I return to it, not the broken soul that was banished.

For I am Salar and I descend upon this city, the very spirit of vengeance!

Thunder roared and lightning cracked, throwing into sharp relief the silhouette of a man leaning against the gatepost, apparently oblivious to the heavy downpour. Salar had been stalking him all evening, making sure no one had followed his quarry to the eastern cemetery. He crouched behind a tombstone now, looking for signs of company.

“You can come out now,” said the man, looking directly at where Salar waited. “I doubt anyone would brave this infernal weather simply to eavesdrop on an old man.”

“When the old man in question is you, Süleyman Baştürk,” grinned Salar, “one can never be too careful. You make entirely too many enemies, and not enough friends. You should not have come to Ittehad.”

“I come to warn you, son,” said Baştürk, as the two men embraced. “I hear the drug lord Doda is on the warpath and that he’s placed a bounty on your head. I believe you have disrupted a few of his operations. How is the shoulder now?”

“It tickles now and then,” shrugged Salar, looking quizzically at his friend. “You could have sent word through Maryam. Isn’t that her job description? Why risk coming here yourself?”

“Because if you are to fight a war, Salar,” replied Baştürk, withdrawing a long bundle from within his overcoat, “you will need proper weapons, not wooden sticks. And I could not entrust these to anyone else.”

Salar unwrapped the bundle, revealing two magnificent swords. He gazed at them almost reverently, running his thumb along one blade. “The swords of bin Qasim himself,” he whispered. “Our enemies shall learn to fear these. There is one more thing I need.”

“I know it,” said Baştürk. “The arrangements have been made. Maryam will have the address before you get home. When you get there, ask for Zaray.” He paused, then put a hand on Salar’s shoulder, and said quietly, “Be careful, son. You have made a lot of evil, powerful people very nervous. Doda will not be the last, and he is not the worst. They will come after you with everything they have before they relinquish their control of the city.”

“This city’s criminals think they can play God,” said Salar. He stepped back and drew the swords, weighing them, checking the balance. Then he laughed. “I, Salar, shall play the devil then, and I will send them all to hell!”

Sketch n' Design: Nida Asim - Photo Credits: 6 Mile Productions

x---------------x

Salar found Maryam pacing the apartment’s length, wide awake at the break of dawn. He noticed the rather large, empty pot of coffee and he could smell the stale smoke. “I didn’t know you smoked,” he said, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

“I do when I’m nervous, or excited. Don’t you?” she replied curtly, now standing in the middle of the room and wringing her hands together. “Is he here? Did you meet him? What did he say?”

“I quit, a long time ago,” he said, giving her one of his quick smiles, “and I will answer all your questions, but right now, sweetheart, your life may be in danger and I need you to listen to me, alright?” He waited for her to nod, before continuing, “I need you to pack everything you can fit into a bag in ten minutes, and I need the address that Süleyman sent to you.”

Maryam blinked up at him once. “Okay,” she said, moving towards the coffee table, “I’ll get my laptop and then I’ll pack.”

It was Salar’s turn to blink. “That’s it?” he asked, surprised at how calm she was, “You’ll just go? No questions, no arguments?”

“What, you think I’m one of those annoying blondes you see in TV shows who are so stuck up they can’t tell common sense from a Botox?” she replied, concentrating on the screen as she typed. “I am not that dumb. When someone like you tells me to run, I do. Are you sure this is the right address? What did Süleyman tell you?”

“He told me to ask for Zaray when we got there,” said Salar, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, crap!” said Maryam, reaching for another cigarette. “I guess it figures. You should get along with her well enough.”

“What are you talking about Maryam?”

“I thought I recognized the address,” she said, looking up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “Now I know. This umm, Zaray we are going to see, well … she is kind of my sister.”

x---------------x

Adeel Doda took a seat at the head of the conference table, joining his top six lieutenants - three on either side. Sitting across the table from him was one of a hundred lowlifes who peddled his drugs around the city. They had been streaming into his office for days, trying to claim the bounty in exchange for information about the vigilante. Not one of them had been useful so far.

“Before you open your mouth, kid” said Doda, “Know that I’ll personally rip out your tongue if you feed me anymore false information.”

“I don’t want any rewards, boss,” said the peddler. “I just want you to kill him dead, boss. He broke my arm, you see?” He raised a plastered arm as evidence. “He busted up one of our stash houses, destroyed everything, and he put Rashid in the hospital.”

“Is that it?” growled Doda.

“No, it ain’t,” replied the peddler smugly, “I know his name, boss. He said his name to Rashid. No one else could tell you as much, could they, boss?”

Doda sat up straighter, paying more attention now. He would slit this smug bastard’s throat later, but for now he needed to hear the vigilante’s name. “Well, what is it?”

“His name, boss,” whispered the peddler, “His name is Salar.”

Chapter 1: Homeland - Part II

Ittehad City is my home. I was born here and raised here. I had a life here - I had friends and family.

This city made me all I am, gave me all I ever desired, and then it took from me - everything! It broke my spirit, my will, and then it banished me into exile.

I am Salar, and I have returned!

Salar caught the fist flying towards his face with his left hand, and twisted sharply. There was a sickening crunch as bones shattered, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. He knew those sounds would haunt him, but at least the mugger would not point a gun in anyone’s face for a long time …

He stumbled, grimacing under his mask. The bullet had merely grazed his calf but the wound still stung, making it difficult for him to run. Salar steadied himself, and threw his dagger with unerring aim. He then limped past two prone bodies, withdrew his dagger from the third gangbanger’s thigh and knocked him out with a single punch to the temple …

The pimp was proving to be surprisingly crafty, and Salar had not planned for the armed bodyguards. It was a careless mistake - one never to be repeated again. Still wincing from his bruised ribs, Salar followed his prey, leaving a trail of crumpled bodies in his wake. Two blocks later, he found the pimp cowering behind the trash in a dark alleyway …

x---------------x

Salar awoke with a start, groggy and disoriented. There was a searing pain in his right arm and shoulder. He looked around and saw a red faced Maryam, gasping for breath as she hung at the end of his left arm, her feet dangling an inch off the floor.

“I am sorry,” said Salar, as he set her down, still uncertain of his surroundings. “What happened?”

“Wh - what happened?” spluttered Maryam, incredulous in her anger. “I saved your life, you ungrateful twit, and you choked me half to death, is what happened!”

It had started coming back to him, slowly and in fragments. The deserted parking lot and the drug deal, the gunshots, and the jolt in his shoulder. He had come home, drenched in his own blood, and Maryam had thrown up at the sight of him. “Thank you, Maryam,” said Salar softly, trying to sit and coughing up a fit.

“Come now, I’m not done patching you up,” she said, helping him sit up. “You are lucky it’s just a flesh wound and the bullet passed through. I’m not sure I could have helped you otherwise. Oh, and you owe me a new shirt and a new carpet.”

Salar watched her as she stitched his wound - soft, brown eyes wide in concentration, all traces of indignation gone from her face. He noticed the circle of blood on her threadbare carpet, the flecks of his blood on her cheek, the patches across the right shoulder and front of her shirt, and realized he must have leaned on her at some point.

“I’ll buy you three,” he said with a swift grin, then winced as she poked at his wound. “How did you get me up on the dining table?”

“Adrenaline, I guess,” she said casually, moving behind him to seal the exit wound. She traced his muscular back with her eyes, taking in the scars. “Do you have a death wish Salar? Why must you insist on going out and putting your life on the line every single night?”

“I am a soldier, Maryam. I insist on nothing. I have a mission, protocols that I need to follow,” said Salar, taken aback at the intensity in her voice. “But why do you even care?”

“So you simply go through life, following someone’s orders, even if they lead you to getting shot, or worse?” asked Maryam in reply, ignoring his question, as she finished bandaging his shoulder.

“No, I make my own decisions,” he replied. “Just now, as I chose not to, I could have snapped your neck. Or I could have kissed you. Or, I can choose to walk away from this program, just as simply as I chose to be a part of it.”

Maryam’s cheeks flushed with colour, as they so often did, and she fidgeted where she stood, suddenly unsure of what to do with herself. Looking at her now, Salar realized how deeply he had come to cherish her company and how fond he had grown of her quirky mannerisms in the month he had spent with her.

“You know, the big guy would not just let one of his agents walk away that easily, especially not after you break my neck,” she said, smiling impishly up at him.

Salar looked her in the eyes, dead serious, and said matter of factly, “He would, if I wanted to. I am not just another agent. I am Salar!”

Sketch n' Design: Nida Asim - Photo Credits: Fahad Khan

x---------------x

In another apartment, in a different part of the city, Adeel Doda slammed his fist down on the desk in front of him as he vented his frustration and fury. The bald, heavily built drug lord had been raging around the study; spit flying from his mouth as he bellowed expletives at a nervously sweating Chief Butt.

“How could you let him get away, you inept fool!” screamed Doda, sitting down behind his desk again. He had set the perfect trap for the vigilante, and all the Chief of Police had to do was take him down, but the obese dimwit had somehow failed yet again.

“We did shoot him, Mr. Doda,” said Chief Butt, wringing his hands together. “I doubt he’ll survive, to be honest. Even if he does, we will definitely get him before long sir, and then, well ... that is, we won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

“No, you won’t,” said Doda quietly, eerily calm now. “I’ll deal with him personally. But fail me again Butt, and it will be the last thing you do. Now get out of my face.”

Adeel Doda stood and looked out the window at Ittehad City’s nightscape. The drugs the vigilante had destroyed were of small consequence, but Doda had a reputation to protect. It had taken him long years and a lifetime of work to get where he was today - his was the largest drugs operation in the country. This was his turf, his city, and he’d be damned if he let some masked pretender take it away from him.

Chapter 1: Homeland - Part I

Ittehad City is the heart of the country - a chaotic mass of humanity.

Yet within its lifeblood, there has spread a criminal cancer - hiding beneath the surface, corrupting the very soul of the city.

I am Salar, and after 7 years in exile, I have come home with the cure!

The scream echoed through the deserted street and on into the night, carrying with it a palpable sense of despair and of terror. The figure in the shadows stirred, then raced across the rooftop and leaped off the edge of the single storey warehouse.

Salar landed with a roll and spun around to face the thugs pummelling the night guard. “Let him go!” he said with a low growl. The goons laughed, as three of them drew knives and began to encircle him. The fourth, bigger than the rest and obviously their leader, grabbed the guard by the scruff of the neck and tossed him aside.

“Or what?” he said, drawing a knife of his own as the guard landed with a thump and crumpled against the wall. Salar merely smiled, drawing the two Kali sticks strapped to his back, and lowered into a half crouch. At four to one, he liked the odds. “Kill him!” shouted the big thug and they converged upon him.

It was over within seconds. The first thug to reach him slashed low and wild. He missed, but caught the end of one stick with his front teeth and of the other with his ribs. The next two made thrusts but stabbed only empty air. Both of them fell - one clutching a bleeding head, the other a bashed in sternum.

The leader swung his knife high, going for the jugular. Salar ducked, grabbing the thug’s arm with one hand and jabbing a stick into his throat with the other. “Run back to your boss now, and tell him to leave the city. Forever!” he growled.

x---------------x

Of all the bloody nights, he had to choose this one! thought Maryam Vayani as she hung up the phone. She was completely exhausted, eyes bloodshot from staring at a screen all evening, yet she knew this was one request she dared not ignore. So she put her laptop away and began tidying up her apartment, preparing to welcome a total stranger into her home at past midnight.

The request was not unusual but a little advanced warning would be nice. And could they not arrive at a decent hour? She would raise her concerns the next time he called, she decided. The soft knock brought her out of her reverie. She crossed her living room to open the door, and instantly regretted not having changed into something more presentable.

"Ms. Vayani?" inquired the stranger politely. "I was told I could find accommodations here."

Maryam realized her mouth hung open as she gazed up into his large, brown eyes boring into her own. "Y-yes of course. Please do come in," she replied, recovering from her stupor.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said as he stepped inside, "I hadn't expected to be quite so late."

"At almost-morning o'clock? Not at all!" she said, uncharacteristically sarcastic. She had become accustomed to such house guests, yet this particular one was having a strange effect on her. She felt light headed, weak kneed, and for the first time in her life, she was embarrassed about her slobbish ways.

"I am truly sorry," he apologized with a quick smile, "But if you would show me to my room, I'll get out of your way for what is left of the night."

"It's alright. I was up working anyway," conceded Maryam, leading him to the spare bedroom. "Just try not to be too loud in the morning, eh? I like to sleep in late."

He gave her another quick smile in response, then bade her goodnight before closing the bedroom door. The room was sparse but adequate to his purposes. He drew the light curtains across the window before turning his attention to the parcel that sat on his bed as expected.

"Hey! What do I call you?" he heard Maryam shouting through the door. He withdrew the two Scorpion daggers from the box, the black steel winking up at him, and weighed them in his palms before calling back:

"Call me Salar."

Prologue

Chief of Police Farooq Butt was furious, and he had every right to be. The early morning phone calls did not help, and left him with a pounding headache that only made matters worse. What was he supposed to do? The voices on the phone just did not understand! It was not his fault and there was nothing he could have done to prevent what had happened the last few nights.

To be quite honest, Butt did not truly understand either. For five nights in a row now, the city’s criminals had been thwarted in their usual nocturnal activities by a masked vigilante. For five mornings, Butt had been forced to deal with angry crime bosses and explain how he was helpless. He had no description, no leads - no evidence at all to work with. Someone had decided to play Batman in his city, and the Chief was not at all impressed.