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.”