Asset of Intelligence - Counter-Terrorism RP [*CCA - ONLY*]

[Zamastan]

ASSET OF INTELLIGENCE
COUNTER-TERRORISM ROLEPLAY - COALITION OF CROWN ALBATROSS ONLY

For years, terror groups have left the Coalition of Crown Albatross in a state of fear and worry. Recently, we have been building up to this roleplay through a series of established news posts highlighting the events and environment which have allowed the recent attacks to occur.

WHAT TERROR ORGANIZATIONS ARE INVOLVED?

Harakat al-Fijar
Harakat al-Fijar, more commonly known as al-Fijar, is a terrorist, jihadist fundamentalist group based in Central Ausiana, specifically Jaginistan, with additional prominent branches located in Eastern Adula in Saudi Jiddiya and Mulfulira. Al-Fijar's troop strength was estimated at 7,000 to 9,000 militants in 2014. As of 2015, the group has retreated from the major cities in Jaginistan; however, al-Fijar still controls large parts of the rural areas. In other countries, it operates small cells focused specifically on surveillance, recruitment, and terror attacks. Al-Fijar began as the armed wing of the Islamic Courts Union during the Jaginistan Civil War (1982-92), which later splintered into several smaller factions after Beleroskovian forces withdrew. The group describes itself as waging jihad against "enemies of Islam", and is engaged in combat against the Federal Government of Jaginistan and the Coalition of Crown Albatross Peacekeeping Mission to Jaginistan (CCAPMJ). Al-Fijar has been designated as a terrorist organization by many countries, prominent ones being Zamastan, Quetana, Avergnon, Durnstaal, Drambenburg, and Emmiria. As of June 2019, the Zamastan State Department has open bounties on several of the group's senior commanders.

In August 2014, the Jaginistan government-led Operation Crying Wind was launched to clean up the remaining insurgent-held pockets in the countryside. On 1 September 2014, a Zamastanian drone strike carried out as part of the broader mission killed al-Fijar leader Ahmed Babdi, effectively passing leadership to Mukhtar Babu Ubair. Babu Ubair presided over a period of rampant attacks throughout the world, responsible for many terrorist attacks with high death tolls including the 2020 Tregueux Bombing which killed 32 people, the bombing of Air Andaluni Flight 553 which killed 178 people, and the 2015 Bosewall Shopping Mall Attack which killed 86 people. Babu Ubair was killed by an airstrike in Haruya, Jaginistan, on September 29th, 2020, carried out by a Zamastanian Z-14 Osprey and authorized by Z.I.S. Director Kirk Faulkman. As of October 1st, 2020, the group is led by Jaad el-Kaleel.

On September 2nd, al-Fijar committed multiple attacks internationally: the Barona Mall bombing occurred in Lower Tariel, Northern Isle, Zamastan, killing 68 and injuring 312 people. In Bennom, Qolaysia, three suicide bombers attacked a restaurant frequented by tourists, killing 119 and injuring more than 400 people. The next day, Khaliq dal-Shaalli prematurely detonated a suicide vest aboard Air Emmiria Flight 3966 while it was on the runway in Kuye, Emmiria. 52 people were killed.

Irsani Network
The Irsani Network is the military wing of the Hisrean People's Liberation Front, known as the HPLF. The HPLF emerged in October of 2000 as a Shia insurgency in Zalluabed when dissident cleric Hussein al-Athi, head of the Hisrean Shia sect, launched an uprising against the government. The government alleged that the Hisrea People's Liberation Front (HPLF) were seeking to overthrow it and to implement Shī'ite religious law. The rebels counter that they are "defending their community against discrimination" and government aggression. The revolution was put down.

In December of 2020, the Hisrea People's Liberation Front (HPLF) seized many key towns and villages in the province of Hisrea, sparking President Zayyaan al-Akhtar's decision to send government forces into the province to combat them, beginning the Hisrea War. After the capture of Habu Daa on December 30th, the Zalluabed Army began major operations to clear the HPLF, which started resulting in major loss of civilian life. President al-Akhtar was reelected to a second term in February of 2021, but despite his domestic popularity, international scrutiny surrounding the offensive ramped up, with Zamastanian Secretary of State Jessiah Vallotis calling it "a genocide in the making." After a Security Council resolution, Zalluabed government forces withdrew from Hisrea on April 19th, 2021. However, the HPLF rebounded and seized much of the province once again, and after an unsuccessful assassination attempt on President al-Akhtar by the HPLF, Zalluabedi forces with the backing of Beleroskov, Buckingla, and Kossmil began a new operation to push them back. Again facing international scrutiny, Drambenburgian observers were sent to mediate the conflict and ensure practical military conduct.

On July 21st, Huad was captured by government forces, but the conflict began to stall. Four days later on the 25th, a string of suicide bombings committed by the Irsani network struck Zakaraban, killing more than 80 people and causing damage to many international embassies. On August 8th, the government and the HPLF accepted an invitation by Timerian President Aneya Raso to a peace conference in Osea, where on August 13th they agreed to a power-sharing agreement, ending the conflict and separating Zalluabed into two distinct governed zones in the Osea Accords.

While the HPLF as a whole is largely peaceful in nature and operates as a political entity, the Irsani have been designated as a terrorist group by multiple nations following a string of deadly bombing campaigns against civilian targets. In 2021, the Irsani pledged allegiance to al-Fijar and extended the group's influence to Zalluabed in the midst of the Hisrea War. On August 26th, 2021, the Irsani network was responsible for a suicide bombing against Saint Raneau International Airport in Albarine, which killed 12 and injured 53.

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The Zamastanian Intelligence Service has plenty of information on these groups in terms of their founding, general movement, and tactics. However, because of the limited focus that the organization has had on its own, the ZIS has been unable to prevent numerous attacks or detect them before they are attempted. With the recent developments of the September 2nd bombings, the Z.I.S. has uncovered numerous plots and cells across the world.

Rules
CCA ROLEPLAY RULES
1. Consent: Always get consent: if you are trying to interact with another player, use their lore (characters, history, etc.), you must always get their approval.

2. Consent continued: Do not use other player’s characters without their expressed approval (including dialogue, movements, actions, killing, relationships, etc.)

3. Consent continued: Do not attack other players without their expressed approval (including declarations of war, covert operations, raids, assassinations etc.)

4. Consent continued: In-character reactions to other player’s in-character actions are allowed. This includes diplomatic action (closing embassies, economic sanctions, commendations or condemnations).

5. Do not take someone else’s work and brand it as your own. For example: logos, drawings, maps, character names, and direct creations of another individual are their property. Credit must be obtained and given to the creator of content within roleplay.

6. No usage of WMD’s (Weapons of Mass Destruction), specifically nuclear weapons.

7. This is a modern-tech roleplay community, meaning no technology can exceed the limitations of real life technology.

8. Ultimately, the choices you make for your nation are yours, but the Lore Ministers will highly encourage keeping to a realistic style of roleplaying and reserve the right to address or make suggestions on things they think are unrealistic. A player does not *need* to take the advice of lore ministers, though it is highly encouraged to preserve a realistic and continuous lore.

9. No graphic descriptions of torture. Feel free to imply, but don't describe in grusome detail.

10. Please keep swearing limited. This is intended to be as PG-13 as possible - so no F-bombs

11. Open to CCA nations ONLY

IMPORTANT: How do I know who the terrorists in my country are and what they are up to?
Connect with Zamastan either by Telegram or via Discord, and they will provide you with the names of the terrorists, including some additional information on them such as age, place of birth, citizenship, and anything else that is important to know.

There is a high possibility that the terrorists in already in your country are planning some sort of terrorist attack. They could just be hiding, laying low and awaiting instructions, they could be in the middle of planning an attack, or they may be about to attack. That is completely up to you.

As another note, you can decide what the terrorist's plan is and how they will carry it out, and if you want to throw a twist into your story and actually have them succeed in their attack. Your intelligence/counter-terrorist organization's responsibility is to stop them before they attack, but they might not be successful. That's all up to you.

[Zamastan]

OCTOBER 1st, 2020...
Tofino, Zamastan
Kingston Neighborhood

Adrian Sardou sat in his Irving leather armchair in his high end studio apartment’s living space. The rain pattered the window, as the view of Kingston Park was shrouded with the light mist that accompanies the autumn rains of Tofino. With a mug of coffee in one hand, prepared by Adrian’s wife, Brianna, who was standing behind the marble island that separated the living space from the stainless steel decorated kitchen, a newspaper occupied his other hand. Adrian’s eyes drained over the words of his current article, about the recent season opener of the Tofino Whitecaps football team. The Sardou family had been lifelong Whitecaps fans, but the season had been a drag for Adrian so far. Apparently being championship winners didn’t help their 2-game losing streak.

On the television playing in the background, ZNN (Zamastan National News) and their newscasters were reporting on the killing of Mukhtar Babu Ubair. Piecing together interviews from Jaginistan civilians who witnessed the explosion of the airstrike, intercut with a vertical cell phone video of a party in Haruya which was interrupted by screams and gasps of exclamation as the building shook with the thunderous boom of the explosion. Finally, Z.I.S. Director Kirk Faulkman standing beside President Atticus Moreau at the Zian Presidential Mansion press room, confirming the death of the al-Fijar leader.

“Today is a great day for the people of the world who, in such a short time, have witnessed the death and destruction and wanton evil of this malicious group,” Faulkman said in a commanding voice. “Al-Fijar is dangerous and deceitful and evil and will stop at nothing to kill innocents. The Zamastanian Intelligence Service and the Zamastanian Armed Forces will stop at nothing to end their barbaric practice.”

Adrian lowered his newspaper and invested himself in the news broadcast. Faulkman had stepped aside and President Moreau had taken the podium, smiling and nodding to reporters.

“My fellow Zamastanians,” Moreau began, “firstly I would like to express gratitude and thanks to the men and women in our armed forces and intelligence agencies for their exceptional work in locating and killing Babu Ubair. These men and women display the best that our country has in the aspect of defending our freedom and liberties from threats abroad.”

This was the first time aside the inauguration 8 days prior that Adrian had listened to Moreau in any sense. He didn’t vote for the man, whom he disagreed with tremendously on political issues, but he had to admire his public persona of display and performance.

“Babu Ubair is gone, but Al-Fijar is still a threat,” Moreau continued. “They have proven resilient, and make no mistake that they are still a dangerous group. There is no immediate threat to Zamastan in terms of a domestic retaliation, Director Faulkman has assured me. However, foreign interests may be in a spot of concern. We encourage Zamastanians abroad to practice wariness and observe safety procedures.”

“Seriously?” That final comment caught Adrian off guard. He turned to his wife, who had looked up from her own distraction at Adrian’s exclamation. “How does this guy say ‘everything is fine, look how good of a job we did’, and then also say ‘look out, you might be blown up if you go out for frozen yogurt’?”

“Adrian,” Brianna replied, “you know this. It’s standard procedure for the state department to issue travel warnings for us when we travel, especially after planes have been blown out of the sky.”

“It’s just,” Adrian stammered, “for all the years we worked at the Z.I.S. we never had to worry about travel restrictions. Not after the attacks here in Tofino three years ago, not after the war in Vulkaria, not after Gladysynthia shot rockets into Lower Tariel…”

“Adrian.”

“It’s stupid, that’s all.”

“It’s not stupid, honey.” Brianna walked around the island and into the living room, slumping down onto the sofa across from Adrian. “Adrian, listen. Thomas and Dianne live three doors down from us, and their niece was on board Flight 553. Don’t you think that through all of their grief, all of their sadness, all of their sorrow, they might appreciate the President saying ‘be careful if you travel’?”

Adrian sat and paused. He didn’t respond. He understood, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He was feeling resentment for Faulkman, and subsequently Moreau. Adrian had worked at the Zamastanian Intelligence Service for eight years. He met Brianna there, and they married just over three years ago. Adrian had not worked at the Z.I.S. for two years, and now as a security contractor for the Tarin Shipping Line he oversaw the security of their shipping yard in Tofino. It didn’t require him to travel much - only a few miles each day. In the Z.I.S., however, he travelled a lot. He was a field agent, and he had been everywhere from Vulkaria to Yuan to Jaginistan, not that anyone except his wife and superiors in the agency knew. Covert operations was his specialty, Adrian distinctly remembered the time he was nearly caught by security in Yuan while wiretapping a businessman’s office in Shanghan. His missions were often risky, but produced results every time. The Z.I.S. had been able to connect that businessman’s money transfers to a terrorist who detonated a bomb in Quetana in 2013 thanks to the work that Adrian did.

“I just think they’re overstating themselves,” Adrian finally responded. “Overcompensating for a fresh President who wants to make a name for himself.”

“I won’t try to argue with you anymore,” Brianna replied, “you have your convictions and I have mine. We aren’t traveling any time soon, though, so don’t even worry about it.”

Adrian sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.” He laid back into his chair again and reconnected to his newspaper and coffee. “There’s not much going on in retrospect anyways.”

Suddenly a whimper and high pitched scream filled the room, causing Adrian to jolt up and spill his coffee over his lap.

“Damnit,” he cursed under his breath, “Brianna, can you please go take care of Tobie?”

“It’s your turn, Adrian.”

Adrian grunted and stood from his chair, swiping his hand over the coffee stain over his crotch. “This baby, I swear,” he said with a half-hearted chuckle, causing Brianna to reciprocate a smirk from the sofa.

Adrian walked out of the living room and into the master bedroom, over to the Kortina Nursery crib in the corner, where his six-month old son Tobie was crying and stretching out his arms.

“Hey, little man,” Adrian said, reaching down and picking him up, holding him to his chest and bouncing up and down softly to sooth Tobie’s cries. “What are you so sad about? You’re a strong guy, you know? You don’t have to cry.”

Tobie’s whimpers calmed as he pressed his little head into his father’s chest, breathing heavily with tear stained cheeks. Adrian walked over to the window of the bedroom, pulling the white curtains to the side to look out on the skyline of Tofino and the rain, still falling gently against the glass and on the street.

“I guess I’m not in a rush to go anywhere, buddy.”

---

Tofino, Zamastan
Pitt Neighborhood

In a smokey apartment in Pitt, the most poverty-stricken district of Tofino filled with the smog of Anmore Height’s industrial zones on the Blackfoot River. In a torn chair in a smoky room, Isaam al-Koroma sat smoking a cigarette, taking a long drag as the television played a season 6 rerun episode of Big Brother Vitosium. Jonata Salviati and Calista Brunov were competing for the championship level, but al-Koroma didn’t realize that this episode had aired four years prior, and he didn’t care much. He had much larger things on his mind, and this zoning out of his mental state was to ease himself before the day of destruction he intended to lay upon the city of Tofino.

On the table behind Isaam illuminated by a dim light bulb in the molded ceiling, his younger brother Izzat was fidgeting with a frail, metallic box with a pair of tweezers and wires. Leaned in with immense focus, he intertwined two of the copper wires together with such calmness that it seemed like surgery. He gently lowered the wires into the box, removed his tweezers, and then stood up quickly and wiped his brow, letting out a loud moan of exhaustion.

“Brother, I’m finished,” Izzat said to Isaam, reaching to the bowl on the table besides his project to grab a handful of candies and shove them into his mouth. “Allah will be smiling on you today, Isaam.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, little brother,” Isaam said, not moving his position from his glare at the television, “We will receive our glory soon enough.”

Izzat packaged the device away in a cardboard box situated next to the table, and then walked across to his brother, sitting in an adjacent chair.

“Isaam,” Izzat quizzed with interest, “you knew Mukhtar, didn’t you?”

“Mukhtar, our commander?” Isaam said stoeckly in response to the question regarding the ill-fated Al-Fijar leader.

“Yes, you knew him when you trained in Jaginistan.”

“I did.”

“What was he like?”

Isaam, ever the quiet brother, smiled softly and took his remote to mute the television. “He was a wise scholar and a charitable man. Men with as much knowledge and lifetime as him rarely share what they have with others, especially with their subordinate followers. Babu Ubair was compassionate too, never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“So then why did the devil’s nation kill him, brother?” Izzat, only fifteen, asked his twenty-six-year-old brother. The two brothers had come to Zamastan from Jaginistan in 2009, when Izzat was only four years old. Their father had died from the drought in Jaginistan, and their mother had gathered enough saved money to get them to a better life. However, poverty befell them in Zamastan. The government failed to deliver their support food packages that were granted to them under refugee status, and as a result, their mother perished in a particularly cold winter in the Pitt Neighborhood.

This instated a rage of hatred in Isaam, who blamed Zamastan’s government for the failures that led to the death of his mother and for the problems in his homeland that forced their family into disparity. Izzat was raised by his older brother, and learned from Isaam that Zamastan was the root of evil and needed to be punished. Izzat had only stepped foot outside the Pitt neighborhood twice since arriving in Zamastan; once to help his brother pick up a friend from the Tofino International Airport, and another time to a shooting range an hour north of the sprawling metropolis.

“The devils killed him because they were scared of him,” Isaam answered his younger brother. “They were scared of the knowledge and change he would bring to the world. Scared of the tide of Allah that would sweep their land.”

“Who would be scared of Allah?”

Isaam paused, fuming. “Infidels, Izzat. Infidels who we will show today the power of Babu Ubair.”

Izzat innocently and happily followed his brother out the apartment, carrying the cardboard box in his arms, and down the stairs out to the rainy street, where they walked a half block to Isaam’s green and rusted car. Isaam told Izzat to place the box in the back seat of the sedan, which he did, and the two brothers took their places in the front of the vehicle. Isaam sputtered the engine to life and drearily pulled out into the street, ignoring the honking of another car he almost sideswiped.

The two drove for about five minutes, before Isaam cursed softly under his breath and stopped at a stop light.

“What is it, Isaam?” Izzat wondered.

“I’m dropping you off, brother.”

“What,” Izzat wondered back, confused. “Where? At the apartment?”

“No,” Isaam shot back, shifting the car into park. “Right here.”

“Isaam,” Izzat protested, “I want to go with you!”

Isaam reached over, grabbing his little brother’s shoulder and pulling him close, their foreheads touching. His face was red, but out of emotion rather than rage. “Izzat, this is my calling. This is my mission and my mission alone. You will hear about me once I finish, but you must remember one thing.” Isaam pulled back, glaring at Izzat with heavy set eyes. “I did this for you.”

Isaam unlocked the doors of the car, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled money fold. Handing it to Izzat, he smiled. “Go get yourself something to eat. I’ll see you around, little brother.”

Izzat stepped out of the car into the cold, with the people on the sidewalks looking strangely at him and the cars that had been stopped behind Isaam slow to drive ahead. Izzat composed himself and his immense confusion, walking across the intersection to a convenience store with the intention of purchasing a chocolate bar. Meanwhile, Isaam resumed the drive and the mission he had been preparing for months.

[Zamastan]

October 2nd, 2020...
Kingston Neighborhood
Tofino

Adrian sat behind the coffee-shop’s protectorate glass as the bustling street filled the air in an all-too-familiar ambience to him. Adrian loved the Tofino streets, and on his day off from extensive paperwork and with Brianna home with little Tobie, he indulged himself in coffee from his neighborhood’s Ferranza outlet, about two blocks from the Sardou family apartment. Rain still poured from the skies and splashed The creamy hot vanilla mixed the bitterness of the coffee to Adrian’s delight, enjoying himself as a rarity in his hectic life. Across from him sat a rugged looking man with a thick, graying beard, but chiseled features and deepened eyes. Travis Harrison served alongside Adrian during their time at the Z.I.S., but neither one tended to reflect or linger their thoughts long on their experiences at the Service. Nowadays, both content fathers with steady, well-paying jobs, with low risk compared to their days as field agents, they cared more towards their lives in the present, a philosophy Adrian learned from Travis.

“We don’t always get sunny days in Tofino,” Travis said, gesturing outside, “and I guess today is just another non-sunny day.”

“I like the rain,” Adrian reposed, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip, “it keeps me focused.”

“Drowns out the baby, doesn’t it?” Travis chuckled. “How is the family, bro?”

“Brianna’s good, Tobie’s a handful. But that’s what I knew being a dad would be like. I wanted a family and now I’ve got one.”

“On accident?” Travis said jokingly.

“Hey, Tobie wasn’t an accident,” Adrian replied, laughing, “just an unforeseen complication that turned into a blessing.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve gotten soft, man.”

“You haven’t?”

“Listen, the day I go soft is the day I die.”

Adrian laughed, motioning his hand towards Travis’ tattoo on his neck. “So what’s that, then?”

Travis pulled his shirt collar down slightly. “This? T+V+T. Travis, Vanessa, Tommy.”

Adrian smirked. “Sounds like you went soft.”

“A tattoo with my wife and kid’s name isn’t soft.”

“No, but Tommy? Come on man, what a softy name.”

“Hey,” Travis said sternly, leaning forward and pointing at Adrian’s face, “Tommy is a little badass.”

Adrian smacked Travis’ hand away, laughing harder and buckling over in his seat.

“Travis, man, you’ve definitely gone soft.”

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Isaam, scoweredly looking straight ahead and hunkered over the steering wheel, drove slowly and inconspicuously down Olivar Street, rain pattering the windshield as people walked the sidewalks under umbrellas and facades to avoid the rain and as cars honked at each other to get the traffic moving. His palms were sweaty as he looked back into the backseat, where the cardboard box containing Izzat’s device was sitting. The traffic was slowing his plans, as was the rain. But as long as he could reach the Congressional Hall by three in the afternoon when the lawmakers would typically close their sessions and leave their offices, he would be in a perfect position.

The drive had infuriated him. He had left his apartment and his little brother nearly three hours ago, and everything was slightly behind schedule due to all the unforeseen circumstances of traffic and weather. He had anticipated a drive no longer than an hour to an hour and a half. Tofino’s wide highways and wide streets usually weren’t as congested, but the metro system along his route was shut down due to repairs. Because of this, he now found himself behind several large semi-trucks on the narrow Olivar Street in Kingston, at an intersection localized by coffee shops, restaurants, and a shopping center, flanked above by the highrise offices in the stories on top.

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Travis sipped his coffee and took a long look outside, while Adrian scanned the coffee shop. He loved this spot in particular. The rustic look of the building with displayed bricks and metal adorning the walls left a nice contemporary style that he admired, and the friendliness glowing from the faces of the baristas was contagious. A serious man like himself didn’t find happiness or pleasure in many things of genuine authenticity, but this location was his favorite. His stomach growled subtly and Adrian wondered if he might go for a sandwich from the restaurant’s brunch selection -

“Adrian,” Travis said, snapping Adrian out of his trance and bringing him to attention, “what does that look like to you?”

Adrian followed Travis’ gaze outside, peering to a green, rusted sedan in the street’s congested traffic. Inside sat a man of Central Ausiana appearance, darker complexion, wearing a hoodie over his head despite being inside the car and shielded from the rain.

“What about it?” Adrian asked.

“That dude,” Travis said, “doesn’t he look a little sketch to you, man?”

Adrian looked over at the man again, who kept looking forward to the semi trucks in front of him, and then back into the backseat. It was weird, sure, but nothing that Adrian thought was unusual.

“You’re profiling, man.” Adrian said, sternly. “That’s a dangerous thing to do.”

“No, I’m not profiling,” Travis protested, “he just looks sketchy.”

“Hey,” Adrian snapped. “He’s just a guy driving to work and pissed about being stuck in traffic. Don’t worry about him.”

Travis frowned, taking one last look and then turning away, back to his coffee.

“He looks like the guys we fought in Jaginistan,” Travis said, bluntly.

“Hey,” Adrian shot back again. “You’re doing that thing again. Just because he’s Jagini doesn’t mean he’s a bad dude.”

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Isaam wandered his gaze. A outlet shopping area to his left, where people were flowing in and out of the rotating doors, and to the right was a Ferranza coffee shop, filled to the brim with diners and occupants, both inside the building and under the outdoor seating facade. Isaam, looking back to the cardboard box and back up to the shop, felt an urge inside him.

“These devils,” Isaam whispered to himself. “If I can’t make it to the Congress in time, I’ll do it here.”

Isaam turned his attention back to the steering wheel as the brake lights of the semi truck turned off, indicating the traffic was moving again. Isaam lifted his foot from the brake pedal, moving slowly forward, when suddenly the semi truck’s brake lights flashed once again. Isaam reacted too late, bumping the front of his car into the back of the semi truck, curling the hood of his engine backwards in a metal scrapping.

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Adrian and Travis looked up at the sound of a metal crash, as did many occupants of the coffee shop. The green sedan had a very minor fender bender with the semi truck in front of it. Air bags hadn’t deployed, and the driver looked physically fine. He was, however, visually angry.

“Bad driver,” Travis remarked, causing Adrian to flash another scowl at him.

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Isaam pounded his dashboard with his fist angrily. He was done with his journey, whether he liked it or not. The delay from this crash, however minor it was, put an end to his first plan. Time for plan two, he thought.

A loud knocking sound jolted Isaam, and he turned his head to see the driver of the semi truck, who had run over and was banging on his window demanding for him to open up. Isaam rolled the window down, and the driver started yelling.

“What the hell, man?” he exclaimed, furiously, “As if the traffic wasn’t bad enough already.”

Isaam stared at the man, anger in his eyes.

“What?” The driver threw his hands into the air, motioning for Isaam to respond. “Can you even speak?”

Isaam, letting the man vent at him as his own distraction, opened the glove box of his car and reached over quickly, grabbing a pistol from the compartment and whipping it around to the driver’s side, pointed directly at the semi truck driver’s head. The driver stopped, stunned, throwing his hands up and beginning to back away slowly. Isaam narrowed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

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“This is trouble,” Adrian said under his breath.

The driver of the truck was at the sedan’s pilot side and had been yelling, but now had stammered and quieted down, backing away. Adrian and Travis couldn’t see the gun, but they were alerted to it with a loud crack. The semi truck driver’s head snapped back and a mist of red filled the air behind him as he crumpled backwards to the ground.

“Adrian!” Travis shouted, throwing his coffee to the ground and standing up out of his seat, lunging towards the door of the cafe. Both men pushed the cafe door open as screams of onlookers filled the air, people inside the coffee shop hunkering down and quivering while people on the street began to run.

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The driver fell to the asphalt with a thud, and Isaam turned his attention quickly to the backseat. His cover was blown, and it was time to finish his journey. As he ripped the box open and revealed the metal container adorned with wires, he looked up to see pedestrians running frantically from the scene, while a few from the sidewalk rushed to the car to attend to the driver he had just shot. Adrian grabbed the box and hauled it into the front seat with him, muttering praises to himself in the lowkey panic of his actions.

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Travis was the first to reach the side of the car, and upon observing the blood pooling the ground around the driver, pounded on the glass window of the sedan, yelling for the attention of the man inside.

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Isaam looked on as a burly, ridged man thudded his fists against the window of his car. Smiling, Isaam stared back into his face and revealed the container he was holding.

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Adrian was the first to see the bomb.

“Travis!” he shouted desperately. “Get away from there!”

Travis looked back to Adrian, confused and curious even while passionately furious.

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Isaam ripped away the protective wires of the bomb, and with a blood-curdling cry screamed out “Allah-u-ackbar!”

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The blast erupted viciously, engulfing the car and Travis, throwing Adrian back through the imploding windows of the coffee shop and sending debris into the buildings and fleeing pedestrians in the immediate proximity of the explosion. In a violent moment, the loud boom was gone and dust filled the street, screams filled the air even more excruciatingly. Adrian, covered head to toe in caked dirt and concrete powder, grunted as he forcibly pushed a large slab of stone off of his chest. There was a sharp pain in his side, as he looked down and noticed his shirt was wet with soaked blood. He coughed, trying to clear his throat. His ears were ringing, he couldn’t hear anything. The once rustic, snazzy look of the coffee shop had turned into a grey, molested appearance as motionless bodies plastered the floor and the ghouls of survivors staggered their way out of rubble, covered in blood and dust. Everything was on fire, too, and every breath that Adrian took filled his lungs with smoke. He could make out the flaming crater that once was the sedan and the semi truck, but only smoldering twisted metal remained as he started to realize that Travis had been blown to oblivion.

Adrian sat up, breathing heavily and wincing in pain, watching as people frantically began pushing away rubble and calling for loved ones and friends, who were trapped underneath. The entire front of the building had been blown away, and the six-story complex opposite of them on the other side of the street had crumbled.

Adrian staggered to his feet, stumbling over the chunks of broken concrete and bricks as he made his way outside, looking up and down the street. Everything was grey, fire, and smoke. He felt dizzy. He stepped forward and the ground flew up to meet him. Then everything went dark.

2020 Olivar Street bombing IIWiki

[Zamastan]

SEPTEMBER 3rd, 2021
ZIS Headquarters - M. Gaviria Building
Tofino

It was 11 months to the day that Adrian Sardou had been gravely injured in the Olivar Street bombing. Since that attack, there had been no successful terrorist plot against Zamastan. The ZIS, in conjunction with other agencies around the world like the EIA in Emmiria and the AIA in Albarine had stopped dozens of planned attacks, but all that changed yesterday. When Muthanna al-Jafri, a man who the ZIS had definitely known about and suspected, was somehow able to pull off the worst terror attack on Zamastanian soil since the 10/17 attacks, the counter-terror division in the main offices in Tofino recognized that they had royally screwed up. 68 Zamastanians in Lower Tariel were dead after a truck laden with explosives detonated outside a mall. Then, a bombing in Qolaysia killed 119 people - mostly tourists. Then, a bombing on an airplane in Kuye left another 52 people dead. As the world and the media turned back into a cycle of panic and hysteria, the incentive to continue the mission and finally destroy al-Fijar. Then again, it was better said than done.

Despite his injury sustained in the Olivar Street bombing a year earlier, Adrian recovered with multiple surgeries by the end of 2020, and decided after a lengthy and heated discussion with Brianna to go back to work in the ZIS. After these latest attacks, Adrian was confined to his desk, a far cry from the stage he used to be as an active and efficient field agent. He yearned to be back with special operations, but he knew that his continued limp persisted no matter how hard he tried to hide it from his coworkers, even his wife and infant child to an extent. For now, Adrian was neck deep in documents related to the tactics that these latest terror attacks seemed to be following; the remote and suicide detonation of bombs against heavily congested soft targets.

In one document in particular, Adrian began to uncover some of the essential information that led to the horrific tactic al-Fijar seemingly endorsed consistently. As the Jaginsistan operations director for Zamastanian intelligence between 1987 and 1990, Colonel Declan Holland was the organization's "barbarian handler", as one ZIS colleague bluntly put it. Holland ran clandestine training camps, kept the books on weapons handouts, received the new satellite maps, and occasionally accompanied rebel fighters on commando missions against Beleroskovian troops during the country's civil war. The strategy Holland taught was later adopted by a then-fighter and future al-Fijar leader Ahmed Babdi, and was referred to by Holland while he observed Babdi and his followers practice it as "death by a thousand cuts". Babdi emphasized attacks on Beleroskovian command targets in the capital. He saw the city as a center of gravity for the Beleroskovians. If the city became a secure sanctuary, the Beleroskovians may never leave.

ZIS-supplied rebels detonated a briefcase bomb under a dining room table in the Jaginistan National University in 1987, killing nine Beleroskovians, including a female professor. Babdi and the Jaginistan car bombing squads he trained regarded JNU professors as fair game since they were "poisoning young minds with communist and anti-Islamic dogma." Rebels later assassinated the university's rector. Seven Beleroskovian military officers were reported shot dead by capital assassins in a single year. By Holland's estimates, car bombing squads trained by Babdi but supplied with ZIS-funded explosives and detonators made "multiple" attempts to kill the chief of the Jaginistan secret police, but they failed to get him repeatedly.

Fear of poisoning, surprise attacks, and assassinations became rife among the Beleroskovian commanders and soldiers during the latter half of the civil war. The rebels fashioned booby-trapped bombs from gooey black contact explosives, supplied to them by the ZIS, that could be molded into ordinary shapes or poured into innocent utensils. Beleroskovian soldiers began to find bombs made from pens, watches, cigarette lighters, and tape recorders. "Hidden death has been camouflaged so masterfully that only someone with a practiced eye can see it," one Beleroskovian commander reported. Jaginistani shopkeepers poisoned food eaten by Beleroskovian soldiers. Assassins lurked in the city's mud-rock alleys. A rhyme invented by Beleroskovian conscripts went:

Jaginistan
A wonderland
Just drop into a store
And you'll be seen no more

In the hills of Jaginistan, Holland saw himself treading a careful line between supplying rebels, guerrillas, and terrorists. "We are as good or bad [a] civilized nation as anyone in Western Euronia, Eastern Adula, the civilized world as a whole," he would later say, "because when you carry out this sort of operation it has a double edge." However, Babdi's squads bombed Jaginistan cinemas and cultural shows, but the guerrillas knew that most of their victims would be Beleroskovian soldiers. Otherwise, Holland said, "you would not find any case of poisoning the water or any other use of chemical or biological." Car bombs were supposed to be targeted only at military leaders, he later said. By all accounts, there were few car bombings in Jagiistan aimed at civilians. This changed when the Beleroskovians withdrew and Babdi formed the al-Fijar network as a separate faction within the rebels who were now forming a provisional government.

The ZIS officers Babdi worked with closely impressed upon him one rule: never use the terms sabotage or assassination when speaking with visiting commanders.

Adrian sat up and closed the folder. He let out a long sigh, depraved by the sheer incompetance and null guidance of foresight that failed to rear itself for the ZIS of the 1980s. If only they had paid attention to Babdi's own ideologies, his very open remarks against Zamastan as a "heathen nation against the interests of Islam", and the persistant drive to find more diabolical ways to kill, perhaps they would not have handed them the very tactics used to kill and maim so many Zamastanians in the mall bombing.

[Drambenburg]

Lerbin, Drambenburg 0300

Khakus Intelligence Building, Drambenburg Anti-Terrorism Wing

Inside Director Krone's office:

The phone rings, stopping the director's furious typing.

"This can't be good," Krone thought to himself.

Krone reached over to pick it up.

"Director of Anti-Terrorism, Krone speaking, what's the sitch?"

"This is Kelce from the ZIS, the intel is good. Airport, 1500 hours"

"Copy. Airport. Thanks for the heads up."

Krone hung up the phone and stood up.

After spending the whole night in the office coordinating the team which was working on locating the cell which was potentially targeting Lerbin International Airport, Krone was tired; however, with the confirmation from Zamastan that the threat was real and that there was only twelve hours to locate and stop al-Fijar, his adrenaline kicked in. Hands shaking, Krone grabbed his coffee shop and walked to the break room. The coffee was not good, but it did the trick. He walked through the mostly dark pit, toward the balcony stairs. At the top of the stairs, he looked out over the team of five men and women, tirelessly working intel and contacts.

"Briefing room, five minutes. ZIS confirmed, 1500 hours."

Everyone stopped typing. The printers turned on, spitting out dozens of pages of text and phone conversations. They scurried through their cubicles like rodents in cages, Krone thought as he watcher. As Krone stepped into the briefing room, the intelligence team gathered their information and made their way into the briefing room.

The briefing room was an extravagant use of tax dollars. Three 60 inch ultra-high-definition TVs hung on the walls, which were made of exotic cocobolo wood imported from South Adula. The table was of native mahogany, and stretched almost 20 feet, surrounded by luxurious black leather swivel chairs. The five other members of the team came into the room, Lieber -- counter-intelligence, Lettman -- surveillance, Stoiber -- international coordinator, Belmont -- domestic terrorism, and Contrino -- Ministry of Defense Liaison.

The team briefed Krone with everything they know. Essentially, the al-Fijar cell was located in Lerbin, made of a mix of migrants from Zalluabed and Central Ausiana, and was most likely self-radicalized. After the briefing, everyone left to start coordinating efforts to stop the attack. Krone headed back to his office, gathered everything in his brief case, and picked up the phone.

"Front desk," said the voice on the other end.

Krone replied, "Director Krone here, I need a helo in 5."

Krone pressed the switch hook, and dialed the number for the Kaiser's chief of staff.

"Krone, I hope this is good news if you're waking me up this early," said a deep, gravely voice. It belonged to Oscar Silano, the chief of staff.

"Only ever good news from me. I'm on my way, I'll be landing in the back lawn in 15," Krone responded, with a tinge of sarcasm.

"Great, I'll put the coffee on."

He hung up the phone, put on his overcoat, and made his way to the elevator. As he arrived on the roof, a Royal Marine NH-90 helicopter made its final approach to retrieve him. Outside, it was pouring, the last remnants of a tropical storm that blew in from the east was releasing its dying, yet ferocious breaths on the city. The thunder rolled in the distance, and from the inside of the glass elevator Krone appreciated the skyline of the ancient city. The city slept peacefully through the storm, knowing nothing of the danger that awaited them as they awoke. The elevator dinged and the doors swung open, from the roof of the 40-story building, the wind roared. Krone ran towards the helipad with his head ducked, covering it with his briefcase to protect himself from the wind from the blades and the gallons of water dumping on him. Soaked, he jumped into a seat, put on his headset, and strapped in.

"Where to, Director?" asked the lieutenant piloting the craft.

"the royal palace."

"Copy that. Royal palace," the lieutenant replied, pressing a few buttons, "Thridek common, this is Viper, over."

"Copy Viper. What is your DOT? Over."

"Eagle's Nest, moving Dark Fox Five. Over."

"Copy Viper. Dark Fox Five to Eagle's Nest. Maintain altitude one-five-ought, heading two-niner-one. Contact on dropoff. Thridek common out."

"Copy Thridek common. Viper over and out."

As the helo turned to the northwest, Krone sighed. It had been a long day, and it was about to get much longer. The helicopter flew quickly around the buildings, moving toward the palace.

As the helicopter touched down, several palace guards ran out to escort Krone in. They walked inside the grand doors, and the guards ushered him through security quickly. He turned down a dimly lit corridor, and opened a secret door in a bookcase that led to a small spiral staircase, lit by many small, dim, yellow bulbs in cages on the wall. The wall was stone and laced with exposed wiring. He went down several stories to the emperor's bunker. Inside the bunker was a large conference table, surrounded by TV's, clear writing boards with HUDs, maps, and dozens of people sitting at desks while talking on their phones with various agencies both domestic and globally. At the head of the table sat the emperor, half awake.

"Good even... I mean 'morning', director Krone, I hope this is good," the emperor said.

"Not in the slightest. I just received a call from the ZIS. Intelligence says that a local cell of al-Fijar is planning an attack on Lerbin Internation Airport. Let me brief you gentlemen, and ladies, on what I know..."

Little Zakaraban, Lerbin, Drambenburg, 0800

Task Force Alpha command center

Colonel Giovani Strauss looks around the room.

Several dozen men waited in the small, dark, damp room. They were dressed in black with full tactical gear. It was still black outside, the storm continuing to rain on Lerbin.

"Gentlemen, across the street is the location of an Al-Fijar cell according to our intelligence. JSOC has given our team the orders to breach and detain the terrorists. That is all I know. So, here is the breaching plan..."

The colonel gave the teams the plan, and everyone got in place.

Within 15 minutes, three teams were breaching the apartment building simultaneously while snipers watched the apartment from the outside. As the first team breached the glass, the second team battered down the door. Immediately upon knocking the door down, the feed from the leader's chest cam went dark, and from the command center, a large boom could be heard. Colonel Strauss looked out the window across the street to the building to see the whole third floor blown out and fire starting to spread. Medical rushed out as soon as the fourth team cleared the area. There were no survivors from the breaching teams.

In the ensuing investigation, it was apparent that the cell had already left to carry out their heinous plan.

[Qolaysia]

EVER PRESENT

---

South Bennom
Yuwono Cemetery

Captain Sabri Masaro of the Qolaysian Intelligence Committee stood at attention as the ceremonial guns rang out. A torrential downpour only elevated the emotion of the moment, though it was Barak's job to stand still and stern. The coffin was lowered slowly into the evenly divided grave post, as grieving families around it cried out. The man inside the coffin, a friend of Sabri's from Bennom known as Tanasal Chenglei, had been killed in the September 2nd bombings at the Cocopa Bennom restaurant. Masaro was one of the first QIC officers on scene following the blasts, as he had grown up in the city and knew it well. With that came the heavy emotion with the realization that he knew several of the victims. Of the 119 who were killed, Tanasal was one of the few Sabri knew personally. Further, though, many of his childhood friends who frequented the popular restaurant were injured gravely. Tirto, Sabri's neighborhood friend in his childhood, lost an arm in the explosion.

Sabri was in his mid twenties but had already proven himself to be an effective officer within the ranks of QIC. Graduating with full honors from Bennom's Technological Institute with an emphasis on psychology and human activity, the QIC was never on the radar of what he wanted to do. However, the QIC recruited him, and he accepted. Now 26 years of age and more than 3 years into his work at the QIC, he had risen through the ranks after solving multiple high profile crimes, uncovering multiple terrorist plots, and taking an effective approach to dealing with unforeseen instances of criminal cases. He was in the QIC's Bennom office when the blasts hit the Cocopa restaurant, and Sabri rushed over with a hastily put together task force. Now, he was in charge of the investigation, but he was taking a break to pay respects to Tanasal.

As the rain continued to pour, the coffin was fully lowered, and the crowd began to disperse as the imam read the final Quran verses, Sabri could only ponder to the depravity of al-Fijar that they would use the beauty of Islam as a cover for their heinous deeds. Sabri was a practicing Muslim, as the majority of Qolaysians are. While the target of the restaurant bombing was clearly against tourists, as Cocopa was a popular tourist site for vacationing foreigners who were largely non-Muslim, more than half of the deceased were Qolaysians of the Muslim faith. How deplorable al-Fijar was, Sabri thought. He couldn't wait to make them pay.

Leaving the Yuwono cemetery, Sabri walked over to a black SUV with the door being held open by an aide, and entered. Wiping his brow from the rain dripping down his hair, Sabri took a cloth, padded it to his face, and told the driver "take me to the field office. We've got work to do."

25 minutes later....

Barak stepped into the QIS Coordination Room, bustling with activity as pagers beeped and computer keys ticked. Rushing to the front of the center, with a massive screen showing swathing amounts of data, transcripts, and satellite images, Sabri stared up at one corner of the screen that showed a single, grainy image superimposed next to a clearer image of a figure.

"Tell me everything we know about him," Sabri demanded.

"Aarif el-Allam," said Josias Ajartambun, the deputy intelligence chief under Sabri who was seated at a monitor. "He is 20 years old, born in Temebok and raised here in Qolaysia. Both of his parents are still alive, although we have strong reason to believe they have largely disconnected from Aarif in the past several years." The monitor switched over to a wider image of Aarif, a social media post he made showcasing him and some friends at a college. "He attended Temebok Island Institute until this past summer, when the tsunami came through.."

A quiet wave of reflection hovered over the officers at the monitor as they reflected on the tsunami and the devastation it caused. The nation had been reeling ever since, and the pressure to put to an end the chaos following the bombings in Bennom permeated the room.

"We know that he is currently in Bennom. He is here under a work application from the tsunami relocation program," Josias said, "although it's as a cover we believe to get access to materials."

"What kind of materials?" Sabri asked.

"Hazardous, for certain," Josias responded. "He's working at a waste facility run by Tumai Industries near the main docks. Byproduct from container ships and the fuel runoff has the ability to create a powerful explosive material."

"Or a chemical agent," Sabri pondered. "And we know he's operating under al-Fijar networks?"

"Yes sir," Josias responded, typing a few keys and pulling onto the screen multiple images of online discussion transcripts. "@aarif44 is Aarif, that has been confirmed through IP addresses connected to his computer and apartment here in Bennom. The unknown address he's responding to is blocked from our ability to see the name or identity of the person behind it, but the IP address is certainly originating from Jaginistan. It's in line with the information we know about the Cocopa bombers."

"Can we say with one hundred percent certainty that this isn't a hoax? He's really being set up directly from Jaginistan."

"I think the likelihood outweighs the unlikelihood," Josias responded earnestly, "and I know that we need complete certainty to proceed, Captain, but I think the risk posed by this especially since we're still figuring out the case from the 2nd means we need to be assertive."

Sabri nodded, pondering before stating "alright, let's go talk to Aafri."

"Right away, sir," Josias said, typing at the keys, and pulling up multiple field agent cams on the screen. Sabri spoke into a microphone connected to the field agent's ear pieces.

"This is Captain Masaro," he said, "a target has been identified. Current location, Tumai Industries waste facility in Bennom. Approach with caution, I want him detained peacefully and without harm to him. Let's intercept him before he makes any moves."

[Quetana]

DATA UNLOADED - The El-Yousif Raid
Albate, Quetana
September 4th, 9:23 PM

Four Intelligence Agency of Quetana (IAQ) agents, dressed in tactical gear, perched at the top of a small, wooded hill overlooking a three-story military family apartment complex in the suburb of Albate. Only the moon illuminated the agents, but even then it was near impossible to see them in their black garb. Armed with assault rifles and silencers attached, they had been laying in the bushes for roughly fifteen minutes. Waiting for any sight of their target, they had been sent out directly from a ZIS-mandated mission after their target had been located.

A fifth agent was positioned in the parking lot of the complex, waiting inside a rusted and inconspicuous sedan. A sixth was positioned outside the target's room, taking measurements and samples and reading with sophisticated equipment, checking for booby traps. The agents would not be able to enter the apartment room until the suspect was in custody, as according to search-and-seizure rules in Quetana. A seventh and eighth agent were waiting across the hall inside the building, disguised as a couple living in that portion of the apartment. The family had been moved out early in the morning right after the target had left, and they were working in full cooperation with the agents - they had been told their neighbor was a suspected terrorist. Meanwhile, the target was being tailed from a distance for the entire day, waiting for the time for her to return to the apartment complex.

"Fanta A, this is Rebok." One of the agents, a burly man perched with the strike team on the hill spoke silently into the collective group intercom. He was assigned group command for the mission to arrest the suspect. "Update on target position."

A voice quietly responded, "we're about two minutes out. Target is still on route back to the intercept point. Still trailing, about fifty meters behind. There is a truck in between us but we have tracker status."

"Got it, stand by." Rebok changed focus to the agents inside the building. "Anything to note?"

"Sir, the viscam is grainy in here," the agent, a man named Marc, taking measurements responded. "I can't confirm any booby traps or wires running the floor, but I can't conclude that there aren't any. We may have to wait until the suspect is back, copy?"

"Can't confirm," Rebok stated back, "let me think quickly." Rebok set his coms system and his rifle down, and pulled up a low-light image of the apartment's construction plan and layout. The entrance to the apartment, where the agent was situated outside of, entered into a large living room. If the layout was correct, a kitchen island would be in between the windows which faced the strike team outside and faced parallel to a bedroom and a bathroom. The apartment was shaped like a stubbed "L", but despite the open space, it had plenty of obstacles for hiding weapons or explosives - the main concern of the team.

"Rebok," the quiet voice squeaked over the intercom, "target is thirty seconds from the parking lot. Are we engaging in the parking lot or in the building?"

"Building, if he enters, there are no traps. Just wait till he enters."

"Yes sir, target is turning."

Rebok picked up his rifle and retook his position with his fellow agents. "Heads up. He's here."

---

Ali el-Yousif pulled into his apartment parking lot. The yellowish lights of the lot's three lampposts illuminated the parking spaces and resident vehicles in an ugly cigarette glow. He positioned his car into his usual space, the exact center of the lot, and sat back in his seat. His head had been pounding for the last several days. He was having a series of panic attacks as he figured his mission was finally in its final stages. Since his activation by an al-Fijar officer over online communique from Jaginistan, he had been waiting for the completion of his weapon. Now that it was complete, he just needed to fix a final piece to it.

In the morning, he would be back in downtown Albate. Back to work, a normal civilian working in a government office, but with the trust of all of his superiors. Tomorrow would be the day he finally finished his glorious mission and would leak the information and diagnostics of not only the government's dealings with al-Fijar in the past, but the in-depth details of Quetana's next generation military programs including ballistic missiles, nuclear energy programs, and the personal databases of every individual involved within the program. Then, he would blow up the Albate Federal building. The pressure was getting to him, and he longed for mission's completion in the morning.

As he pulled the handle to his car, he stepped out into the warm night air, wincing in mild disgust at the mosquitoes twirling around in the air. He walked to the apartment, turning his head to scan the parking lot as he had done every night since his last email with his al-Fijar officiator. A car pulled into the lot and parked as he opened the door to the building, and a couple in the car looked like they were laughing together. Ali smiled. These people had no clue he was any different.

---

Rebok spoke into the intercom aggressively. "Marc, target is walking up the stairs! Get out of the hallway!"

"I'm working on it, Rebok. Garrett, open your door, let me in." Marc stood and tucked his equipment away, just as Garrett, one of the agents in the room across the hall, opened the door. Marc entered and joined the two agents inside, shutting the door right as the suspect reached the step landing.

---

Ali el-Yousif heard a door close on his floor. Impulsively, he paused at the top of the step, and looked down the hall. It was probably just the couple across the hall, but wouldn't he have seen them coming into the building, he thought to himself...

---

Agents Garrett, Marc, and a female agent who went by the codename Blue, all in tactical gear, pressed themselves to the apartment door, waiting for the sound of the suspect's door to open. The agents were holding their breath.

---

Ali stepped quietly to his door, peering cautiously at the floor at neighbors door. He saw shadows intersecting the soft light coming from the crack between the door and the floor.

---

Garrett whispered below an octave to Blue, "move up, step one. Take point." Blue re-positioned herself, pistol trained at the doorknob.

---

The shadows on the floor moved. Ali's brain snapped. He cursed under his breath. He quickly grabbed the door handle and pushed in.

---

"Go."

Blue pushed the door open into the hallway, raising her pistol in a quick strike towards the suspect.

---

Ali's hand was already on his firearm which he grabbed from the top of the coat-rack. Spinning and extending his arm outwards into the hallway, he squeezed down on the trigger. Four shots rang out into the hallway, striking the wall and the door, Ali watching as the tactical geared men in the opposite room ducked back and swung their rifles and pistols into the air towards him. As they recovered and began to fire back, he sprinted into his apartment, jumping over a thin wire stretching the walls, and ducked behind the kitchen island.

---

"GO! GO! ENGAGE!" Rebok shouted, as he heard the gunshots muffle themselves from the apartment. The team on the hill opened fire down into the kitchen windows.

---

The glass behind Ali exploded inwards, bullets striking across the living room. He tucked himself behind the space of the island in between the window and the wall. He reached inside the cupboard, revealing a semi-automatic handgun, and holding his breath.

---

Agent Marc took two steps into the apartment as the gunfire ceased, gun raised. Peering around the corner, he saw no sight of the target.

"Cover me," he said back to Garrett and Blue, and continued forward.

He stepped down, foot pressing the thin, nearly invisible wire to the floor.

---

A massive explosion ruptured into the hallway of the apartment complex, and Ali found his chance. He ducked down and ran across the open space of his living room and into his bedroom. Slamming his heavy door shut, he propped up his mattress against the entrance and jammed a chair under the knob. Focusing his attention to the laptop at his desk, he opened up a tab and inserted a USB drive into the side socket.

"This should do for now, damn it," he whispered to himself. The mission would have to end a day early.

All of the government program details that he had gotten thus far, over the past year and a half, was about to leak onto the open internet.

---

"What happened?" Rebok shouted over the intercom. "No visual, everything is smoke. Are you ok?"

Blue, bloodied and head pounding, opened her eyes. She had been thrown back by the blast. She put her hand to her head, and she could feel her intercom button under the warm running fluid that was sticking to her face.

"Two agents down," she said, looking around in the smoke-filled space. The walls of the hallway had been ripped apart, and there was no sign of Garrett or Marc.

"Sending agents in, coming," Rebok responded.

Three agents - two from the strike team on the hill and the one positioned from the parking lot, appeared seconds later on the floor landing, stepping carefully as they closed in on the now chaotically damaged apartment. One tended to Blue as the other two turned the corner in the apartment to see the bedroom door.

"He's in there. Engaging."

---

"100% complete", the computer screen read. Ali grunted, and he looked back to the door. Thuds were muffled thanks to the mattress, but he knew some agents were trying to break into the door. It would only be a few moments until they broke through. Ali walked to the door and stuck his pistol to the wall, firing through the plaster.

---

"Get back!" The agents ducked down as the plaster of the wall tore apart with each gun shot.

Rebok entered the apartment, head lowered and taking cover behind the kitchen island. "We need him alive, be careful!"

---

"We need him alive, be careful!" Ali el-Yousif heard the agents through the wall. That wouldn't be possible. Ali moved himself over to the desk once again, opening a drawer and reaching in, grasping a wire and pulling up hard. The wire broke a pin of a grenade stack hidden behind the desk, and only a second later...

---

The wall blew open, blasting the agents back, and causing a partial collapse of the floor. Rebok covered his face, absorbing much of the debris with his arm. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and revealed his face, looking around as he and the other two agents recovered from the floor, looking around and down into the shallow hole caused by the collapsed apartment.

The agents were able to recover the remains of Ali el-Yousif and the remains of his computer. Unlike the computer, they would be unable to get information out of Ali el-Yousif.

[Zamastan]

SEPTEMBER 3rd, 2021
ZIS Headquarters - M. Gaviria Building
Tofino

Adrian was staying late. Most of his fellow officers had gone home for the night, while the night shift officials began to cycle in to take their place. Confined to his office, though, Adrian continued to pour over files upon files. He needed to know every intimate detail about al-Fijar.

The origins of al-Fijar can be traced to the Jaginistan Civil War. Al-Fijar began as the armed wing of the Islamic Courts Union (ICU) during the civil war (1982-92). The Zamastanian government and its allies, specifically Emmiria, Albarine, and Caspiaa, viewed the conflict in Jaginistan in terms of the wider Cold War, with communists on one side and the native Jaginistan rebels on the other. Al-Fijar, which emerged within the ICU in 1984 and was backed directly by multiple intelligence agencies like the ZIS, EIA, and the AIA, later splintered into several smaller factions separate from the Islamic Courts Union after Beleroskovian forces withdrew. Many nations, but most prominently Zamastan, provided substantial financial and training support to the Jaginistani Islamic militants. A ZIS officer named Declan Holland was the chief Zamastanian official in Jaginistan at this time, and he directly oversaw the funding for Islamic Courts Union training and weapons manufacturing. On multiple occassions, the ZIS enlisted the ICU and Ahmed Babdi's guerillas specifically to carry out attacks on Beleroskovian commanders.

When the Beleroskovians withdrew from Jaginistan in 1992, al-Fijar splintered from the ICU after major ideological and theological divides became clear. The Zamastanian government and its allies continued to provide funding to the ICU as they formed a provisional government within Jaginistan, but the ICU did not carry those funds through the al-Fijar, dissavowing the faction as 'extremists'. Al-Fijar described itself as waging jihad against "enemies of Islam", and after the civil war engaged in combat against the Federal Government of Jaginistan established by the ICU and later the Coalition of Crown Albatross Peacekeeping Mission to Jaginistan (CCAPMJ). Ahmed Babdi, who emerged as the faction's leader during the period in the ICU, was designated as the group's leader when it fractured away from the wider ICU and maintained the position following the war.

The ICU, not wanting to further divide the country into chaos, allowed the al-Fijar network to operate autonomously in rural areas, especially the country's western mountain regions. Al-Fijar attracted tens of thousands of foreign recruits in the late 1990s, as the preaching of Ahmed Babdi grew a call of "glorious jihad" against the "devils of the global Coalition", referring to member states of the CCA. Some foreign al-Fijar recruits wanted to expand their operations to include Islamist struggles in other parts of the world, such as Jiddiya and Mulfulira. A number of overlapping and interrelated organizations were formed, to further those aspirations. One of these was the organization that would eventually be called the Irsani network, which emerged within the HPLF in Hisrea, Zalluabed, in October of 2000.

The first indications of al-Fijar's intentions to wage a holy war beyond the borders of Jaginistan emerged quickly after their founding. On March 5th, 1987, three gunmen attacked Beleroskovian President Mikael Rabochav in Koyevka. While the attack failed and the would-be-assassins were detained, it emboldened the group to continue their efforts. Babdi himself was recorded in a mosque in Jaginistan as saying "this was mere practice. Allah will be gracious to us if we succeed." A year later, the first successful terrorist attack committed by al-Fijar occured on March 13th, 1988 when a Yuaneze passenger plane was shot down, killing all 220 people on board.

Al-Fijar was first designated as a terrorist organization in 1999 by the government of Elbresia after a terror attack in Allengin. It was officially designated as a terror group by a majority of CCA countries in 2005 following the group's deadliest attack to date - the 2005 Ledua train bombings - and a motion by President Cassious Castovia of Zamastan was issued, seeing signatures by all Security Council members agreeing. Following its 2005 Ledua train attack and in response to its condemnation by Islamic scholars, Al-Fijar provided a justification for the killing of non-combatants/civilians, providing "ample theological justification for killing civilians in almost any imaginable situation."

Among these justifications are that the CCA is leading the world in "waging a War on Islam" so that attacks on CCA member states are a defense of Islam and any treaties and agreements between Muslim majority states and CCA countries that would be violated by attacks are null and void. According to the tract, several conditions allow for the killing of civilians including "retaliation for the war on Islam" which al-Fijar alleges has targeted "Muslim women, children and elderly"; when it is too difficult to distinguish between non-combatants and combatants when attacking an enemy "stronghold" and/or non-combatants remain in enemy territory, killing them is allowed; those who assist the enemy "in deed, word, mind" are eligible for killing, and this includes the general population in democratic countries because civilians can vote in elections that bring enemies of Islam to power; the necessity of killing in the war to protect Islam and Muslims; if the women, children and other protected groups serve as human shields for the enemy; and if the enemy has broken a treaty, killing of civilians is permitted.

The Zamastan State Department subsequently opened bounties on several of the group's senior commanders. Al-Fijar, although designated as a danger to most nation's security, was mostly reserved to their fight with the Jaginistan government. Jaginistan enlisted the help of CCA nations to push back the group in 2013 after Al-Fijar launched a devestating wave of attacks against the capital of Kibul, and Operation Crying Wind was enstated. The operation involved five nations, including Zamastan, Emmiria, Vulkaria, Cadair, and Quetana.

In June of 2014, a Zamastanian drone strike killed Ahmed Babdi, and the leadership of the group passed onto Mukhtar Babu Ubair. There were very few terrorist attacks perpetrated for the first few years of Babu Ubair's leadership, with the exception of the 2015 Bosewall Shopping Mall Attack in Autrataya, Utobania, and al-Fijar largely went under the radar. However, following the 10/17 attacks the Zamastanian Intelligence Service became more wary of the group and its ties to the Malvarian Liberation Front, whom it suspected of aiding and funding the group. When President Zacharias Castovia instated the 2017 sanctions on the Malvarian government, it led the group to seek expansion to other volatile regions. Some cells emerged in Jiddiya among those that had been existing since the 1991 Jiddiyan Civil War, while smaller groups splintered to northern Emmiria but were not as active. Multiple small scale attacks that resulted in very few or no deaths occured for the next several years, keeping Al-Fijar's activity high but its noteriety relatively low.

In 2020, the group dramatically increased their violence across the world. In April, a suicide bomber attacked a train station in Tregueux, Zamastan, killing 32 and marking the first deadly attack in Zamastan. Babu Ubair reportedly called Zamastan the "great devil" and ordered his followers to attempt attacks against Zamastanians around the world, prompting President Foley Sakzi to issue travel warnings for Zamastanians. Another deadly attack occured in September with the downing of Air Andaluni Flight 553. This, along with multiple attempted bombings in Durnstaal and Caspiaa, led President Atticus Moreau and the Zamastanian Intelligence Service to locate and strike Babu Ubair's compound in Haruya, Jaginistan, with a Z-14 stealth fighter that destroyed the compound and killed Babu Ubair on September 29th, 2020.

Jaad el-Kaleel assumed the role of leader after word of Babu Ubair's death was revealed. In retaliation for the killing of Babu Ubair, hidden cells of Al-Fijar operatives began a campaign of attacks across the world, the first being on October 1st when three suicide attackers bombed the VMS Confianca in Davenport, Navocalco, Vitosium, killing 45 people. Another attack occured on October 4th, when a terrorist killed 14 people in Tofino, Zamastan...

Adrian sat up in his chair and placed his hands to his face in exhaustion. That was the part of the file that Adrian hated re-reading. When Adrian was sent into his new physical condition by the terrorist's blast, and his best friend evaporated in the shreading shrapnel... Adrian reconveened his thoughts and poured back into the files.

Major counter-terrorism operations ensued after the Olivar Street attack and the Air Andaluni bombing, largely focused on rooting out sleeper cells and growing the interconnected intelligence network across agencies around the globe.

Following the end of the Hisrea War in Zalluabed, the Hisrea People's Liberation Front's armed branch known as the Irsani, which had historical ties to the founding of al-Fijar's foreign networks outside of Jaginistan, pledged allegiance to al-Fijar. On August 26th, 2021, the Irsani network committed their first terror attack as a division of al-Fijar, bombing the Saint Raneau International Airport and killing 12 people. On September 2nd, 2021, al-Fijar began their new terror campaign as their most broad to date, when the Barona Mall bombing occurred in Lower Tariel, Northern Isle, a suicide bombing attack was carried out against foreign tourists in Bennom, Qolaysia, and a suicide bomber grounded and Air Emmiria flight in Kuye.

Al-Fijar only indirectly controls its regular operations, as its philosophy calls for the centralization of decision making, while allowing for the decentralization of execution. Al-Fijar's top leaders have defined the organization's ideology and guiding strategy, and they have also articulated simple and easy-to-receive messages. At the same time, mid-level organizations were given autonomy, but they had to consult with top officers before large-scale attacks and assassinations. Top management included the shura council as well as committees on military operations, finance, and information sharing. Upon the group's founding in the mid-1980s, Ahmed Babdi was the spiritual and militant leader who directed the operations and ordered attacks, as well as crafted the group's philosophy.

Al-Fijar has the following direct affiliates:

al-Fijar in Jiddiya
al-Fijar in Mulfulira
Irsani (Zalluabed)

The following are presently believed to be indirect affiliates of al-Fijar:

Malvarian Liberation Front
SHADOW

Most of Al-Fijar's top leaders and operational directors were veterans who fought against the Beleroskovian invasion of Jaginistan in the 1980s. Ahmed Babdi and his deputy, Mukhtar Babu Ubair, were the leaders who were considered the operational commanders of the organization.

Ahmed Babdi (1984-2014)

Ahmed Babdi served as the emir of al-Fijar from the organization's founding in 1984 until his assassination by a Zamastanian drone strike on June 7th, 2014.

Mukhtar Babu Ubair (2014-2020)

Following Babdi's death, Mukhtar Babu Ubair became the emir of al-Fijar. He led the group through a violent resurgance in order to expand operations to the international stage, claiming resposibility in the planning of the 2015 Bosewall attack, the Deamasau church shootings, the Air Andaluni bombing, and the VMS Confianca bombing. He was killed in an airstrike by Zamastanian forces in Haruya, Jaginistan, on September 29th, 2020.

Jaad el-Kaleel (2020-present)

In the wake of Babu Ubair's assassination, Jaad el-Kaleel became the group's emir.

Who is Jaad el-Kaleel?

[Beatavic]

SEPTEMBER 4TH, 2021
BIS provincial headquarters,
Amstelvoort, Beatavic

Several BIS agents and BIS provincial director Noud Herbert would notify Marlijn Zallandt about a recent discovery made on Al-Fajir, this would prompt Marlijn Zallandt to quickly rush to the provincial headquarters, now being declared the temporary headquarters due to the 2021 Beatavic tsunami and earthquake. This is would panic Marlijn Zallandt as not only is the main topic on Al-Fijar but this comes as the 9th anniversary of the 2012 Amstelvoort Bombings was coming up and expected thousands of people to mourn the victims. 20 minutes later Marlijn Zallandt would arrive, this is how the conversation went.

Marlijn Zallandt - "Oh god, what is going on now?"

BIS Agent 1 - "Sir, we found something interesting regarding Al-Fijar, we recently found a network of self-radicalized Al-Fijar members in Beatavic, mainly located in Amstelvoort, out of every Al-Fijar member in Beatavic we found one that is very interesting."

Marlijn Zallandt - "And who is that? Also shouldn't we be sending units to deal with these people?"

BIS Agent 1 - "We will get to that part later, anyways his name is Amru el-Habeeb and it has been reported that he moved to Beatavic back in 2011 and it has also been reported in this file that he has been both harboring and assisting other Al-Fijar members in entering Beatavic both legally and illegally."

BIS Agent 2 - "Don't forget about other Al-Fijar attacks in other countries too, I heard there was a terrorist attack in Emmiria yesterday and one in Zamastan 2 days ago, this is some serious sh*t, if we don't act fast he could attack Amstelvoort perhaps even Gran Telea even though much of the city is in rubble anyways, always expect the unexpected, Zallandt."

Marlijn Zallandt - "Of course, also about the other Al-Fijar members in Beatavic?"

Noud Herbert - "I've seen that they contact eachother rather by calling, having a physical meeting or chatting on a forum, about the calling part we are currently working very closely with the cellular provider these damned terrorists use. Currently we are in the process of tracking them through their phone and also about their wifi provider, we have notified them and granted us full permission to track the forum members, currently we have their IPs, Addresses and phone numbers."

Marlijn Zallandt - "And what about those meeting centers?"

Noud Herbert - "We have notified nearly every company that has people rent rooms for planning purposes about the situation and to report all suspicious activity."

BIS Agent 1 - "Uhh you guys might want to see this.." BIS Agent 1 proceeds to open a file

Everyone is dead silent as BIS Agent 1 opens a file containing a video of Amru el-Habeeb revealing his plans to bomb the Central Passage Bank tower, making it collapse

Marlijn Zallandt - "Holy sh*t, we have to place the city on lockdown and track this guy down, quick!"

BIS Agent 1, 2 - "On it."

Marlijn Zallandt - "And you, what's your name?"

Noud Herbert - "Noud Herbert, why sir?"

Marlijn Zallandt - Mr. Herbert, notify other provincial agents and local authorities in Amstelvoort, we have lives to save here and phone calls and websites to sabatoge here!

BIS Agent 3 walks in

Marlijn Zallandt - "And you sir, get your other agent friends to get as much information on this guy"

BIS Agent 3 - "Roger that"

Marlijn Zallandt - "And I'll order military officials to set up checkpoints on every single road leading in and out of Amstelvoort, we will get this f*cker no matter what it takes."

[Drambenburg]

Lerbin, Drambenburg
September 3, 2021
Little Zakaraban, 0500 hours

I looked around the room in anticipation. Today was the day. There was no going back. Knowing, full well, success or failure, I very well might die, I began to wake up the other members of my group. It did not matter to us -- death -- it was for Allah's glory, and to fulfill the dream of the prophet (PBUH). These nations, this so-called "Coalition" was wicked and hated Islam. They must be taught Allah's true power. Jihad is the only way.

"Kareem, Adham, Ibrahim, wake up. There is much to do," I said to my partners; no, my brothers.

I contemplated the plan one last time, running through every possibility I could think of.

Again I said to my brothers, "We must hurry. We have to go to a new location, somewhere they can't tie to us. That old warehouse by the docks will do, the one your cousin Hishaam owns, Ibrahim."

I began to set the trap as my brothers packed our equipment hastily. The lights were out and it was dark, but we had been practicing for this for almost two years. The lightning from the storm occasionally lighting up the room through the half-open window blinds. Ibrahim left first, dressed in a Transit Security uniform, ditching his car around the block and picking up the stolen van that we were to use to transport our equipment and pulling it in front of the building. The other two followed after a minute or so, with rucksacks full of what we needed to carry out our attack. Kareem and Adham were dressed in dark grey suits, like businessmen. I, too, wore a suit. A black one, to honor the death of my father, if in an inherently Euronian way. After placing the tripwire, nothing fancy, just some thin fishing line I had gotten from an outdoor supply store, I armed the plastique and descended the four flights of stairs of our apartment building to meet my brothers in the van. The rain, pouring down like it would never cease.

"Poetic," I thought to myself, as it drenched my overcoat and wool fedora. "Ibrahim, drive us to your cousin's warehouse. I will use the encrypted channels to reach el-Doud and inform him that we are proceeding as planned."

"Good. We will be there in no time," Ibrahim responded to me, matter-of-factly, though I could hear the nerves in his voice.

"Brothers, today we do Allah's work. And by his will, we will succeed. These terrorists will think twice before attacking our people, and depressing our way of life again."

As we drove through the rain, thunder, and lightning silently, I was left to my thoughts...

Haruya, Jaginistan
April 17, 2019
Somewhere in the countryside

The truck screeched to a halt. I was pushed out of the back onto the ground, rather roughly. The men of Al-Fijar took no short measure to protect their location and their secrets from the intelligence community. After the death of my father, my path was made clear to me. Finally, it had brought me here, to meet with high-ranking members of Al-Fijar, and to garner their support for my plan, attack the Lerbin International Airport, and deter Drambenburg from ever meddling in the affairs of Islam again. As I was helped to my feet, my hands still bound behind my back, I could feel the hot sun beating on my head in the black burlap sack they had placed over it so I could not see where we were going. They had picked me up in the city, at a predetermined location which we had discussed on secure email servers and backdoor chatrooms on the dark web. One of the men who raised me to my feet began to drag me forward. I could no longer feel the sun or the harsh desert wind, though I could still hear it causing canvas to flap in the direction from which we came. We were in a tent. He sat me down in a metal folding chair. It felt cool to my sun-soaked skin. Someone pulled off the burlap sack from my head, and I looked around the tent. It was hefty. It appeared to be of Beleroskovan origin, likely claimed from the military supplies they had left behind when they pulled out of Jaginistan decades ago. A tall, dark-skinned fellow sat in the shadows across the room, with a bearded face which I was unable to make out. He wore a white turban and light brown, almost khaki, robes.

"Well?" He asked, "speak boy, what is so important that you had to come all the way out here to meet with me."

I swallowed, though it didn't do much, I was parched from the heat, then cleared my throat as I responded to him, my voice confident: this was, after all, Allah's plan and will before it was mine; "I plan to release a weapon on Drambenburg. To teach them a lesson, to place the fear of Allah in their hearts and minds."

"What kind of a weapon?" The mysterious man asked, gruffly. I could see now that he was holding a dark-bladed dagger. He was wiping blood from it. As my eyes adjusted to the room, I could also now see a body slumped on the ground in front of him. These people really do mean business.

"What have I gotten myself into?" I thought, and replied to him, "Anthrax. One of the most deadly substances known to man. We will release it into the air system at the airport. If we can, we will make it so it spreads out not just through the airport, but into the city as well. There are monorail lines that terminate at the airport. Thousands, maybe even millions could be infected."

He seemed to ponder my answer for a moment. His hand stroking his bearded chin. "Well then, what do you need from me?"

"Equipment, support, money, anything else you can provide to help carry out the attack."

Lerbin, Drambenburg
September 3, 2021
Turtleman dockyards, 0530 hours

We arrived at the warehouse. The other cell was informed; hopefully, they would hold up their side of the job. We unloaded our equipment as a semi-truck backed into the warehouse with a shipping container on its flatbed trailer. A tall Zalluabedi man stepped out, nodded and grunted in our direction, and made his way to the back of the container, the rain battering the tin roof of the warehouse, sounding like bacon popping in a frying pan. My brothers set up several folding tables and began unloading our supplies as I walked over to meet the truck driver. He opened the container, and inside sat a lone wooden crate, I grabbed a prybar and opened it, revealing straw-like packaging material. At the center was a small cardboard box. I picked it up and exited the container to rejoin my brothers at the tables. The driver said,

"Be careful with that," closed the shipping container, returned to his truck, and departed.

"This is it," I said to them, as they were buzzing along with their work of assembling the devices which would release the anthrax into the airport. Four men, four devices, three locations, and enough anthrax to bring down an empire, or so I hoped. We assembled the devices and loaded them carefully with the spores. We finished our task and departed for the airport, again switching vehicles, each of us taking a separate car to arrive at different times to our different locations. Ibrahim with the first two devices to the central air system, Kareem with one to the Monorail hub, and Adham and myself with the final to the Reichstag.

[Besmenien]

SEPTEMBER 5th, 2021
BFIA Headquarters, Laitstadt

In an office section of the Besmenian Federal Intelligence Agency (BFIA), the following conversation took place between two employees on September 5:

Employee 1: Take a look at that.

Employee 2: what is it?

Employee 1: That just arrived. A list with two terrorists who are said to be living here somewhere in Besmenia.

Employee 2: Where did the list come from?

Employee 1: I don't know, I guess it's from the ZIS or something.

Employee 2: I'm worried about all this terrorist stuff anyway. Recently there have been attacks in connection with Al-Fijar in Zamastan, Emmiria and Zallabed.

Employee 1: Yes, it is not normal.

Employee 2: Speaking of Al-Fijar, do you actually know that it will be in about a week 10 years since Alexander von Wiest was kidnapped and murdered by Al-Fijar supporters?

Employee 1: Oh yes, Alexander von Wiest, the partly right-wing extremist former governor of Greuningia. I never liked this politician. It is no wonder that they are after him when he has strongly criticized Islam and partially ostracized it.

Employee 2: Regardless of whether you liked or hated him, it was a really horrible assassination back then.

Employee 1: Why are you actually addressing this topic?

Employee 2: Because somehow I have the feeling that supporters of Al-Fijar want to take revenge on other NBP politicians on the 10th anniversary of Von Wiest's death. It was said that some NBP politicians want to travel to Lenzborn on September 12th to honor Von Wiest.

Employee 1: I don't think so. As long as Von Wiest is gone, Al-Fijar doesn't care about the NBP. Even if I doubt it, it might still be good to keep an eye on it. Anyway, we should urgently analyze and track down these two terrorists.

Employee 2: Who are these two?

Employee 1: Mundhir al-Ghaffari and Majdi el-Ibrahim. Here on the note is some information about the two. You know, I'm worried that one of these two might want to do something in connection with Al-Fijar at the upcoming C21 summit in Freiz.

Employee 2: I can understand

Employee 1: Yes, if you consider that the number of Al-Fijar attacks has increased since 2020, and that very important and high-ranking state leaders such as Atticus Moreau or Xi Jingyi will be present at the C21 summit.

Employee 2: I can understand it in case it would be better if we found out immediately where these two terrorists are.

[Zamastan]

"YOU ARE TO CAPTURE HIM ALIVE"
Part I
January 3rd, 2003 - November 13th, 2005
Haruya, Jaginistan

The first formal ZIS plan to capture or kill Ahmed Babdi began as a blueprint to arrest Aarif el-Ahsan, the Jaginistani migrant who had shot up the entrance to the agency's headquarters in Tofino on June 2nd, 2003. El-Ahsan remained a fugitive in the Jaginistan-Beleroskov borderlands. The ZIS's Counterterrorist Center asked the Haruya station for help recruiting agents who might be able to track him down. The station identified and contacted a family-based group of Jaginistan tribal fighters whose leadership had formal military training and who had assisted the ZIS during the anti-Beleroskovian jihad. Case officers met with the group and won their agreement to come back on the agency payroll to hunt el-Ahsan. In Tofino, officers in the Counterterrorist Center's el-Ahsan cell secured budget approval for the recruitment. The headquarters unit shipped hundreds of thousands in cash, Beleroskovian-moddled assault rifles, land mines, motorcycles, truck, secure communications equipment, and electronic listening devices to put its new Jaginistani agents into business.

Tofino also supplied mobile beacons that could be used to pinpoint the exact location of buildings by connecting to satellites hovering miles overhead. The technology would allow a Zamastanian counter-terrorism team to swarm an obscure location quickly once it was lit up by the Jaginistani agents. The tribal team had been code-named "SENIOR" during the anti-Beleroskov years. Now they were dubbed by a new cryptonym, "TRODPINT". The suddenly enriched and provisioned Jaginistanis set up residences around Haruya, traveled back and forth to blackmarket facilities in Beleroskov where the turmultuous government following the war was largely unable to moderate the arms trade flowing into Jaginistan. From there, they began to track leads that might eventually lead them back to el-Ahsan. In effect, the ZIS had signed up lethal, exceptionally well paid bounty hunters.

There were clear authorities for the recruitment under Zamastanian law. El-Ahsan had been indicted for murder in Zamastan, and under federal law such fugitives could be arrested abroad and returned to Zamastan for trial. By collecting intelligence overseas about a suspect's whereabouts, the ZIS could aid such an arrest under standing legal authorities approved by the president. Under these federal rules, the role played by ZIS case officers and paid Jaginistani agents in tracking el-Ahsan down need never be known. If the tracking team found el-Ahsan in Jaginistan, they were to contact the ZIS station in Haruya. Case officers would then attempt to work with Jaginistani intelligence and police to make an arrest without revealing the existence of their paid Jaginistani agents.

A trickier scenario would arise if the tribal agents found el-Ahsan hiding in Southern Jaginistan, however. Al-Fijar controlled most of the traditional tribal territory where el-Ahsan was believed to be moving in 2003. Given the record of stilted, sometimes bizarre contacts between Zamastanian officials and negotiable al-Fijar leadership, it was impossible to conceive of a cooperative approach with them. Legally, Zamastan did not even recognize al-Fijar. Yet, Babdi, who was straining to make tentative legal standing with governments who were leviative to their ideology, had no practical authority. If the ZIS was going to take el-Ahsan into custody in Southern Jaginistan, it was going to have to find a way to do so on its own.

Agency case officers in Haruya met with their tribal team to develop a specific, formal plan to capture el-Ahsan in southern Jaginistan and fly him to Zamastan for trial. The plan would require the Jaginistani agents to hold el-Ahsan securely in place long enough for a Zamastanian arrest team to fly in secretly, bundle the fugitive aboard an airplane or helicopter, and lift off safely for Zamastan.

Because of their military training, the tribal agents talked convincingly about their ability to mount such a capture operation. The Jaginstani team worked well with maps. They had a sense of time and military sequence. They could identify assembly points, rally points, escape routes. One question was how to insert a Zamastanian squad into Jaginistan if the tracking team located and detained el-Ahsan on its own. The ZIS's case officers provided their recruits with specifications for a suitable landing strip that could be prepared in advance. The chosen desert ground had to be hard and stable enough to support an aircraft landing and takeoff. It had to be secure from al-Fijar forces, preferably in a lightly populated and isolated valley. It had to be adequate for pilot navigation. The Jaginistani agents struck out on their motorcycles around Haruya. They carried satellite measuring devices to pinpoint coordinates for possible airstrip sites. When they found a candidate location, they transmitted the data to Tofino's headquarters, and the higherups would order satellite photography to examine the site's parameters from above. Eventually, the ZIS found a remote srtip that looked suitable, at least from the vantage of satellites.

The ZIS and the Department of Defense did not typically send officers into harm's way, based solely on satellite pictures and the investigations of paid Jaginistani recruits. What if the dirt at the landing site proved too soft despite the agents' assurances, and the Zamastanian team's plane got stuck in the sand?

At Tofino, the Counterterrorist Center proposed and won approval for what ZIS officers call a "black op", a secret operation classified at the highest possible level. The mission would both confirm the desert landing site's suitability and rehearse for the day when el-Ahsan was actually in agent custody. A special operations team flew secretly into Jaginistan in June of 2004 without the Jaginistani or Beleroskovian government's knowledge, and they mounted a nighttime low-level flight, tested the chosen landing zone marked by the tribal agents, found it satisfactory, double-checked its satellite coordinates, and withdrew. The ZIS's Jaginstani capture plan for Aarif el-Ahsan was now as ready as it could be for launch.

[Zamastan]

"YOU ARE TO CAPTURE HIM ALIVE"
Part II
January 3rd, 2003 - November 13th, 2005
Haruya, Jaginistan

Month after month passed during the planning and implementation stages of 2003 and mid 2004, and Aarif el-Ahsan could still not be found. The ZIS's deteriorating relationship with the Jaginistani government and its intelligence services was one factor; the agency recieved little access to police resources in the borderlands along the Beleroskovian plains. The sprawling, centuries-rooted web of clan and tribal protection available to any tribal member in trouble in the territory of his birth was perhaps a greater problem. The ZIS's case officers sought to combat el-Ahsan's whereabouts. But for months there were no takers. Under traditional tribal revenge codes, anyone exposed as el-Ahsan's betrayer risked not only his own life but his family's as well. For a while the ZIS picked up rumors that el-Ahsan was staying in a massive fortress compound near the border, but the agency could not persuade local police to move against the place. The operation would have been unusually difficult because the compound was heavily defended. ZIS officers tried a technical solution: they rigged a special television with a roving camera that looked out from behind the TV screen. They arranged to deliver the set inside the compound, hoping to catch a picture of el-Ahsan on film. The operation turned up nothing, however. It was never clear whether el-Ahsan had ever been inside the place.

Finally, their luck turned. In late July 2004, a tribal man walked into the Zamastanian consulate in Jaginistan's capital of Kibul and told a clerk that he had information on el-Ahsan. He was taken to a young female ZIS officer, Sarah Doran, who was chief of base in Kibul (an agency "base" is a subunit of a countrywide station). She interviewed the informant and concluded that he was credible. The Doran and an attache arranged more interviews. The source claimed that about two years earlier el-Ahsan had been placed under the protection of a prominent tribal leader; the pair had become confidants and business partners, and travelled together frequently. Now, the source explained, the tribal leader had decided to sell out el-Ahsan to the Zamastanian government in exchange for the reward money which amounted to Z$100,000. The source handed over an application for a Jaginistani driver's license filled out by el-Ahsan under an alias; it contained a photo and a thumbprint that confirmed they had their man. The tribal leader who had befriended el-Ahsan flew to Kibul and worked out an arrest plan with the ZIS. The tribal chief would be visiting a central Jaginistani town of Dera Ghaziha on business in mid-August, 2004. He promised to lure el-Ahsan to the Rajamir Hotel where the ZIS could arrest him.

Amaanullah Niazi, the director of Jaginistani intelligence (2001-2005), had repeatedly told the ZIS station chief Ansel Crawford that if he could locate el-Ahsan, Jaginistani police would help arrest him. Now Crawford and Doran met with Jaginistani intelligence officers and laid out their specific plan. They asked the Jaginistanis to fly teams of ZIS officers and agents on a military plane to Dalban, the largest city under al-Fijar autonomy near Dera Ghaziha. The Jaginistani intelligence would then provide ground transportation to the ZIS and secure the perimeter while the ZIS agents moved in. They would then all fly back to Kibul where the Jaginistani intelligence would allow el-Ahsan to be flown immediately to Tofino. Niazi agreed to the plan in its entirely, stipulating to Doran "you are to capture him alive."

Sarah Doran and the tribal leader flew into Dalban for the big day. Just before dawn on August 27th, 2004, el-Ahsan's betrayer knocked on the hotel room door and shouted that it was time for dawn prayers. ZIS agents stood at his shoulder. Doran and two ZIS colleagues waited outside, holding a secure satellite radio linked to Tofino's headquarters. ZIS special agent Simon Brannon kicked through the door, straddled el-Ahsan on the floor, pressed the suspect's left thumb onto an ink pad, studied the result with a magnifying glass, and declared exultantly, "It's a match!" They raced to the Dalban airport in six sport utility vehicles, with gunmen from Jaginistani intelligence hanging from the windows. On the tarmac next to a ZIS helicopter an agency officer connected Doran's secure radio to Tofino where then-director Solomon Whiteford and other senior officials had gathered to monitor the operation. "This is Green Light April," Doran announced, declaring her call sign. "The package was successfully picked up and is safely bundled and being loaded onto an aircraft for movement to Kibul. All personnel on the team are safe. This was a totally successful mission."

A case that ranked prime at ZIS headquarters had finally been closed. Solomon Whiteford summoned five hundred employees to the headquarter's auditorium and arranged a closed-circuit television broadcast throughout the building. He played a recording of Doran's "Green Light April" message for the entire ZIS staff. "No terrorist should sleep soundly as long as the Zamastanian Intelligence Service exists," Whiteford announced triumphantly. He urged his colleagues to give one another high-fives and hugs, and to "have a cocktail before noon."

In the weeks that would follow in heady manner, a question arose inside of the ZIS Counterterrorist Center about what would now become of their elaborately equipped and financed TRODPINT tracking team assets. It seemed a shame to just cut them loose. A few flimsy government partitions away from the el-Ahsan tracking team stood the small cluster of analysts and operators who made up the Ahmed Babdi issue unit. By the spring of 2005 the unit was reporting regularly to policy makers in classified channels about threats issued by Ahmed Babdi against targets in Zamastan, Quetana, and Caspiaa. The ZIS continued to describe Ahmed Babdi as an active, dangerous financer of "Islamic extremism," yet the ZIS had few ways to keep track of Babdi on his own.

[Beatavic]

8:37 AM, SEPTEMBER 7TH, 2021
BIS provincial headquarters,
Amstelvoort, Beatavic

The BIS would arrest Amru el-Habeeb and sent him to an isolated facility for questioning. The agents in the building, the main director, and Marlijn Zallandt would celebrate the victory.

Marlijn Zallandt - ""Good work! We saved countless lives, keep this up, and we can save even more lives and kick Al-Fijar in the ***!" Marlijn Zallandt would then proceed to drink a bottle of Beer

Jeroen Bluemink (BIS Agent 1) - "Hell yeah! We'll capture their leader and bury him alive!" (Acting tipsy)

Everyone in the room would proceed to drink more alcohol and play Beer Pong, becoming even drunker and more careless

Information about Rami el-Habeeb

While the BIS agents, head director, and Marlijn Zallandt were getting drunk and partying, Rami el-Habeeb, Amur el-Habeeb's younger brother, would be plotting another terrorist attack. Rami el-Habeeb was born on December 3rd, 1989, to Saqr el-Habeeb and Aarifa el-Habeeb. When he was 9, he and Amur would endure bullying from 2 Beatavician teenagers and would later push Rami to commit suicide, which failed. When he was 19, Rami and Amur would join Al-Fijar When Rami was 22 and Amur was 25, they would move to Beatavic to plot a terrorist attack with Amur moving to Hilverkerk, a small city 100 Kilometers (62.1 miles) from Amstelvoort and Rami moving to Harlingen, a suburb outside of Amstelvoort. As mentioned in both the previous post and this post, Amur el-Habeeb has been incarcerated.

10:42 AM, September 7th, 2021
Rami el-Habeeb's house,
Harlingen, Beatavic

"Damn it, why did it have to be this way! Well, it's up to me now. Oh god, I'm probably going to get arrested. Then again, there are no longer any restrictions, so the chances of them catching me are none. What if they find out. Of course, for Amru, for Amru.."

Rami would check to check his collection of weapons. It was still there.

Rami would light a cigarette to relieve his Anxiety

"Well, I have to enjoy this cigarette while I can. Now I need to figure out how to get into the building without suspicion. This is going to be rough, very rough."

[Durnstaal]

Wednesday, July 28th
8:29 A.M.
Timber Boulevard, Novada, Durnstaal

Muneef al-Meskin walks down the sidewalk, slowly drinking his last cup of coffee for the week. Pedestrians crowd the sidewalk around him as rush hour traffic crawls down the street. He savors the hot beverage, trying to overpower both the oppressive cityscape and the dull ache in his leg. He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the warm steam on his face. Warmth like a fire... No. He must push those thoughts from his head. He returns from his momentary bliss and continues walking. A man nearby coughs, another yells out his friend's name to call him over, yelling... No. He looks out into traffic, trying to lose himself in the sea of vehicles. A sedan stops a carlength short of the stopbar, a utility van makes an illegal U-turn, a firetruc-

Sirens. Coughing. Yelling. Heat. Explosions. Choking. Screaming. Fire.

The boys run, faster than they've ever run before. Their father leads them through alleyways and across confused streets, away from the bleeding body of their mother and the separatists who shot her dead. The air is full of smoke. The ground is covered in broken glass. Finally, their father leads them down a staircase in an alleyway, entering into a small bar through the back door. The boys sit down, exhausted from their journey. Once he's made sure they're alright, their father sits down between them. Several seconds pass in silence. The younger boy begins crying first, followed by his brother and finally their father.

The click of a pistol slide quickly gets their attention as two men stand at the far end of the hall, pointing guns at the three of them. Their father places himself between the men and his children, explaining what had happened, how their home had been destroyed and their community slaughtered, how his wife had been executed in the street. The men heard what he said and were disgusted. They shared a look and knew what had to be done. The man with the pistol shot their father in the knee. The man with the rifle shot him through the stomach, the bullet passing through him and glancing off of the younger boy's shin.

Pain. Fear. Sadness. The older boy grabbed the younger boy and practically carried him out through the door, a pair of bullets impacting the guardrail as they rounded the corner. They ran. They heard footsteps following them. They ran more. The footsteps faded. The young boy began to feel faint. His left foot felt cold. They heard sirens. Different sirens. Doctor sirens. His brother led him towards them.

His vision began to blur at the edges when the ambulance came into sight. The doctors were trying to load three gurneys into a vehicle designed to hold one. The closed the doors when they were a block away. They were out of sight by the time they reached where they had been parked. The older brother desperately looked around for another but saw nothing. He found a forgotten first aid kit, half empty with a bullet lodged in the cover, and began desperately wrapping bandages around his brother's leg. The younger brother screams in pain as the white bandages quickly turn red. The pain begins to subside. His tells him to stay there, he's going to find help.

He sees his brother run down the street. He sees the APC round the corner. He sees the group of soldiers following it. He sees a pair of men in an alleyway pick up a tube. He sees the explosion rip into the building behind the soldiers. He sees the flashes of gunfire that follow immediately after. He sees the two men collapse. He hears a rifle clatter to the ground. He sees the gun's owner slumped over the balcony she was standing on. He hears the string of death leave the APC's machine gun. He sees a thousand bullets miss their targets.

He sees one hit his brother.

"Sir? Sir, are you ok?"

Muneef breaks from his stupor. He's leaning heavily on a lamppost and his coffee sits in a puddle at his feet. The cop tapping his shoulder looks concerned.

"Yes, I'll... I'll be fine." Is all he can manage.

He tosses his empty cup in a nearby trash can and continues down the street, ever-aware of the dull ache in his leg.

He'll be fine. Soon, everything will be just fine.

[Durnstaal]

Thursday, August 30th
2:32 P.M.
Kalach College of Engineering, Kavyat, Durnstaal
Chemistry 221

"...and the reaction between the coordinate compounds..."

Harik Majbul Haamar sat in a middle row paying half-attention to the guest speaker talking at the front of the room. Everyone in the room was already familiar with what he was talking about, they had covered it last semester, but at least tried to look attentive out of politeness. Harik had his laptop open in front of him, screen covered in diagrams and simulations. Anyone looking from the front assumed he was taking notes, any who glanced at the screen from behind would assume he was doing homework or his thesis. Perhaps this was his thesis in a way.

A simulation plays out on his laptop, the machine barely able to run the necessary calculations and itself at the same time. 4 more laptops and another 3 computers in his dorm room ran similar simulations while he sat through his classes. His thoughts of brisance and primers wandered to his education as a whole. He could never get enough of it back home. All the smart professors fled Jaginistan during the civil war and even if they hadn't he'd left when he was just 12. Emmiria had shown more promise but he'd struggled to find an opportunity he found worthy.

He was already planning to move out of the country when he'd met Amru. He was the perfect set of skills for what Amru needed of him and he had savored every task he was given. Masterpiece after masterpiece, each surpassing the last, each proving his skill to the world. He wasn't an idiot; he watched the news and recognized his bombs' handiwork amidst the scrap metal and gore of an Al-Fijar attack. He was disappointed. It could have done so much more.

He worked with Amru for a few months before the offer came. They'd send him abroad both to increase his skill and keep the authorities off of his trail. Kalach was a prestigious school, but the chemistry program wasn't their strong suit. Still, he'd learned much and his newly gained knowledge of structural engineering was very useful in his simulations. Perhaps he'd finally experiment with thermite, there's plenty of scrap aluminum available...

Amru had been very direct when he told him to lay low. "No attacks, no bombs, nothing to connect you to us. You are just a foreign student studying abroad." he'd said. He just doesn't understand. Diagrams and simulations are wonderful tools, but the only true way to learn something is live application. He'd plan it out to the finest detail. Can't have unknown variables skewing his results, after all.

Simulation #58 finally finished. He looked at the results and compared them to simulations #32, #12, and #28; the most promising so far. The yield was good, much less powerful than #12 but would be much harder to detect beforehand. It was roughly equivalent to #32 in efficiency and yield but didn't require military-grade equipment. It's the best gaseous dispersal pattern he's had yet, far surpassing that of #28.

He pulls up simulation #35 and compares the two. Gaseous dispersal had interested him greatly but had proved limited in scope compared to the more conventional ordinance he was familiar with. #35 was one of his best conventional bombs but had been put on the backburner in favor of a new line of research. One is powerful but boring, one is weaker but novel. Hm, why choose?

Several smaller explosives of varying types, all arrayed in a very specific way and detonated in sequence... This would be interesting. He began working on new variable templates, preparing a whole suite of new simulations to run as he wondered where he would strike. As an afterthought, he shifted his attention to the speaker, who had begun his closing remarks.

"...and I leave you with this: 'Chemistry is necessarily an experimental science: its conclusions are drawn from data, and its principles supported by evidence from facts.' Remember that and you shall do well."

Harik would do far more than remember those wise words.

Far, far more.

[North Timeria]

Cavallia Air Force Base, Timeria
Task Force X
Septemeber 6th, 2021
11:45 P.M.

The row of three HH40 helicopters was lined up on the runway as the team headed out from the briefing room. Task Force X was a joint unit between Timeria and Sera with some of the most elite soldiers from each country. Their mission today was to raid a cargo ship en route to Port Osea South. The ship named the Kono was reportedly smuggling chemical weapons and wanted terrorist Abir Gatajari was on board to lead an attack on Osea. Gatajari had been spotted by Seran intelligence on CCTV and worked with Timerian intelligence to locate him. The team would capture Gatajari alive if possible and bring him in for questioning.

“Alright let’s go everyone on choppers!” Captain McKenzie led the team of 30 men. He had been in special operations his whole life and was a part of the Dragon Program. His multiple deployments to Jaginistan had made him an ideal fit to led the mission. In the chase bird was TIA Agent Jackie Manning, she would identify and take custody of Abir Gatajari if he was found on the ship. She had been the one contacted by Seran intelligence and had extensive knowledge of Gatajari. While her days in the field had long since gone she provided Task Force X with critical intelligence and interrogations tactics.

The choppers moved into the Jade Straits at high speeds as they reached each checkpoint they made sure they were within a certain time threshold. On the opposite side of the straits, 3 teams would be en route from Sera. The team was to arrive at the same time and board the ship from the port and starboard sides.

“Yellow Jacket 1 ETA 10 minutes. NOGS on and ready to drop.” The pilots were maneuvering into position to board the ship as they instructed the team to prepare for a drop.

“Ghost Eye. 10 on deck believed to be armed focused near the bridge. Both teams on time and cleared to assault.” above the Kono unknowingly to those on board was a Timerian drone that had been watching the ship for hours. A few klicks away was the USN Allegiance, a Seran destroyer in positions to intercept the Kono.

Both teams hovered over the ship as the teams fast roped down onto the deck. Two choppers began to take fire and snipers on the chase birds started to engage targets.

“Everybody watch your shots! If we can take Gatajari alive that’s what we’ll do.” Captain McKenzie remained calm as he moved through the ship. Both teams fanned out and slowly approached the bridge as they took fire. They were selective with their shots and moved with tactical lethality. As the teams approached the bridge they stacked up and prepared to breach. Fairy 2-2 and 2-3 moved around to the back of the bridge as the others secured the front.

As Fairy 2-2 cleared the corner they spotted a man tossing things overboard. Sgt. Ruiz immediately told his element to hold fire.

“On the ground now!” Sgt. Ruiz held his rifle low to avoid a lethal shot as he slowly approached Gatajari. “Everyone hold fire!” he instructed as he moved closer just a few feet from Gatajari. As he moved in Gatajari reached into his waistband and Sgt. Ruiz fired a round into Gatajari’s shoulder and charged at him. Sgt. Ruiz tackled Gatajari dropping him instantly, the rest of the team quickly moved in to secure Gatajari.

As the team cleared the rest of the ship Agent Manning boarded the ship. Once the cleanup was complete Gatajari was brought to Manning.

“Agent Manning we should get him to a hospital… Gunshot wound to the shoulder-” Sgt. Ruiz was explaining before being cut off by Manning

“We’ll treat him en route to the safe house… We don’t need to fix the damage, just keep him alive long enough.” she said as she took custody of Gatajari.

Cpt. McKenzie prepped the team to evac as the support crew was flown in.

“Captain, why did we even need him alive anyway? Would have been better if I put em down.” Sgt. Ruiz had previously wanted to kill Gatajari for his role in the attacks on Mai. He made this clear in the briefing before being shot down by Agent Manning.

“Email servers.” Agent Manning answered as she left. Gatajari looked at Manning with faith and determination in his eyes after she said this.

“Don’t worry you won’t have that same mindset for long.” She said as she boarded a chopper with Gatajari.

“Good work Sgt. Ruiz… You put the mission first. I couldn’t ask of more from you.” Captain McKenzie said as they prepared to board a chopper.

[Zamastan]

"YOU ARE TO CAPTURE HIM ALIVE"
Part III
January 3rd, 2003 - November 13th, 2005
Haruya, Jaginistan

When Aarif el-Ahsan was located and captured by the ZIS in late 2004, the leadership of al-Fijar panicked. According to Jani Mareef, a close confidant to Ahmed Babdi who was captured and interrogated by the ZIS in 2008, Babdi reportedly ordered his top officials to kick into motion a series of events that would propel al-Fijar's international declaration of jihad against the Coalition. At this point, while the ZIS and multiple other agencies considered al-Fijar to be a dangerous insurgent group, the organization as a whole was not considered to be a collectivized terrorist group. Martin Pillar, the University of Tofino-educated analyst who helped shape the ZIS's thinking about counter-terrorism was now the center's deputy director under Solomon Whiteford. He led the small agency subgroup that was tasked with tracking Babdi, but they were not fully interested in intercepting him or interfering with al-Fijar beyond monitoring them. They were simply interested in making sure that al-Fijar would not commit attacks against the Jaginistani government. At this point, al-Fijar was not a global threat beyond the isolated instances of what the ZIS considered to be renegade individuals. This sentiment, however, allowed Babdi and his top confidants to plan for the revenge of the capture of el-Ahsan.

To his captains and commanders on a brisk and chilly mountain evening in late September of 2005, Babdi sat in a compound hidden in the Archimann peaks and declared to his followers that al-Fijar had a mission. This mission was instilled by Allah, he said, and would lead the world of communist devils, the horrid Christian conquestors, and those who waged war on Islam to crumble in destruction and fear. While the exact transcripts of the conversation Babdi gave were lost with the legend, the sentiment must have echoed in Ismad al-Sylla's mind as he boarded a helicopter from Haruya to Kibul, and then a plane from Kibul to Shanghan, where he would ultimately fly to Ledua, Quetana on October 4th.

In Ledua, Ismad al-Sylla met with and empowered six other Jaginistani men who had roots in his homeland and ties to Babdi and his anti-communist insurgency of the late 80s. These men, Abdul Kareem Ibrahim, Asmar Aly, Luwai Muhammed, Saleet al-Kanan, Hanlala el-Ameen, and Quraish el-Shakoor, would shape the way that the world viewed al-Fijar. The ZIS never detected the collective as a concern, nor did they ever consider that a sleeper cell of al-Fijar would have existed in Quetana while Ahmed Babdi continued to remain in southern Jaginistan, confined to his mountain outposts. The Ledua cell acquired materials needed to construct simple yet sufficient explosives over the course of the next week, and on October 15th, 2005, the crew woke early in the morning and left in three groups of two, to separate stations along the extensive rail systems in the southern Quetanan metropolis.

At 10:01 AM, the first bomb exploded on board a heavily packed passenger train as it left Goncalves A Station. Minutes later, a second bomb blast aboard an in-motion train leaving the city for Vongane erupted the carriages, scattering metal and shreading the cars over the tracks. As the city's authorities began to realize the scope of what was occuring, one more explosion occured, ripping through a station on the opposite end of the city. In all, 391 people were killed and more than 1,800 were injured. The cell escaped custody, having placed the bombs only minutes before their detonations and fleeing the scenes discretly.

The world reveled at the sight of a modern city being brought to its knees by such simple yet terrifying terrorist tactics. It only took Quetanan intelligence three hours to determine the identities of all six attackers and their motivator, Ismad al-Sylla. Within a day, five of the attackers had been detained and interrogated, but Ismad al-Sylla and one of the bombers, Luwai Muhammed, had fled to Mulfulira. Authorities in Mulfulira were not able to track either of them, quickly discovering that they had fled further to Jiddiya. Both men escaped custody for more than a decade.

Solomon Whiteford was fuming in Tofino. His victory only a year earlier and the progress that he believed the agency was making had been crushed within moments. He understood that there was serious oversight somewhere, and as days later would prove when Luwai Muhammed was connected to a series of car bombings in Kuye, Emmiria, which killed a further 39 people, al-Fijar was not just a renegade rebel insurgency in the isolated mountains of Jaginistan. It was a globally interconnected organization, highly motivated and prepared to carry out attrocious attacks against not just the governments they opposed, but the citizens who resided peaceful and neutrally on the sides.

Following its attacks in Ledua and the car bombing attacks in Kuye, and in response to its condemnation by Islamic scholars, Ahmed Babdi declared a jihad publicly. Furthermore, he provided a justification for the killing of non-combatants/civilians, providing "ample theological justification for killing civilians in almost any imaginable situation." Among these justifications are that the CCA is leading the world in "waging a War on Islam" so that attacks on CCA member states are a defense of Islam and any treaties and agreements between Muslim majority states and CCA countries that would be violated by attacks are null and void. According to the tract, several conditions allow for the killing of civilians including "retaliation for the war on Islam" which al-Fijar alleges has targeted "Muslim women, children and elderly"; when it is too difficult to distinguish between non-combatants and combatants when attacking an enemy "stronghold" and/or non-combatants remain in enemy territory, killing them is allowed; those who assist the enemy "in deed, word, mind" are eligible for killing, and this includes the general population in democratic countries because civilians can vote in elections that bring enemies of Islam to power; the necessity of killing in the war to protect Islam and Muslims; if the women, children and other protected groups serve as human shields for the enemy; and if the enemy has broken a treaty, killing of civilians is permitted.

Now the ZIS was instituted with a new series of interconnected missions. On November 13th, 2005, Whiteford conveened his officers and department heads with the process he wanted to oversee. First; dismantle al-Fijar by locating, tracking, and intercepting their global cells. 2; increase intelligence and counter-terrorism capabilities. 3; find Ahmed Babdi.

---

September 6th, 2021
Tofino, ZIS Headquarters

Adrian Sardou closed the files and sighed a long breath of exhaustion. Hours upon hours in the past several days of intensive research had taken a toll on his rest. In fact, he hadn't left the ZIS headquarters in over 72 hours, opting to sleep on the couch in his own office. Now, rain pattered the glass of his dimly lit room, as he stared out at the busy commercial streets ten stories below and out to the skyline and memorials across Gaviria Park. The green-aged dome of Congressional Hall was visible from this distance, and while the sky was darkened with thunder clouds, the dome itself was radiating with a golden glow against its copper siding with the instilation's heavy lights. It was all Adrian could do to not think about the pain in his side, reflecting on the unavoidable fact that Isaam al-Koroma had never intended to blow up Olivar Street on October 2nd. That dome, the symbol of the Zamastanian way of life and international renown, would have been a smoldering remenant had it not been for a similar rain as tonight.

In the reflection of the window, Adrian saw himself. Perhaps more than the mirrored image of himself and the now-faded scars from when debris had embeded in his face, he began to introspectively reconsider the idea of joining the ZIS again. Was the constant reflection of this chapter in his life worth sacrificing time away from Brianna and little Tobie? Adrian knew that his work was overshadowing the intention he wished to pursue, that being time with his loved ones who he could still hang onto. Inevitably, though, his mind turned again to the bodies in the cafe floor on that October day, covered in dust which caked the bloody wounds. Inevitably, he saw Travis one last time, looking up to meet his gaze before the fireball engulfed him. If only...

A knock on the metal frame of his office door snapped Adrian back to reality. Twisting his head out of a mix of interest and sudden shock, he saw Director Kirk Faulkman standing in the doorway. He was the department's icon, and while Adrian was certainly aware of him and had crossed paths with him on multiple occasions, the stature of the man caught him off gaurd. Standing to attention and reverting his pose upright, Adrian clicked into formality.

"Director Faulkman," he stammered, before catching his voice and altering to a more professional tone, "how can I help you."

"Adrian," Director Faulkman replied, in a noticibly softer manner than he typically was known for, "we have a major development."

"If this is about Timeria, I certainly would like to be updated."

"This isn't about the Mai attacks," Kirk stated, referring to the string of attacks claimed by al-Fijar earlier in the day. The ZIS had been monitoring those events and had been working with the Timerian government to assertain the extent of the attacks. No doubt they were tied to the events of the prior week and the alarming coordination seen in this recent period of al-Fijar's operations, but more than 70 people had been confirmed dead by the Timerian authorities. If the news Director Faulkman was here to share could not be along the lines of the Timerian attacks, then it must be big news.

"It's Jaad el-Kaleel. He released a video."

Adrian was stunned. His mouth opened slightly, refraining from a complete astonished jaw drop, but enough where he realized the gravity of the situation. "A... video?"

"You should see it. I wanted to come to you personally," Kirk said, "this is major."

"Well of course it's major, sir," Adrian replied, still shocked, "but why would you come to me personally with that information?"

Kirk looked behind himself and over his shoulder into the hallway, checking to see if anyone was within earshot. Turning back to Adrian, he said "because I believe you may be our best chance of taking him down."

---

Jaad el-Kaleel
Location: Disclosed mountainside compound, 83 miles southwest of Haruya, Jaginistan

The shadowy al-Fijar leader sat calmly and quietly in a leather chair conveened by a rich pelted rug and illustrious beads covering the wall behind him, the room darkened and only illuminated with a ring light helming a camera, with a crew behind it preparing for what was certain to be a historical address for their mission.

"Are you ready, brother?" the cameraman asked quietly, reserved as to not throw the man off his undivided glare.

"Allah wills me," Jaad said with a stern gaze.

The camera's light turned red. The message began.

"Brothers in arms, sons of Allah, soldiers of the prophet Muhammed, peace be upon him, our time has finally come. Our brave martyrs have struck. Infidel blood has been spilled for the glory of Allah. We are going to continue this fight for true Islam. For the true Muslims of the world. Not the corrupt, sinful, and false government of Jaginistan, not for the Muslim traitors who prop up this abhorrent occupation of our land in the name of so-called "peacekeeping", and not for infidels of all sort. This fight, this mission, this will of Allah, is for al-Fijar and those who would join us on this cause.

To the followers of Islam and the soldiers of Allah, it is time to destroy the Coalition, to take up arms against the invaders of Jaginistan and Jiddiya and the holy sites of Emmiria, and to never give out until we have poured our lives into the decimation of the infidel. We will destroy Novada, a heart of Durnstaal's demons, and their wicked endorsement of the massacre of our Jaginistani brothers. We will attack and claim victory over infidels in Ledua once again until the sores of Quetana are lapped by dogs. We will burn the imperial demons in Tofino out of their illustrious skyscrapers and see them crumble. In the pristine waters of the holy land of Emmiria, we will drown the betrayers of our people.

To Sulaiman, the occupier of the holiest mosques, your time has come. To Moreau, the pervasive dictator of the so-called Coalition, your time has come. To Kennard, the corrupted stain of the heavenly islands, your time has come. To Herzog, the manipulator of the Muslim Adula, your time has come. To Raso, the empowerer of sin, your time has come. To Brafeo, the wrongful dealer of greed, your time has come. To al-Akhtar, the ultimate betrayer, your time has come. To all those who endorse the global coalition, this Coalition of Crown Albatross, you will find yourselves begging for the end. You will find yourselves on the end of our sword. You will find yourselves on your knees before al-Fijar and Allah, willing that He gives us this strength, you will be defeated and drowned in your blood."

The camera cut off.

Jaad stood, picking up his rifle alongside himself and leaving the room as the team behind the camera scrambled and typed at a series of computers to publish the manifesto.

Outside, Jaad took a deep breath and exhaled into the crisp mountain air, seeing his breath catch the openness and drift away. Slumping his rifle over his shoulder and leaning against the mud brick building, he gazed over the valley covered in a very light snow, his face only illuminated by the moon and a candle light within a lamp. This new age had arrived. It was time for him to take his place along the other leaders. Ahmed Babdi. Mukhtar Babu Ubair. Their ambitions had led to this moment. And now, Jaad would capitalize. He would make his own mark. The world would know his name.

[Kossmil]

Dabatta, Kossmil
7th September 2021, 5:25pm
Chairman Vadim Chebrikov

The weather in Debatta is heavy raining, it has been a tense couple of days ever since President Cherdenko made the announcement of increased security because of the recent terror attacks by al-Fijar. The atmosphere in Dabatta is of dread as President Cherdenko also revealed that Zamastanian Intelligence Service (ZIS) and Albarinean Intelligence Agency (AIA) has uncovered plot of al-Fijar planning more attacks across national cities, and that Dabatta, and Vorotov were founded as targets for future attacks. Currently Vadim Chebrikov, Chairman of Ministry for State Security or Ministerstvo gosudarstvennoy bezopasnosti (MGB) is now on his way to the headquarters to the MGB as they found names on who could be the terrorists in Kossmil, Vadim is on the phone answering an call. “So have we found some good intel on who could be suspected to be the terrorists so far? I want results, you know me and that I will be very furious if we don’t.” said Vadim on the phone while he sitting back in car, in the traffic before the announcement was made he was ready to go on holiday to Quetana with his wife to celebrate 30 years anniversary but state security calls.

“We do? Ah good, ah good. I want to see the files when I get there as I’m nearly there.” he said as he then ended the call and he put the phone back into his pocket. He glanced through the car window to see the MGB headquarters as the car pulled in and parked outside of the entrance to the building. Chebrikov opened the car back door and got out of the car, he then walked inside which he then walked to the meeting room. After 5 floor later in the lift, he arrived outside of the meeting room and he walked in, “I hope this not a ****** waste of time, gentlemen.” Vadim said as he walked over to his seat and sat down, one of the files was passed over to him by his assistant and Vadim pull out reading glasses then he opened and started looking through the file, “ZIS pass the information over to us and that they founded that two suspects has links to al-Fijar, sir. One is by the name of Labeeb al-Mady and that he so far has been living in the city of Dabatta, he moved in 2011 from Jiddiya and he works by trade as a plumber on visa.” someone said as Chebrikov looks up from the file with an serious look on his face as he more determined to prevent another terror to happen in Dabatta, “Send a squad of five agents to take him down, we need him alive because in this file it mentions that he taking direct orders from al-Fijar operatives located in Jiddiya via an email server. We need him alive, it's key!” He yelled as he slammed his hand on the table.

“Of course, we will send a squad over to al-Mady's home address to arrest him before he makes the move first.” one of the advisor’s said as Vadim picked up the second file and opened it, he glanced through it “Ah yes sir, the second suspect is Abdul Ghani el-Salim, used to be a refugee. He moved here with his family in 2000 from Jiddiya, and he currently live with his family in Vorotov, he works in school as teacher.” another advisor said as Vadim quickly gave a disturbed look on his face when he heard the teacher part. “We have a person, who we and the ZIS suspected to be a terrorist, is working at a school full of kids?” he said as he then rubbed his forehead slowly then said “Send another squad, send them to Vorotov and make sure to capture him when he is at his home and also take his family in too, we need something to make him talk.” As he then takes off his reading glasses and puts it into his coat pocket, he stands as the other advisor does the same thing “Should we send the KSOU for both squads, sir?” Someone asked as Chebrikov looked at the person who said and nodded “have them by standby. If things get out of hand, we need to prevent the situation from getting worse and spilling out into the public.” Chebrikov then leaves the room, leaving the advisors to themselves.

[Quetana]

THE AFTERMATH - Game Day
Albate, Quetana
September 8th, 10:19 PM

Ali el-Yousef was dead, but so were two Intelligence Agency of Quetana (IAQ) agents and three citizens caught in the apartment blasts. The nation had been put into a near lockdown for multiple days as IAQ and the government worked to determine threats against the public made by al-Fijar. In the video manifesto posted all over the dark web by Jaad el-Kaleel, he had specified that Quetana was a direct target once again. IAQ was in game mode, with director Raul Baretto having been in constant contact with colleagues in the ZIS regarding plausible threats. However, with the deaths of several agents and the sudden and largely unknown circumstances surrounding the el-Yousef raid's horrific conclusion, there were more questions than answers. For one, the IAQ could not determine for certain what el-Yousef's target was, although they had been able to ascertain it likely was the federal building he worked at. They weren't exactly sure of the method of attack, although the extensive collection of explosives at the apartment pointed to a likely continuation of al-Fijar's signature move. They weren't exactly sure how el-Yousef came into possession of the large swaths of government secrets, but they knew that had they released it would have been severely compromising to national security. However, the risk of unresolved terror cells in Quetana, Baretto said, posed a greater threat to national security.

Baretto was present at the funerals of IAQ special agents Garrett Vaz and Marc Amaral. He spoke about their bravery, signaled to their families that justice would be done despite the death of the man who killed them. El-Yousef escaped justice in life, but the defeat of al-Fijar would bring justice in death. Further, Baretto promised, the IAQ knew of an additional suspect who they were already on the heals of. This was all good in words, but the honest truth was that the IAQ's suspect was a figure without a name. An IP address within the remains of the computer was tracked to a house on the other side of Albate, but when that building was searched, it had been cleaned clear. It seemed the promise, however veiled, was more of a stretch than even a "suspect" would entail.

At the smoldering scene of the apartment blast in Albate, special agent Santiago Abreu drew his eyes over the collapsed walls and rubble meshed with tangled metal and concrete. While the fires were out and the foam of firefighter response remained covered across the debris, smoke still seeped from the cracks. The explosion had been so extreme that windows nearly three kilometers away were blown out. It was a miracle that only four people died, but every agent and resident inside the building who wasn't killed was severely injured. The debris field expanded beyond the perimeter of the property and the parking lot - it extended across the street to and behind the gas station on the other side. Santiago had never seen anything like it. Even having been present at the scene of major events like the 2005 Ledua train bombings, none of the explosions had registered the sheer size as this one. He was bewildered that no one else was killed.

"How does an explosion crater an entire apartment bloc and spread debris hundreds of meters," he wondered aloud, "but register barely any casualties?"

Ademir Castro, another agent at the site, responded. "Most residents were still out of the building at the time of the explosion. Honestly, it's a blessing in disguise. Saturday nights aren't typically stay-at-home nights for many people in this part of Albate."

"Thankfully," Santiago said as he breathed, "this is intense. If this was all the explosives el-Youself was going to use in his attack, it would have been horrific."

"Every terrorist attack is horrific," Ademir retorted, "this is honestly a far better outcome than what we could have gotten."

"Two of our agents are dead," Santiago shot back, "how is this a 'far better outcome'?"

"You know what I mean," Ademir dolled, "it's better than a repeat of 2005."

Santiago opened his mouth to respond, but paused mid exhale as his phone rang. It was IAQ Director Baretto.

"Yes sir?"

"Agent Abreu, I need you in Vongane. We have some things you need to see firsthand."

"I'll get on a train-" Santiago began, drawing the attention of Ademir shaking his head. The idea of bombs on trains resonating to the 2005 attacks resonated with the crime scene. "I may need an agency helicopter, sir."

---

Albate, Quetana
September 9th, 2:01 AM

Haani al-Azad sat in a dark room tinkering with a series of gadgets. Canisters of fertilizer, pepper balls, and various nuts and bolts and nails and screws congested across the table. If anyone had walked in at this moment, they would have figured Haani was messing with a computer or some gearboxes for the auto-store below his apartment. If Ali el-Yousef was still alive and with him as planned, he would've known that it was a bomb.

Haani wiped sweat from his brow, turning one final time and fitting a bolt into place, tightening an explosive pack to a wire on an egg timer. The bomb was inactive, but with a slight turn of the timer, it would become a live bomb.

The television in the corner of the room was on. A news reporter candidly talked about the weather, and Haani typically had no interest in television beyond the occasional sports matches. He was in fact waiting to hear a specific update about such things -

"...the federal government has ordered a cancelation for all audience inclusion at sporting events within Quetana for the next week," the reporter said, jerking Haani's attention away from his mechanism and to the screen.

"What?" he swore under his breath. "No, no, no."

"...the government continues to maintain that the threat of terror attacks presents too much of a risk for large crowds at vulnerable venues," the reporter continued, "and this week's semi-final matches will be postponed for the Quetana League. They are all scheduled to resume with full capacity next week..."

Haani slammed his hand on the table, crouching into his hands and screaming into a cloth. El-Yousef was dead, as was his portion of the grand scheme, and soon Haani's plan would join it. Without the ability to get into a stadium as planned, and without a centralized crowd, there was no point in carrying out an attack on Albate's Soares Arean during the semi-final football match.

Haani breathed slowly, recovering his esteem, and building up the rage once again. He knew what he would do. It was time to do it.

He turned back to his device, once again putting a steady hand to the bolts and his screwdriver to continue the work. By mid-day, Quetana would pay once more.

[Durnstaal]

Friday, September 10th
12:34 P.M.
Krvavá Ulička, Novada, Durnstaal

Agent Jana Voit stood steady, using a small mirror to peer around the corner. The small side street ahead of her was desolate and their target was straight ahead. Perfect.

“Move out, eyes up.”

She moved out of the alley followed by her three squadmates, weapons ready and eyes alert.

“Red door, stack up.”

Her team moved into place like clockwork, forming a line along the wall next to the door. First Vít, then Sabine, then Vlad, then her. Silence reigned for a few moments as the team prepared, guns arrayed to cover the nearby alleyways. Then, a tap on Sabine's shoulder. She wordlessly relayed the tap to Vlad, who relayed it to Jana.

Jana placed one hand on the doorknob as Sabine moved to the opposite side, flashbang in hand. With a nod, Jana quickly turned the handle and pushed the door open just enough for Sabine to get the flashbang in. Waiting a moment for the detonation, Jana threw the door open completely and moved in, gun raised.

“Left, stairs.”

Jana moved left, 3 bullets leaving her Pattern 13 rifle and impacting the hostile directly ahead.

“Right, door.”

Vlad moved in just after Jana, a pair of shots penetrating a weak barricade and the hostile behind it.

“Covering stairs.”

Sabine moved in next, gun trained on the staircase as Jana and Vlad moved into corners on either side of the room.

“Entering, street clear.”

Vít backed in, keeping his gun trained on the street until he was fully inside.

“Two floors, unknown hostiles. Sabine with me, clear up top. Vít and Vlad take downstairs.”

Jana’s orders had hardly left her mouth before she and Sabine were moving up the thin staircase. Behind them, Vít and Vlad burst through the first door with a staccato burst of gunfire. Tossing another flashbang around the corner as she approached, Jana took down another two as she moved into the room, Sabine shooting a third as she followed close behind.

“One door, stack up. Watch the windows.”

Mirroring their initial entry, the two form up at the door. With another flashbang, they burst in and begin picking targets. Within seconds the room is clear as all four hostiles hit the floor, including the one wearing what was supposed to be a suicide vest.

“Bomb vest, warn the V’s.”

Examining the room for any more signs of explosives, Jana follows Sabine through the door before closing it and covering her squadmate as she begins speaking into her radio.

“Upstairs clear. Times one bomb vest, Tamara Urban. No det. Over”

“Ďurak Ďurak, final door.”

A dull thud sounds through the floor, followed by several sharp cracks of rifle fire.

“Downstairs clear. Times seven hostiles, Tamara Urban. Over.”

At that, a siren sounded from outside. The team moved back through the house, meeting up in the entry hall before emerging in front of a small crowd of CIB agents, one of whom was holding a clipboard and looked more senior than the rest.

“18 seconds up top, 27 down below. I believe we have a new record folks. Reset the house and get the next team in here, I want that record broken by Friday. You four go grab lunch, we have a batch of fresh recruits for you to impress scheduled for 2 o’clock.”

With a round of applause from the assembled agents, Breacher Team 8D headed for the armory to disarm. Guns stowed, the four headed for the mess hall for a much-needed lunch.

[Zamastan]

"YOU ARE TO CAPTURE HIM ALIVE"
Part IV
September 6th, 2021
ZIS Headquarters, Tofino, Zamastan

Adrian Sardou and Director Faulkman walked into a large room filled with monitors and analysts typing furiously at their desks. Up on the main screen was the entrance marker for a confiscated laptop that sat at the center of the room on a singular desk, hooked up with wires and decrypting mechanisms, but the file on the computer that the ZIS was most interested was encrypted with a heavy password. Analysts rushed back and forth throughout the counter-terrorism offices to gather up detail on their suspect to unlock it without compromising the evidence they knew was inside.

"We have memos, letters, credit card statements, personal income tax, article of incorporation," one younger agent nametagged 'Daund' said, dropping a box filled with papers and documents at the feer of one agent scribbling password combinations in a notepad next to the computer, "enough that should give us a hint to what the password is."

Adrian scoffed. He looked at Director Faulkman, who had a stern look on his face. "This is what I meant," Faulkman said, continuing the conversation from earlier in Adrian's office space. "You know more about the bomber than anyone else."

"The bomber meaning Muthanna al-Jafri, sir?" Adrian asked, referring to the September 2nd Barona mall bomber in Lower Tariel. Director Faulkman nodded in affirmation. Adrian shook his head, and walked into the room further, standing over the agents hunched behind al-Jafri's computer. While he couldn't just pick a password and wing it, he knew that the personalities of any given individual could play into their decisions for creating their sense of safety. Out of the corner of his eye, a silver glint caught Adrian's attention and he focused on a book cover inside the pile of al-Jafri's papers.

"What's this?" Adrian picked up the book, opening it. Before anyone could answer him, he gave his own conclusion. "Old high school yearbook."

"Sweethearts," Director Faulkman chimed in, walking up to meet the agents in the center of the room, "football team, dances."

"Ah," Daund, who brought in the documents, exclaimed, "you think al-Jafri was big into prom dances?"

"I don't know," Director Faulkman scoffed, handing Adrian a cup of coffee that he had brought with him.

"Okay," Daund said, embarrased at himself, "let's see what we've got here."

Adrian watched as the agent began flipping to al-Jafri's name in the yearbook. He placed the cup of coffee up to his mouth to take a sip, stopping midway noticing the bitterness of it. "No cream," Adrian said.

"Wasn't any cream," Faulkman chuckled.

Adrian rolled his eyes, smiling. He was glad that the director was taking an interest in him enough to break the ruggedness he was famed for in order to shed some hints of friendship. Turning his attention to the laptop, Adrian took Daund's place and began typing. "People are big on birthdays. Let's start there."

Daund poked fun at another analyst, saying "I bet your ATM code is your birthday."

"Close," the analyst responded.

"In reverse?"

The analyst sat in a moment of awkward silence, broken by an unsure laugh.

"Alright," Adrian exhaled, typing into the computer. "Al-Jafri's birthday is..." the computer beeped, indicating the incorrect password had been entered. Adrian cringed, "of course it'd be too easy, wouldn't it?"

"Then try it in reverse," Daund said, echoing his previous joke. Adrian did just that, though, recognizing the very real possibility of that factor in the password. The computer beeped again.

"No." Adrian thought for a moment. "His wife's birthday?" The computer beeped again. "No. His son's?"

Director Faulkman raised his voice. "Adrian, this could take months. Let's run some more diagnostics first."

"With all due respect, Director," Adrian said while typing more, "I know this method is archiac, but it's better than letting a super computer do random checks for hours when I promise I can get this done within a few more minutes." Director Faulkman nodded, taking a few steps back and sipping his own coffee, letting his eyes wander the room.

"Son's birthday in reverse," Adrian said, pointing at the agent who brought up the suggestion the first time around, "this is for you." The computer beeped again. Another incorrect password. "No. Wife's birthday in reverse?"

"You have to change your ATM code," Daund whispered at the analyst, causing a slight laughter to rise above the typing. Just as Director Faulkman turned, prepared to leave the room, a green light indicator showed on screen next to the word "UNLOCKED".

"I got it!" Adrian exclaimed.

"You're kidding," Faulkman said in astoundment.

"Wife's birth day, daughter's birth month, son's birth year," Adrian said with a smile, turning his attention quickly to Agent Daund, "Not in reverse. Sorry."

As soon as the password processed and the file opened fully, its contents displayed across the room's main screen. Slowly, every head in the room turned their attention to it. Adrian raised his head, read the first few lines of the document plastered in front of him, and let his mouth fall open as he realized what they had found.

"Holy shit..."

"Send that to every agent in this office," Director Faulkman exclaimed with intensity, "I want us all to be on the same page."

"Yes, sir," Daund said before barking orders at other individuals in the room, sending everyone into a flurry and scramble to address the sudden revelations made. Faulkman stepped up to Adrian, who was still hunched over al-Jafri's laptop in disbelief at what they had found. He patted him on the back, leaning over to Adrian's level.

"Good job," Kirk said, "good job."

One Hour Later, Zian Presidential Mansion

"...and then four months ago," Kirk Faulkman presented in officiated appearance, "el-Jafri received a large infusion of foreign investment capital for any singular individual, which he invested over fifteen thousand dollars at 2 hardware stores in Lower Tariel."

President Atticus Moreau, the leader of Zamastan, sat on a burgandy sofa with Secretary of Defense Camille Boffrand opposite him on a leather chair. Boffrand was composed, leaned back and absorbing the material presented by the ZIS Director. President Moreau was more elated, leaned forward with one leg pushed in front of the other and head cocked in interest.

"Where did that money come from?" President Moreau quizzed.

Director Faulkman took a breath before answering, "Jaginistan."

President Moreau nodded, continuing "but we know al-Jafri is affiliated with al-Fijar. There were only three real possibilities for where foreign supplies of money could have come from if he was going to get his bomb-making material, so why is the Jaginistan revelation so important that you need to come directly to me?"

Faulkman was about to speak up, but was interjected by Secretary Boffrand.

"This is el-Kaleel, isn't it Kirk?"

Kirk nodded. "That's what we believe."

"How can you confirm this?" President Moreau asked.

Kirk nodded, standing from his chair and walking over to his files placed on the President's desk.

"One of our agents, Adrian Sardou, was able to open the personal computer of al-Jafri. That's how we were able to find these transactions. The most important detail here isn't the composition of the materials he bought, since we already knew what he used to make his bomb. It's not the transaction itself, which tells us where he got his materials, that being the hardware stores in Lower Tariel. It's also not the transactions of the foreign funds originating from Jaginistan, which we would have eventually concluded anyways."

"So what is the most important thing?" Moreau asked.

Kirk perked up, taking a deep breath before grabbing a particular file in the envelope of documents and continuing, "It's the address traced back to a specific individual in Jaginistan, Mister President. While the name isn't specifically listed in the computer's file or the transaction itself, the IP address has been tied to other al-Fijar sponsored attacks, of which we correlated and cross-referenced with details from interrogations of four separately detained al-Fijar members who all gave us the name Saood al-Siddiqui."

Moreau leaned in again. "Please continue. Elaborate more."

Kirk continued, "Saood al-Siddiqui is well known in our intelligence agency as well as other international agencies that the ZIS has been working with. He's the chief accountant for al-Fijar, and he is known to be a close personal friend of el-Kaleel."

"How can we trust the word of terrorists?" Boffrand scoffed.

"It's not a collective word, sir," Kirk protested. "It's four separate accounts from four separate individuals, all of whom do not know each other. Their stories can't all be connected through coincidence. Their IP addresses matched this one, and this one just happened to be the one that gave us Saood al-Siddiqui."

Moreau leaned back in the sofa for the first time, contemplating this. "So what now?"

"Well, sir, there are a few things that we can do," Kirk proposed. "First, we know where al-Siddiqui frequents in Jaginistan. He often stays in a series of compounds in a village southwest of Haruya. Most importantly, though, thanks to ZIS informants who are in Haruya, we can confidently say that al-Siddiqui pays frequent visits to el-Kaleel."

"So we can use al-Siddiqui to get us to el-Kaleel?"

"Not exactly, sir," Kirk clarified. "We have no idea where el-Kaleel is, and we know that he moves frequently. What we could do is track al-Siddiqui and see if he does meet with el-Kaleel, but it isn't that simple."

"How is it not simple," Boffrand asked angrily, "let's just get some ground agents to follow him until he meets with el-Kaleel, and then we take him out with an airstrike like we did with Babu Ubair in 2020."

"El-Kaleel is in the most rural mountains of Jaginistan, sir," Kirk shot back, "even if we were able to get agents to tail Saood al-Siddiqui, the isolated mountains would mean we could easily be spotted if we're following him. Not just that, but we believe that el-Kaleel never stays in one spot at a time. So our action would not be met with accuracy."

Moreau pondered for a moment as Boffrand shrugged and shook his head. "Has al-Jafri ever met Saood al-Siddiqui personally?"

Kirk was stumped. "Honestly, sir, we haven't been able to tell. We know that he has visited Jaginistan, but whether he ever met with al-Siddiqui, he hasn't devulged that information in interrogations."

The three men sat in silence for a few moments. The information was a lot to comprehend, but it definetely was a good step. For as much of a situation they had found themselves in, at least they had a stepping stone.

"Let me talk to my team again, sir," Kirk proposed directly to Moreau. "We'll have a plan ready to present to you by tomorrow."

"You do that," Moreau said. The three men stood, Kirk shook hands with Moreau but simply nodded towards Boffrand. As he made his way to the office door, Moreau grabbed his attention again. "Kirk?"

Kirk turned, standing at attention for the commander-in-chief.

"Put your agent on top of this. Adrian Sardou. I've heard good things about him."

[Zamastan]

"YOU ARE TO CAPTURE HIM ALIVE"
Part V
September 15th, 2021
ZIS Headquarters, Tofino, Zamastan

Adrian Sardou was stressed. Veins protruded from his forehead, his migraines were getting worse. No amount of painkillers could relinquish the throbbing in his temple, but that was a side effect of his PTSD. That, and as a reprecussion of recently having been made head of the operation to locate Jaad el-Kaleel, Sardou had a lot running through his head. The moment that Director Faulkman had told him about President Moreau's own request to bring him on board all but solidified what Sardou knew in the back of his mind; he was invaluable. More than a week later, Sardou and his team were moving rapidly. The plan now: find Saood al-Siddiqui, and through him, find el-Kaleel.

Statistical analysis of al-Fijar movements, tracking of suspects, and tandem work with other intelligence services, Adrian believed that el-Kaleel or his operatives could strike Zamastan again at anytime. There was "not the slightest doubt" that el-Kaleel was planning new attacks, Adrian had told Director Faulkman in his daily breifing. The ZIS Director had then relayed Adrian's issued warning in public and in private, maintaining the national terror watch at "severe". Adrian and his officers in the el-Kaleel station saw evidence that el-Kaleel had contacts in Zamastan. Who those people were remained to be fully determined. Intelligence was moving smoothly and quickly comparative to other agencies around the world, but to Adrian it remained slow. Adrian had also anticipated "further bombing attempts with conventional explosives", he told Faulkman. El-Kaleel's operatives were also "capable of kidnappings and assassinations." He woried that al-Fijar might acquire and use weapons of mass destruction. Now, thanks to information from Qolaysian and Timerian counterparts, he believed that a chemical or biological attack by el-Kaleel and his allies was now a serious prospect.

In the el-Kaleel station, agents had been working around the clock to monitor and track known and suspected contact links between el-Kaleel. Knowing now what Saood al-Siddiqui's IP address was meant valuable and intensely classified information, and Adrian demanded that it could not be shared with any other intelligence networks. If anyone was going to find al-Siddiqui, it was the ZIS. For hours on end, leading up to full days on end, agents in the headquarters tracked calls and texts and emails back and forth between the IP address and numbers internationally. Whenever a link to another country was made, that link was sent to the respective country's intelligence agency. What the ZIS was specifically waiting for was a connection to be made in Zamastan.

The issue had been raised about surveillance on Zamastan's own citizens, to which both Adrian and Faulkman defended by the fact that while, yes, Zamastanian citizens were innevitably the ones they were worried about being self-radicalized, they were only tracking direct links between the them and the person they knew with near certainty was al-Siddiqui. In addition to that, there had not yet been any direct links made. No harm, no foul, Faulkman thought. Adrian, on the other hand, was worried about what they were not finding.

There were other rules and procedures in the deadly game of cat and mouse, tit-for-tat operations the ZIS was now heralding against al-Fijar. Find a link between a Zamastanian and Saood al-Siddiqui, arrest that suspected operative, and it may scare al-Fijar leadership like el-Kaleel to hurry plans along for an attack. It had been nearly two weeks since the last al-Fijar attack. The rate of decline in the consistency didn't make much sense, since al-Fijar had to know that the world was caught astray and off-guard. What were they waiting for, Adrian wondered.

"Sir, we have something," Duand said, peaking Adrian's attention from his desk. He stood, tripping over himself as he rushed over to Duand's seat, which was joined by Adrian's chief operational officer Chase Galloway. The two men leaned over Duand's shoulder, as the wider image appeared on the center's main screen.

"Here's a match, sir. Link from al-Siddiqui's phone in a village called Mazraat Yamrine, just south of Haruya. He's known to frequent there. Direct connection to a satellite dish which registered to a Moulins apartment complex."

"Moulins?" Adrian questioned, somewhat confused by the geographic location. "Why would a phone in Jaginistan link to Moulins? It's not exactly a prime target."

"Whatever the reason, sir, we've got the name and address. Duncan Sinlock, 28 years old, University of Providence graduate."

Adrian stood up straight, looking at Galloway.

"Doesn't exactly ring 'I'm a terrorist', does it?" Chase asked rhetorically.

"He could be an intermediary," Adrian proposed, "although I'll admit, the name doesn't really give off alarms. What else do we know about him?"

Duand enlarged an image of Duncan Sinlock on the center's main screen. He was a skinny white male, no more than 130 pounds. The obvious driver's license picture still presented him with cleanliness. Freshly shaved, no blemishes, tidy brown hair, he looked like a regular 28 year old. "Well, his graduate degree was in chemistry. Says he currently works at a marketing firm," Duand said, "and that he was a volunteer at a Moulins local church for two years until two months ago."

Adrian sighed again. "Yeah, this guy is definitely not registering what we want him to register."

Chase spoke up. "Just because our knowledge on the surface doesn't show something doesn't mean it's not there."

Adrian nodded. "You're right. We'll dispatch a team to track him."

"Should we seize his computer," Duand asked, "since we have the link?"

"I want to wait until we find out if there is a response back to al-Siddiqui," Adrian responded. "With the little we have right now, we're not going to intercept, interact, or detain. Just have some agents tail him for a while. I want to be sure we have everything under control and keep this contained."

Duand nodded, as did Galloway, who put his cellphone to his ear and ordered a tracker team to get underway. Moments later in the basement garage of the ZIS Headquarters, three black sports utility vehicles revved to life as a team of 12 agents began a drive to the airport and the two-hour flight to Moulins.

Moulins

Duncan Sinlock registered the pinging noise on his computer, setting down his coffee and walking around his kitchen island to the desk, hunching over to see a new email from the contact he had been waiting to hear from. It was almost time.

Duncan's beard had grown in well. Life without much alignment and stability had left him fraught until he met Allah. In the church, his parents had berated him for his lack of attention and his general array of rebellious tendency. Even as a volunteer he felt like an outcast. He hadn't told any of his friends, but the mosque in Moulins provided him an escape, his imam said that he loved him like a son, and he was respected and accepted by the ummah. It was the friend he made after Isha outside the mosque, a man he knew only by the name of Amru, who enlightened him to the knowledge and realisation that Zamastan and the defenders of infidels were betrayers to Allah. More than that, Duncan had come to realize, but the path that Amru had helped lead him on was a path that would give him revenge against those who berated him in his youth.

He typed a few keys on his computer, sending a single reply to the contact saying "thank u brother. Ya‘tik al-‘afiya." Directly stated, Duncan was expressing his thanks to his unknown contact. More than that, it was a recognition of the contact's hard work and allowed Duncan to show his appreciation. Finally, he had a purpose in his life.

Duncan stood, pushing his chair back and walking to his apartment's closet. There lay several aerosol cans of bug spray, several canisters containing triethylamine and diethylaniline. Hauling out one of the triethylamine canisters, Duncan donned large blue hazmat gloves and began to work. Opening the canister's seal, an odor like the smell of cut grass started to waft into the air.

This was the beginning of sarin.

[Zamastan]

"YOU ARE TO CAPTURE HIM ALIVE"
Part VI
September 18th, 2021
ZIS Headquarters, Tofino, Zamastan

Adrian Sardou monitored the screen as the agents tailing Duncan Sinlock in Moulins set up a small surveillance camera in a building across the street from Sinlock's apartment with a clear view into his living space. The ZIS agents could not act unless there was a clear indication of suspicion, and aside from the direct email link, there was no physical proof. All they could do now was wait. Sinlock was certainly inside the apartment, as his car was in the parking lot confirmed by agents on the ground, but there was no motion visible inside the building. Perhaps he was asleep.

"Relieve three agents on site," Sardou said, "pull them back, send them to Sardou's work place to monitor. I want two agents at the apartment at all times."

"Yes, sir," Chase Galloway stated in response.

As Adrian stepped away, still glancing at the screen while turning to walk to get himself some coffee, he raised another question.

"Has the embassy in Haruya been notified that we have some suspicion about the whereabouts of al-Siddiqui?" he prompted.

"They know that the ZIS has evidence pointing to his whereabouts," Galloway responded, "but they don't have any specifics."

Sardou thought for a moment. Maybe pressuring al-Fijar wasn't the right move to go with quite yet, especially since he could not be confident that they were holding off on other attacks. If he decided to go after al-Siddiqui, it might force them into their depraved justification to launch another coordinated wave of attacks.

"Tell the ZIS station in Haruya that we'll update them fully within the next 24 hours," Adrian said. "We need to develop a comprehensive strategy, and I'm going to need to meet with Director Faulkman and, if we're able, President Moreau."

"Sending memos now."

Zamastanian Consulate
Haruya, Jaginistan

ZIS Haruya station chief Calvin Strong opened the memo passed to him by a staff analyst. The memo instructed the outposting at the embassy to be on alert for possible al-Fijar attacks and to prepare for further instructions regarding a 'person of interest' that the ZIS was wary about. Strong nodded, handing the memo back to the analyst, who hurried back to his desk. Calvin had worked at the consulate for three years, and he knew that risk was around every corner.

July, 2020

Calvin Strong had realized these risks first hand. It was a small riot in a year of upheaval, a passing thunderclap disgorged by racing skies. When the mob broke in, Ambassador Jamie Lake was eating a cheeseburger. He had decided to lunch in the club by the swimming pool of the serene thirty-two acre Zamastanian compound in Haruya, bigger than even the main embassy in Kibul one hundred miles to the east. The consulate employed about 150 diplomats, spies, aid workers, communications specialists, assorted administrators, and a handful of Zamastanian Marines. "Sakzi dog!" the rioters shouted, referring to the then-Zamastanian president Foley Sakzi. Lake abandoned his meal and hid in a small office until the smoking fumes of smoke and gasoline drove him out. A raging protestor threw a brick in his face as he emerged. Another hit him on the back of his head with a pipe. They stole two rings and his wallet, hustled him into a vehicle, and took him two miles away to a concrete dormitory at Haruya's National University. The ZIS later discovered that the mob was pressured by al-Fijar insurgents to attack the consulate, and among them were known al-Fijar fighters. Ambassador Jamie Lake was killed in the dormitory, and his body was not recovered until two weeks later by CCA peacekeepers.

The date was July 2nd, 2020. As the riot and attack on the grounds outside consulate in Haruya, 21 Zamastanians were being taken hostage and imprisoned by Islamic radical university students and revolutionary militia who dealed with al-Fijar, announcing their intention to murder the hostages by suicide vest if any attempt was made to rescue them. As ZIS office officials inside the consulate scrambled to respond, Calvin Strong had been present, tracking rumors of an attack on the embassy in Kibul. They had no indication that it would actually be in Haruya.

Looking out the windows, Strong could see buses pulling up before the main gate. Hundreds of rioters streamed out and jumped over sections of the consulate's main perimeter protected by metal bars. One gang threw ropes over the bars and began to pull down the entire wall. Among the rioters, a ground of al-Fijar militants emerged, indicated by their Beleroskovian-made rifles and pistols that they began firing into the air. One terrorist tried to imitate Zamastanian movies by shooting a consulate gate lock with a pistol. The bullet ricocheted and struck protestors in the crowd. The rioters now believed that they were being fired upon by Zamastanian marines posted on the roof. They began to shoot. Under their rules of engagement, the twenty Marines at the consulate that day could only fire their weapons to save their lives. They were overwhelmed quickly and outnumbered massively.

The Marines had always considered Haruya a quiet posting. From the roof of the consulate they could watch cows grazing in nearby fields. Calvin Strong, a powerfully built Vulkarian War veteran who was the only member of his family to leave his small hometown in Pahl, had seen nothing in Jaginistan firsthand that resembled the warfare and battlefields of Vulkaria. Despite occassional bombings by al-Fijar, which Strong never witnessed firsthand, the station was a peaceful spot. There had been a protest only a few months earlier in May, but it wasn't much of one. They sang a few songs, chucked a few rocks, and then went away. To pass the time, Strong and the other Marines drilled regularly. They practiced keeping modest-sized crowds out of the consulate compound and even rehearsed what would happen if one or two intruders found their way inside the building. But they had no way of rehearsing or preparing for what they now faced: wave upon wave of armed rioters charging directly toward their post in the lobby. Strong could see bus after bus pulling up near what was left of the front gates, but with only two security cameras on the grounds, he could not fully assess just how pervassive the riot had become. He sent two of his Marines to the roof to find out.

Inside the consulate hallways only minutes later, shouts went up: "They shot a Marine!" Strong and one of his fellow soldiers grabbed a medical kit and ran up the back stairway near the communcation's section of the consulate. On the roof, a cluster of consulate personnel knelt over the prone six-foot-six-inch figure of blonde twenty-year old Corporal Matthew Oigeo of Abagene who had enlisted in the Marines only a year earlier and had been deployed to the typically quiet consulate. Crouched down low to avoid the bullets that whizzed overhead and chinked off the roof's concrete edge, they lifted Oigeo onto a makeshift stretcher made of plywood and scampered towards the stairs. The ZIS men held Oigeo's head, but blood pooled from a wound indicated from a protruding hole in the back of his helmet. Lowering him in an office one floor below, they were able to ascertain that Corporal Oigeo had been killed.

"Does anyone know where the Ambassador is?" Calvin Strong shouted over the sound of explosions and gunfire, to which no one was able to provide a response. Unbeknownest to them at this time, Ambassador Jamie Lake had already been seized by the rioters, who had overpowered two staff members guarding him. Now, Strong needed to account for the people under his direct command. For all he could tell, they were the only ones left. The staff and Marines under his authority began heading for the consulate's secure communications vault where the State Department and ZIS each had adjoining secure code rooms to send cables and messages to Tofino. Emergency procedures dictated that in a case like a consulate breach, staff should lock themselves behind the communications vault's steel-reinforced doors to wait for Jaginistani police or army troops to clear the grounds of attackers. It was now 3 o'clock in the afternoon. The riot had been raging for nearly an hour. Surely Jaginistani reinforcements would not be long coming. That, or the CCA peacekeepers in Kibul would be on their way.

[North Timeria]

TIA Safe House, Undisclosed Location
TIA, Agent Jackie Manning
Septemeber 20th, 2021
Interrogation of Abir Gatajari


Agent Manning sat across from Gatajari looking deep into his eyes. The room was sterile and empty aside from the chairs they sat in. Gatajari had no idea where he was or how long he had been there. His eyes were swollen and he could barely hold his head up.

“So Abir… What have we learned?” Manning said as she stood up. She walked over to him to pick his head up as he sat limp in the chair. Though you could barely see he looked as if he was on the verge of crying. Abir has suffered through countless hours of Manning’s interrogation.

“Abir… If you don’t tell me where the servers are I’ll be forced to find someone who can.” Manning looked into his eyes as she sat an orange folder down on his lap. She took the keys from her pocket and unlocked one of his restraints.

“Open it…Abir I said open the folder.” Manning watched as Abir finally used the bit of strength he had to look through the folder. As Abir looked through the folder he gained a boost of adrenaline and started to fight his restraints, whaling his arms at Manning. Inside was an unused plane ticket, an ultrasound, and pictures of Nikou Gatajari.

“I will kill you! She has nothing to do with this! I am responsible for the deaths in Mai!” Abir yelled as he fought his restraints. Manning gestured to the one-way mirror and 4 men walked in to restrain Abir, Manning taped his mouth and covered his eyes. The group took him to the roof and into a gated area that was partially covered.

Manning sat Abir down and removed the bandana around his eyes, inside was his pregnant wife. Abir immediately began to panic as he tried to yell through the tape over his mouth.

Manning squatted beside him and whispered into his ear “You should have told me where the server was… Now she’s going to pay for your crimes.” Manning gestured to the 4 men and they took Nikou and began to restrain her. “Oh, yea it’s a girl.” she said as 3 of them prepared her for interrogation. One of the agents Weston struggles, shaking his head and Manning.

The two step away as the other prepare Nikou in front of Abir.

“This isn’t what I signed up for.” Weston says as he walks away.

“Yes it is Weston… This is your safehouse and this is your house guest! Now get back in there and prepare her for interrogation.” Manning says yelling at Weston.

Weston begins to argue with Manning on the roof “We’re not the bad guys… Abir is responsible for killing all those people. We should be torturing him-”

“Watch that word Weston.” Manning quickly cuts him off and begins to calm him down. “Weston listen we are the bad guys… We’re the bad guys working for a good cause. Someone has to show them how far we are willing to go… Someone has to be the deterrent. Right now you’re making the greatest sacrifice… Sacrificing your humanity for others. Giving a piece of yourself so that others can live in peace and feel secure. Abir will break Weston… but if he doesn’t you’re going to proceed with the interrogation. If you’re scared to cross the line then go home and hope that our sacrifice is enough.” Manning starts to walk back upstairs to continue the interrogation and as she leaves Weston quickly follows.

“You don’t have to do this.” Manning says as they return.

“Yes, I do. Someone has to make them afraid of the dark.” Weston returns with Manning as the two enter she begins to shed tears.

Manning sees Nikou restrained against the fence being held by metal wires bound together. She goes and hugs Nikou rubbing her pregnant belly and she starts to cry in her embrace. “I’m sorry you two will have to pay for his crimes.”

Manning gestures to the two men and she looks over at Abir who is now fighting his restraints as best he can. She can see the determination in his eyes as he fights, the ties cutting into his wrist; the tape barely holding on as he yells.

One of the men takes out a scalpel and begins to put on protective gear. As Abir sees this he attempts one last time to break free before the adrenaline wears off and he realizes he won’t be able to. He collapses again as he was in the interrogation room only being held upright by his restraints. He starts to cry and struggle to catch his breath as the tape restricts his breathing. Manning removes the tape from Abir and he takes a deep breath, tired from fighting against the restraints. Before he can truly catch his breath he lets out one word.

“Please.” he says as he pants and tears stream down his face.

Manning wipes his face with a wet wipe and fixes his hair. “I don’t have a choice… I have to find those servers.”

“She doesn’t know… She is innocent, my crimes are mine alone.” Abir says pleading with Manning.

“Well tell her…” Manning looks at Abir and then goes to cuts Nikou loose.

She immediately goes to embrace Abir and the two share an intimate moment. Manning exchanges a look with Abir before he leans in and whispers into Nikou’s ear. She nods understandingly and kisses him. Two of the men pull her away and the others take Abir back into the safe room.

Manning seats Nikou down and places her hands on her thigh. “Where are the servers?”

Nikou willingly tells her and Manning nods taking Weston with her. The two step outside and Manning calls Captain McKenzie.

“Captain McKenzie get your team ready. I’m headed to Murska Air Base with the location of a server. Get your men ready for an op we’re green as soon as Vince approves.”