Muktar's Revenge

[unscratchedfoot]

Muktar's Revenge


He worked as a palace guard, an elite bodyguard unit charged with protecting Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee from would-be assassins, religious fanatics and sneak attacks from any of India's scheming neighbors. The guard's name was Muktar. This was one of the most critical security positions a member of the armed forces could have, except for the fact that Muktar wasn't allowed to be armed. The brunt of the guard team's jokes and hardly looking more dangerous than a sleeping sparrow, it was a wonder that he had been given the position.

To understand more about this situation one must look into the past. Despite the easing of tensions with Pakistan over the last couple of years, Vajpayee preferred to spend most of his time in the relative safety of the Presidential Palace and only went to Parliament when he had to address the assembly. Much of this fear was based on the December 2001 suicide attack of 5 gunmen who burst into the red sandstone parliament building and took out 6 policemen and a gardener as well as injuring 22 others before succumbing to police gunfire themselves.

Vajpayee was secretly terrified of Islamic militants. To allay his fears, a team of ex-BlackCat special forces members had been hand-picked based on their performance to protect the prime minister. The bumbling Muktar was the exception to this rule because he was a childhood friend of Vajpayee who had given him the position out of sympathy. Since going their seperate ways after high school, Muktar was fired from his first job, an office building security guard, for sleeping on the job. Muktar then went on to working as a janitor, but despite his easy-going boss, was eventually 'let-go' for being too lazy. More jobs came and went with the same dismal result until Vajpayee had sympathy on his dear friend and rewarded him the slack, yet well-paid and prestigious palace guard job.

Muktar spent most of his time wandering without purpose around the bottom floor because the mean guards all hung-out on top of the palace with the nice view where they chatted about women, drinking and fast cars. Muktar had to watch out for the nasty doberman pincher named 'Prince', a dog so big that when his stood on his hind legs he was as tall as Muktar. This fact did not go unnoticed by the savage canine which liked to rub it in by jumping up and putting his forelegs on Muktar's shoulders again and again and again. Muktar was too frightened to push the dog off and tried walking backwards to escape, causing the dog's claws to tear their way down his uniform.

The captain of the guard, Jagajeet, was continually hounding Muktar for his damaged uniform, secretly quite amused by the way Prince bullied him. Muktar only made the situation worse by wearing his shoes out to the point where you could see his socks through the holes, and he seldom kept up with his security paperwork. Being scolded and harrassed was a way of life for him. He had been bullied by his peers all through high school for his unhip style: messy bird's nest hairstyle, worn-out clothes, totally uncool way of talking, and capped off with glasses so thick that they were almost too heavy for the big black frames to support.



One day Muktar headed on up to the top floor and outside. He was tired of the dog jumping on him and needed to see the view to break the boredom. He knew the other guards would hassle him but he thought that maybe was used to it and wouldn't care, or maybe they would finally see his finer qualities and accept him as a friend.

Negative on both.

There were 9 other guards, normally the team kept 10 people on duty at all times, Muktar being number ten.

"Daljinder won't go near you Pradeep. Your B.O. is too bad. Ha ha ha!" guffawed Jagajeet.

"Yeah? Well look who's here. Ole coke bottle glasses boy, Muktar, coming to muck around where he's unwanted. I'd like to see him try and pick up Daljinder." said Pradeep. "Hey hairbag! Do you like Daljinder?" The other guards chuckled along with him.

Muktar just kept looking at the ground as he walked past the jeering group.

"Ah, give the poor dude a break. He's actually not a bad guy." said Varun, the only one who ever respected Muktar. He was the sort of person who got along fine with both the oppressers and the oppressed.

"We'll give him a break when he get's his sorry a$$ fired outta here!" retorted Ravi, another of the bullies.

"Yeah, you useless slouch!" yelled another and Muktar felt a partially empty pop-can hit his back.


Muktar lived in an old house along with 21 other people including kids, parents, grandparents and a some others like Muktar working for a living and just trying to make it through life with a bit of decency. The first thing Muktar did after get home from work everday was grab a snack and join the crowd infront of the TV for a little socializing. They were an easy-going bunch who didn't give him any hassle much unlike his workmates. The 3 mothers living there had no qualms about cleaning the place up so Muktar could afford to be lazy at home.

He squeezed between some kids for a spot on the floor and listened to them all jabbering away.

"So how's the working out going, Muck?" asked Bohinder, a janitor who cleaned office buildings like Muktar used to. Every night, Muktar would strip down to his shorts, showing off his body which looked like several broomsticks stuck together, and go out on the balcony to do his Arnold workout. He used a book written by Schwarzenegger with a routine of exercises like push-ups, ab burners, chin-ups excetera to help people get ready to start pushing weights.

"Good. I'm so good at it now, I'm having late night fantasies of walking into bars like Arnold did in Terminator 2 and then start beating up bad guys.

"Hehe, keep it up brother."

On TV, a science program documentary was just starting. It was about a test being carried out on a prototype of some new type of contact lens.

"Wait, everyone please quiet down for a moment! I want to hear the TV." said Muktar.

On the screen was a sharp-looking man in a suit with a big smile and articulate manner. Beside him was a dazzling, skimpily-clad young woman with emerald green eyes. "We are going to demonstrate now how indestructible these contacts really are. Watch and be amazed!" said the man. "Now, Antara, would you please take out your contacts."

The girl took out the emerald green contacts with changed to bright pink once out of her eyes. She handed them to the man.

"The contacts are specially designed change to pink when the concave side of of the contacts contact air. That way, you'll never lose your contacts after you drop them. But that is a minor point. Watch carefully now." He leaned down to a plastic blue bowl filled with dog food. He pushed the contacts into the mushy meal and then wiped his fingers off with a hankerchief. "Now Boo Boo the dog is going to have dinner. Let's watch."

A furry medium-sized dog began wolfing down the dinner and after a few mouthfills began chewing furiously on something. The announcer said, "Boo Boo is now chewing something with a passion and although we can't see what's in his mouth, I'm quite sure its the contacts. Keep watching everyone." Boo Boo eventually swallowed the chewy substance with some difficulty and then continued on with his meal.

A message came up on the screen, "The Next Day..."

The announcer and his helper were there again with some other people all standing in a circle around Boo Boo who looked rather nervous. Then urge overpowered shame and Boo Boo squatted down to unload. He grunted while making the heavy deposit, and after a minute or so, the announcer and the others sat down and looked closely at Boo Boo's fresh, steaming doo doo.

"Okay everyone, here we are the next day after Boo Boo ate Antara's contact lens, and we're going to see how well they survived this ordeal." The announcer took out a pair of chopsticks and began poking around till he saw pink. Once the contacts were extracted from the smelly mess, he handed them to some other people who gave them a quick scrubbing and disinfection in a blur of activity. "The special solution we use to clean them with has industrial grade cleaning power yet is gentle enough to put in your eyes."

The staff handed the contacts to Antara and she put them back in her eyes. "Wow, they feel as good as new. I can't believe it!" She gave a big smile to help show her feeling. Boo Boo looked up at her with an expression which said 'I don't like being used like this'.

"There you can see everyone the survivability of these contacts!" bellowed the announcer. "Isn't that just amazing! Next we have a second story which will knock your socks off."

The scene changed to a dark and dirty back alley. Antara was standing next to a big rusty metal garbage bin. The announcer's voice could be heard but he was not on the screen. "Today Antara is walking through Delhi's notoriously slimy Curry Lane Alley. Next to here is a bin used for storing glass bottles to be recycled."

Antara took out her contacts and threw them over her shoulder into the bin. "Oooooh noooo! She's gone and dropped her contacts in the bin! And is she going to climb into a bin filled with broken glass to find them? Nope. She's simply going to wait until the glass has been crushed, melted and the contacts will come out in the slag as good as new again."

Anatara walked away and soon after, a big truck came which hoisted the bin up overtop and poured all the glass into its dumpster with an ear-shattering cacophony.

The screen switched to the recycling plant. "Listen here smartass, contact lens wouldn't survive for one second in this process. That glass has been broken up, crushed, melted and filtered, so you better just move along." said a growly worker with a hefty beargut and gnarly face.

"All we ask is for one quick look in the slag, that's all. Then we'll be gone." said the announcer.

"Alright, one quick look and then get the hell outta here will ya?" The worker heaved up a metal lid on a vat of icky stuff. "Watch out cause it's almost hot enough to melt steel."

The announcer used a pair of tweesers to pluck the pink contacts from the muck and handed them to his staff again for cleaning. Once Antara had put them back in her eyes, she said, "Holy! They feel even nicer than before! The crushed glass must have made them smoother."

"There you have it folks, these contacts are certified indestructable and we are offering $50,000 US dollars to anyone who can destroy them using any means possible."

The gruff worker said, "I don't believe what I'm seeing. She just put those contacts back in! What's the name of them?"

"Ahhh..." the announcer thought fast and hard, ".. Boo Boo contacts. They'll be going on sale next week for only $9,999.99 US dollars, solution sold seperately, and will be available internationally. Also, they feature full spectrum UVA rays protection and a lifetime guarantee."

Muktar and his roomates were awestruck. "I'm buying them." declared Muck.

"Yo man, they're way too expensive. Ten grand! My a$$ your buying them." said Bohinder.

"I've already decided. I make good money now and I've taken too much hassle all my life for my thick glasses and the special forces guard unit rules won't let me wear normal contacts in case something goes wrong with them. They can't refuse to let me wear these ones though cause they're better than glasses."


One week later Muktar emptied his bank account and bought his own pair of Boo Boo contacts. His life would never be the same.


Saturday Night Out on the Town

Muktar got off the bus and walked down the street through downtown Delhi where are the action was on Saturday night. He felt like a new man; he had the Boo Boo contacts on. He was also wearing his best 'trendy' clothes consisting of a plaid short-sleeve collar shirt left untucked which showed off his tiny biceps improved from his Arnold workouts, along with blue jeans and runners. He had been saving these clothes for the 'right moment' and were the only ones he had with no holes in them. He even combed his hair for the first time in years. Energy pulsed through him, the energy of supreme confidence and absolute power.

On the street, hip young men and women strutted back and forth looking cool and enjoying the atmosphere. It was a like fashion show and everyone was on the catwalk both showing off and judging everyone else. Coolness dictated the Saturday night pecking order. To Muktar, they were all his meat. He would have everything: money, power, women, and the utter awe and respect of all those around him.

He passed several clubs which weren't cool enough to impress him until he got to Mars, the most popular hang-out in the city for young people with money to burn. Outside there was always a minimum 2 hour line-up, but tonight was different. The long line-up was going around to the side of the building to a fire exit because infront of the club, a fire hydrant was spraying water up into the air and rained it down all over the front of the club. Some staff were desperately working on the hydrant to try and stop the spray.

Muktar walked up to a man kneeling down with a black mask and arc welder spewing sparks. "Having trouble are you?"

The man welding stopped what he was doing and said with a sigh, "Yeah, the hydrant sprang a leak and the city refuses to fix it until monday when their lazy workers got back on the job. I'm not so good at welding since I just do it to make minor repairs in the club. The water pressure just keeps busting through my welds."

"Are you the club manager."

"Yesiree, can you help at all or are you just here to chat?"

"I think I can help." Muktar took out a contact and handed it to the manager.

The manager took it with some hesitation and said, "What the hell, a pink contact. Why're you giving me this?"

"Weld it over the leak and it'll stop. Just promise me you'll give it back on monday once the city comes to fix it properly."

"You been snorting curry powder or something? Listen pal, I don't have time for this nonsense okay?"

"Just do it. Do you want to save your business?"

The welder went back to work and sure enough, after a few minutes of sparks flying around, the spray stopped.

The manager was astonished. After some initial shock he calmed down and while shaking Muktar's hand said, "Can I have your name?"

"Muktar"

"Muktar, we're gonna let you in here ahead of the line with no cover charge and you go and enjoy an evening of free drinks. You'll always be welcome to my club with no wait. You get on in there now okay? I'll let the staff know."

"Thank you sir. Glad to be of help." Muktar felt power surging through him, a newborn superhero like Spiderman. Yes! He would go around helping people in crisis. For the first time in his life, he was being appreciated. He was going to be the best.

Now to find a damsel in distress. He headed on into the club.

Inside the club, a packed-in crowd of young trendy people surged to the techno beat. Muktar wasn't quite ready for dancing yet so he headed to the bar which sparkled with a high-tech yuppy design like something from a science fiction setting. Spotting a classy young girl sitting at the bar by herself sipping a cocktail through a straw, he sat down on the stool next to her.

"Hey baby, do you get called a parking ticket often?" yelled Muktar with a grin and he wiggled his eyebrows up and down. He could barely make himself heard over the music and yelling coming from other customers behind him.

The girl scowled and said, "Huh?"

"Cause you got 'fine' written all over you."

"Oh my god, that is so lame. Get away from me please before people think we're together."

"Um.. alright." said Muktar and he moved to another empty stool further down between two other couples enjoying their romantic evening together. Muktar had lost the battle but not the war. He just needed a chance to demonstrate his latent power to the masses.

"Something to drink?" asked a heavily made up waitress.

"An OJ. On the rocks."

Behind him a terrible whooping was continually coming from a table of 4 rowdy guys. They were even louder than the music, drowning out conversations throughout the bar. Muktar saw an average joe kind of guy standing just outside the bar who looked serious and had a radio set over his head.

Muktar walked up to the security man and said, "Can you do something about those rowdies who are spoiling it for everyone else?"

"That's Ballrash and his buddies, a bunch of steriod using body-building freaks. They're regulars here and no one messes with them. I suggest you do the same. They're dangerous."

"Alright then, I'm gonna take care of them myself." Muktar walked over to the rowdies' table with his chest thrust forward and head held high.

By coincidence the music had just ended and everyone was taking a break from dancing. All eyes and ears in the bar shifted to Muktar.

"You boys wanna quiet down or what?" said Muktar in the manliest voice he could muster.

They laughed and said, "C'mon little girly man, make us be quiet." said Ballrash who had a chest like 2 basketball halves. His henchmen laughed even harder.

"I'll make a deal with you then. I'm gonna give you my contact lens and if you can wreck it, I'll buy you and your friends drinks for the rest of the evening. If you can't, you all bugger on off outta here and don't come back. Deal?"

"Say what? Wreck your contact lens? Pah! Fork it over buddy."

Muktar remembered the show he had seen on TV and added, "Just one rule: don't eat it." He didn't relish the thought of going through Ballrash's doo doo with chopsticks the next day.

"Whatever pal." Ballrash took the contact and stretched it this way and that while his big muscles flexed and shook like an electric chicken. Getting frustrated, he put it on the ground and with the heel of his shoe on it, he used his other foot to propel himself skateboarder style. In a jerky fashion he made his way across the floor and then picked up the contact which was as pink and fine as ever, only a bit dirty.

Cursing and fuming, Ballrash and his buddies took turns stomping on the contact. Then they tried knives and forks on it. Failing that, Ball took out a lighter and ordered his friend to hold it while he put the flame underneath it. After a couple of minutes, all the while cursing, Ballrash grabbed the contact. "#$%@ it's hot!" He dropped it onto a menu and it melted its way through onto the table. "You dirty little puke! #$%@ you and your stupid contact!" Ballrash spat on the floor and they headed on out of the club.

Everyone cheered for Muktar. Several security personnel came over to pat him on the back and shake his hand. Muktar noticed the girl he had tried to talk to earlier motioning him to come and sit next to her. He didn't hesitate, like a kid running for the presents on Christmas morning.

"Hey, you were great! I'm really sorry for what I said to you before. My name's Serena." She smiled at him.

"Hi, I'm Muktar. And no worries at all, baby."

"Can I have your phone number?"

"Wha... you mean... really? You want my phone number?"

"Yeah, because I lost mine." Together they laughed at the corny joke and a good time was had by all.



*********************************************

Next episode is back to the palace and a high-level, professional scheme to assassinate Vajpayee. Will Muktar and his bully coworkers be enough to stop it? Who knows.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Weird and wonderful

[vovan]

Great stuff, scratch. I don't know where you get all those ideas for your stories, but every single one of them I've seen so far has been awesome. I hope you can draw this one to the conclusion eventually - finished stories are always so much better than unfinished ones.

[Kaos XIII]

I've enjoyed reading this fascinating story of Muktar. I liked his adventures at Club Mars, but isn't Muktar an old guy?

Nonetheless, keep writting more stories. And what happened with the "Bush vs. Tower" story???

[unscratchedfoot]

Kaos, I thought you weren't around anymore. As for Muktar, he's a real swinging dude... well... at least he thinks so. It's gonna be iffy at best how his new style is gonna hold up in a determined assassination attempt. The Bush story thread got too messed up so I cancelled the project for now.

[SKILORD]

groovy.

[vovan]

Are we to expect the next shipment of goods any time soon?

[unscratchedfoot]

Saturday, 3:30 pm Pakistani Parliament


"Step this way." said the aide and gestured towards the open door. Sheikh Rashid walked in as ordered.

"What is it you wanted to see me about?" General Pervez Musharraf, the military leader of Pakistan who traditionally dressed in a military uniform, was at his desk finishing up clearing off documents he didn't want Rashid to see. Rashid had lost the favor of the general during recent political bickering with other ministers and had been branded a 'big mouth' for speaking his mind too much. Relations among the Pakistani government ministers were complex and personal bonds changed with a moody frequency as bad as hyper-gossiping high school girls.

"May I?" Rashid held out his hand towards a chair, meaning he had come for a lengthy talk.

Mush, as he was called by everyone who knew him personally, wasn't happy about Rashid being there but he gave a reluctant nod for him to sit down without even looking up at him. "Get on with it please, I have a game of squash scheduled in half an hour." lied the general to speed the issue.

Rashid sat down, looking smug and over-confident in his usual way. "I'm sure you can give me a few minutes to discuss your upcoming assassination plot, no?"

Musharraf finally looked up at Rashid with a graveness more extreme than Rashid had ever seen before. "Where did you hear this from? What are you talking about?"

"You could hardly have expected an order of such absolute risk and, if I might add, vindictiveness to go without being leaked by someone or other. Surely such information must be priceless." Rashid offered a sinister smile.

Musharraf's face turned dark from his efforts to hold down his anger boiling up just like his overstuffed toilet had done earlier that day during a flush after some messy business. He knew that nothing he did now could remove that ace in Rashid's hand. "So what do you want for this 'acknowledgement'? Money? Political power? Some sort of sick revenge for the way I dressed you down for gossiping about me? What is it?"

"First of all, I want you to explain in full detail all your arrangements for the assassination and submit to me immediately and without time to prepare a fake version, the same mission briefing you gave to all those loyal to you. Once that's done we'll discuss a price for me to keep my 'big mouth' as you put it last time we met, shut."

"Details... why?"

"I'm just curious. Like for example, how do you hope to cover the fact that 4 commandos wearing full body ballistic repelling armor to drive up in an infantry fighting vehicle, kill a man and then escape without starting a war?"

Musharraf sighed. "Al Qaeda has agreed to accept responsibility for the attack in return for us continuing to hide their members in our country and a donation of $30 million which they ironically want in US currency. This will keep us clean diplomatically. We have agents keeping watch on each member of the palace guard 24/7 and we know that they lack the weaponry to destroy either an armored vehicle or the heavily armored commandos going in. They'll be transported via a tractor carrier and the IFV will be camouflaged to look like a construction vehicle while being transported. The IFV will be deployed just out of view of the palace gate. We've examined in detail all the schematics of the palace and have determined that it will be able to drive straight through the front doors and down the palace hallways getting at least half-way through to Vajpayee. The rest will be simple for the commandos. And if Vajpayee tries to leave the palace via a secondary exit, we'll have well-hidden snipers covering each exit. As for the extraction, its too complex to explain offhand. You can read about it in the briefing report."

"Hmmm... Vajpayee... interesting. Anyways, I've heard that the body armor is custom made for the mission. Tell me more about it."

"It's not the usual kevlar type; its metal alloy plated backed by biofoam - slows down movement a lot but completely deflects small arms fire with almost zero impact injury. I don't know much about its construction since that's not my specialty."

The conversation went silent for a moment while Rashid pondered the news. "As for the target, why take such a risk when another leader like himself will just take his place? Both your own career and safety as well as the welfare of our whole nation is at stake."

"Vajpayee has insulted our nation enough with his childish t-i-t for tat stupidity. For example, when we secretly sponsored militants to enter Indian-occupied Kashmir, Vajpayee ordered a full-out military reprisal to liquidate the militants, all the while knowing that Kashmir is by right sovereign Pakistani territory. Then to insult us further, he had the gall to accuse us of sponsoring the border crossing."

Mush, not known for being overly witty, was getting so into his speech that he was forgetting that he was being blackmailed and had no idea of just how big a blunder he was making. "His next greatest crime against us was after we first tested a couple of atomic bombs; the fool had to go and start his own nuclear program complete with test explosions to prove his lack of foresight into what the international community would think of him, not to mention the effect on Pakistani-Indian relations. Add to this all the artillery bombardments he ordered on our border towns, and for these crimes plus numerous insults and accusations against us proclaimed infront of the world, he deserves a high order of justice. I've ordered one of the commandos to pack a flamethrower to cook him with. A simple shooting would be too merciful." Mush managed a grin despite the present circumstances.

Rashid rocked back and forth in the leather chair, rather enjoying it all and wisely not interrupting.

Mush finally stopped talking and realized something, his grin dissappearing like a girl realizing she had no tampons with her just as her period started. "Wait a minute... didn't you know it was Vajpayee being targeted?"

"I'll take a copy of the briefing before I answer that question."

"I don't have any extra copies left. It's not exactly widely published documentation."

"I'll take your copy then."

Mush shook his head in despair, dialed a combination on his safe, opened the thick metal door and began shuffling around with papers inside.

"Tut tut tut." Rashid waved a finger back and forth, an irritating habit he had aquired from his crabby mother-in-law. "No removing documents or the media will hear all about this. I want the full report."

After a deep sigh, Mush finally handed Rashid the goods in a folder with the words 'Operation: TAKE OUT CURRY' on the front. "Alright you vulture, its done. Now its time for you to explain yourself."

Rashid answered, "Well to tell you the truth I didn't even know there was an assassination being planned. I simply guessed it and you confirmed it for me and told me who the target was as well as filling me in on all the juicy details."

"What!?"

"It became quite obvious something big was being planned with all the secret meetings going on, whispering, and desks being suddenly cleared whenever I approached someone's office - just like you were doing when I came in here. Being shunned by everyone around here, I didn't have much to go on, so I asked a friend in logistics to tell me if anything unusual was being prepared for shipment and he told me about the new body armor and specially fitted IFV being earmarked for an unspecified destination. The shipment is planned in segments so that even the shippers themselves won't know what the package is or where its final destination will be. All a big secret. So I took a guess and got lucky. A big thanks to you Mush. You spilled the curry powder out of the carefully wrapped bottle."

Musharraf looked like he was going to be sick. He had threatened all the loyal people involved with the harshest of measures if anything was leaked and now he had just told the whole story to one of the last people in his government he'd want to know about it. Rashid, a disgraced and despised politician, had walked into his office with a mere suspicion and would walk out a multi-millionaire fully aware of the government's most sensitive secret in its history.

"Awww look at poor little Mushy Mush. You look like overcooked porridge. You'll get over it. Of course this is only between us, isn't it?"

The general's face went quite dark again. He had exploded with anger at Rashid before, but for the first time, Rashid was in the position of power. Even the slightest rumor of the plot leaked would reach Vajpayee with certainty and the palace would turned into a military fortress. Pakistan would be at the mercy of global distain.

Rashid skimmed through the briefing papers in the folder. "Any particular reason for the attack being scheduled for Monday afternoon?"

"Well if you read all the report you will learn that that is the only weak point our agents could find in security. At 3:00 pm every Monday, the guard dog, a doberman, is shampooed infront of the palace which means effectively one guard and the dog are neutralized. It's not a big advantage but we need everything we can get."

Rashid nodded and continued reading.

There was a sharp knock at the door. "Yes, come in." said Musharraf.

An aide came in looking all urgent, but hesitated at the sight of Rashid.

"It's okay. What do you have?" asked Mush.

The aide held up a CD. "General, there's been a new development. This is video footage taken last night by one of the palace guard shadow agents. It would be in your best interests to view it as soon as possible."

Mush took the CD and placed it in the drive of his computer and did some mouse clicking. On the screen appeared one of the shadow agents. "This video clip was taken at a popular Delhi nightclub named Mars. A palace guard by the name of Muktar, demonstrated a powerful new weapon which could have reprecussions on security matters involving the PM." The image changed to show a brute of an Indian with a chest like 2 basketballs and arms like the roots of an oak tree. He was reaching down and sliding a K-bar army knife out of the side of his boot. The deadly knife gleamed in the studio lights hanging off the roof of the night club bar.

"May Allah have mercy. I hope he's not one of the palace guards." moaned Mush, astonished at how a human could become such a freaky aberration, similar to one of the mythical beasts in the tales of Indikoi he had heard as as child.

The speaker on the video continued narrating, "What you see here is what Muktar is going up against. According to the staff here, that behemoth with the knife is named Ballrash. The bouncers here will have nothing to do with him but apparently Muktar confronted and challenged him without a hint of fear. Now watch and see what happens."

Ballrash held the knife as high as he could over his head with both hands, tip pointed down. "Nyarrrgh!!" With all his steriod-enhanced muscularity he drove the knife into the table. TWACK!! The knife bounced off the table and the incredible force of the blow reverberated back through the big man's arms causing him to shake and moan like he was in an electric chair. "Hyaaaagh!!" The video focussed in close on the table to see the pink contact lens which was still quite intact.

Mush reversed the video to watch it a second time and then sat in silent awe while the heathens continued to do their best to try and destroy the contact. All of course, in utter vain. When it was done, he picked up the phone, pushed a button and said to someone, "New orders. The palace guard named Muktar is now a secondary target. I want his contacts lens... What?... No, I have not. I'll deal with that comment at another time. Just get those contacts and although according to our reports he stays on the first floor of the palace, unarmed and considered a bumbling fool by the other guards, he is not to be underestimated. And tell the commandos they are to contact me directly via satellite phone once both Vajpayee has been fried and the contacts have been secured, and they will speak only by code as arranged to fool those dam yankee satellite snoopers. This makes it even more vital that the team is properly extracted. Oh, and make sure the commandos do not use the flamethrower on Muktar. It could complicate the contact removal process." Mush hung up the phone.

"Now there is a matter of payment to discuss." said Rashid looking ever more pleased with himself.



Monday, 2:45 pm Indian Presidential Palace


After a weekend of wearing glasses again, Muktar was relieved to get his other contact lens back on Monday morning before his shift started at noon. The Mars manager was more than enthused to ensure his contact was returned after the city repaired the fire hydrant properly. Offered free entry any day of the week to the club without waiting would change Muktar's social life forever. Walking to work, he was cheered by the thought of how his housemates had all clapped and cheered for him when he told them about his nightclub experience and his new girlfriend Serena.

Back to work though, was less than charming. Jagajeet ragged on Muktar for daring to break the rule forbidding wearing contacts instead of glasses on military duty. It didn't help that the other guards, save Varun, backed up Jagajeet with jeers and insults.

Pradeep seemed particularly concerned about the infringement. "Hey hairbag! How are you gonna know which way to run if someone attacks the palace and you can't see cause your contacts fell out? Get with the program loser." The wolves stalked their prey, savoring their moment of empowerment.

"I'll tell you what Muck, you finish your shift today with those contacts and then I don't ever want to see you show up here again without your glasses on or I'll make sure there is no next time." threatened Jagajeet.

"Muck, do us all a favor and wear contacts again tomorrow. Please get your dumbass fired." begged Pradeep.

"I'd say what he needs is some extra training. I had my usual favorite breakfast today." added Ravi with a sneer.

"Yeah! Do it Ravi!" laughed some of the other guards.

Each one of the guards was assigned a technical skill such as electronics engineer, demolition expert, mechanic, medic, etc. and were required to attend one day of class each month in their area of specialty to work on their skills. Having no special talent, Muktar was sadistically assigned to be the Chief Air Tester responsible for assessing and reacting to gas attacks. The official training for this position was once a month he was placed in an airtight room along with several canisters of tear gas and was ordered via speaker to perform various exercises while enduring the gas. Of course he would have no gas mask and would have tears and mucous streaming down his face for the duration of the ordeal, while almost unable to breath. No amount of training ever really got him used to it although he did learn how to shut his mind off to the suffering and control his breathing somewhat.

On the first floor of the palace there was a room used for storing documentation in big grey filing cabinets, reams of data know one ever looked at or cared to see at all. The dark, dank room had no windows and no airflow through it so that any smell left in it would linger for days. This fact did not go unnoticed by the others who used the room to 'deflate' in. Ravi in particular made frequent use of the room for deflation purposes, usually after having his favorite breakfast of bean curry.

Being of elite status, the guards were quite serious about their training, and with considerable zeal, they figured Muktar could use some extra training in addition to the monthly tear gas work. Once the room was adequately gassed up and stunk worse than a first-year college student's dirty clothes basket before his monthly laundry cleaning, they would handcuff Muktar's hands behind him and then push him into the room. The door would quickly be closed and key-locked, leaving their victim in the gassy hell for up to a couple of hours at a time which is how long it took for the worst of it to wear off.

"I feel something brewing inside of me." said Ravi who was rewarded with a roar of laughter from the others.

"So who's turn is it to wash the dog this week?" asked Varun, trying to take the pressure off of Muktar.

"That would be you. Have fun." said Jagajeet.

"Fair enough. Muktar, wanna help?"

"Ah no, he'll be staying here with us." interrupted Jagajeet. "I believe Ravi has some plans for him. And we need to discuss this contacts issue a little more."

In the near distance, the growling of a transport truck's diesel engine came closer and closer.

[vovan]

Nice.

[SKILORD]

It has potential.

But I like my humorous stiry better

just kidding mate, Muktar's gonna go way farther than Lincoln, Shaka or Otto.

[unscratchedfoot]

The Torture of Ali-Hamza


Varun attached a leash to Prince's collar and then fastened it to a decorative garden post infront of the palace. Between the British-built presidential palace and the high metal barred fence that surrounded the building was a spacious lawn where the doberman spent most of his time wandering about and looking for trouble to cause. Using the garden hose, he soaked down the dog which responsponded with snarls and barks while struggling to avoid the stream of water. With that done, Varun poured shampoo onto him and the dog settled down and resigned himself to the scrubbing.

"Watch out! Something's coming!" screamed a fat, elderly woman from outside the front gate. She was holding a cotton shopping bag and running in a way which reminded Varun of a duck waddling in desperation towards a scrap of bread on the ground trying to be the first of the flock to it.

Varun turned around in time to see the refitted BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicle smash its way through the gate, and drive on towards the steps to the big entrance doors of the palace. Despite having a 30mm automatic cannon mounted on a turret and 3 firing ports on the side of the vehicle for passengers to fire out of, there was no gunfire at all.

Inside the BMP, Ali-Hamza felt his adrenaline start to flow and heartbeat picking up. He could see one of the guards out on the lawn with the dog tied up. They could easily have been picked off with machinegun fire had not the operation forbade opening fire until the vehicle finished entering the building to avoid alerting the target too early. The armor Ali wore was bulky and restricted both his vision and movement to a dangerous degree but he felt better with it on. They had trained for months with the suits on using slightly heavier versions than what they were wearing now. They had achieved the harsh training requirements, one of which was to climb a 5 meter rope and remain hanging on at the top for 10 minutes, while wearing the suits of course. The air conditioning cranked up to max was just enough to keep the heat from building up to unbearable levels inside the comfortable but highly insulating biofoam. With these ballistic-proof suits on plus the well thought-out and rehearsed plan, Operations predicted an optimistic 50% chance of them making it out alive.

Ali and his 3 fellow commandos had been hand-picked from the best soldiers that Pakistan had to offer. Their team, led by Kuukburi who was infamous for his exceedingly brutal tactics, was the one that won all the wargame exercises and time pressure problem solving competitions. They could clear a building full of militia, disarm a bomb, retrieve hostages, interrogate an enemy, clear the dinner table and exit all within 2 minutes.

The BMP bounced and jiggled its way up the steps and smashed on through the front doors, letting the commandos in it know what paint feels like on a paintcan-shaker. Once inside and moving down the eastern wing, there was a series of puff sounds from the smoke dispensers on the side of the turret. Normally they were used to make a smoke screen to aid in escaping under fire, but these were outfitted with teargas to reduce the effectiveness of the palace guards to buy a little extra time. The gasmasks fitted into the commandos' suits protected them from the teargas. Shots rang out and shouts of 'gas' could be heard while the guards ran for cover to assess the situation and avoid early losses. The cannon on the BMP finally opened up and blew chunks of walls and doors through the air wildly firing in a wide arc to take out the hidden guards. Small flickers of fire flashed from the gunports as the commandos inside did their part in adding to the smokey hell. A set of statues lining the side of the hallway shattered and toppled over. Inbetween them the body of a guard who had made the mistake of taking cover there fell over and was squashed under the threads of the oncoming BMP like a piglet running across an LA freeway during rush hour.

Inside the BMP the dings from incoming fire dropped off and then something could be heard moving around on top.

"Someone's on top!" yelled the driver.

"Never mind, the turret's locked and he'll probably be hit by his own comrades' fire anytime now. Dispense some more teargas!" shouted Kuukburi, trying to be heard over the firing. All of them wore earplugs in combat which helped to both reduce the cacophony of battle and allow low level sounds like speech to be heard better.

Puff! Puff!

On top of the vehicle, Muktar struggled to open the hatch with no luck. His mind automatically responded to the clouds of gas, controlling his breath and he kept his eyes closed as much as possible to prevent his tears from washing out his contacts. Ironically, he was thankful for the gas because he doubted the other guards would hold their fire for him if they were able to fight back. The gas cannisters landed in among the rubble on the ground so Muktar up high actually had less of it to endure than the other guards.

He flickered his eyes open to see where the vehicle was heading. Then it happened. One of his contacts was washed out by his streaming tears. The bright pink contact was lying on the metal roof and Muktar just picked it up and mentally panicked for a solution to what to do next. He felt like they were losing. What could he do now? Then he had an idea. He rolled backwards across the roof and leaned over the side of the vehicle and hoped the fuel tank wasn't locked shut too. He flipped open the covering lid and unscrewed the cap. After tossing in the contact he jumped off the roof and ran for cover behind a shot-up wall to the rear of the BMP.

"Coward! Get back on there!" yelled Pradeep. Just then the BMP's engine choked and coughed to a stop. The turret on it swirled all the way around constantly punishing the palace structure with its nasty payload while fire poured from the ports bathing the entire area. Smoke, gas and the smell of cordite was everywhere. Then the hatch opened up and the commandos got out and jumped to the ground one by one rolling to the ground instead of trying to support their heavy weight in the fall. To Muktar, they looked like modern samurai with square plates of black armor fastened together, much unlike the shiny one-piece body armor he saw in futuristic computer games.

Muktar could see Ravi and Pradeep making hand signals to each other and then began bobbing and weaving about while firing off bursts and throwing grenades at the commandos. This time it was the guards turn to turn the palace hallway into a firey hell. Getting to their feet, the commandos shook back and forth with sparks flying off them while they grunted in pain. Fear ripped through Ali feeling like a boxer was pummeling his torso and he realized they weren't so invulnerable after all. A grenade exploding near his feet mercifully knocked him back on the ground. A sliver found its way through the armor slats to burrow into his calf muscle and release a warm flow under the biofoam. There was a cry of pain from one of the other commandos who fell to his knees holding his side. He was the one equipped with the flamethrower to be used on Vajpayee.

"What?" barked Kuukburi.

"I took a round between the armor plates. I think I can keep going."

"You better, you S.O.B.!"

They returned fire as best they could. The driver left in the BMP started firing the turret cannon again and Kuukburi blasted away with his favorite weapon: the CAWS autoshotgun loaded with flechette rounds which disperse thousands of razor sharp darts. Usage of this cruel weapon is prohibited by the Geneva convention but Kuukburi never let that bother him. The kevlar vests the guards wore stood no chance at close range against this fearsome piece. Pradeep had been raking the commandos with submachine fire from behind a pillar when Kuukburi's rounds literally tore him apart spewing bits of flesh onto the pillar. More screams could be heard here and there as the commandos got into formation, hosed the area down and tossed grenades into likely hiding spots.

Kuukburi pointed to Ali and the commando who had been wounded. "You two go around to the western wing and execute the plan just as we trained to do it. We'll take this eastern wing and we'll all link up in the president's office on second floor unless I order otherwise. Move out!" They had wireless headsets in their helmets to enable radio communication. Kuukburi spun around and threw out another teargas canister before dashing ahead with his partner in the slow motion run the suits restricted them to.

By this time Varun and Muktar had hooked up in the front lobby. They were holding their forearms over their noses to help breath easier. "Let's go down the western wing and get up onto second floor to help Vajpayee." said Varun.

"Okay. Hey, I managed to stop the BMP so they're on foot now." answered Muktar while they headed off down the left corridor.

Varun looked shocked for a moment but kept focussed. "How many are there?"

"Four. But they got some heavy duty armor on which deflects bullets. We need to think of another way to take them down. I don't think your gun is gonna be enough."

Varun stopped running to think for a moment and then said, "We'll have to ambush them and take them down in hand-to-hand combat. I figure they're gonna split up and use both wings to add confusion and improve their odds of taking out Vajpayee. So lets hide at the corner where the central hallway intersects the western wing. They'll be expecting us to engage them with gunfire at range, not to jump on top of them."

The ran into position well before the slow moving commandos arrived and waited just around the corner. But little did they know that they too were being stalked.

Jagajeet peeked out from a side door at the two guards waiting in position. Damn cowards are too afraid to fight. I always suspected Varun was just as useless as Muck. If I wait here I can see what they're up to and avoid get tangled up in that bloody showdown going on in the eastern wing. He shivered continually despite the hot weather.

The waiting guards could hear the approaching commandos now that the gunfire on the other side of the building had quieted down to just sporadic bursts. They could tell that one of the commandos was wounded by the irregularity in his steps. The attackers came around the corner less than a meter from the guards who immediately pounced on top of them. A viscious wrestling match ensued but the guards had many advantages: surprise, mobility, and they were unhurt. Muktar struggled to remove the helmet of his opponent while silently thanking Arnold for his excellent workout book. Apparently he was fighting the healthy one and Varun had gotten lucky with the wounded one. A weak scream came from Varun's opponent and he slumped out of the fight. Just then, Muktar managed to pull off the remaining commando's helmet who quit struggling once Varun threatened him with a crimson coated knife.

"Let's handcuff and interrogate him." said Varun. "We need to be quick about it." According to the rules, each guard carried one pair of handcuffs to help in arresting intruders. The commando's hands were cuffed together and then his feet.

"Shouldn't we take off their armor? We could use it." suggested Muktar.

"No, Vajpayee will be dead long before that." Varun grabbed the Pakistani by the face and threatened him with the knife again.

"Name, nationality, objectives and who sent you." ordered Varun.

"My name is Ali-Hamza. That's all I am permitted to say."

"Maybe we should torture him." Muktar sounded strangely innocent despite the meaning of his words.

Varun ignored the comment. "Look pal, within 20 seconds I gotta know or you die. Now talk!"

"Wait, I have a better idea." said Muktar. He took out his remaining contact and his bottle of Boo Boo cleaner/rinser fluid. He held the contact in the palm of his hand and sprinkled a few drops on it. "Hold open his eyelid."

"What? Are you on glue? We don't have time to be stupid."

"I told you. We need to torture him."

Varun shook his head and did as requested. Muktar carefully placed the contact on Ali's eye.

Normally when a person with perfect vision puts on another person's prescription glasses, he will feel a painful jab of eyestrain. In Ali's case, the rays of light refracted at an extremely abnormal angle through his retina by Muktar's very highly corrective lens instantly created a case of eyestrain coupled with a splitting headache even a Microsoft programmer with a migraine couldn't achieve in a 20 hour overtime shift. "Aaaayeeeeeeeee! Stop! No! I'll talk! I'll talk!"

"Then talk." said Varun and he let the eyelid close to stop the pain.

"I work for al Qaeda. We have to kill Vajpayee and steal the pink contacts of Muktar, one of which is in my eye. Now please, take it out. I beg you."

"Take it out Muck." said Varun.

Muktar grabbed Varun's knee by accident. "I can't see his face." So Varun did his best to remove the contact causing a significant amount of discomfort to Ali. Muktar rinsed it off with the Boo Boo solution and popped it back into his own eye. They dragged the cuffed commando to a side room and closed the door.

"Let's move! By the sounds of the firing everyone else is still on the first floor. Vajpayee will have made a move by now so there's no point in going to his office. We can go through the kitchen inbetween the stairways going up to the second floor and try to figure out what's going on. Here take this gun." Varun handed him a machinegun off one of the commandos plus a couple of clips.

"Okay." Muktar took the stuff and they ran off down the western wing to locate the others, all the while wondering if any of the other guards had survived. There were also some police on station in the area of the palace who had likely joined the fight via a secondary entrance, but they were hardly equipped or trained to take on a beast like Kuukburi.

Once out of view, Jagajeet crept up to the dead commando left in the hallway and removed the flamethrower. The task was made more difficult by his shaking hands but he finally got the petrol tank off his back along with the gun and hose and equipped himself with the unit. He had a thought about taking off the armor too, but like the others before him, he realized it would take too much time. So he slinked off like a snake through the reeds on a dark personal mission.

*************************************************

Next is the last episode: Final Judgement

[SKILORD]

interesting way to torture someone...

[Paddy]

thanks, anymore? ok so my mind is spinning from some of it

[ChrisiusMaximus]

great stuff Scratchy, sorry Ive not said so sooner but works been really hectic lately.

Looking forward to your next installment

[unscratchedfoot]

Please note: AP = Armored Piercing

Final Judgement

Confusion and indecision tore at Jagajeet's mind. The gunfire just around the corner and down the hallway a little kept him shaking and panicky. It was odd that he performed fine if not superbly in live fire exercises but as soon as the fire became hostile and therefore uncontrolled, he lost all control over his fear. He could be hurt and that just wasn't right. The others could take it but not him. He would make sure it never happened to him. The sounds of bullets ripping the air seeking his soft flesh made him crumble in fear.

There was one place so dark, small and insignificant that surely the enemy would overlook it. And if they didn't he would be ready. He fingered the trigger on the flamethrower to assure himself it was still there. Surely even whatever those assassins were wearing would not be enough to stop a ball of flame. For a moment he pondered why they would bring such an antiquated weapon on this mission. The flamethrower had lost favor in the decades after WW2 in favor of the rocket launcher with similar firepower but longer range and increased safety for the bearer of the weapon. Then his trembling increased a tempo at the thought of engaging the enemy in combat.

I will hide from them.

He jogged down the hall going crossways through the middle of first floor, the gas canister on his back jiggling and creaking with each step while his heart beat frantic. At any moment while he was out in the open like this, an enemy could pop around a corner and pump him full of lead. He stopped at the door to the document storage room.

I wonder if Ravi got started on Muktar's training preparations?

The stench which greeted him upon opening the door did a good job of answering that question. He pulled his jersey up over his nose and mouth to help a little, but nothing short of a gas mask would let him breath comfortably. Unfortunately for Jagajeet, the palace guards were not allowed to carry gas masks because they 'did little to compliment the asthetics of the president's most glorious palace' according to ministers who weren't required to bear arms and hold the line against terrorists.

He closed the door and made his way through the dimly lit room to a place among the filing cabinets. He nestled into a narrow space between them in such a way that anyone who came in would have to search around a little to find him, presenting an easy target for the flamer. He took out a cigarette and lit it up hoping to both calm his nerves and cover-up the stench of Ravi with the stench of cigarette smoke.

Now if only the shaking would stop. Surely Ravi, Pradeep and the others will take them down. They're good. I know they are. I'll tell them I passed out in the gas. The teargas I mean, not Ravi's gas. I just gotta get a hold of myself.


While Jagajeet fought his own war in his mind, Varun and Muktar made their way into the kitchen located between the 2 staircases going up to second floor. However an odd place for the kitchen it was, strategically it was a great position. The British builders of the palace perhaps had not considered this when they had planned it or they may have made it into a security post instead. The palace guards figured that maybe the head builder was both a cook and a militiaman going by Seagal's saying, "Nobody kills me in a kitchen."

Once inside, they were disappointed not to see any other guards taking refuge there. The room was rich with the smell of cooking food and bean curd starting to burn on the grill. A big bowl of colorful salad sat on the back counter, and on a tabletop gas burner in the middle of the kitchen a barrel-sized pot of simmering curry stew with a long wooden spoon in it waited to be stirred. The cooks, like all the other civilian workers in the palace, had cleared out the emergency exits as soon as the shooting started. Muktar made a move towards the grill to save the bean curd when Varun grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him down behind a heavy L-shaped table in the middle of the floor. It wasn't like Varun to push him around like that. Jagajeet and the others did it sometimes to be mean but that's because they were bullies. Why did Varun have to do that? Muktar felt a little upset.

The table itself was a kind of a wooden storage block for dishes and utensils with a counter on top so it provided fairly sturdy cover. Next to his position was the tabletop burner with the huge pot of stew brewing on top. Muktar yearned to reach up and give it a stir with the big wooden spoon, but he new he'd be yelled at again by Varun, maybe even meanly pushed down. He hunkered behind the table/storage block and checked his gun over to make sure it was loaded and ready while Varun, his face a grimace of maximum exertion, managed to drag a huge fridge unit out a meter or so from the counter along the wall to make himself a kind of foxhole near the east entrance of the kitchen, back and to the side of Muktar. He settled in behind the cubboard between the wall and the refridgeration unit to prepare for the coming battle.

"Yo, what are we waiting here for? They might just go past us and up the stairs." chattered Muktar.

Varun put his finger over his mouth. "Shhhhhhh."

Just outside in the hallway, one of the commandos put his foot on a still-twitching guard who was missing his right hand along with countless other wounds and pointed his assault rifle at the stricken man's chest. TATATAT!! The guard's torso jumped up against the commando's boot before settling down with a couple last twitches.

The executioner communicated almost silently through his built-in walkie-talkie with Kuukburi. "Area's clear sir."

"Charlie and Delta have lost communication which means they've been taken out. That means there are still some guards around and may be packing AP weapons. We're gonna take a detour." replied Kuukburi while reloading his CAWS autoshotgun. "The target's had plenty of warning now. He'll be looking to go somewhere he thinks is safer than his office. If he heads outside, we're covered; otherwise, we have to set up an ambush. The secondary target may also present himself for termination."

"Where will we set up the ambush sir?"

"In this kitchen here. According to our info it goes from one stairway to the other so I'll cover the east one and you can have the west, but first we gotta clear the kitchen." Kuukburi turned on his infrared vision in his helmet visor and saw two 2 figures crouching down in the kitchen. "I'm going in so you stay out here and watch the stairway and hallways. Expect me out in 20 seconds." Normally, clearing a room, even a large one like this would take about 5 seconds, but in the armor suits, all times had to be quadrupled.

"I got your back."

The 2 lightly armed guards inside heard heavy steps approaching the front entrance to the kitchen. The doorway was just next to the grill with the now smoldering bean curd on it. Muktar now understood why Varun had pushed him behind the table with so much force like he was trying to bully him or something. He had staved off a castrophe. Temporarily anyways...


Upstair in the Vajpayee's office, a group of 6 policemen had just arrived and were discussing the tactics of smuggling a president out of palace under fire. Vajpayee was naturally quite scared and the police were not sure which one of several emergency procedures they should undertake.

"Wh..why don't you just c..cover me out an emergency exit out back?" stuttered Vajpayee. The same deepgut fear he had felt during the attack on parliament was back. He could never remember that feeling until it happened again. It almost made him sick. And the overweight, doughy-faced policemen standing infront of him armed only with pistols they had had too little practice with on the range did little to comfort him. The bag of flab captain himself looked like he would probably have a cardiac just running up a single floor staircase.

"They'll have the exits covered with snipers. Common sense precaution in this kind of an assault." answered the police captain.

"B..b..but you just came in that way. Let's just use the same door." pleaded Vajpayee.

"No, they wouldn't give away their position shooting at lowly police. They'll be waiting for you."

"I have a custom fit disguise here. Look. And I already have a police uniform on with a kevlar vest. I'll look like one of you." Vajpayee picked up a wig and rubbery mask from his desk he had just previously pulled out from a closet.

"Look Mr. President, you have to trust us. We know what we're doing. Any assassin worth his naan would have done his homework and memorized your exact height, weight, walking style and other movement habits. Why would police exit the building with one more member just after entering it? They might kill us all to make sure. And forget about that vest stopping the .50 calibre rounds most snipers use these days. We have to go somewhere else in this building which is safe. Anywhere but here or outside."

Vajpayee sighed in resignation. He didn't like giving in during an argument, but he had surely lost this one. "Alright then. Where do you think is best?"

"During drills with the guards, we prearranged a rendezvous to pool our forces and await army reinforcements which should be here in about 5 more minutes."

"And where is that?"

"The kitchen. Let's run. Fast!"


Moments later... Muktar and Varun peeked out over the countertops with guns pointing at the front kitchen door. It opened part ways. In came a teargas canister.

Noooo! I've had enough of that! Muktar's tears formed creeks down his creeks, his remaining contact lens going down with the flow. He never bothered to catch it, not wanting to release his grip on the rifle at the critical moment.

TATATATATATATATATATATATAT!!! "Aaaaggh!" "Yarrggh!" "Egah!" "Oh the pain!!" BANG BANG!!

The door eased closed on its own weight.

The executioner commando standing guard had caught the policemen midway down the stairs in a well-aimed burst of fire. They reacted like a massive whip had lashed across the lot of them, wobbling about and finally tumbling down the rest of the stairs, a moaning mess of pear-shaped humanity.

"Huh?" asked Muktar. The eruption of gunfire out in the hallway confused him.

He looked towards the door behind Varun where the cries of pain were coming from. That door burst open and Muktar saw a fuzzy blue and black blob come running in and around the refridgeration unit. He fired a 3-round burst into the middle of the blob to make sure it didn't hurt his friend Varun. The inevitable scream from it as it went down had a very familiar feel to it letting Muktar know who he had just shot.

"You idiot!! You just shot Vajpayee!" shouted Varun, discipline going down the drain. They had just alerted the assassins of both their position and the president's. Varun grabbed the downed president by a foot and dragged him back behind the fridge.

The commandos were just finishing up their business on the staircase. The burst had hit the police across their midsections so their vests saved them from fatal wounds but hits to limbs and the impact on their torsos put them down just the same. Two of them struggled to their feet getting off a couple of rounds only to be finished off by Kuukburi who joined his partner in returning fire with his modern grapeshot cannon, pumping several bursts into the line of downed police. Kuuk, was never one to hesitate when given a chance to dish out the hurt. Satisfied with the messy result, the commandos turned to the kitchen door once more. This time both of them went in since they now knew for sure their prime target was inside and already shot. They never bothered to do a two-pronged attack through the front and side doors since they were confident of easily finishing off the last defenders, and in addition, they were too short on time to use proper tactics. Army units would be swarming the building at any moment.

As the commandos approached the kitchen door, someone else was also coming to join the fun. Ravi dragged himself along using a wall for support. He felt like one of the zombies in a Biohazard video game except that instead of rotting flesh, his had been ravaged by the thousands of darts spewed out by Kuukburi's gun as well as grenade fragments and bits of plaster from the wall. He held his combat knife above his head with the point pointing down ready to strike into a weak plate connection in the neck of the rear commando - Kuukburi. It would be a nice revenge for all that had passed.

Ravi would have had a fair chance of pulling it off if it hadn't've been for one problem: the bean curry breakfast. Gas filled him like a helium balloon ready to pop from the pressure and now was no time for deflating.

Inside the kitchen, Muktar and Varun kept their guns pointed at the front door and started firing just as it slammed open. Shots bounced off the 2 commandos who returned a withering barrage forcing the guards to keep their heads down. All over the kitchen rained the destruction. The gunfire stopped and Muktar peeked over to see why. He could only see that the 2 blurry black forms were not moving at all for some reason, maybe to communicate with each other.

*Rrrrrripppp!*

What was that gross noise? They had bean curry for breakfast too? I need a plan. What can I do now? Think! Can I use this contact somehow? Muktar brought up his gun and fired at the black forms one of whom seemed to be moving about in the blur.

BANG! *click* Gun's still got ammo so why?

"Don't fire, you'll hit him!" yelled Varun.

Huh!?!

Thanks to the shrill pinkness of it, Muktar was able to pick up his contact from the floor and pop it back in his eye, blinking and irritated by the dust on it. Then he realized why Varun was yelling. Behind Kuukburi was an arisen Ravi trying to sneak up with a combat knife. He looked like a walking wound, so completely covered in red that the image reminded Muktar of the sides of beef hanging from a butcher shop's ceiling waiting to be carved down to size. The beefy image was further enhanced by Kuukburi who grabbed Ravi by the neck and groin to heave him up in the air and dump him on his back onto the sizzling grill like a fresh T-bone steak for the frying.

Not surprisingly, Ravi let out quite a bellow and rolled off the grill onto the floor with an unhealthy *clunk*, adding to his numerous injuries. On the floor he clutched his back, arching it off the floor in a vain effort to reduce the pain.

"Get your head down Muck!" barked Varun.

"My gun's jammed!" replied Muktar.

"Throw over to me and I'll fix it! Hurry!"

Muktar hurled his assault rifle by the barrel sending it spinning through the air towards Varun who ducked the wild projectile. The gun hit the wall behind Varun and clattered to the floor.

BANG! The gun discharged the jammed round from the jar of the fall. "Aaagh #%$@!! You shot my foot!" cried Varun.

"Uh, sorry." came Muktar's useless reply. In the despair of impending doom, he simply went back to peeking over the counter at the developing situation. Kuukburi was waving the big barrel of his shotgun in Ravi's contorted face.

"You think you're pretty hot don't ya coward, sneaking up behind me with that knife? Well we're gonna make you even more hot. Next you're goin in that there pot of piping hot stew. I figure we can fit you in nicely up to the waist... head first that is. Nothing pisses me off more than a gutless backstabber. You getting this?" Kuukburi gave Ravi a savage kick in the ribs to make sure he was listening to his deep, evil voice growling out from behind his steel mask.

Mmmm... ravioli stew. Muktar tried to concentrate to keep such corny thoughts out of his head. Kuukburi spotted him and brought the shotgun up. Muktar ducked down but Kuukburi was not so easily evaded.

WHABOOM! Kuukburi shot the side of the stewpot putting a big dent in it and decorating it with hundreds of scratches. As fearful a gun it was, it wasn't made for shredding metal backed up by lots of stew; instead, the metal barbs were deflected backwards and to the side, some of which struck Muktar all down his right side from his face to his lower leg. Muktar keeled over onto the floor bleeding from all the tiny wounds.

Cooked... we're cooked. I shot my only two friends... got no gun... wounded... no guards left... nothing left... it was fun for awhile but now I just wanna be with Serena, not here with two metal monsters preparing to make stew out of us. This sucks.