unknown fate

Chapter Eight, Episode Four

Scene Twelve

Eid’s car slowly approached the checkpoint, halting before a soldier who stepped forward.

Eid, behind the wheel.

The soldier leaned toward the window, stretching out his hand firmly:

Soldier: “License.”

Eid, calmly: “Just a moment.”

From the opposite window, where Mabrouk sat, another soldier appeared, his voice sharp:

Soldier: “Open the trunk.”

In the back seat, Metwally, Farag, and Tamer sat in tense silence, eyes fixed on the unfolding scene.

Meanwhile, near a small office marked by a sign reading “Officer’s Room”, soldier Rafiq entered, followed by Mustafa, then Sami, Ihab, and Sherif. At the same time, Mansour emerged from the bathroom, stopping a soldier in the corridor with a casual tone:

Mansour: “Got a lighter?”

Inside the officer’s office, Rafiq snapped to attention, saluting with hand and heel:

Soldier Rafiq: “Sir, Mustafa here doesn’t have a license. He wants to file a report, sir.”

Mansour, meanwhile, flicked the lighter, his gaze locking onto Eid’s car outside. That tiny spark was the signal—the starting point, the password.

With sudden force, Mansour struck the soldier on the head, wrestled his weapon from his shoulder, and knocked him to the ground.

In the officer’s room, Mustafa, Ihab, and Sherif lunged across the desk, overpowering the officer despite his fierce resistance, while Rafiq blocked the door.

At the checkpoint, chaos erupted. Eid, Mabrouk, Metwally, Farag, and Tamer kicked down soldiers, disarmed them, and claimed their rifles. In mere minutes, Imam’s men had stripped the guards of weapons and dragged their limp bodies away.

They carried the unconscious soldiers toward the food truck. The driver, Bakhit, stepped out, followed by Abdo, both moving to unfasten the rear doors.

One by one, Imam’s men—Rabi‘ and his crew, Mustafa’s men, Eid’s group—hauled the soldiers inside, handing them over to those already hidden within. Quickly, the fighters swapped uniforms with their captives.

Behind them, the rest of the convoy opened its truck doors. More men spilled out, scanning the road, securing the perimeter.

From the toy-laden truck, Rabi‘, Mustafa, Eid, and their squads emerged, now clad in military fatigues, rifles slung across their shoulders, faces grim and disciplined.

They marched to the checkpoint and took their positions, mimicking the soldiers they had just subdued. Trucks rumbled forward under their command.

Rabi‘, Mustafa, and Eid stood tall at the roadblock, lifting their arms to wave civilian cars through, the perfect illusion of authority complete.