unknown fate

Chapter Nine Episode First

Scene 1

Imam’s car moved slowly along the desolate road, the silence broken only by the low hum of the engine. His eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror, closely watching the massive convoy drawing nearer, like a mechanical beast crawling after him. He took a deep breath, the air heavy with the weight of the moment, and a cautious smile crept onto his lips—a mixture of confidence and unease—before he pressed his foot down on the accelerator, urging the car to pick up speed.

Behind him, the roar of the trucks rose in unison, echoing like a collective growl. Sobhi’s truck, loaded with toys, pushed forward skillfully, overtaking the food truck driven by Bakhit, as if staging a silent display of power. Stretching out behind them was the endless line of trucks, each one carrying men and weapons, like the insides of a colossal beast ready to strike.

Inside, the men sat tense and alert. Some stared blankly into the void with hardened eyes, while others clutched their weapons tightly, as though they were the only promise they had left. On the long road ahead, the rumble of engines blended with the weight of unspoken thoughts, and everyone knew this was no ordinary journey—it was a destiny being written, moment by moment.

Scene Two

Imam’s car rolled slowly toward the second checkpoint, an imposing barrier bristling with soldiers and weapons, radiating an air of unshakable authority. For a fleeting moment, unease crept into Imam’s chest, a heavy shadow pressing against his calm. Yet his face remained rigid, his expression firm and controlled, as if fear itself dared not approach him.

He entered the checkpoint with piercing eyes, his gaze sharp and unwavering, his presence solid like a rock in the storm. No cars were ahead of him; the delay at the first checkpoint had allowed all other vehicles to pass, leaving the way clear, as though this moment was staged for him alone.

His car halted beside the soldier standing at the window. Across the checkpoint, three soldiers lounged on a wooden bench, their attention swallowed by the glow of their phones. On the other side, five others stood alert, their eyes fixed on the line of trucks advancing steadily from the distance.

The soldier extended his hand and said curtly:

— “License.”

Calmly, Imam retrieved his license from his wallet and handed it over. The soldier inspected it, then returned it without a word, before speaking again, his tone sharp:

— “Step out of the car, please.”

For a moment, surprise flickered across Imam’s face. The unease deepened inside him, but he did not let it show. He inclined his head, his voice firm yet submissive:

— “Of course.”

He opened the door and stepped out with measured confidence. The soldier slipped into the car, searching the seats, the compartments, and even behind the cushions. He pressed the button beside the steering wheel, and the trunk popped open. Moving toward the back, his gaze caught the row of trucks lined up behind.

He frowned, calling to his comrades:

— “Why are these trucks waiting in the line for private cars? They should be at the cargo checkpoint.”

Another soldier glanced up, uneasy.

— “It’s not just one… there are many.”

The soldier checked the trunk—it was empty, ordinary. Closing it, he returned to Imam, who had already slid back behind the wheel, his composure unshaken. Handing back the papers, the soldier said:

— “You may go.”

He waved his hand, clearing the passage.

Imam’s car rolled past the second checkpoint. Behind the wheel, his features tightened into a sly, intelligent grin. His eyes lingered on the rearview mirror, capturing the image of the soldiers shrinking behind him, as though he were inscribing the next line of a fate that no one yet could foresee.

Scene Three

A soldier stood rigidly in front of Sobhi’s truck, his gaze fixed sternly on the cab before he stepped closer to the window. His voice was hoarse but unwavering: — “What’s your cargo?”

Sobhi replied steadily, attempting to mask the flutter of nerves beneath his calm exterior: — “Children’s toys.”

The soldier’s eyebrows rose in astonishment, his eyes narrowing as if his mind refused to process the answer. — “What did you say?”

Sobhi repeated himself slowly, this time with sharper resolve: — “I said… children’s toys.”

The soldier fell silent for a moment, then motioned toward a side inspection area: — “Fine, pull in here… we’ll check your truck and the one behind you together.”

Sobhi’s eyes widened slightly, his inner protest rising, yet his face remained composed: — “Why? I got here first.”

The soldier waved his short baton with authority: — “Your convoy is large. We inspect both at the same time.”

Sobhi exhaled slowly and nodded in muted agreement: — “Alright… fine.”

His truck moved with deliberate weight until it stopped at the inspection zone. Immediately, four soldiers approached, flanking the vehicle like predators circling prey.

Behind, the soldier gestured for the next truck to approach—it was Bakhit’s food supply truck. Bakhit noticed the signal and eased his vehicle forward, stopping confidently before the soldier. The soldier stepped up, extending his hand through the window and said sharply: — “Show me your papers.”

Bakhit handed them over wordlessly. The soldier scrutinized the documents with meticulous attention before looking back up: — “What’s your cargo, Bakhit?”

Bakhit forced a practiced smile and answered in a monotonous tone: — “Food supplies… oil, sugar, rice… stuff like that.”

Meanwhile, another soldier checked Sobhi’s papers. Behind the trucks, the heavy doors swung open, and ten of Imam’s men spilled out with precise, measured steps, while the soldiers climbed inside to begin a careful inspection among the scattered boxes of toys.

Once the soldier finished reviewing Bakhit’s documents, he ordered firmly: — “Open the truck so the men can inspect it.”

Bakhit stepped down with confident, controlled movements, while Abdu exited from the other side. Together, they approached the massive rear doors. With a heavy creak, the iron latch gave way, and five soldiers waited ready at the threshold.

As soon as the doors swung open, ten more of Imam’s men surged forward, dropping silently to the ground before retreating slightly to make room. The soldiers climbed inside and began their meticulous task, checking each stacked crate in turn, oblivious to the silent storm quietly gathering around them.