Ayman's eyes widened then he asked about the nickname Black Caesar. He leaned
forward, his voice filled with urgency as he asked, "Do you know a hitman by the
name the Black or Dark Caesar?"
Mourad froze for a moment, a subtle shift in his expression before he responded.
"Dark Caesar?" he repeated, the name clearly unfamiliar to him. He thought for a
second, then added, "No, I don't know him. But that's an interesting name for a
hitman. Why are you asking about him?"
Ayman, his voice shaking with a mix of frustration and confusion, quickly
explained. "There were these agency men looking for him. They came to me at
the police station on the night of my brother's death. They were asking about
him. I didn't know anything, but it's all been... it's all been weird."
Mourad listened intently, his eyes narrowing as he processed Ayman's words.
"I'm not sure, Ayman," he said slowly, his voice measured. "There might be a
hitman with that nickname, after all. I don't know every hitman out there. But
tell me more about the night of your brother's death. What happened?"
Ayman took a deep breath and began recounting the events, the weight of his
brother's death heavy on his chest. He told him about all the events from Farid's
orders to scout the house of a mysterious wealthy man to robbing it with Nadir
and the bizarre encounter with mysterious men in black that took Nadir and
disappeared in thin air then the agents in the police station and finally his
brother demise.
Mourad's eyes sharpened at the mention of the name, but he remained quiet,
waiting for Ayman to continue.
Ayman's voice dropped, becoming more distant as he recalled the important
part. "I can't explain the strange disappearance of Nadir—he was one of the men
who was supposed to help me. He was gone without a trace, and the agents kept
pressing me about everything that happened at the house but never believed me
about Nadir then the mention of this Dark Caesar. And then... then my brother
died. And now I learn that hitman exists so is it all coincidence?"
He looked directly at Mourad, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Do you think all
of this is connected? Do you think those men in black are hitmen? Do you think
they killed my brother?"
Mourad sat in silence for a few moments, weighing Ayman's questions carefully.
The air was thick with tension as Mourad's mind worked through the pieces
of the puzzle. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady, though there was a flicker of
something—recognition? Worry?—in his eyes.
"It's possible, Ayman," he said quietly. "The agents, their questions about Black
Caesar... it all sounds like something more than just a coincidence. But I don't
know for sure. I don't have all the pieces. What I can tell you is, there are people
out there who don't play by the same rules we do.
They operate in the shadows, pulling strings, and making sure things go their
way. If someone wanted your brother dead, they would've made it look like an
accident, or at least something that could be easily brushed under the rug. But
killing him, while asking you about Black Caesar? That's... strange."
Ayman's heart was pounding in his chest as he waited for Mourad's next words.
"Some secret Agents could search for this hitman is something I can understand
but you mention about men in black. I had never seen or heard about them. It is
weird how they ended up at the same time and same place when you wanted to
rob that house and yes I can't explain how they can kidnap Nadir and leave the
house with trace."
Ayman's thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and anger. "So what do I do
now? How do I find out the truth? "
Mourad's gaze softened slightly, a touch of something resembling sympathy in
his eyes. "Truth?... that's the part I don't know how to answer, Ayman. But you
have to understand, that if those were hitmen, you would never see the light again.
They would kill you. No hitman leaves a witness. Thus, those men in black
you saw weren't hitmen. Maybe you can search for the Black Caesar guy and find
out his connection to the entire thing."
Ayman nodded, a resolve starting to form within him, but doubt lingered in the
back of his mind. He wasn't sure what he was getting into, but he knew one thing
—he couldn't rest until he found out about the truth of that eventful night.
Ayman said quietly, his voice hardening. "I'll do whatever it takes to find this
Dark Caesar."
Mourad looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright, but you need to
be smart. And don't trust anyone easily. The world you're stepping into is full of
shadows, Ayman, and it's easy to get lost."
Ayman's chest tightened. "You think those agents had something to do with my
brother's death?"
Mourad shook his head slowly. "I don't know. The agents, maybe they're the
government. They could be searching for Black Caesar. It sounds like they were
just trying to find information, and you got caught in the middle of it. That could
be why they came to you, but I don't see how this all connects to your brother's
death."
He leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. "Your brother's death... It doesn't
seem to be tied to this. I think it was an accident, Ayman. Or maybe something
else entirely, but I don't think it's related to these agents or the men in black. It
could just be a coincidence."
Ayman's mind was still spinning, but he couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling
in his chest. If Mourad was right, it would mean his brother's death wasn't part of
some bigger conspiracy—just a random, tragic event. But Ayman couldn't shake
the feeling that something wasn't right, that the pieces didn't fit.
Ayman's mind was still spinning, but he couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling
in his chest. If Mourad was right, it would mean his brother's death wasn't part of
some bigger conspiracy—just a random, tragic event. But Ayman couldn't shake
the feeling that something wasn't right, that the pieces didn't fit.
Both Ayman and Mourad continued drinking, the weight of their conversation
lingering in the air as they tried to make sense of everything. Mourad leaned
back, his gaze thoughtful as he spoke again.
"Well, you know more about me now. I know more about you, too," he said,
pausing to take a sip from his glass. "I'll help you with this, but for now, I want
you to rest. Go home, forget about all of this for a while. Take the time to deal
with everything that's happened to you in the last few days. We'll work through
it. We'll start slow. It's not a game, Ayman. There will be tests. Tests you need to
pass to join the organization."
Ayman nodded, absorbing Mourad's words, though doubts still lingered in the
back of his mind. "Yes sure and I'll think about the nickname too," he said finally,
trying to shift the conversation away from the dark thoughts that threatened to
overwhelm him.
After his conversation with Mourad, Ayman felt a strange, almost unsettling
mix of clarity and confusion. Mourad's words seemed to settle deep inside him,
but their full weight was still hard to grasp. The noise of the world around him
seemed distant as he processed everything that had been said.
Mourad had opened his eyes to something, but Ayman wasn't sure if he was
ready to accept it. The silence between them grew as Mourad drove him back to
his neighborhood.
As they pulled into the familiar streets, Mourad slowed the car and brought it to a
stop, the engine humming softly as he turned to face Ayman with a serious look
in his eyes.
"Think about everything we talked about today," Mourad said, his voice
unwavering and calm. "You don't have to speak to anyone about it, but take some
time to move past what's happened. Don't let it keep you tied down. Focus on the
future. There's a brighter one waiting for you if you're ready to reach for it."
Ayman, still lost in thought, nodded slowly, his mind spinning with the weight
of Mourad's words. "Thanks, Mourad."
Mourad lingered for a moment before continuing, his tone softer but sincere.
"And... I owe you an apology. Earlier, when I... when I disrespected you and
your brother. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I had to push you. I needed you to
understand the bigger picture, the moral side of everything. Having morals is
important, but in this line of work, you'll learn that you can't hold onto them too
tightly. Not if you want to survive."
Ayman took a slow, steady breath, his chest tightening as he absorbed the harsh
reality of what Mourad had said. He nodded, more to himself than to Mourad. "I
understand now. Thanks again. I'll call you soon."
With that, Mourad shifted the car into gear and drove off, his figure disappearing
into the distance as Ayman stood silently at the curb, the weight of the moment
pressing down on him. He felt a quiet stillness settle over him as he turned to
walk towards his house. His mind still swirled with questions and doubts, but
there was no time to dwell on them now.
Inside, his mother was waiting, her eyes filled with concern. "Where have you
been all day?" she asked, her voice carrying a quiet urgency.
Ayman hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing his words as he tried to mask
the turmoil he was feeling.
"I went to see Si Ammar," he said, forcing a faint smile, though it felt hollow. "He
wasn't there, so I waited for him. When he finally showed up, we had a long talk.
He said he might be able to get me a job in real estate, you know, with the people
he knows around here. It's a better opportunity than construction, he said."
As he walked inside, his mother following closely behind him, he added, "Then
I called that old friend of Karim's, the one who gave me money and returned it
to him. I thanked him, and after that, I had some tea with my friends at the café
nearby."
His mother nodded, though her worry didn't fade. Ayman's words hung in the
air, but his thoughts were already elsewhere, consumed by the conversation he
had just left behind.
His mother nodded, a hint of relief washing over her. "It's good you have people
to help you, Ayman. But don't get too caught up in all of this. Focus on your
future, alright?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired," Ayman replied, his voice weary. "I'll rest. Later we'll talk
more."
His mother smiled faintly, then added, "Go on, rest. We'll talk later."
Ayman headed to his room, his thoughts still racing. He sat on the edge of his
bed, cigarette in hand, staring at the ceiling.
Everything from the past few days felt like a blur—a series of confusing events
that were leading him down an unfamiliar path. The death of his brother,
the mysterious agents, and now this new world of hitmen. It was all so
overwhelming.
As the smoke swirled in the faint light, Ayman tried to make sense of it.
He needed to think about everything. Mourad had promised a future in the
organization, but was it the right choice? Could he really become a hitman? What
about his morals?
Questions flooded his mind, but for now, all he could do was sit there, lost in
thought, trying to understand the dark road that lay ahead.