"Finally... one last test before I become a hitman. One last step before I get my license, before the money... but God, just one more kill. One more innocent life. What the fuck should I do?"
The bathroom was dimly lit, a single flickering bulb casting unsteady shadows on the cracked tiles. The air was thick, a cocktail of cheap cologne and damp mildew clinging to the walls. He stood hunched over the sink, gripping its edges as though letting go would make him fall apart completely.
The reflection in the mirror was almost unrecognizable. His face—pale, slick with sweat, and twisted with terror—stared back at him like a stranger. His bloodshot eyes darted, searching for answers in the depths of his reflection, but all he saw was the shadow of a man who used to be whole. The dark suit he wore hung sharply on his frame, a cruel reminder of the transformation he''d undergone. On the outside, he looked like someone powerful, someone dangerous. But inside, he was still screaming.
He turned on the faucet, the old pipes groaning in protest, and splashed cold water onto his face. The droplets slid down his cheeks like tears, but the icy shock did nothing to calm the storm raging inside him. His breathing was shallow and erratic, each exhale jagged as if his lungs were working against him.
The money. The power. The license. It was all so close he could taste it, but the cost—God, the cost—was a weight he could barely carry.
He straightened slowly, forcing himself to meet the eyes of the man in the mirror. Those eyes—they belonged to someone else now. The man staring back at him wasn’t the wide-eyed, hopeful dreamer he used to be. That man was gone, buried under layers of fear, guilt, and desperation.
The final test awaited him, lurking just outside the bathroom door, and there was no turning back. Not now. Not after everything he had done.
The cold porcelain of the sink pressed against his hands as his grip tightened, knuckles whitening. A memory flickered at the edges of his mind, uninvited and relentless. How had it come to this? How had his life spiraled so completely out of control?
He exhaled shakily, his breath fogging the mirror. A month ago, this madness would have been unimaginable. But now, it was his reality. The beginning of the end started long before tonight. And whether he lived or died, whether he succeeded or failed, he was certain of one thing: this night would define him forever.
This is how all this journey began a month ago.
Tunis is a city with two faces. In the heart of the capital, sunlight bathed whitewashed buildings and glass towers, their reflections shimmering in fountains and polished streets. The air carried the scent of jasmine and fresh coffee from bustling cafés where the wealthy lingered, their conversations soft and measured. But as Karim drove further, the scenery morphed. The roads narrowed, the buildings aged, and the glossy fa?ades gave way to peeling paint and graffiti-scrawled walls.
This was the real Tunis, where beauty and hardship collided. It''s a patchwork of rich neighborhoods and sprawling slums stitched together by desperation and hope. Karim glanced at the cracked pavement, where stray cats prowled between piles of trash, and then at the kids chasing a deflated soccer ball, their shouts echoing off the walls.
He reached for the dial on his car’s radio, turning up the soft, melancholic notes of loud music. The sound filled the cramped space, grounding him after a day of dealing with petty criminals and bureaucratic headaches. Outside, the golden glow of sunset painted the slums in hues that made them almost beautiful—until the shadows crept in, revealing their true face.
Karim adjusted his rearview mirror, catching his own reflection. Dark hair slicked back, sharp brown eyes that had seen too much, and the tan uniform of a police officer, his badge catching the light. He straightened his posture instinctively, a habit ingrained after years on the force.
As he turned onto his street, the world softened. Familiar faces appeared—neighbors who had watched him grow up. Si Ahmed, an elderly man with a cane, stood outside his small shop.
“Karim, back from duty?” Si Ahmed called, his voice gruff but kind.
“Yes, Si Ahmed,” Karim replied, rolling down the window and offering a polite nod. “Long day, but it’s good to be back.”
The hum of his car engine blended with the chatter of the neighborhood. Women in colorful scarves haggled with a fruit vendor, their laughter spilling out into the street. A group of young men sat on the curb, their heads bent over a game of cards. Karim slowed to a crawl, careful not to disturb the children playing in the dusty lot.
His house came into view—a modest, two-story building with faded white walls and green shutters hanging slightly askew. He pulled up to the curb, cutting the engine. The car sighed as it settled, its age showing in every creak.
As Karim stepped out, a boy no older than ten ran up to him, clutching a soccer ball that looked like it had seen better days. His oversized shirt hung loose on his thin frame, and his sandals, barely held together, slapped against the pavement.
“Oh, Mr. Karim,” the boy blurted, breathless from running, “can you tell Ayman to give me back my DVDs? He’s had them for weeks!”
Karim crouched slightly, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. The lines on his face softened into a smile, and his voice was warm.
“Ah, my brother is still causing problems for you?” Karim teased. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he returns them.”
The boy beamed, his worry gone, and scampered off to rejoin his friends. Karim watched him go, his smile lingering before fading into something more resigned. He turned back to the house, brushing dust from his uniform as he walked up the steps.
He hesitated at the door, listening to the muffled sounds of the neighborhood. Kids laughing, a distant radio crackling, someone yelling over a card game. This was home—chaotic, flawed, but his.
As Karim stepped inside the house, the familiar scent of cooking filled the air. The apartment was on the second floor of a two-building complex, each wall painted in pale beige, the floors worn but still sturdy. The steps creaked beneath his weight as he ascended, a sound that comforted him, like the home he had grown up in.
When he reached the door, it swung open, and there stood Marwa, his wife, a vision of warmth. Her radiant smile took his breath away, her dark black hair cascading down her shoulders like a flowing river. She looked every bit the part of the glowing pregnant woman she was.
"Welcome back!" she said, her voice soft and sweet, as she stepped forward to embrace him. "How was your day?"
"It was normal, as usual," Karim answered, his tone flat as he let go of her and made his way to the table.
Moments later, Marwa had already prepared dinner—a steaming plate of food, filling the room with a comforting aroma. She was attentive, always looking out for him, and she moved with the grace of someone who took pride in the small moments of life. Karim sat down, the weight of the day pressing on him, but he couldn’t help but smile at her care.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
"Marwa," he asked, as he picked up the warm bread she had placed in front of him, "Did my mom visit you earlier and bring the bread? I told Ayman to pick up two from Saliman''s bakery."
There was a slight pause before she answered. She placed a plate of freshly prepared green salad beside him and wiped her hands on her apron. "Ah, no. She didn’t come. I went to the bakery myself, and just grabbed the bread from the closest one."
Karim’s gaze shifted to the bread, a subtle frown forming on his face as he chewed in silence. He knew Ayman hadn’t gone, and somehow, that didn’t surprise him. He bit his lip but didn’t say more.
Marwa continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension. "Sorry, we ran out of onions," she said, placing a second dish on the table. "I asked your mom for some."
Karim looked up at her with a soft smile, trying to ease the mood. "Well, my bad. I’ve been eating so many onions lately. I’ll buy you some soon."
She laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, Mister Onion who captures thieves."
Karim chuckled. "Yes, I’m Onionman, like Batman."
She raised an eyebrow, placing her hand on her growing belly. "And I’ll be a Batmoon.’ Look at my belly—it’s getting big. I’m losing my style!"
Karim’s smile widened as he playfully responded, "Yes, our son will be here soon, inshallah. And he’ll be the one bringing us bread in the future."
They both laughed at the thought, the warmth of their easy banter filling the room, a gentle reminder of simpler times. Karim''s eyes softened as he looked at her, the lines of his face easing into a rare smile. He watched the way her lips curved as she spoke, her voice light and melodic, like the distant sound of a song he''d always known but never truly heard until now.
As she continued, Karim''s gaze lingered on her face, tracing the delicate way her brows furrowed when she was focused, the glint of mischief in her eyes that made his chest tighten. His heart, for once, wasn''t weighed down by the heavy thoughts that usually consumed him; instead, it beat in rhythm with her words. He felt a pull he hadn''t expected, a warmth growing within him that had nothing to do with the laughter or the meal between them.
Her presence, so effortlessly graceful, made the rest of the world seem distant and unimportant. He wanted to keep looking at her, to memorize every little detail of her face as though it held the key to something deeper—something he wasn’t ready to admit. But for now, he was content, watching her talk, lost in the way the light caught her features, the way she made him feel like the world outside had momentarily stopped.
Just as the laughter settled, Karim’s phone rang, interrupting the moment. He glanced at the screen and saw an unfamiliar number flashing on it.
"Who is this?" he muttered, hesitating to pick up.
Marwa noticed and urged him. "Answer it. Maybe it’s important."
Karim shook his head, still chewing his food. "Probably just work, wanting me back at the station or something," he said, but the persistent ringing began to irritate him. He ignored it for a moment longer, but Marwa’s persistent glances made him roll his eyes and pick up the phone.
Just as his hand reached for it, his mother’s voice been heard from downstairs, urgent and frantic.
"Karim! Karim!" She screamed, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Please, come quickly!"
Her knocking on the door was frantic, adding to the mounting tension in the house.
Karim dropped his phone and stood up abruptly, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was wrong.
Karim’s heart raced as he rushed toward the door, but his mother’s terrified voice stopped him in his tracks.
"What happened, Mom?" he asked, his tone sharp with concern.
She stood by the stairs, visibly shaken, her hands trembling as she spoke. Her once-vibrant face, now lined with the years of sacrifice and worry, seemed even older in that moment. Her hair, once dark and full, had long since turned to a silvery gray, now thin and wispy, framing the weathered features of a woman who had given everything for her children. The weight of life’s hardships hung on her shoulders, but in her eyes, there remained a fierce, undying love, a love that had never wavered despite the toll the years had taken on her body and spirit.
She had been both mother and father to her children, the silent strength in their lives, bearing the brunt of hardships with a quiet resilience. Her hands, though now marked with age and the years of labor, had once held them with tender care, shaping their lives with sacrifice. Her life had never been her own; it had always been about them—her boys, her everything. She had given up her youth, her dreams, and even her health to see them survive, to give them a better life. Yet, despite all she had endured, she still carried herself with a grace that came from a lifetime of enduring pain for the sake of those she loved.
Now, standing before Karim, her face pale and drawn with concern, it was clear that the years had not dulled her devotion, even as the lines on her face deepened. "I heard… I heard Ayman going to a street fight," she repeated, her voice faltering slightly. The words seemed to tremble in the air, as though the very mention of her son''s involvement in violence was a burden too heavy for her frail heart to bear.
Karim froze, a wave of frustration sweeping over him. "Damn it, not again!" he muttered, slamming his fist against the wall. This wasn’t the first time Ayman had been involved in something like this. He didn’t need this on top of everything else, especially with his own life stretched thin.
Without another word, he grabbed his jacket from the chair and slipped his phone into his pocket, his movements swift and tense. As he headed toward the door, he saw Marwa standing by the kitchen, her face a mixture of worry and disappointment. Her hand rested on her swollen belly, her eyes filled with concern as she watched him prepare to leave.
"Please," His mother said softly, her voice trembling. "Don’t call your friends to come and arrest them, Karim. Just bring Ayman back home, let them fight or whatever… but please, don’t bring the police into this."
Her words hung heavy in the air, a quiet plea for him to handle the situation as best as he could. She knew her son was a man of duty, but tonight, she was asking for something more than his badge.
Karim stood there for a moment, caught between the pressure of his job and the pull of his family. He wanted to reassure her, but all he could manage was a strained smile. "I’ll handle it, mom. I’ll bring him back, don’t worry." then turned his head to Marwa "I will be right back soon, don''t worry honey."
As he stepped out into the cool night air, the weight of the situation settled in. Ayman was always in trouble—always testing his limits—and this time, it might be more than just a scuffle. But tonight, Karim could only pray it didn’t spiral into something worse.
He slid into his car, the engine starting with a low growl as he drove off toward the alley, the city streets flashing by in the rearview mirror. The fight was waiting, and Ayman was about to face the consequences.
Karim bolted down the stairs two at a time, his heartbeat pounding in his ears like a war drum. His jacket flapped behind him as he struggled to shrug it on while moving, the cold night air biting at his face. The faint sounds of children playing in the distance felt distant, irrelevant, drowned out by the chaos unfolding in his mind.
Behind him, his mother’s voice was frantic, desperate. "Karim! Promise me, please, promise me you’ll bring Ayman back safely! Don’t let anything happen to him. He’s still my son, even if he’s... even if he’s lost his way." Her words caught in her throat, her breath shaky as tears glistened in her eyes.
Karim turned back for the briefest of moments, his own emotions barely held in check. "I’ll find him, Mom. I swear. I won’t let anything happen to him." The words felt like a promise and a burden, each syllable heavier than the last.
He reached his car, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. The streetlight above flickered faintly, casting shadows on his tense face as he slid into the driver’s seat. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as the fear and anger coiled in his gut.
His mother stood at the gate, clutching her shawl tightly around her shoulders as though it could shield her from the cold—and the growing dread. She watched as Karim started the engine, the sound roaring to life and cutting through the quiet of the neighborhood.
"Karim, please..." she called out one last time, her voice almost drowned by the hum of the car. "He’s your brother. Don’t forget that."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Every second felt like a lifetime. His foot pressed down on the accelerator, the car lurching forward as he sped into the night. The roads blurred under the dim streetlights as he drove, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
The tension hung in the air like a storm cloud, ready to burst. The faces of kids playing soccer on the corner, old men gathered at the café smoking shisha, and women carrying groceries passed by his window in a haze. But Karim’s focus was sharp, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
He knew the streets Ayman and his friends haunted all too well. Karim had walked those same alleys once, years ago, back when he wasn’t wearing a badge—back when he wasn’t a man expected to have all the answers.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. He was a police officer, a protector of the law. Yet here he was, chasing down his own brother before the streets could swallow him whole.
As the car tore through the narrow lanes, Karim’s grip on the wheel tightened even further. He wasn’t just trying to reach Ayman—he was trying to outrun the sinking feeling in his chest.