Kampfers
29-10-2007, 04:17
SIC:
Behind a converted bowling alley, the glow of a cigarette dimly lighted the face of a tall black man. It was the first time he had been to No Endorse, and hopefully it would be the last. He knew that one thing for sure: he would never see this building again. It was instinct. In his buisness, going to the same place more than once meant death, or at least a close call. At his age, he was done with dealing with both of them. As he walked towards the group of men that waited for him, he heard the click as a gun cocked to his left. His ear arched, but he continued foward nonplussed. As he neared the group, he opened his trench coat to show that he was not bearing any weapons. Satisfied, they motioned for him to come closer. As he approached, he began to determine the shapes and sizes of the figures. There was three of them, two slightly taller than the other, who showed his age by his arched back. They all wore turbans, and a scarve covered their face. They were obviously muslims, but of what sect, he could not discern.
When he came into the small group, the tallest and most muscular spoke up. "Did you bring the goods?" he questioned.
The man smiled curtly and responded. "I may, or I may not have. If I were to sell these guns to you, I would require 500 dollars for each 89 and 400 for each RPG."
The tall man cursed in arabic. It was indiscernable to the man, but by its tone and vehemence, he knew that he mad the man mad. The man responded after a breif pause, his patience wearing thin. "If you intend to sell any weapons today, you will sell the 89's for 300 dollars apiece and the RPGs for 250 dollars apiece. I could purchase these for less through other venues, and do not doubt that I won't." His tounge spat with anger as he finished his sentence, and his eyes, barely visible, emblazoned themselves into the sellers heart.
The seller smiled again. "Ah, but you called me first, for you know of my quality. You know that I am a night owl, untraceable and unseen. You know that no harm will come to you from the purchase of these weapons, if not the using. However, I find the terms of your offer acceptable. Follow me, and don't dare bring your meager followers with you." The muslim turned to the two other men and whispered a few words in arabic. He then motioned towards the heavens, obviously motioning the guards off. He followed the man down the back alley for a bit and into a dimly lit street. The black man motioned down the road. "On your left you will find an abandoned laundromat. Your guns are in there. I assume you have my payment?" The muslim motioned to his breifcase, and handed it to the black man. "Thank you. You know I won't disappoint." The muslim nodded, and then took a few steps back into the alley. In a flash, the black man melted into the night background.
The muslim man waited a second, and then motioned for the guards to fall out and the two other leaders to join him. Within a minute, all 17 of them were standing there, at the edge of the alley. Their ages ranged from 7 to 83, but they all played a part. The leader was obvious, the muscular young man. Abdul-Aliyy, now 37, was the embodiment of the new muslim warrior. For too many years in the past they had relied on suicide bombings and other like acts. Though the acts had their desired effect, and wreaked havoc in the minds of the populace, they also weeded out the extremists rather quickly. It was time for a new age of muslim warriors, one that would survive to fight another day as well as strike fear into the hearts of the infidels.
His brother was slightly younger, at 30. His name, Dhul Fiqar, was the name of the prophets sword. He was bloodthirsty and fierce, but this lead to rash decisions at times. He was second in command in reality, but third in respect. If he would learn to seperate his emotions from his work, he too, like his brother Abdul-Aliyy, would become a scourge of the infidels.
Although in all aspects retired from the buisness of extremist warfare, their father, Qudamah, still was the second most influental person within the group. He had once been a pariah for international peace between the extremists and their foes, but a breif excursion in Doomingsland had changed everything for him. He was the sole survivor. Ever since then, he had been commited to eliminating them, the worst of the infidels, from the face of the earth. As a sole man, he could not destroy them, but he could destroy their will. He spent much time learning the essence of bomb making, and had passed that on to his sons. His voice was well respected, and although he held no official spot within the family structure, he was in essence the second in command. He spoke only broken english, and was missing two fingers on his left hand, a brutal sign of his fatal work.
Also present were the three sons of Abdul-Aliyy, ranging from 12 to 7, and the son of Dhul Fiqar, who was also 7. The others there were followers of Islam, men commited to the cause. Most notable among these was Seif al Din. Standing a full 6 foot 3, he was a head taller than the majority of the group, and he was also much more muscular than the rest. In american gangster movies, he would be the strong man, the brute force, with one exception: Seif al Din was no fool. That, and he had more commitment to his cause than any infidel could ever cause. They would learn in time. They would all learn.
Without any adiu, the group set off to the laundromat. The whole area had been deserted for the night, so they did not have to worry about any intervention. They carried the guns into the bowling alley, which had become their "home" of sorts. During the day it functioned as a reasonable source of income, and it also offered a great place to hide the "goods". If searched thouroughly, the guns wouldd be found, but at a glance, nothing was amiss. Besides, the cops never ventured into this part of the town anyways. Now they just had to bide their time... And train... And in the end, the infidels would see a salvation they had never dreamed of.
These men had friends all over the world, but this was their only cell. Their only chance to break out in the world and be recognized on the same level as Al-Qaeda. After their original plans, it would only expand. From No Endorse to Hamptonshire, from Doomingsland to Bretton, the whole world would know the wrath of the Prophets of Allah.
Behind a converted bowling alley, the glow of a cigarette dimly lighted the face of a tall black man. It was the first time he had been to No Endorse, and hopefully it would be the last. He knew that one thing for sure: he would never see this building again. It was instinct. In his buisness, going to the same place more than once meant death, or at least a close call. At his age, he was done with dealing with both of them. As he walked towards the group of men that waited for him, he heard the click as a gun cocked to his left. His ear arched, but he continued foward nonplussed. As he neared the group, he opened his trench coat to show that he was not bearing any weapons. Satisfied, they motioned for him to come closer. As he approached, he began to determine the shapes and sizes of the figures. There was three of them, two slightly taller than the other, who showed his age by his arched back. They all wore turbans, and a scarve covered their face. They were obviously muslims, but of what sect, he could not discern.
When he came into the small group, the tallest and most muscular spoke up. "Did you bring the goods?" he questioned.
The man smiled curtly and responded. "I may, or I may not have. If I were to sell these guns to you, I would require 500 dollars for each 89 and 400 for each RPG."
The tall man cursed in arabic. It was indiscernable to the man, but by its tone and vehemence, he knew that he mad the man mad. The man responded after a breif pause, his patience wearing thin. "If you intend to sell any weapons today, you will sell the 89's for 300 dollars apiece and the RPGs for 250 dollars apiece. I could purchase these for less through other venues, and do not doubt that I won't." His tounge spat with anger as he finished his sentence, and his eyes, barely visible, emblazoned themselves into the sellers heart.
The seller smiled again. "Ah, but you called me first, for you know of my quality. You know that I am a night owl, untraceable and unseen. You know that no harm will come to you from the purchase of these weapons, if not the using. However, I find the terms of your offer acceptable. Follow me, and don't dare bring your meager followers with you." The muslim turned to the two other men and whispered a few words in arabic. He then motioned towards the heavens, obviously motioning the guards off. He followed the man down the back alley for a bit and into a dimly lit street. The black man motioned down the road. "On your left you will find an abandoned laundromat. Your guns are in there. I assume you have my payment?" The muslim motioned to his breifcase, and handed it to the black man. "Thank you. You know I won't disappoint." The muslim nodded, and then took a few steps back into the alley. In a flash, the black man melted into the night background.
The muslim man waited a second, and then motioned for the guards to fall out and the two other leaders to join him. Within a minute, all 17 of them were standing there, at the edge of the alley. Their ages ranged from 7 to 83, but they all played a part. The leader was obvious, the muscular young man. Abdul-Aliyy, now 37, was the embodiment of the new muslim warrior. For too many years in the past they had relied on suicide bombings and other like acts. Though the acts had their desired effect, and wreaked havoc in the minds of the populace, they also weeded out the extremists rather quickly. It was time for a new age of muslim warriors, one that would survive to fight another day as well as strike fear into the hearts of the infidels.
His brother was slightly younger, at 30. His name, Dhul Fiqar, was the name of the prophets sword. He was bloodthirsty and fierce, but this lead to rash decisions at times. He was second in command in reality, but third in respect. If he would learn to seperate his emotions from his work, he too, like his brother Abdul-Aliyy, would become a scourge of the infidels.
Although in all aspects retired from the buisness of extremist warfare, their father, Qudamah, still was the second most influental person within the group. He had once been a pariah for international peace between the extremists and their foes, but a breif excursion in Doomingsland had changed everything for him. He was the sole survivor. Ever since then, he had been commited to eliminating them, the worst of the infidels, from the face of the earth. As a sole man, he could not destroy them, but he could destroy their will. He spent much time learning the essence of bomb making, and had passed that on to his sons. His voice was well respected, and although he held no official spot within the family structure, he was in essence the second in command. He spoke only broken english, and was missing two fingers on his left hand, a brutal sign of his fatal work.
Also present were the three sons of Abdul-Aliyy, ranging from 12 to 7, and the son of Dhul Fiqar, who was also 7. The others there were followers of Islam, men commited to the cause. Most notable among these was Seif al Din. Standing a full 6 foot 3, he was a head taller than the majority of the group, and he was also much more muscular than the rest. In american gangster movies, he would be the strong man, the brute force, with one exception: Seif al Din was no fool. That, and he had more commitment to his cause than any infidel could ever cause. They would learn in time. They would all learn.
Without any adiu, the group set off to the laundromat. The whole area had been deserted for the night, so they did not have to worry about any intervention. They carried the guns into the bowling alley, which had become their "home" of sorts. During the day it functioned as a reasonable source of income, and it also offered a great place to hide the "goods". If searched thouroughly, the guns wouldd be found, but at a glance, nothing was amiss. Besides, the cops never ventured into this part of the town anyways. Now they just had to bide their time... And train... And in the end, the infidels would see a salvation they had never dreamed of.
These men had friends all over the world, but this was their only cell. Their only chance to break out in the world and be recognized on the same level as Al-Qaeda. After their original plans, it would only expand. From No Endorse to Hamptonshire, from Doomingsland to Bretton, the whole world would know the wrath of the Prophets of Allah.