Near Egypt, circa. 2008
The only clouds in the sky were the ones Ren puffed out of his mouth.
Little puffs of carcinogens floated out of the mercenary's cheeks as he lolled his head up to face the blistering sun above. His eyes were closed, though you wouldn't be able to tell with those tinted aviators on. The spiral dragons on his biceps soaked up the heatwaves, offering no flames of their own but beads of sweat instead, which dotted the young man's skin like condensation on a can of soda.
He heard the footsteps stop but didn't open his eyes. Instead, he took another indulgent puff,exhaled, then lazily propped his head up to greet the dark figure in front of him. Ren looked at her with apathetic impudence, then held out the half-burned cigarette.
"You want a hit? Never too late to start."
"Put that out and get presentable. The buyer is on the horizon," a thick Congolese accent replied.
"Shit, you think they got anything good?"
"If they did not, the Boss would not be entertaining this deal."
"No, I meant you think they got any decent cigs. I swear I must have the last pack of menthols in the whole damn Middle East."
The Congolese woman dived towards Ren and sliced her arm within a hair's length of his face. The cigarette flew out of his mouth and fell on the desert earth. Ren snapped to attention with fervor that was more frustration than startlement.
"Cau fah hai!" Ren snorted as he crouched to pick up the stub while the embers still burned.
"Get your shit together," Balela commanded "The Boss wants a show of force. Oleg has the merchandise ready, but the men are getting restless. You need to stay close."
"If its force the Boss wants, we can always call you in. Karate chop some of the zealots' ciggies,see how that goes for you."
"I have other places to be," she adjusted the strap that held her sniper rifle and walked deeper into the ruins behind them.
Like getting your head caved in by a rock, you stupid bitch. Ren took one last puff and then stomped his cigarette out, his mood soured. Balela was good at souring his mood. She had it out for him. Or maybe he had it out for her. Funny how interchangeable the two were.
The crumbling bricks and pillars around him must've been a sight to behold when they were still intact. Hundreds of historic sites used to populate this part of the world, ancient civilizations left their mark in the form of great architectural feats. Now their creations looked no different than the bombed out apartment complexes of their ancestors. Another decade or so and it would all be rubble, Ren estimated.
Not that it made any difference to him. He only wished people would wage wars in more temperate climates. The heat here was unbearable. Ren could scarcely believe people lived in this part of the world for thousands of years. That or maybe the global warming people were right about something.
When you were in this business(and when you had a rap sheet like Ren's), you went to where there was a market. Stockbrokers had Wall Street and gun runners had the Middle East. Between Uncle Sam kicking down sandcastles and Gaza's own Hatfields and McCoys, the stocks here were steadily growing.Death and destruction for those that lived here. Sell, sell, sell for the Boss.
Ren stepped out into the same clearing they parked in. A half-destroyed wall provided some shade,though you'd find better comfort in the shadow of the truck or the Humvee. Some of the recent hires were dawdling around the unloaded crates. They all wore masks around their heads, the only visible traits they shared were two eyes on brown skin. Ren considered wearing one himself while he was here, though with his skin, he'd stick out like a sore thumb. Plus, it would be a bitch to pull down the mask every time he needed a smoke.
