It was quiet. Too quiet.
Even in the middle of the night when most sane people were asleep, the Greater Dexamic Area was always moving, always lit up and alive with people that never quieted. Now, the only sounds were of the muffled yelling and car horns outside, his eldest daughter's and wife's breathing as they slept, and the faint hum of electricity.
Asad sat up sharply, treading quickly but quietly down the hallway of his brother-in-law's flat. His flashlight darted around like a ghost and illuminated the ticking grandfather clock in the corner, signaling to him that yesterday was long gone.
There was scuffling in the guest room to his right, where his four year old daughter was sleeping. He threw the door open.
A funeral was held two weeks later, as Abdur Minhazai was promptly sentenced to life in prison for the attempted strangling of his niece Azah and first-degree murder of her father.
***
'Hey ... it's me again.'
Azah sat down on the same stool she always did opposite of his cell, and just like always, he sat there glaring. The stony expression looked out of place on her uncle's weathered face - in all her memories of him he had been laughing. Except for the last one.
Her mother insisted that she go see a therapist after it happened - like a four year old could benefit from a therapist! - and the therapist claimed that Azah should never be in contact with Abdur because it would bring up traumatic memories. Sudden movements or skin contact would make her panicked, and since that night had been so mentally scarring, her conscious would have blotted out the experience.
The therapist was completely wrong on every account in her case. She could remember every single thing that had happened as clear as a bell, mostly relying on hearing, since your sight tends to get fuzzy after a couple dozen seconds with your windpipe cut off. And the most prominent sound was the thunderous crack of a gunshot. A bullet that rent the warm spring air before piercing through her father. Before he fell to the floor, never to stand up again.
But Uncle Abdur had a gun, he had a gun on him that whole time, so why did he resort to strangling her with his bare hands? Bloodlust? Every single month she came here, for nothing but an hour-long staring competition until visiting time was over. Technically, visiting the prisoners in Classification B wasn't allowed, but being the child of former Rear Admiral Asad Minhazai helped in the bending the rules a little.
The only reason her mother even let her visit a murderer was because of her second therapist, who she had started seeing when she was six. The first one tried to make her describe what happened when her father was killed, and her mother slapped him across the face. They never went to see him again.
The second one said it might actually be therapeutic to go see the man responsible for the old bruises on her neck. She told them that patients often clear up their past by finding the root of their pain, and then getting over it. Of course, Mrs. Minhazai believed her. She would believe anyone who had enough degrees and a paying job.
But 6 years was a long time. A very long time. And according to the prison guards, Abdur wouldn't utter a single sound wether Azah was there or not. Her mother's patience was obviously wearing thin when it came to her routine visits to the prison. She once asked her mom why Uncle Abdur didn't just shoot her, and Ghana's only answer was that her brother was insane. Absolutely screwed in the head.
But she still went, sometimes more than once a month. This was one such occasion. They had just been told who the AR candidates were from her class. Azah, and a boy named Zahi. Not Asher, who had clapped louder than anyone at the time, or Aisha, who had been wanting it the most. It was nerve racking.
There were two other elementary schools in Aahiristan, nine others from the rest of the three Kaar provinces all together. And only one girl and one boy became Afghan Representatives. The other twenty two would become unemployed, and not allowed to go back to school. They usually ended up living with their parents forever, or they lived on the streets, begging for money.
Azah was determined not to end up like those people. But she couldn't face heading home to see Mama and Amina's smiling faces, and hearing their encouragement of how sure they were that she would pass the entrance exams. The prison happened to be the first place that popped into her head when seeking a place of refuge.
'So, um,' Azah started nervously, clearing her throat, 'We got our KIA results today. As in, the Kaarese Individual Assessments. Of course you know that, ugh -'
It was hard to talk to someone when you were always on edge for fear that they would jump up and try to strangle you.
'I got nominated to be AR as the girl from my school,' she said, 'And the boy was this kid Zahi Hussain. The NUR soldier who gave us our results was really sketchy looking, he wore this giant gas mask the whole time-'
She jumped back and knocked the stool over, choking out a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a scream. Abdur had suddenly launched himself forwards, grasping the bars of his cell so tightly his knuckles turned white, trying to get his face as close to her as possible. His eyes were wide and crazed, the look of a madman.
'What did he look like? The masked man?!'
'Uh, uh, he was kind of tall I guess-'
'Oy, girl! What's happening?' Azah could hear the two soldiers on duty running towards them, having been alerted by the scream. Their heavy boots thundered against the stone floor.
Abdur shot one fist out of the gap, and she flinched, pressing herself against the back wall. If he reached out any further, his fingertips would graze her front-
He opened up his clenched fingers to reveal a small charm lying in the palm of his hand. It was only about the size of a pocket watch. Shaped like two Js attached at the spines and coloured blood red, it seemed to sparkle with a glow that came from the centre and expanded outwards.
'Take it,' he whispered urgently.
'Kid! What happened!'
'Take it! And remember, don't trust people who won't show their face to you!' he hissed.
On a whim, she reached out and quickly snatched the charm with two fingers, trying not to touch him. She nearly dropped it when she felt how heavy it was. Azah plunged her hand deep into her pocket just as the soldiers turned the corner.
One of them grabbed both of Abdur's shoulders and slammed him against the bars of his cell, and the other one produced a taser seemingly out of nowhere. He slammed it against the side of her uncle's neck and he went limp. The first guard used one hand to search through a key ring, and struggled to support their combined weight with his other.
'Did he say anything to you? Did he touch you?' the second guard asked.
'No, no,' Azah said. For some reason, she felt it would be best to stay quiet about the advice Abdur had shared with her, including the reaching-out-towards-her-like-a-man-possessed part. No need to worry everyone unnecessarily. 'He just kind of went insane all of a sudden and shook his door really hard.' She tapped her fingers anxiously against the sides of her legs - a nervous habit.
The soldier sighed a long, drawn out sigh, running a hand down his face. He suddenly seemed twenty years older.
'Look, just be careful, okay? You should be getting home by now anyway, and listen, don't be coming back anytime soon. I don't know why you're so hell bent on seeing this guy all the time anyways ...'
Azah turned and left the prison for the last time, her pocket weighed down like it was filled with bricks.
***
The Minhazai home was a small two-bedroom flat located on the outskirts of Dexamic. They were forced to sell their old house after Azah's father was killed, since her mother's work as a part time accountant didn't make enough to afford it.
Their apartment was part of a giant grey block of buildings called Luxury Living. The elevator never worked, drunk men liked to hang around the telephone box across the street, and homeless people slept in the big garbage bins outside the door. Teenagers had a habit of leaving cigarette butts underneath people's doormats, making the hallways smell like smoke.
On the way back, Azah took a shortcut through an alleyway that had rude messages graffitied all over the brick walls. Old wrappers, bags and other trash flurried around in the wind by her ankles. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't notice them watching her until their shoes slammed the concrete behind her.
Whipping around with her mind already battling between fight or flight, she saw more of them drop from the second and third floor windows lining either side of the narrow path. In moments, she was surrounded by at least fifteen 20-to-25 year old men and women who had swung down from windowsill to windowsill like monkeys.
One of the girls stepped forward, staggering a little. A pocket knife was grasped in her left hand, a glazed look in her eyes. She was wearing a thick black jacket that was unzipped from the front but ripped on the sides.
'What do you want?' Azah asked, trying to control her quavering voice. It came out as barely more than a whisper.
Some of the men laughed. The girl in front made a beeline towards her, forcing her to back up. She tripped over a broken glass bottle. The girl kept getting closer until she was right in her face, filling her mouth and nose with the uncomfortable smell of alcohol. She had obviously been drinking. A lot.
About two metres to Azah's left was a hingeless fence a little taller than her head. She could climb over it easily, but surely there were too many of them. Not enough time for climbing.
'Better watch your step, little girl. The president has more grace than you.' she sneered. The mob behind her roared with laughter. Azah blinked. That ... was random. Maybe that was the joke, albeit a humourless one. Her mom absolutely abhorred the president, since it was his fault their neighborhood was like this. No amount of complaints changed anything.
The mob moved closer. Would she ever see her mother again?
A motorcycle roared in the distance.
'What do you want?' Azah said again, getting quite a bit impatient. It must have showed on her face, because the girl looked taken aback, then angry.
'I just wanted a little favour, that's all.'
'Which is?'
'Loan a sister a bit of money, will you? I ran out.'
'Why, so you can go buy yourself some brains?'
The motorcycle grew even louder.
The girl snarled, bringing her pocket knife up. Everyone walked towards her slowly, pulling out their own weapons and forcing Azah to shuffle backwards until she was pressed right against the fence.
'You don't want to make us mad. Now just hand over what you've got like a good lit-'
The girl slumped forwards, and fell to her knees before faceplanting, her grip on the pocket knife slackened.
'Come on! Quick!'
Azah grinned, running towards her sister's motorcycle as people fell to the floor around her. She climbed on the back as Amina threw a last book, and they screeched into a U-turn before careering out of the alley.
'You okay?' she called over the thunder of her bike. 'What were you doing, hanging around people like that!'
Azah felt a prick of annoyance. Her sister actually thought she would be lingering in an alley with a bunch of alcoholics by choice?
'It's not like they're my friends or something, I got cornered!'
'It's lucky for you I was nearby, really,' Amina continued, as though she hadn't heard her. 'I was at the library, picking up a few books for some extra reading, but when I got home you weren't there! I remembered that you keep cutting through alleyways on the way home from school (and I told you to stop doing it, you're so irresponsible!) so I rode around the area until I heard commotion in one of them.'
By now, they were smoothly gliding past a bridge overlooking orange water. The sun, a giant golden orb in the pink sky up ahead, shrouded Luxury Living in shimmering light a couple blocks away.
'But honestly, it's been two hours since school ended, where have you-'
Amina killed the engine so suddenly that Azah nearly tipped over the side of the motorcycle into the water.
'Azah ... did you go to see him again?' Her voice was wavering, quiet - the kind of quiet that reminded Azah of lava. It was rising up in the volcano quickly, preparing to descend into chaos any second.
'Him?' she asked dumbly.
'You did, didn't you?' Amina shouted, looping around in her seat to face her younger sister. 'He's dangerous, he's a criminal! Stop going to that prison all the time!'
'Well, why not!' Azah yelled back, springing off the bike. 'He's still our uncle!'
'There's a REASON he's in prison!'
'I JUST HAVE TO SEE HIM!'
'WHY?!' Amina's arms waved around in the air like windmills.
'Because I - I-'
'HE KILLED OUR DAD!!!'
They both seemed moments away from attacking each other, when they heard a noise. It was like millions and millions of keys, clattering together. Azah saw her sister freeze in place and knew she wasn't the only one who heard it. The noise got louder and louder, until it surrounded them completely, coming from nowhere yet everywhere.
She stood, paralyzed.
'Get on!'
She had less than a moment to fall onto the seat before Amina restarted her bike and raced away, but the sound followed them. Azah swatted at invisible bees in the air as they sped forwards, breaking every speed limit law ever put into effect. The clinking filled her ears, almost like she was drowning, and that was when she lurched forwards and smacked her head against the concrete.
Azah tilted her head slightly to the side, the whole right side of her face scratched from the road, and blood from a head wound obscuring her vision. In front of Amina's handles stood a silhouette. It was black, completely black, darker than even black could ever be. They weren't in Kaar anymore. The sky had turned gray as the road and all the buildings and water and bridges were gone. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't day, but it wasn't night - this was dystopia.
Suddenly, the man and Amina disappeared. Azah blearily sat up, her head spinning. There was nothing around, no one around. The gray sky and ground spanned out as far as the eye could see. She turned around slowly and the silhouette was right in front of her face. She was too dizzy to even scream.
'I know you have it.'
She fell backwards and caught sight of a brown blood stain on the road before blacking out.