Maher called Ameer to his house—he wanted to discuss their plan for carrying out the investigation.
Maher's parents were out visiting his uncle, leaving the house empty. It was the perfect opportunity for the two to talk without interruption.
When Ameer arrived, Maher led him to his room, this time locking the door behind them—just in case someone showed up uninvited.
"Does anyone know you're here?" Maher asked.
"No. Today's my day off. Usually, I spend it at home, but I told my family I was going for a walk. That's all they know," Ameer replied.
"Good. We'll make this quick so they don't suspect anything," Maher said as he sat down. He looked up at Ameer and continued, "We need to be careful. One slip, and it's over. If they catch us, I can only imagine what they'd do—especially since we know who's involved."
Ameer nodded. "I know. But I'm not scared. I'm tired of turning a blind eye to corruption. We have to do something. It's our job to uphold security and fight injustice."
Maher agreed. "You're right. That's exactly why we're doing this. This corrupt system is why our country is drowning in drugs. We have to stop them."
He took a deep breath before continuing. "I think Sameer will definitely come back soon to retrieve the powder. He must've spent a fortune on it. People like him don't give up easily—especially when money's involved. I'm sure he'll try to get it back."
Ameer leaned back in his chair, considering Maher's logic. "You're right. So, what's the plan?"
"We keep watch over the tunnel. We'll take shifts until someone shows up."
Ameer sighed. "That'll be tough with our schedules... but let's do it."
____
Maher had just finished his shift as a traffic officer, his uniform stiff with sweat beneath the relentless sun. He returned home, changed into plain clothes, and told his parents he was meeting a friend. Their nods were absentminded—routine by now.
Stepping outside, he pulled on a hoodie, then added sunglasses and a facemask. "Better safe than sorry." He thought to himself.
The last thing he needed was someone recognizing him near the fake company's warehouse.
The streets were quiet as he approached the abandoned building, his eyes scanning for movement. No guards, no witnesses—just the sound of distant traffic. He slipped inside, the stale air thick with dust.
The hidden tunnel entrance lay undisturbed, but Ameer was nowhere in sight.
"Where is he?" He mattured under his breath.
Maher checked his watch. Ameer was supposed to be here, watching. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
One ring. Two. No answer. "Ameer, pick up," Maher muttered, his grip tightening on the phone. But there was nothing but silence.
He tried again. Still nothing.
A cold prickle ran down his spine. This wasn't like him. "Damn it." He hissed.
He crouched near the tunnel entrance, examining the ground. Faint scuff marks—recent. Someone had been here.
Then, a muffled Buzz.
Maher's head snapped up. Ameer's phone—discarded near a stack of crates, screen cracked but still lit with his missed calls.
His stomach dropped.
"Ameer!"he hissed, voice low but urgent. No reply. Something was wrong. Very wrong. And he realized that he needed to get out of there immediately.
Maher's pulse roared in his ears. Ameer is no here. This is a trap. He had to get out.
Turning on his heel, he sprinted back through the tunnel, the dim overhead bulbs casting jagged shadows on the damp walls. His breath came in sharp bursts, the air thick with the scent of mildew and something metallic blood? There no time to think. He needed to move faster.
The exit door loomed ahead. He shoved it open—
"Freeze!"
A chorus of clicks echoed—guns cocked, barrels leveled at his chest.
Maher staggered back, his hands instinctively rising.
Five men in black masks surrounded him, their eyes cold behind the fabric. But what made his stomach twist were the two figures in police uniforms standing behind them.
And one of them was Sam, his coworker, smirking like this was just another day at the station.
"Sam?" Maher's voice was raw. "What the hell is this?"
Sam adjusted his cap, his grin never slipping. "Sorry, partner. Orders."
One of the masked men stepped forward, his voice a graveled threat. "You shouldn't have stuck your nose where it doesn't belong, Traffic Officer."
Maher's mind raced. Ameer. The drugs. The whole damn system. They had been ambushed.
Sam sighed, almost bored. "Should've just looked the other way, Maher. Now?"He nodded to the men. "Now you disappear."
The butt of a rifle swung toward Maher's temple, and he was knocked out.
___
Maher groaned as consciousness returned to him , his skull throbbing as if split open. The world swam into focus—cold concrete beneath him, iron bars caging him in. He was in a cell.
He couldn't remember at first why he was there, then slowly everything came back to him. it hit him. The tunnel. The ambush. And Sam's cunning face.
Suddenly A sharp, pained whimper cut through the silence. Maher turned his head—and his breath caught. It was Ameer.
His friend lay crumpled on the floor beside him, his face swollen and bloodied, one eye sealed shut by dried blood. His shirt was torn, revealing dark bruises mottling his ribs.
"Ameer!" Maher scrambled to him, hands trembling as he rolled him over gently. "Hey—hey, look at me. Can you hear me?"
Ameer's lips twitched, a weak groan escaping. His good eye fluttered open, glazed with pain.
"M-Maher…?"His voice was a broken whisper.
Maher's throat tightened. "I'm here. What did they do to you?"
Ameer coughed, wincing. "T-they… wanted answers. I didn't… tell them… anything."
Maher clenched his fists. "Stay with me, okay? We're getting out of—"
The screech of metal interrupted him.
The cell door swung open.
A towering figure stepped inside—black boots, gloved hands, a face hidden behind a mask.
"Awake already?" The voice was distorted, mechanical. "Good. Let's have a little chat"