Giving a king anything he asks for is one thing. Especially when your head is on the line. But stealing from that dude, whole different ball game. After seeing Mom, I had a moment.

I loved it where I was. I never thought I would say that. I know plenty of people hated it. I mean, hell, Omar was doing dishes for child soldiers, but I changed all that. I literally changed the way those people lived. I was making this place better for everyone. Omar included. He finally started to go out on missions. What he was doing, I haven’t the slightest clue. The king said he’d start giving me proper Arabic lessons when the time was right. Better lessons than what Ghada was giving me, like he could do better than her. Until then he wanted me to focus on the 10B figure.

I could do it. I could, but something was tugging at me. I mean, aside from all the Bitcoin I could ever want, I felt… greasy. I could stand this place knowing good people like Zeyad were a part of this—but him being donezo? Poor Ghada being my slave wife? All this killing? For what?

I sent that GoPro video. I assumed it was getting around my email circles. I wondered if it tipped anyone off. Or if they just figured I was getting hacked. Literally no one knew about my secret apartment. So if they were looking for one “Hefty” they’d never find my computer to reverse engineer it. Not that they could.

But I decided it was time to start leaving breadcrumbs. There was a way of hiding on the Dark Web. There was also a way of being seen. I wasn’t stupid. I definitely didn’t want to give any drones a lock target to send a missile up my ass. Instead, I made sure to start emailing puzzle pieces to different friends. Johnny was gonna be one of my main pieces. Emma was gonna be another. No one would know it was me, but I had to start planting seeds.

I figured a fingerprint to the guns wasn’t a bad idea. I mean, I bet the CIA was already tracking all these sales. They knew what was coming to ISIS. They didn’t know it was purchased by some young trip from Portland. I brought up a map of Oregon and zoomed in to find Mom’s house. I couldn’t put an address. That was too blatant. Giving a GPS coordinate would do. I got all the way to my backyard. Mom’s backyard. I could see the fire pit I dug, and put the cursor right on the firepit. That would get someone’s attention. I hoped. All I had to do was buy a gun and leave this coordinate with the purchase. Seeing that in the digital signature would be more than enough. You hear that NSA? I’m here. Loud and clea—

“Hefti!”

I quickly cut the screen. I whipped my chair around to see what the commotion was. It was one of the soldiers, an older guy I didn’t really know because I didn’t hang out with the older ISIS, except Zeyad, so I didn’t know anyone’s name… Damn, Zeyad.

“Hefti… ah… Omar.”

“Omar? What about him? Where is he?”

“Omar… ah.” He then started to mime a rifle. “Boom, boom.” Then he mimed finger-bullets. “Sheeeooo, sheeeooo” then he dug his fingers into his chest.

“Omar’s shot?” The soldier looked confused. He didn’t quite agree with my assessment (even though I was right) but motioned me over. “Omar. To.”

I put my computer in sleep mode and then went with this soldier. He was decorated with dirt. He’d been in the thick of the fighting. I could even smell it on him. We walked down a few houses and then came to a room. Screaming could be heard from all over.

I entered and saw legs shooting into the air. They were torturing some poor bastard. Then I recognized the red boots. Omar’s boots. I went to him, and there, in the damp room, Omar bled. He wailed, but started to relax. One of the soldiers holding Omar down was removing a needle.

“HEFTY!” he yelled. “Hefty, aw. Hefty! You sees, Hefty’s here. Come com, ah, Hefty. Look it’s Hefty. Whatchu doing here?”

“Omar, what, you’re… um.”

“I got knickered up a lil’ bit.” I counted at least 4 bullet holes in his shirt. The soldiers were giving up. I could tell. “Fightin’ was glorious,” Omar said. The men started to back off. They didn’t have much to offer. I don’t think they had a degree between the three of them. “We rallied upon two of ‘em. Blew the bastards to bits and back, Inshallah. Fuckin’ dogs and whores. Allah is keen on praising this one today, don’t you think?”

No. “Um… I just—”

“Don’t you, ah, think?” Omar was pathetic. Of course not. No I didn’t think so. “Omar… you.”

“Yea?” He looked deep into my eyes. He was noticeably fading.

“Omar, you were smarter than this shit.” I knew the stupids behind me didn’t understand a lick of English. “You had a chance at a normal life.”

“What are y—”

“You literally could have been anything in Britain, dude. You threw that shit away? Why do you think your parents moved there in the first place?” His face was glued in place. A stupid look. “Come on, bro. Killing people. Your wife? She’s a kid dude. We’re all kids here. They literally made you clean their dishes. You’re gonna die dude.” I made sure not to lift my voice too much. I didn’t want the soldiers thinking I was yelling at him. “I don’t believe in Allah, mate. I don’t believe in anything, but you know what I do believe? You’re about to die, you’re about to turn into plant food or whatever, and I’m not.” His face was horrific. I leaned in closer, seeing his life fade even more. “And you know what else? You get to die as I tell you that this whole thing, ISIS… I’m gonna take it down. I’m the only one who can, and I’m going to. And you, and everyone else. They’re all about to die for nothing.”

Omar faded. Beaten. Check mate.

Then exploded back to life, possessed by a ghost. He rattled off some Arabic like he was firing an Uzi. I jolted backward and hit a bedpan. Liquid and a needle splashed over me. The needle touched my leg, on the wrong side. PHEW! Omar then inhaled again and died.

I scuttled back to my feet. “FUCK!” I said. “Fuckin-fuckity-FUCK.” It just doesn’t ever stop out here.

I felt a hand on my arm. It was pulling me out of the room and into the dry night, and then it released me. The same soldier, iron-faced, was walking me back to my room.

He took me back to my computer cave and slammed the door shut. I scurried over to my computer. I swiveled the mouse violently. The screen fired to life, and the purchase screen was still active. “One Hand-Polished Colt-Action Pistol with Platinum finish” with my backyard in [embedded]. “Inshallah,” I hissed and executed the order. I heard the door fling open, and I closed the window. It was completed, just in time for the king to arrive. He had company.

We just looked at each other. The tension was hard as candy. Those eyes. God DAMN how did he get those eyes? “Omar die,” was all he said.

“I know,” I replied, “I was there.”

“There, yes. They tell me.” I could hear the buzz of the Bitcoins mining in the room. That was pretty much all you could hear. “How are my Bitcoins today?”

“Down,” I lied, “the price went down. Not my fault,”.

The king looked at the floor, disappointed. He was pondering something. I wish I knew what it was. “I think you go home, Hefty. You rest.”

“What?” I barked. “I no rest. La shukran.”

“Go home, Hefty.”

“Look, Omar’s dead. Whatever, we can find a new translator. I can still keep working.”

“Hefty.”

“No seriously, Stop. You’re letting your emotions get to you. He died for the cause. I need to finish this project before I—”

“Go TO ROOM, HEFTY!”

I felt my heartbeat in my neck. Shit. I was like 50 minutes into 2 Adderalls. I was wired to the max. What the hell did Omar say? I was on thin ice. That saying didn’t really work in a hundred-degree desert.

I started to log off the computer.

“Leave that. Go home.”

“Can I please log off? It’s not safe. The CIA could be watching.” I was praying they were. The king was not pleased, but he let me shut everything down. And then I stood up and walked past him.

Everything was not alright.