Homecoming
Sohrab left Afghanistan ten years ago. He lived in America for a few years, but grew restless living with his uncle and aunt. He's been living in Old City since he was sixteen. Life hasn't been easy. But then again, easy makes him nervous. So he wakes up every morning, does a hundred push-ups, gets some coffee, grabs his gear and takes his motorcycle down to Darkhouse's compound. He's a mercenary. A gun for hire to whoever can pay. Darkhouse pays handsomely.
Fresh orders. Darkhouse hands him a file labeled, "Tesla, Nikola". Inside is a picture taken in the 1880's of the dark haired, Serbian scientist. Next to that is a picture taken earlier that morning. He didn't look any different. From his appearance, Sohrab would have guessed he was maybe forty, not a hundred and fifty-nine.
"Our contact says there's going to be a thirty minute window during which we can get this guy. After that, he disappears forever. We're not gonna get another shot at this."
Sohrab knows it won't be quick and clean, like Darkhouse thinks. It never is with abnormals. He says as much, but Darkhouse won't hear it; He's far too arrogant to admit any flaws in his plan, even if it means losing personnel in the process. Sohrab isn't sure he cares anymore, though. It's just a job.
Sohrab reads the rest of the file as he heads to the locker room. Nikola Tesla: Former Half-Vampire created using original Vampire source blood. Abnormal traits include high-powered magnetism. Fun.
Sorhab changes quickly, always efficient, wasting no energy, using crisp, militaristic movements. He pulls out his prayer rug, walks to the driveway, pulls off his shoes, faces east, and prays to Allah. Forgiveness of sins committed over the years. Forgiveness of sins not yet committed. He stands, rolls his prayer rug. Puts it away. Walks back out to his bike, where his men have assembled. They all ride away. They all know that most of them won't come back.
It's a short drive the Old City Sanctuary, but it's pouring. Sohrab thinks it's a bad omen. His mind wanders as he gives orders, waits for their window to open. It never rained in Afghanistan. In the Summer, the land burns under the hot sun and the ashes freeze, crystallizing on the Winter snows, but it never rains.
His second-in-command pulls his thoughts away and back to the real world. A teleporter has just appeared at one of his teammate's location. Sohrab draws his weapon, but it's too late. The tall, Bald man has disappeared them both. Sohrab orders his men to fall back, to get back to the base. It's all been a trap. This is why he hates fighting "abnormals" they don't fight like men.
He hears a voice calling his name. His men have all fled. The voice is that of a young woman. he turns to face her. He sees her and his breath catches. She has dark skin and olive colored eyes, like his mother had. He stares for a long moment, drops his gun, then raises it again as an older woman - about forty if he had to guess - runs up alongside his target. The dark skinned girl raises her hands, tries to calm him down. The older woman says he doesn't have to run anymore. They know who he is, what he's done, what he's been forced to do. If he joins them, he can have a home.
Images of his parents come to mind. The heat and sand of his homeland. The safety of his father's house. Freedom. He sets the gun down, joins them, joins the girl. He's finally home.