Smoking his last cigar, the middle-aged man gestured for one of the others to bring him another. After almost 20 years of chain smoking, the man had been reluctant to quit his nasty habit. He felt another cigar in his hand, lit it up, and took a long drag out of it.

"We must act now," he said. As he spoke, the smoke from his mouth began to form a cloud, creating an unclear vision of his surroundings. After almost 5 years in his surroundings, he still felt like a stranger in his own body.

"But sir, we don't have enough money. It is impossible to even consider—"

"We must. I have gotten some…insider information. I don't know what we are up against, but we must do it now," said the man with certainty. Taking another drag from his cigar, he motioned towards one of the other men standing next to him.

His surroundings began to look much clearer. He wasn't sure if it was because he was drugged out of his mind, or if it was simply because the smoke had cleared up. He missed the home cooked meals, the laugh of his children and the simple life he used to life. Now, however, it was like he was a new man. Someone who he knew, in a distant life.

"Jafar, I need you to look after Mr. Shah. He needs to be looked after," whispered the man. Jafar shook his head.

"I will do so, Sultan, as though my life depended on it," replied Jafar diligently. The Sultan smirked.

"Good, because it does," he said as he stood up. Standing at least a foot shorter than the rest of the occupants of the room, the Sultan still felt as though he were more powerful than the rest. He was able to succeed due to his charisma, his cunning edge and his swift movement. All of the rest were simply too vulnerable to make the first move.

He scanned the room. Only his most trusted disciples were able to work with him. The fire in the eyes of the men displayed their commitment to the fortune provided by the work that they did.

A knock came upon the door. One of the men opened the door, revealing a masked figure with another terrified man. The man looked like a piece of meat to the others, as the masked figured emerged into the dimmed lights of the dusty room. The other men began to snicker as they looked at the man, who let out a squeal of fear.

"Well, well," said with Sultan with a smile. He knew what he would do, but we wanted to entertain the rest of his men for enjoyment.

"Please…I didn't do anything. It was my job!" said the man, who looked horrendously frightened. The Sultan heard the jeering of the rest of his men, as they began to play with their pocket knives. The Sultan took a long drag out of his cigar.

"You should have quit then," said the Sultan, letting the smoke cloud the face of the man who looked like he could double over any moment.

"I-I have a family. My wife is pregnant with a boy," replied the man in a shaky tone.

"Then I hope your son will learn how to do what's best for his own family, instead of thinking solely on the prospect of his career," said the Sultan, grabbing on to a perfectly chiselled handle sticking out of his back pocket. The eyes of the man widened as he caught the glimmer of the knife blade.

"I won't do it again! I promise, I will teach him to respect you and what you do!" said the man in terror. He began to shake uncontrollably as he looked at the knife in horror.

The Sultan has always admired the cleanliness of his knife. If there was anything that he valued in his life it would be his knife, along with a few other people. But his knife was symbolic of his own honour, and how well he kept himself. He would use it whenever he felt the world needed to be cleansed of the undeserving people in this world.

"Please…I have a family. My son…" whispered the man tirelessly.

"My men will take care of that," smirked the Sultan, taking a long drag from his cigar. The man looked more awake, and his bloodshot red eyes looked as though he were in utter despair.

"Not my family. Please do not harm them. I beg you. She's pregnant," said the man. The Sultan laughed mercilessly as he went closed into the face of the man. He breathed out, allowing his pungent breath take over the face of the man. The Sultan could smell the reeking stench of fear and sweat all mixed into one.

"You coward," whispered the Sultan.

With a single swift of his arm, the knife created a neat cut across the neck of his victim. Instantly, the man let out a pleading scream, but the ears of the Sultan were quite immune to the last yell of his victims. He didn't need to be reminded of disgusting cowardice in which his victim's had acted upon.

A puddle of red appeared on the ground, growing each moment. The lifeless body of the victim remained on the ground, as the Sultan turned around. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe the knife, allowing it to slowly manifest into the same red that stained the ground. He heard the familiar buzz around the room, as the men began to clean up the mess. Finally, the Sultan sat down and took a final drag from his cigar and closed his eyes.

For some reason, the man couldn't help but to feel a wrench of emptiness inside of him.