Revenge of the Sheik, Part One
Apr 16, 2024 21:51:43 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 2 more like this
Post by The Sheik on Apr 16, 2024 21:51:43 GMT -5
One
In the streets of the nameless city, the sun hammered down on the sandy streets. It was always like that here, for the city stood at the edge of the Empty Quarter. The most inhospitable deadliest place on Earth, and the heat was unbearable. But a man ran down those streets, panting as he looked ran from shadow to shadow.
He ducked inside a low smoke filled room, and the people inside glared at the door. He panted as he stood there, sweat running down his face before he lifted an arm to wipe it across his nose. His skin came away streaked with blood, but he walked past the sullen men as the door banged shut.
In a low voice he spoke to the bartender, and the man nodded slowly before he reached for the old battered looking phone behind him. He handed it to him, and they started to make calls.
Half way across the world? A man answered.
Two
‘Who is this?’ snapped MXG, his eyes narrowed on his cellphone. He listened, nodding slowly before he shook his head. Whoever it was, spoke too quickly for him to follow. But he knew who the call was for, and he walked across the opulent penthouse that he shared with his client. With his only client.
He nudged open the door, and the room inside was the exact opposite of the rest of the apartment. The lights were dim, the windows were covered. There was no furniture, there was not even a bed just a tangle of sheets and pillows on the floor. Even the carpets had been torn away, and lay in ragged piles only to be replaced by ornate carpets in a wild colorful design.
A brass brazier burned in the shadows, and the smell of incense was in the air. Someone had painted a design near the ceiling at the top of the wall, showing the direction to Mecca.
And in that ragged looking room knelt beside the brazier with closed eyes, the man known as the Great King of Terror. The Sheik’s eyes snapped open with a hiss, and he stared at Graves before he bared his teeth in a snarl. Graves jerked back, and then took a deep breath before he held up the phone.
‘It’s for you, man. From the city.’
The Sheik rose, stalking across the room to rip the phone from his manager’s hand. And he stared down at it, before he lifted it to his ear. The breathless voice on the other hand spoke rapidly, and the Sheik’s face twisted with rage.
‘Sheik! They are here! One of them is in the city, I have seen them! They are asking questions about your family’s land!’
Sheik stared at the phone, it was very rare that anyone went anywhere in the wastes of the Quarter. Let alone to the lands of his dead clan, his fingers tightened on the phone. That meant whoever these people were they were connected to what had happened. They knew who or what had been responsible for the death of his people.
The Great King of Terror felt rage surge in him.
He had made himself a beast, he given himself over to a life of pain and violence so he could forget! But he wanted revenge, he wanted to know who was behind the event that had destroyed his life! And he would have it.
‘I will be there.’
He stabbed his finger down on the phone, and turned to look at Graves. He snarled in arabic, gesturing angrily. Graves stared at him, shaking his head before he reached up to adjust his shades before he spread his arms.
‘You can’t be fucking serious, man! We have the Rumble, it’s Rumble season! We have Fox out here doing his resurrection shit, and whatever Death Trap is doing! I am not sure how that dude even got a fan club, but Discipline is a fine looking woman–’
He cut himself off as the Sheik growled. He held up his hands, and continued.
‘And there is the meme dude, and that Van Zant woman! And well, you know Donzig!’
The Sheik’s eyes narrowed, he had not forgotten his death match with Donzig in Los Angeles. Graves had not either come to think of it, but he continued as he waved the shades at his client. And he smiled.
‘And Spike! This could be your chance to cement your legacy to kicking the shit of Spike! Think of the contracts we could get if you were an X-Crown Contender! HKW would have to give you your dues then, man! Please!’
The Sheik stared at Graves. This man was his only friend, he was the only person that the Sheik trusted, the only man he could count on. He had might Graves when they were both at their lowest point, with Graves’ life a wreck after his time on the streets. After a life of fighting in and out of the cage, and his knee destroyed!
The Great King of Terror was drowning himself in the fighting pits of the Empty Quarter. His days were filled with bloodlust, and his nights were spent shedding blood as he tried to drown out the memories of his life. Of the things he had seen as he crossed the desolate desert! They owed each other their lives.
But the Sheik would have his revenge.
Graves knew that as well, and so he sighed as he walked off to book the flight.
Three
‘Hold the fucking phone, man. Just hold it steady, I don’t have all day!’
The camera steadied, and soon enough you could see Graves standing in what appeared to be an airport passageway. He was wearing a suit, and he had his cane tucked under his arm as he adjusted his sunglasses. A tug to his lapels, and he licked his lips before he reached up to adjust his tie.
Behind him, also wearing a suit for once was the man known as the Sheik. His suit was white, and he didn’t have a tie. His keffiyeh was spread out across his shoulders, and he glared at the camera before he snarled something under his breath. Graves lifted a hand, and then he shook his head.
‘Listen up, XHF! This year the Rumble? It’s No Man’s Land, because my client the Sheik has entered it! Do you all understand what that means? No, let me tell you what it means!
It means you can come back from the dead, and try to patch shit up with your husband! You can try to run yourself through with a katana, while your wife and her henchmen do all your heavy lifting! Maybe you can try and siphon some heat off your stepbrat’s pet rat or some shit!
You can remind everyone you are a woman! You can do memes!
And for fuck’s sake, I have no idea what that clown Marty is doing! Besides dodging my client like has been for a year!’
Graves paused, and he reached up to adjust his glasses. A shrug as he glanced at the Sheik, and then he lowered them to look over the top.
‘And yeah, of course who is surprised that Donzig has kidnapped a reporter. We all know he is one day away from telling us the press are the enemy of the people. Come on, man, we get it! You don’t like any of us! I know!
But none of that matters, because 30 people will walk into the Rumble! And one by one they wil all fall before the greatest combat athlete in the XHF! They will fall before a man who has dedicated his life to violence! A man who is willing to inflict as much pain and suffering on himself as the rest of you fucks!’
Off camera a fan spoke. ‘I thought you didn’t like Fox?’
‘No, no! He means Donzig! Donzig-gun for life!’ yelled another.
Graves scowled, and looked to the Sheik who just stared back. Then he waved his cane, eyes narrowed before he yelled off camera.
‘Do you people mind? I am working here! I mean the Sheik, I mean the Great King of Terror!’
Four
And so the stranger and his men sat in one of those clubs, drinking the finest liquor as they watched girls dance and twist as music filled the smoky air. They had been at it for hours, wallowing in decadence. Their leader was a scarred German with a patch over his eye, and he sneered as he leaned back in the heavily cushioned chair to watch his men.
They were drunk, they were lazy, and they were getting sloppy. But they would be leaving the city soon enough, their mission into the desolate sands another failure.
But in all of this? He had never seen the slender aging man watching him and his men, like he had not seen him days before outside of the city’s overpriced luxury hotel.
The man left, and before long? The German looked up as a man walked inside, he was a dark skinned man with graying hair in a black suit. He was leaning on a cane, and had a pair of expensive glasses perched on his nose. The German arched a brow as the man looked his way, and then reached up to adjust his glasses.
He downed a shot, and smirked.
‘What do you want?’
The man shrugged, leaning against the bar as he poured himself a drink. He took a swig, and loosened his tie. A glance at the German’s thugs, and he shook his head before he answered with a wave of his cane.
‘I don’t suppose you want to tell me what you were doing in Rub' al Khali? Or who you work for?’
The German blinked, and his eye narrowed as he pushed the bottle aside. The music stopped as his men glared as well, and the air was suddenly tense. The man at the bar reached up, pulling off his glasses as he looked between them.
‘I don’t see why that is any of your business, freund.’
‘Oh, it’s not.’
The thugs all looked at each other, and then the door burst open as another man stalked inside. He was a wild looking arab, and his keffiyeh hung around his head as his teeth were bared in a sudden snarl. The German blinked at him, and then he shoved aside the table as bottles and glass went flying from it. The bar was clearing out now, and he swore as he remembered this man from the various reports he had read.
The first man tucked his glasses inside of his jacket, but his hand came free with a gun. It snapped off loud shots, and the German’s men dropped with sprays of blood before they ran for cover. Fumbling for their own weapons, but already the Sheik was upon them. His fists flew, battering men into the ground.
Bones broke, and blood flew as a few got off lucky shots. Perhaps some even hit the Sheik, but he didn’t seem phased! He grabbed one man twisting his arm behind him with a loud snap, and bullets ripped into the man before he was thrown aside. The German cursed, and ran for the kitchen before he stopped as Graves was now in front of him. His smoking pistol aimed at his chest, and he arched a brow.
‘I think you shouldn’t try it.’
A curse in German, and he flung himself to the side as his foot lashed out. Cracking into Graves’ hand, the gun went flying as he rolled around behind him. A few quick blows, dropped the man before he ran into the kitchen. He threw a few workers aside, and grabbed a knife as he spun to face the door as the Sheik erupted from it.
He tossed the knife from hand to hand, smirking.
‘I have heard of you, but I am not afraid.’
The Sheik said nothing, he just lunged as the man slashed angrily. A thin line of blood ran across the front of his white suit, and the German slashed again. The knife slice across his arm, and he reversed it to stab at his shoulder. The Sheuk barely rolled aside, and then he was caught across the ribs with a series of kicks.
He staggered forward, leaning hard on the counter near the fryers.
The German came forward, grinning as he leveled the knife. But the Sheik grabbed a fryer basket, and flung it along with hot grease at the man’s face. He howled, and jerked backwards as he tried to cover his remaining eye. The Sheik leapt, tackling him to the ground as he snapped his wrist with a hard jerk. The knife skittered free, and his forehead slammed into the German’s head.
The man went limp, and the Sheik leaned back as he spat.
Five
The German awoke as he hung upside down from atop a building, he struggled and kicked as he dangled from the ropes. Blood was rushing to his head, and below he could see the cracked and worn bricks of the sand strewn street. The man in the black suit watched him silently, leaning against the wall of the roof’s entrance. He leaned on his cane, and he frowned slightly.
‘My man, can we make this quick? I have shit to do besides watch you die.’
The One Eyed Man snorted, and shook his head.
‘I will tell you nothing!’
He fell silent as a fist slammed into his gut, that blow followed by another and a third. He spun wildly in the empty air, gurgling in pain as he dangled. The rope creaked, straining as the metal rod that he hung from seemed to flex slightly. The Sheik glared at him, eyes narrowed as he lifted his hand to deliver another blow.
‘Wait! Wait! What do you want to know?’
‘Now we are getting somewhere.’
The man glared, and he cursed under his breath in German before he froze as the Sheik lifted his fist again.
‘Ask me!’
‘Who do you work for? Who sent you to the Empty Quarter?’
‘I can’t tell you that! He’ll kill me!’
‘Maybe. But I can tell you, we will kill you, my brother.’
The German winced at that, and the Sheik produced the kitchen knife. He looked up at the rope, and then back to him. And his fingers tightened on the hilt, and the German looked down before he started to speak.
‘I work for the Vorga! The Vorga Consortium! They are involved in some heavy shit! They think there is something in the Empty Quarter they can use!’
Graves whistled, and he looked at the Sheik.
‘That’s some real shit, man. You sure you want to do this?’
The Sheik growled, and the knife slashed. The rope snapped, and the German barely had time to scream as he plummeted. There was a wet thump from below, and the snapping bones. Someone screamed, and the Sheik stared down at the broken bloody body sprayed across the bricks.
Graves shrugged.
‘I am going to take that as a yes.’