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Chapter 8 – The Crimson Night

Mo – The Devil at the Door

Midnight.

The city was asleep. The air was heavy.

Mo stood in front of the metro station—his silhouette warped under the streetlight glow. His left arm was bandaged, a crude wrap covering the bullet wound. But he didn’t limp. He didn’t flinch.

He just walked.

Slow. Steady. Focused.

Each footstep echoed on the concrete like a countdown to something unnatural.

He reached a house at the edge of the district. Two stories. Quiet. Nice yard. A small El SHARKAWY crest sticker on the mailbox.

He knocked.

Once.Twice.Three times.Four.

The door opened.

A man answered—confused, half-awake, adjusting his glasses. His wife stood behind him. Two kids peeked from the hallway—a fifteen-year-old girl in a school hoodie, and her younger brother clutching a plush toy.

They were all in El SHARKAWY School.

Two students. Two teachers.

A perfect household.

Something in Mo’s pocket shimmered—a faint glow, just for a second.

And then the door closed behind him.

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Seno – The Intellectual Fugitive

Morning sunlight filtered through the window.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper because yes, I am that guy. Lola was humming nearby, drawing something with crayons on my wall like taxes didn’t exist.

Then I saw the headline.

And my heart dropped.

> "Elderly Couple Murdered in Their Home — Children Missing"The article continued:“Sources say the family of four—all connected to El SHARKAWY School—were found brutally murdered in what authorities describe as a ‘targeted act.’ Neighbors heard nothing. No sign of forced entry.The only lead? A student recognized the face of an intruder from the infamous break-in days ago—described as a boy called... Seno.”

 

I froze.

I reread it.

Again.

And again.

> "Main suspect: the attacker who broke into El SHARKAWY School yesterday. If you see him, do not panic. Do not engage. Call the authorities immediately."

 

I was wanted.

There was a warrant for my arrest.

I was being framed.

And the worst part?

It was working.

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Lola noticed.

She looked up from her drawing.

> “Is there something wrong? You’re looking down today.”

 

I didn’t answer right away.

My vision blurred—not from tears, just from too much.

Too much noise. Too much weight. Too many truths hiding behind too many lies.

But I couldn’t let her see that.

So I stood up. Pulled on my black trench coat. Slid the pistol into its holster. Secured the ladder on my back.

> “Nah,” I said, forcing a smile.“Just gotta run some errands.”

“Then I’m buying you those marshmallows you like.”

 

Her eyes lit up. Pure joy. Completely unaware of the war I was marching into.

---

As I closed the door behind me, the air hit different.

The world didn’t feel safe anymore. Not for me. Not for her.

I wasn’t just hiding now.

I was hunted.

I didn’t know what Mo had done inside that house.

I didn’t know why the children were missing.

And I didn’t know if the truth would ever come out.

But I knew one thing:

I had to keep moving.

Because the only thing worse than being framed...

…was being caught.

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