"Welcome, Fahad Al Karim. The Gentleman. Son of Faisal."
He gestured to the chair in front of him.
"Sit." Colonel Jafar said.
"I am Jafar Al-Faris. The Left-hand Colonel of NYPD." He added that.
Fahad stared his eyes and replied, "I know you." Colonel Jafar smiled and said, "Can you please just sit down first? So how many people did you just kill on the floor below?"
Fahad sat on that chair, right hand on his knees and right hand rested in his thigh. He leaned a little bit down and replied, "Counting how many people i've killed is a waste of time, and I don't waste my time on such nonsense."
Colonel Jafar smiled faintly, his voice calm and impeccably controlled.
"That makes you an idiot, not The Gentleman."
He leaned back, eyes never leaving Fahad.
"A Gentleman notices everything. He sees it. He smells it. He feels it before it happens."
A brief pause. Intentional.
"When your father killed someone, he remembered them. He remembered when it happened, how it was done, and exactly how many lives he had taken."
His smile thinned.
"Faisal was The Gentleman."
Then, almost softly:
"It's unfortunate my nephew didn't inherit that discipline."
Jafar's words hit harder than any blow.
The pencil slipped from Fahad's hand and clattered onto the floor.
He stared at Jafar, eyes wide, unblinking, trying to read a face that offered nothing.
His voice came out low, unsettled.
"What do you mean by nephew?"
A pause.
"Who exactly are you?"
Jafar laughed softly, not with humor, but with recognition.
"Your father was my younger brother. My own blood."
His tone remained polite, almost respectful.
"An extraordinary scientist. And a vigilante."
He studied Fahad for a moment, as if correcting an old mistake.
"I should have recognized you sooner."
Fahad rose slowly from the chair.
"You sent Detective Huraira to kill me," he said.
"If Frostbite hadn't stopped him, I'd be dead."
Jafar nodded, unbothered.
"Yes. I did send Huraira."
His voice stayed even, almost reasonable.
"At the time, I knew you only as The Gentleman. Not as Fahad Al Karim. Not as my nephew.
A brief pause.
"Huraira was an honest detective. He died doing his duty."
Then, calmly, almost casually:
"And Frostbite? He is your true friend. The kind who won't hesitate to take another life to keep you alive."
Fahad absorbed every word.
He said nothing.
Colonel Jafar placed a phone in Fahad's hand, then slid a slip of paper across the table. An address.
"I can't tell you everything," he said evenly. "For now, go home. Rest."
His eyes didn't waver.
"The people you killed had no right to keep living. You did well."
A pause, measured.
"Tomorrow night, at exactly ten, this phone will ring. You don't need to answer it."
He tapped the address once.
"When it rings, you go there."
His voice lowered, not softer but heavier.
"What you'll learn then, you won't be able to learn tomorrow… or ever, if you miss it."
He stood.
"Go now."
As Fahad turned away, Jafar added calmly,
"I'm on your side. If you're ever in danger, my number is saved in that phone."
A final glance.
"Call."
Elsewhere, Frostbite and Juliana stood in silence as the television replayed the footage.
A single intruder.
A police department left dead.
A pencil.
The story spread across the country like an infection, fast, unstoppable.
Juliana couldn't keep watching. She shut the TV off, her hands trembling.
"I thought he'd give them a clean death," she said quietly. "I never imagined something like this."
She swallowed.
"Is he even human?"
Frostbite smiled but not with joy, not with pride, but with understanding.
"He was," he said.
A pause.
"Until the world took that from him."
He looked at the dark screen.
"Fahad doesn't believe in easy deaths. He watched his brother die slowly, brutally. That taught him something simple."
His voice dropped, steady and final.
"If death exists, it is never kind."
He turned to Juliana.
"He's only returning what the world gave him."
Another pause.
"Pain."
Fahad stepped inside the house.
Juliana looked at him without blinking. Frostbite did too.
Nothing about Fahad suggested what he had just done.
The long coat lay perfectly on his shoulders.
The white shirt was spotless.
The tie neat.
Everything in place, like he had just put it on.
In truth, it was the same clothes he had worn when he left.
Frostbite broke the silence.
"What you did wasn't wrong."
Fahad replied evenly,
"I'm a bad man. Staying busy trying to be good is the only thing keeping me functional."
He loosened his cuff.
"Tomorrow night, we have work."
Frostbite looked up.
"Where?"
Fahad's answer was simple.
"We go. The rest will reveal itself."
Frostbite turned to Juliana.
"Until your safety is guaranteed, you're not leaving this place. Tomorrow, you stay here."
Juliana nodded quietly.
To Be Continued...