“P-please, no, my family—“
The sharp crack of a gunshot reverberated through hanger-74 like the last toll of a bell only to be muted by the dull thud of flesh on concrete. Then there was silence as if the whole world held its breath waiting to see what would happen next. However, the sad reality was that in Somalia nothing would happen next: a family would be without a father, another non-descript mound would appear in the sands, and nothing would come of another life lost.
“I’m sorry it had to end this way, Yensen,” Stooping over his latest conquest, Yusuf cracked a crooked grin of gold and white as he holstered his sidearm. “Really I am.”
“Sir,” a diminutive man in military fatigues spoke up. “Your plane is ready.”
Clapping the dead man lightly on the cheek, Yusuf glanced over his work one last time with all the love of an artist before rising without a word. In a few quick strides, he stood at the mouth of the hanger only stopping to wipe the blood on his hand onto the shoulder of the shorter man before continuing on. Normally, he would have seen to Yensen’s burial himself, but, as it so happened, he had more important matters to attend to.
Heat rippled off the tarmac all around Yusuf as he approached his slim black jet. With smooth aerodynamic contours, powerful engines, and more than its fair share of weapons systems, the piece of muggle technology was the best money could buy. However, it had been made even more valuable through the unique magical upgrades the most important of which was a cloaking charm bolstered by rings of runes inscribed on the internal structure.
“Make sure Yensen’s wife is told of his fate,” Yusuf instructed his second in command at the foot of the stairs leading up to the plane. “I would be heartbroken if she lacked closure; an ear will do nicely, no?”
“Yes, general,” the large man replied with a stiff salute.
In a few short hours, the Somali strongman’s plane lost sight of the African mainland and began making its way over the Atlantic Ocean. Yusuf, as he always did on such excursions, found himself most of the way through a bottle of imported Russian vodka and sifting through the information on other world leaders. To his left slept his third wife, behind him dozed an entourage of bodyguards, and across his lap lay his wife-to-be; the first two hours of the flight had been nothing less than a scene of depraved debauchery, but now it was different.
Now, it was time for work.
Next stop?
The Cayman Islands.
by 
