***
{Inside The Projection}
They yanked the kid up, away from his father.
"Yusuf!"
Faqir threw himself at the thug, pulling his son back while snarling at Bashir.
"Hit me instead, you bastard! Or are you too scared to face a real man?"
Bashir laughed.
"Real man?"
He kicked Faqir in the ribs.
Another crack.
"You're a cockroach. And cockroaches get stomped."
The crowd quickly scattered as the bastards laid into Faqir and Yusuf.
Boots thudded on bone. Dust choked the air.
Only Malik remained.
He just stood there, lost in thought.
Malik had a choice to make.
A touch, pain-in-the-ass choice.
Killing these rebels would be easy. Stupidly, insultingly easy.
Three quick slashes, maybe four if he was feeling a little extra. A snap of the wrist. A flick of the blade. And they'd be done. He could even make it look clean, silent, slip away before anyone figured out what happened.
His cloak would have done its job. Kept him hidden. Kept him out of sight.
