As Fatima Zahra bid farewell to Rayan and Maria, she gently placed her hand on Rayan's shoulder and spoke in a calm, loving voice:
Stay strong, my brother. God is with you… and if you ever need anything, my home will always be open to you.
Then she turned to Maria and smiled warmly:
Take care of him, Maria. You're not alone."
With those words, Fatima Zahra quietly stepped away, her presence leaving behind a sense of peace in the midst of darkness.
She walked through a narrow corridor inside tunnel Z-47, dimly lit by flickering bulbs hanging from the ceiling, humming softly from time to time. The rusted metal walls bore the scars of time—scratched messages from passersby, words of fear, love, and longing.
The floor was lined with iron plates, covered in damp dust, and with every step she took, a soft moan echoed from the overhead pipes, as if the tunnel was breathing alongside her.
As she approached the end of the passage, the light gradually increased until she arrived at an open area known among the residents as "the inner market."
The market was the heart of the sector—the center of movement and breath. On both sides, makeshift wooden stalls were covered with worn grey fabric. Everything was sold here: stale bread, wilted vegetables, scrap metal, used batteries, and even old dusty books that cost a small fortune.
In the middle, people of all kinds bustled about: barefoot children running, men arguing over the price of a bottle of water, and women sharing stories as if trying to silence the echo of fear that haunted the tunnel.
The air was filled with a mix of scents: sweat, smoke, moldy bread… and something else—
the scent of worry. A smell that told you something wasn't right.
And among the crowd, Fatima Zahra walked with her head held high, her eyes scanning the surroundings like a watchful mother, searching for something… or someone.
As Fatima Zahra continued walking through the market, a faint voice suddenly called her name from behind the walls.
"Fatima..."
She paused for a moment, glancing around… no one. She ignored the sound and kept walking, until she heard it again—this time clearer, as if someone was whispering from deep within the nearby dim corridor.
Turning toward the passage, her eyes narrowed. She stepped forward cautiously. Upon reaching the shadows, she pulled out a medium-sized machete from beneath her black abaya, gripping it tightly. Her brows furrowed with cold confidence.
In a low, threatening voice, she muttered:
"Looks like someone has a death wish today."
She stormed toward the corridor, shouting fiercely:
"Show yourself… now!"
Suddenly, a skinny man emerged from the shadows. He was of average height, wearing a dirty grey jacket and torn trousers. His face was pale, his eyes swollen with exhaustion. Nearly bald, save for a few thin strands near his left ear. A small pouch hung from his belt.
He quickly raised his hands in surrender, stepping forward slowly:
"Please, don't kill me, Fatima… I just want to talk."
Fatima stopped a few steps away, her machete still raised, eyes unblinking:
Fatima (cautiously):
"Talk fast, before I change my mind.
George (nervously):
"I… I just wanted to ask a favour. From your husband, Mohammed. I know he has access to extra supplies—vegetables, fruits, some goods that the other traders can't get... And you know how things are. We get scraps, and I can barely make a living."
Fatima (raising an eyebrow, her tone sharp):
"And you thought sneaking up on me in the dark was a respectful way to ask for a favour?"
George (bowing his head):
"I didn't mean to scare you, I swear. I just didn't want anyone to see me. If they find out I asked for something special… they'll burn my shop down."
Fatima (after a moment of silence):
"I'll tell him. But if you ever come near me or my children like this again… I won't give you a chance to beg."
George (submissively):
"Understood… perfectly. Thank you, Fatima."
While George's footsteps faded into the noise of the market, silence slowly returned—like an invisible curtain draping over the dim alleys. Only minutes passed before the scene shifted from the market's chaos to a quiet corner deep within Tunnel Z-47, where Fatima Zahra's home stood.
The house was small, but it radiated the warmth of old Arab tradition. Its walls were coated with a mixture of clay and straw, giving it the feel of ancient village homes. Dim lights hung from metal wires, casting a soft glow reminiscent of moonlight on Andalusian marble. The floor was covered with a traditional Moroccan rug, its red, blue, and golden patterns woven into intricate geometric designs.
In the corner, Mohamed—Fatima's husband—sat on a floor cushion, reading from a small Qur'an, while one of their children played near a small clay oven from which the scent of fresh bread and cumin drifted. On the walls, simple decorations hung: Qur'anic verses written in Andalusian script, and a brass frame holding an old photo of the city of Fez.
The place was filled with the aroma of coffee and serenity, as if time inside had no connection to the world outside.
Mohammed was a strong and massive figure, with a muscular build that made him seem like a moving mountain. His left eye was scarred deeply, as though it told the story of a fierce battle fought on a dark day. His face was usually masked, revealing little more than his sharp, merciless eyes. His features were mysterious, and his presence in any place felt like an arrow that never missed its target. Known for his combat skills, he was considered one of the best professionals in the world of assassinations and killings, leaving only traces of darkness and blood in his wake.
In a dim corner, Mohammed sat on the floor, reciting the Quran in a calm voice, as if his words were whispers, yet carrying an unseen strength within them. He turned his face toward the page in front of him and began reciting verses from Surah Ar-Rahman:
Mohammed:
"The Most Merciful * Taught the Quran * Created man * Taught him eloquence * The sun and the moon follow a reckoning * And the stars and the trees prostrate..."
His voice was quiet, filled with tranquility, yet there was a hint of mystery in his tone, as though, in this harsh world, he found peace in those words.
Ahmed and Ali, the 10-year-old twins, shared similar facial features, but their personalities were completely different. Ahmed was a little shorter than Ali, with wide brown eyes and slightly wavy black hair. Ali, on the other hand, was thinner, with smoother and softer hair. Ali was always more energetic and lively, while Ahmed appeared calmer, observing the world around him. Together, they were like an unstoppable storm, full of innocence and energy.
At that moment, Ali entered his father's room, where Mohammed sat in his dark corner, quietly reading the Quran. Ali raised his head and asked:
Ali (curiously):
"Dad, where's Ahmed?"
Mohammed didn't respond immediately. He simply gestured toward the door. Ali glanced at the hint, then quickly left the room.
Ali (excited, pulling his brother by the hand):
"Come with me! I've found a great place to play hide-and-seek! And I've brought friends!"
Ahmed, running behind him, smiled and said:
"Okay, I'm with you!"
A few minutes later, Mohammed closed the Quran quietly, saying:
"Indeed, Allah has spoken the truth."
He then took out a cigarette and headed toward the door, stepping outside. As he walked, he heard Omar's voice speaking softly. He followed the voice as he lit his cigarette, saying:
Mohammed (in a quiet, threatening tone):
"He better not be caught with a girl, or I'll cut off your manhood."
Mohammed moved closer to the sound until he reached it, discovering Omar carefully running his fingers through the hair of an 18-year-old blonde girl, then attempting to kiss her gently and romantically. The girl appeared conflicted, her eyes filled with hesitation and confusion.
Omar was a large, powerful figure, much stronger than his 18 years. He looked like he was in his early twenties, with a strong face and sharp features, resembling his father. His black hair was barely noticeable beneath the black mask that covered his face, much like his father's. His dark clothes added to his mysterious and threatening aura.
The girl, named Layla, possessed natural beauty with soft white skin and golden blonde hair that cascaded lightly around her face. Her blue eyes were filled with anxiety, but she couldn't seem to escape the situation. She wore a simple blue dress that flowed gently around her body.
Omar (smiling as he gently touches her hair):
"Don't be afraid, Layla... everything will be fine."
Layla (hesitantly, her eyes filled with worry):
"But... I don't want this, Omar. I don't want to be here. I don't want this."
Omar (sighing softly, motioning with his hand):
"I've told you before, there's no need to worry. You're here because you want to be... just enjoy the moment."
Layla (anxious, trying to pull her hand away):
"No, Omar, I don't want this... please."
Mohammed stood behind the wall, watching the scene with calm composure, but he could feel his anger rising within him.
As Omar leaned in closer to kiss Layla, she resigned herself to the situation and said softly:
Layla (quietly):
"Alright, but don't break my heart."
Omar moved closer, about to kiss her, but at that moment, Mohammed emerged from the shadows. He forcefully pushed Omar away from her, causing him to crash into the wall. Quickly, Mohammed placed a knife to Omar's neck, glaring at him with a mixture of anger and disappointment.
Mohammed (in a low, deep voice):
"You don't know what you're doing, Omar. This isn't love. This isn't the way of a man with honor. You're playing with other people's daughters, treating them like things to be used and discarded. Is this what you were raised to do?"
Omar (terrified, trembling):
"Dad... I... I didn't mean to... I wasn't thinking about the consequences. Please, forgive me. I regret what I did."
Mohammed (pressing the knife gently against Omar's neck, his words harsh):
"If you truly love her, ask for her hand in marriage. Don't think you can ruin her heart with this reckless behavior. You can't control someone's heart this way. This is foolishness! And if you don't know how to respect people's feelings, then start learning. Stop playing with things you don't own."
Omar (bowing his head, his eyes filled with tears):
"Dad... I made a mistake. Please, forgive me. I promise I won't do this again."
Mohammed (gently removing the knife from his neck, speaking in a softer tone):
"You're my son. If you want to be a man, you need to learn to respect others, especially women. Because love isn't something forced—it's built on respect and understanding. Now go and apologize to her. Start doing what's right."
Omar approached Layla with slow steps, his eyes full of regret. He stopped in front of her, lowered his head, and said softly:
Omar (apologetically):
"Layla, I'm truly sorry for what I did. I wasn't thinking about your feelings or what's right. I didn't deserve you, and I promise I will never do it again."
Layla didn't respond immediately, but gave a slight nod, her eyes filled with astonishment. Omar didn't look at Mohammed or anyone else, he simply walked away quietly, leaving without turning back.
After Omar left, Layla turned to Mohammed, feeling a deep sense of relief from his intervention. She spoke sincerely:
Layla (gratefully):
"Thank you, Mohammed... if you hadn't intervened, I don't know how I would have handled it. Omar is really special... he's different from other guys. He just needs some discipline, maybe if he had someone to guide him, he'd be better. I wish I could always be there for him."
Mohammed (thoughtfully):
"He's my son, and I know he needs time to learn the difference between right and wrong. But I'll always be here to help him."
Layla (smiling, then gradually walking away):
"You're a great person, Mohammed... goodbye."
She then ran off quickly, leaving Mohammed watching her silently.
At that moment, Fatima arrived home. She approached Mohammed and kissed his cheek lovingly:
Fatima (gently):
"Peace be upon you, my love."
Mohammed (smiling):
"Peace be upon you too, Fatima. How was your day?"
Fatima (calmly, sitting beside him):
"My day was quiet, but the house needs some things. We're short on food, and some furniture needs to be replaced. The uncles are still in the city, and I think we should be ready."
Mohammed (thinking for a moment):
"Yes, there's a lot to be done. I'll go to the market tomorrow and get everything we're missing."
Fatima (sighing, then her tone turned serious):
"And what about Rayan... we've received orders for his arrest, and we need to help him before he gets into trouble."
Mohammed (with a firm expression):
"Rayan is my best friend, and I'll take care of it. Omar will handle it, and Judge Marco will feel the pressure and pay the price."
Fatima (agreeing but with concern):
"I just hope everything is under control, Mohammed."
Mohammed (with a determined look):
"Don't worry, everything will be fine."