The Human Xenocide

Chapter Thirty-Five - The Devil's Chessboard

Enjoy - and Vote.  The first part of this (until the *** break) was meant to go at the end of the last chapter - I missed moving it.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Tom pleaded, Sin had returned from one of his mysterious adventures, his mood—not so great, Tom thought it was because of him acting out earlier, that Sin's mood was about his, mistress, showing up.

"I need your help," Sin's voice was firm, he ignored the fact that even after half a day Tom hadn't gotten over the death threat or that Sin's mistress actually showed up.  The Red Reaper, as some called her, was in his home; the Red Reaper let him live.  From the stories, that never happens—she never lets anyone live.

"What?" Tom had since gotten up off the floor—the shaking from fear long gone, but he still had that look in his eyes when he saw Sin—that different look, half fear half respect, like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Arabian, what can you do for it?" Sin asked.

"I don't know anyone who can translate that as secretive as the professor that did the Russian."

"Find someone," Sin was frustrated about something Tom could see that, something he heard from his Mistress he guessed.

"Well, I'm sure I can find someone, but they won't hold a secret."

"They will," Sin flung his bladed finger at the corner of the table in the kitchen area of their hideout and clipped it clean off.  Before the wood could even hit the ground he was gone.

 ***

Oh yes, people heard of this commander, people heard of the brutal take over when the pressure of the third world war forced India to collapse in on its self. Rumors spread that this dictator was as dark and cruel as Stalin, Hitler—even more recently J Adams from Brazil. But no one thought he would dare make his move for the world—not in this modern era. It was simply too risky, too much technology piled up against him—body count doesn't matter in this world anymore, weaponry does, and with over two dozen countries more advanced than India in terms of weapons, invasion seemed impossible.

The world was wrong.  The black market is a wonderful thing when it comes to power hungry dictators, especially with those billions of people willing to fight for Mother India. It was an utter shock when India attacked its neighbor Pakistan. Oh, India needed a scapegoat—and when lies leaked into the commanders ears he jumped on them like a leopard hunting its prey. The Middle East will fall, his plan set into motion. Oil, the last remaining drops of oil will be his.

It was simply a beautiful time for his plan. One he never dreamed would exist, for he knew the moment he made a play for more control the entire world would go against him to stomp him out.  But with every single major power out there clawing their own eyes out and infighting now was the perfect opportunity.  For the past twenty years a gap never rose in world politics making his plan possible.  His body was getting old, but his mind was still strong.  There was no one left to stop him.  With China and Russia in a new found bloodbath, Europe dealing with its own unification problems, and America in the center of its Second Revolutionary War it seems like the UN was finally torn apart—unable to cope with his plot of world domination.

He let the name slip off his tongue—General Hinder, Conquer of Worlds. Dictator of Earth.  It sounded good, no it sounded better than good—it was perfect.  Nothing could stop him now…

***

Lilly appeared next to rock entrance of the Shanan Hideout, Shanan she learned over the last two days was the name of the group hidden under the ground—no relation to Iraq might she add, this just happened to be the place they ended up when seeking asylum—from who she was still unaware. Kelton and a cloaked man she assumed was the same one from the tent the other day were standing in the chilly morning.  Lilly had her chain-link cloak hanging limply over one shoulder, today was a day for her full battle gear—equipment she hasn’t used since the assault on the Egyptian fort so long ago. The jagged blades hanging off its backside were saturated with dark red dry blood; she never cleaned them from her last use of the cloak.