The year is 2016. Joseph, a survivor of 9/11 follows his father's footsteps and enlisted in the military. Not long after, he along with two of his friends were deployed to Iraq among the ranks of some of the best American fighting men: the US Army...
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April 2026
SVR Headquarters, Russia
Sergei "Central" Orlov – SVR
Two files sat on my desk, covered in red leather each. But something else holds my attention for the minute. An execution video intercepted from the airwaves, showed a terrorist making a speech in Arabic. Two more gunmen dressed similarly as him in what appears to be a greener version of Turkish camouflage, stood on the speaker's left and right, with a flamethrower's nozzle in their hands and gas tanks on their backs. No more than ten meters behind them were a dozen prisoners, kneeling on hay presumably smeared with gasoline. The prisoners were not uniformed, but instead had their original clothes retained. Some wore civilian clothes. Most others looked like militiamen of some sort, and they seem to formerly belong to at least two different factions instead of one. Some dressed in blacks and reds, some others wore greens and Flecktarns. One guy dressed in a black hoodie and a red armband looked up and loudly sang a certain anthem which dated back to the early days of the Soviet Union. Though he was just as quickly silenced with a rifle stock to the Adam's apple, the singing replaced with a profuse choking. Two men in Flecktarn camouflage visibly chuckled.
The terrorist on the front finished his speech as he turned his back. A pair of crossed swords and an Arabic inscription was printed on the back of his camouflage jacket, as the speaker moved away from the camera view. The two flamers turned towards the prisoners behind them, took aim and let loose the streams of flame...
The prisoners all screamed out in pain as their bodies burned, while the speaker continued his monologue off-camera. The flamers looked back to the camera, as if they were posing with their homicidal inferno for a backdrop. Soon the footage faded to black as it ended, as I looked back at my desk.
The two files still lay on my desk. I opened the two. One of them contains entries on a certain 'Daesh Almania'. And the other... reads a name familiar to me and my operatives ever since their days in the GRU.
"Almonim, huh. The Unnamed. Well then, let's settle this..."
