SAWAHIL MARKET - Act 2, Long Version

SAWAHIL MARKET: THE MOMENT EVERYTHING CHANGED.
Sawahil lived under the Empire’s rule. No one questioned. No one resisted. Until now.

A CITY ON THE EDGE

Gharib moved through the crowded streets, his sharp gaze locked onto the Imperial dropships cutting through the sky. The Empire rarely ventured this far. Something was different. Something was wrong.

His instincts proved correct. As he and Souuhl navigated the suffocating market district, an Imperial assault shuttle landed near the temple—its presence an omen of what was to come.

Abaja, Sawahil’s ruthless ruler, stood poised, but he was not the center of attention. That honor belonged to Officius 51.

A sixth-generation Imperial enforcer, Officius 51 embodied the cold, calculated terror of the Empire. He descended from the shuttle like a king addressing his subjects, a presence so commanding that the people erupted into frenzied cheers.

Copyright 2022 - Steve Iskenderian - All Rights Reserved

Then came his words.

"Today, your dream is realized! Some among you will be chosen… TO BECOME CITIZENS OF CAPITALIA!"

A single announcement turned the market into madness. Citizens clawed forward, desperate to be selected, to be freed from the desolation of the Forgotten Lands. The promise of a better life was dangled before them like a prize—but it was never a prize. It was a trap.

A CHOICE THAT WAS NEVER THEIRS

The Officius played the crowd like a maestro, pointing at a woman who screamed in delight. She was branded with a neural chip and dragged away, blind to her own enslavement.

Then, his gaze landed elsewhere.

"That… creature with the long hair."

The crowd followed his stare. They were looking at Gharib.

The moment hung in the air, heavy with unspoken threat.

"I think he means you," Souuhl muttered.

Gharib didn’t move. But the guards did.

A crimson visor blocked his path. Rifles snapped into position. The air was thick with the weight of an unspoken command.

“YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS TO COMPLY.”

The market fell silent. Then—

“CITIZEN! CITIZEN! CITIZEN!”

The crowd chanted like a mindless echo, forcing Gharib forward. Step by step, he was led toward the temple.

Officius 51 watched, a satisfied smirk curling his lips.

“CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE NOW… A CITIZEN!"

But Gharib did not kneel. He did not bow. He did not become what they wanted him to be.

"I am what I choose."

The words sliced through the silence.

Officius 51’s smirk faltered. No one spoke to the Empire this way.

"YOU WILL BE A CITIZEN!!!"

A rifle struck Gharib’s back. Pain surged through him in a violent crack of red lightning. He fell to his knees.

But his fire did not die. It burned hotter.

"I AM NOT YOUR CITIZEN!!!"

Gharib exploded into action. His fists shattered the first guard’s jaw. A second strike sent another soldier sprawling. The market transformed into chaos.

And then—he appeared.

A figure cloaked in shadow. A war mace in hand.

With a single, crushing blow, he shattered an Imperial soldier’s armor.

The hooded warrior locked eyes with Gharib. A silent moment. A recognition.

Then—the Officius snapped.

"STOP HIM!!!"

And Gharib ran. Vanishing into the storm of Sawahil.

A SPARK IGNITED

This was not just a battle. It was the moment the tides began to shift. The day Sawahil saw rebellion take shape.

The Empire thought it had control. It was wrong.

Because Gharib was not a citizen. He was something far more dangerous.

He was free.

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