Earth – World of The Misplaced Dungeon.

{Timeline: November 2018 – Follows from Taskforce Blue Pt 2 – MD Ch. 44 to 48}

Badiha was shaking, she and her brother Hassan had just killed their father and his brother, also two cousins and Mohammed who had been their eldest brother. She should be feeling devastated but what she felt was invigorated.

Hassan watched his sister and relaxed when a tremulous smile appeared on her face. Mind you he could only recognise her expression because he too was a Rakshasa.

“Come, sister, we must hurry. Can you take the seeming of your former human self? Then pack what you can in one bag. We have to leave before Jamil fetches a maddened crowd to kill us.”

Hassan concentrated and his human guise returned. Badiha licked her lips nervously and likewise concentrated. It took her a little longer but she too resumed her human guise. “But, but it was so easy brother.”

Hassan quickly searched their victims and gathered a small sum of cash, car keys and two driving licenses. Badiha jerked then ran to wash and change out of her bloody clothing. She stuffed a few things in a bag, then added a folder with her papers and was ready to leave.

Hassan likewise washed and changed quickly before they left the house. They took their uncle’s car because it was newer and in better shape than their father’s. Having become accustomed to driving in Dallas, Hassan was soon a nervous wreck, but he still managed to make it to the airport without incident. He kept the radio tuned to the local news hoping to get a heads up on any hue and cry.

They abandoned the car leaving the keys in the ignition and did not bother locking the doors.

* * *

Badiha pulled on his arm just as they were about to cross the road to enter the terminal. She pointed at the big screen showing the local news. Hassan cursed to himself, there in plain view were their pictures, and then they were showing the house, the massacre. Telephone numbers were scrolling across the bottom of the screen. The only saving grace is that they were showing his car.

That meant his return ticket was useless. They turned and returned to the car. Surely nobody would have spotted it yet. Hassan breathed a sigh of relief and headed for it. Badiha, where was she? He stopped and looked round spotting his sister crouched down by a car of the same make as theirs. He frowned then he realised she was stealing its plates. He nodded grimly and set to work removing the plates on their car.

Hassan drove carefully, doing his best not to call attention to them. He fumed as he navigated the crowded streets of Quetta. Who had thought it a good idea to place an international airport near the centre of the city. They stopped briefly to buy supplies and fuel up before heading south out of the city. At least the orchards were soothing to drive through.

It took them nearly five hours to cover the two hundred odd kilometres to Surab, and they were lucky to find a hotel for the night. Luckily his shapeshifting abilities allowed him to give himself a suitably bushy beard while the addition of a veil and dull coloured headscarf disguised Badiha.

The newspapers dedicated two pages to their story, though the reporter was obviously rather tongue in cheek about the demon angle.

They set off just after dawn with a freshly refuelled car. They passed through Kuzdar about an hour and a half later, a patch of green among arid mountains and headed south for Bela. Three hours later they arrived and stopped for lunch. Hassan had the oil topped up and refuelled. Reluctantly they got back in the car and resumed their journey.

* * *

Hours later while they were driving through a semi-deserted patch of country, they drove round a bend and saw an army patrol in front. One of the soldiers stepped into the road and gestured for them to stop. As the other soldiers were holding their rifles Hassan did so. He gripped the steering wheel nervously and reluctantly got out of the car when the sergeant gestured for him to do so. At a further command Badiha did likewise.

The sergeant grinned nastily. “So, care to tell me what you are doing driving a car with stolen plates?”

Hassan prepared himself but first he attempted to bluff, “Stolen plates? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? So you aren’t Hassan Minhas, and your companion isn’t Badiha Minhas? Your betrothed is anxiously awaiting you Miss Minhas.”

Badiha roared her rage, and with the sound of tearing clothes she changed and pounced on the sergeant.

Hassan noting that the other soldiers were preparing their rifles, presumably to use them on his sister, likewise assumed his Rakshasa form and tore into the squad. Their bloodlust ensured that no soldiers escaped, though they were both slightly wounded.

Hassan piled the dead soldiers in their truck. Then locating a gully nearby, with the help of his sister, he pushed it of the road and into the gully. After cleaning up and replacing their destroyed clothing from their baggage Hassan slapped mud on their car’s plates.

By evening they had abandoned the car and found lodging in a moderately prosperous hotel near the port in Karachi. The altercation with the military at the checkpoint about fifty kilometres before they hit the outskirts of Karachi had at least netted them some cash, and weapons. With any luck they would be able to take passage on some tramp steamer and get out of the country without notice.

They soon realised that they would have to sneak out of the country. There was no way they were going to be able to leave legally. The authorities were looking for them, admittedly in a lacklustre fashion but passport control was impossible.

* * *

Two days later they watched the fishing boat they had bribed pull away from the coast of India. They turned and trudged towards the nearby port city of Mandvi. After exchanging what remained of their cash they caught a taxi to the local airport. They were lucky, and caught a local flight to Mumbai wher they were able to book passage to LA using Hassan’s credit card and US bank account.