The desert stretched endlessly, a shimmering expanse of scorched earth under the relentless sun. Rafiq adjusted the folds of his keffiyeh, the vibrant crimson and black fabric patterned like snake scales, shielding his face from the blazing heat. His dark, almond-shaped eyes scanned the horizon, seeking the faint glimmer of a distant mirage or the flicker of movement that might betray the presence of others. His lean, muscular frame bore the marks of his journey—dust clinging to his black robes and leather boots, the scent of sweat mixing with the dry, metallic tang of the sand. He looked like a man born of the desert itself, but his purpose was far removed from nomadic simplicity.
The year was 2063, a time when nations no longer wielded swords but currencies. The balance of power had become a complex equation of trade agreements, resource control, and digital economies. Rafiq, a member of the secretive "Mawt Brotherhood," had been sent to uncover a whispered conspiracy—one that spoke of a united BRICS currency finally toppling the US dollar’s global reign. But in Rafiq’s experience, every twist of politics carried blood along its edges.
The Secret Summit
It was at an abandoned oil refinery at the edge of the Rub’ al Khali—an arid no man's land that no drone dared enter without authorization—that the meeting would occur. Rafiq arrived at dusk, the sky blushing hues of burnt orange. Shadows stretched long and thin, as if even they sought to escape the heat.
Two cars were already parked near the entrance, unmistakably armored. Their occupants wore loose-fitting suits in neutral tones, but they had the hard-edged bearing of bodyguards. Through his binoculars, Rafiq caught sight of the men he sought—delegates from Brazil, China, and India, all gathered in hushed council. Oddly, there was no Russian envoy present. Perhaps posturing, or perhaps something darker.
Rafiq checked his appearance in a cracked rearview mirror. He tugged his robes tighter around his broad shoulders, ensuring the strategically concealed blade hugged his left forearm, its silver glint catching brief light. His gaunt face betrayed nothing but calm efficiency as he made his way into the crumbling refinery.
The Meeting of Shadows
The sound of distant whispers and the occasional click of high-tech tablets filled the cavernous, echoing chamber. The delegates, dressed in a mix of designer suits and traditional cultural attire, gestured fervently. They stood around a makeshift table strewn with holographic projections of currency graphs and critical energy supply routes. At the center of it all was an orb of soft light projecting a digital schematic labeled in bold letters: “BRICS Reserve Protocol 7.0.”
“The Americans think they still control the world,” said Devesh, the Indian delegate, his voice rich with contempt. “But this is the keystone. The final currency bypass. Once we implement it, even their satellites will struggle to track transactions.”
Rafiq edged closer, slipping into an unlit alcove. He could make out every detail of the room now—Devesh's elegant silk sherwani, the Chinese envoy’s severe black glasses, and the Brazilian representative’s sharp charisma emanating from her tailored gray suit. Yet, the unease was palpable, something gnawing at the fringes of their alliance.
Shadows of Deceit
“And yet,” said Mei, the Chinese diplomat, narrowing her sharp eyes, “we gather here in secret. Russia’s absence concerns me. They are too quick to claim sanctions justify their methods. Even if we succeed, there must be... oversight.”
The Brazilian delegate, Amélia, frowned. “Oversight? How quaint. But let’s not fool ourselves. This isn’t just about economics or efficiency. This is revenge. Everything flows back to energy, food security, and resources. What you call oversight, Mei, I call sabotage.” Her voice was a perfect distillation of both seduction and venom.
Rafiq realized this was no mere negotiation of trade deals—it was a exposed fault line in global cooperation, with each nation circling the others like wolves unsure of their strength. He couldn’t wait for this summit to reach a natural conclusion. Time was a sword slicing thin the veil of security.
The Twist of the Blade
With deliberate calm, Rafiq stepped into the room. Eleven sets of eyes turned toward him, hands twitching to their sides, likely toward concealed weapons.
“You’ve been compromised,” Rafiq said, his voice as steady and dry as the desert he hailed from. “Whatever plan you’ve been plotting, I’m here to unravel it.”
Mei stood upright, regal and calm in her posture. “And who,” she asked, her tone icy, “are you to threaten us?”
Rafiq allowed himself a tight smile. “I am no threat. I’m your obituary.”
The room erupted into chaos. Devesh lunged for a concealed pistol, but Rafiq had already rotated on his heel, throwing the sleek dagger just under the man’s ribs. Amélia’s scream echoed against the metal walls while Mei retreated toward a side corridor, her diplomatic mask shattered.
Rafiq’s movements were methodical—every strike a calculated end to months of surveillance. But it wasn’t until the body of Mei collapsed that the truth pulled free like an arrow from a wound. In her final moments, she whispered: “It’s already begun.”
The Mirage Realized
The refinery’s servers, tucked away in a hidden chamber, hummed ominously. As Rafiq accessed them, his dark brows knitted. Instead of evidence damning the BRICS nations, he found traces of something larger: a stealth operation not for currency collapse but for coordinated geopolitical sabotage—countries played against one another like pawns.
Behind it all was a single signature: Amerika Nova, an underground US faction seeking to consolidate power through chaos, betraying their allies under a pretense of patriotism. Rafiq had been played as well, his mission part of a game infinitely larger than himself.
As he emerged into the yawning night, the stars seemed sharper, colder. Quietly, he removed his keffiyeh, folding it with care. The desert wind swept over him, carrying both the weight of revelation and the hollow promise of an empire destined to fall—perhaps not to BRICS but to greed itself.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Can a New BRICS Currency Replace the US Dollar?
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