This chapter is dedicated to Dredge116 for making the amazing trailer for Bloodistan. I've linked to it here in this part. Please take a look at it. 

Bright, flashing lights are all they can see. There are interstices between the areas of bright, blaring stage-lights and the pitch-black backstage and Tasha wants to merge into the walls there. She is pushed on stage, her father to her left and Abdul Rahman in a very uncomfortable suit next to her. Abdul Rahman's parents follow and then Cihangir and his parents.

And then, Inspector Tasimov. He blinks under the violence of the lighting but he has obviously done this before. He smiles a little at Tasha, winking and patting his chest. She is clenching and unclenching a little fist around her father's hand.

Everything is blue on stage- the bright, toxic blue of the Kruv Executive Committee. Manuel, is standing behind a podium, speaking in machine-gun bursts like he does on TV. He was until now a figure associated only with the television for Tasha. He belongs on TV and splashed across the front of newspapers and magazines. He looks much too out of place in front of her eyes. She looks down, resisting the temptation to twirl. This maroon skirt is her favourite.

"This meeting...this conference would have gone down very differently if it weren't for these children you see here. I wouldn't be here in person, that much I tell you openly. I would only send a representative. Because takings, unfortunately, happen every week. We fight and we struggle to prevent it but the ground reality is that the kidnapping of our young women and the murder of our people has become something commonplace. Something we choose to avoid talking about. Yesterday, something very different happened. Yesterday, an untaking took place."

Hundreds of little white lights flash into Tasha's eyes as Manuel pauses, his hands still held in the air mid-flourish. She can hear the little sounds of wetness from his mouth amplified through the speakers. She never hears those on TV.

"We have begun investigations as to what exactly a Tanin Haemophage was doing in late daylight in the middle of a very public area. We do not know how it managed to enter a public bus without being intercepted. But, if it weren't for the efforts of these boys, there's no telling who would've died. This, however, is not a testament to their practice and skill. It is not even a testament to the abilities of their instructor, our very own Inspector Tyador Tasimov."

The inspector bowed his head and smiled his crooked smile at the cameras. Tasha knew Miss Alghami was somewhere in this dark mass of heads in front of her. She could imagine the tight little smile on her face.

"This, ladies and gentlemen of the press, is really a testament to the Juvenile Armament Training system that we have in place. We implore every one of you. If your ward has been selected by their teachers, headmasters or administrators of the state for this program, do not hold them back. Lives are at stake. Not just their own but the lives of all of us. And for all those of us who are no longer children, there is no excuse not to carry silver with us always. Get your training, get your licences and be prepared. Thank you."

They are ushered off stage quickly. Tasha looks back and sees Abdul Rahman standing stock still, his ears a furious red and his eyes narrow slits. His father gently nudges him forward and they are all enveloped in blackness again.

They are brought in front of various party heads who each shake their hands and pat them on their heads, congratulating them for what they did. Tasha must try hard to supress the feelings of undeservingness that is bubbling up inside her. She does not know why Tasimov made sure to include her in all of this as well. All she did was load a gun and hand it to him.

After everything, they are given early access to the buffet. "Leave some for all your leaders, kids," Manuel jokes and everyone laughs. Tasha smiles out of politeness and takes a few rolls of freshly baked bread and some lasagne. It is the very melty crumbly kind that she absolutely adores. She watched layers of pasta and sauce and cheese cascade from her fork and pokes around with it, sitting in the corner. Cihangir is nowhere to be seen. She wonders if he left early with his parents.

"Hi, Abdi," she says when Abdul Rahman drags a chair next to her and sits.

"Hi, Tash. Nice lasagne?"

"Mmhmm." She smiles with her mouth full. "It's really good."

His eyes are distant, but she is used to that. She is not used to how miserable he seems to look. She has never seen him like this before and she is not sure how to approach this. Cihangir had asked him earlier about what happened during his personal meeting with Tasimov and the ministers. He was quiet and subdued: "Nothing, they just said they aren't pursuing anything and I should just forget whatever I saw,"

She circles around the question for a while. It is in her mouth, thick and rancid and waiting for her to spit it out. She decides to keep her mouth shut and enjoy the lasagne.

"You can ask, you know." He takes a roll from her plate and absently munches on it.

"Do you want to tell me?"

He looks into her eyes for once in a way he never has before. "I do want to tell you, Tasha. But you have to promise not to tell anybody."

"Okay, I promise."

"Okay. I saw a lot of red at first. A lot of poking. And some stuff I wasn't supposed to see, I think. Then, I saw Uncle Razzak."

Tasha chokes on her lasagne. "You saw who?"

"Abdur-Razzak. Safiya's dad. I saw him. He was poking the phage and picking at its skin and things like that. He had gloves on. He looked tired but...kind of happy, I think."

Tasha chews slowly, thinking. "And you told Tasimov and everyone?"

"Yeah, about that. The special meeting and everything. They're not going to lock me up because it'd be weird after the whole press conference and everything. But...

He shudders.

"But what?"

"'One word of this gets out and your mother and father are dead.' That's what Manuel told me."

Tasha cannot not comfort him. She does not know what to say to someone with that burden on his back. And she is worried that he does not really care beyond a level. That is why he is upset. It is more fear than guilt for him. He thinks it was worth it.

Tasha also knows why he told her. She is honoured and touched that he considers her trustworthy enough to know but it could be anyone. It wasn't about the storyteller or the listener. It was only about the story and where it was. And right now, the story sits in her lap along with her half-finished lasagne, a rude, unwanted intrusion. 

I hope you enjoyed that chapter. If you did, I would be ever so pleased if you could leave a comment down below letting me know what you thought. I know the first act seems really slow but I'm taking the time to properly flesh out the world and the characters before the action starts, more for me than for you guys. Because I think I need a grip on who these people are before I start thrusting them into dangerous situations ;)