Post by The Great Ali on Dec 19, 2011 13:20:49 GMT -5
The Great Ali poured warm coffee into his chapped lips as he sat over a flat-screen PC monitor. The recent news article posted about the disappearance of James King had been a buzzing concern throughout Ali’s camp of henchmen for hours now, he had no choice but to look into it himself. He laughed quite merrily at the news only one hundred dollars was being offered for King’s safe return. Ali had no doubt that if he had been kidnapped, the return reward would be into the trillions.
The cracked coffee cup was placed on the unsteady wooden table before Ali rose up and looked at the many henchmen surrounding him, looks of worry swollen under their turbans.
“What is it, you lot?” Ali asked, an angry frown forming over his dark stubble. “What is it that you think will come of us? They dare not contact the Great Ali. They dare not threaten the Great Ali.”
A few of the henchmen grinned with confidence. The Great Ali’s lack of fear rubbed off on them. His amazing influence was shown in full effect here.
But a hard knock on the door poured fear into Ali’s previously brave eyes.
He looked around as the henchmen moved into position. Three of them stood by the door that had been knocked; one was looking through the peak hole and another was looking through the window beside the door. Four more lined up behind Ali once he had moved toward the center of the gold and blue rug that covered the floor. The rest, exited the living room and found space in the bedrooms, the gyms and the trophy rooms.
Ali motioned for the henchman farthest to the right to turn off the TV that was, coincidentally airing news coverage about the James King disappearance. He did so. Another henchmen, directly left of the Great Ali, turned and shut down the PC that had the IWS’ website open.
Ali looked around once more. There was nothing else suspicious. Photos of Ali’s extensive family filled the wall, along with Indian artwork of the greatest value. Book shelves stood erect from the wall, filled with classic Indian literature. By the fire place in the corner of the room, a few chairs sat with a few bags of marshmallows beside them. They were clear.
Ali nodded at the thin henchman closest to the door handle, a sign for him to open it. But they had ran out of time.
BAM!
The door was smashed open by a battering ram operated by four or more officers of the law.
They all had on blue outfits with golden star shaped badges on their chest. Nightsticks were in the hands that weren’t holding the battering ram. Small radios were on their belts as well as other pockets filled with useful crime fighting utensils.
Just as soon as the battering ram found a temporary bed in the cracked and broken wood of the destroyed door, Ali and his men were brought to the floor and placed in handcuffs. The henchmen who struggled were struck in the head by nightsticks. Ali, far from foolish, fell to his knees and placed his hands behind his head. Still, the officers very aggressively brought him down and took away his freedom.
After a few minutes of commotion, police radio chatter mixed with the foreign complaining of Ali’s henchmen, the dust had settled and all was calm. One by one, police officers pulled henchmen past the broken door and battering ram, outside into the blue and red lights flashing from the police sirens.
Finally, a police officer took stand in front of the busted door, nightstick in hand, with intentions of letting no out and no one in.
Four officers surrounded a handcuffed and lonely Ali. He glared around, the tail of his turban dropping off his left shoulder and behind him. He watched with displeasure as the remaining officers searched and searched, destroying everything and anything in the process. Picture frames were smashed, trophies he worked ever so hard to obtain were broken. His 50 inch flat screen TV was split through the middle, his expensive computer was ruined and on the floor; its tower confiscated for further searching.
Ali was steaming with anger, but couldn’t do anything in his current situation.
Finally, the sheriff, fancy hat and special darkened gold and navy outfit, stepped in front of the kneeled leader of Indian Greatness. He inhaled heavily and smiled down at his captive.
“Look at what we have here.” sheriff said, reaching out and yanking Ali’s turban off his head.
“How DARE you!” shouted Ali, shaking his shaven head about, unused to being shown such… incredible disrespect.
“How dare I? How dare I? How dare you, you unpatriotic son of a bitch, kidnap somebody in these here United States of America!” responded the sheriff, rewarding Ali’s exclamation by throwing his turban way behind him.
“Thought you could get away with it, huh? Thought you were still over there in TERRORIST land, where your kind can just get up and do whatever the hell ya want. I don’t think so.” sheriff continued. Ali forced himself to beam his mad eyes up at the man who had disrespected him in his very home. He’d love nothing more then to do grab a kendo-stick and destroy this pathetic American…
“Now…” The sheriff began to pace in front of Ali, his hands moved against his back. “You can either tell us where James King is located, or suffer the consequences.”
“Ain’t gonna be no electric heater that burns your back, son.” an elderly officer lined up to Ali’s right muttered, generating a chorus of laughs all around.
“What’s it going to be?”
The room quieted and Ali glared up at his interrogator. He didn’t want to tell them anything. The disrespect they’d shown him was stunning. But he didn’t want to be humiliated even further. A lie, he thought, would work out perfectly.
“Ali does not know. Loyal henchmen take peasant away, not tell Ali location.” spoke Ali, slowly and with the most effort to sound convincing.
Ali received no response. Instead, he was kicked in the chest hard. Ali rolled and flailed on the floor, coughing from the missing air that was kicked out of his chest, hoping to stand but unable. The officers laughed and laughed and laughed. Just as it things seemed hopeless…
The four officers around Ali stopped laughing. Their faces became gaping glances at the wall behind their sheriff. It was as if they’d seen a ghost. Sheriff’s laugh slowly died down as he realized his officers had stopped. He mouthed “what?…” , thinking they were looking at him.
They weren’t.
A large hand wrapped around the sheriff’s head, hat and all. This same large hand pushed him forward with such velocity that he knocked another officer down and crashed into the wall with enough force to leave him laying out cold.
The three other officers shook their shock away and charged. The leader of the group met a kick in the face while the other two were captured by the head and knocked out by each others crashing craniums. The forth officer, the one who had been knocked down, stood up and stared at his attacker with fear in both eyes. He reach for his belt and clumsily pulled out his pistol.
The officer pointed it at Ali’s savoir and shook. He appeared to have never used one before. Sweat ran down his face, but he closed his eyes, ready to force himself to pull the trigger, when suddenly a heel crushed into the side of his head like a brick.
The cracking sound that resulted because of the kick was swift and so was the officer flying across the room and crumbling up against the wall. Electra stepped into the scene, over top of her master Ali. Seconds later, the Great Mufasa walked over his master as well.
Electra helped Ali up to his feet and Mufasa, demonstrating amazing strength, ripped the handcuffs apart.
It took Ali a moment to collect himself. His chest still hurt, but he ignored it for the moment and looked at Electra. A smile snuck up and formed on his face. Then he looked at his pupil. The smile grew larger.
“Wonderful!”
He turned and walked to his fetch his turban.
“Fantastic, actually.” he continued, putting on the turban tightly and walking back.
“I was in a bad situation. What became of my henchmen?”
“Outside.” Electra quickly responded, with a smile. “But we need to move before back up arrive.”
“Yes. Follow me.” Ali spoke with a smile, so incredibly proud of his pupils. Electra and Mufassa followed, and they made their way out of the area.
That was it. That was what Ali and Mufasa needed. The three of them, Indian Greatness, had bonded well over the last few days. Not with time, but with actions. What would become of James? Who knows. What would become of the police or the search for Ali? Who knows. What is known is that Ali and Mufasa would win at Season’s Beatings. Nothing the Nasty Nameths or anyone else could do, would stop them.
The cracked coffee cup was placed on the unsteady wooden table before Ali rose up and looked at the many henchmen surrounding him, looks of worry swollen under their turbans.
“What is it, you lot?” Ali asked, an angry frown forming over his dark stubble. “What is it that you think will come of us? They dare not contact the Great Ali. They dare not threaten the Great Ali.”
A few of the henchmen grinned with confidence. The Great Ali’s lack of fear rubbed off on them. His amazing influence was shown in full effect here.
But a hard knock on the door poured fear into Ali’s previously brave eyes.
He looked around as the henchmen moved into position. Three of them stood by the door that had been knocked; one was looking through the peak hole and another was looking through the window beside the door. Four more lined up behind Ali once he had moved toward the center of the gold and blue rug that covered the floor. The rest, exited the living room and found space in the bedrooms, the gyms and the trophy rooms.
Ali motioned for the henchman farthest to the right to turn off the TV that was, coincidentally airing news coverage about the James King disappearance. He did so. Another henchmen, directly left of the Great Ali, turned and shut down the PC that had the IWS’ website open.
Ali looked around once more. There was nothing else suspicious. Photos of Ali’s extensive family filled the wall, along with Indian artwork of the greatest value. Book shelves stood erect from the wall, filled with classic Indian literature. By the fire place in the corner of the room, a few chairs sat with a few bags of marshmallows beside them. They were clear.
Ali nodded at the thin henchman closest to the door handle, a sign for him to open it. But they had ran out of time.
BAM!
The door was smashed open by a battering ram operated by four or more officers of the law.
They all had on blue outfits with golden star shaped badges on their chest. Nightsticks were in the hands that weren’t holding the battering ram. Small radios were on their belts as well as other pockets filled with useful crime fighting utensils.
Just as soon as the battering ram found a temporary bed in the cracked and broken wood of the destroyed door, Ali and his men were brought to the floor and placed in handcuffs. The henchmen who struggled were struck in the head by nightsticks. Ali, far from foolish, fell to his knees and placed his hands behind his head. Still, the officers very aggressively brought him down and took away his freedom.
After a few minutes of commotion, police radio chatter mixed with the foreign complaining of Ali’s henchmen, the dust had settled and all was calm. One by one, police officers pulled henchmen past the broken door and battering ram, outside into the blue and red lights flashing from the police sirens.
Finally, a police officer took stand in front of the busted door, nightstick in hand, with intentions of letting no out and no one in.
Four officers surrounded a handcuffed and lonely Ali. He glared around, the tail of his turban dropping off his left shoulder and behind him. He watched with displeasure as the remaining officers searched and searched, destroying everything and anything in the process. Picture frames were smashed, trophies he worked ever so hard to obtain were broken. His 50 inch flat screen TV was split through the middle, his expensive computer was ruined and on the floor; its tower confiscated for further searching.
Ali was steaming with anger, but couldn’t do anything in his current situation.
Finally, the sheriff, fancy hat and special darkened gold and navy outfit, stepped in front of the kneeled leader of Indian Greatness. He inhaled heavily and smiled down at his captive.
“Look at what we have here.” sheriff said, reaching out and yanking Ali’s turban off his head.
“How DARE you!” shouted Ali, shaking his shaven head about, unused to being shown such… incredible disrespect.
“How dare I? How dare I? How dare you, you unpatriotic son of a bitch, kidnap somebody in these here United States of America!” responded the sheriff, rewarding Ali’s exclamation by throwing his turban way behind him.
“Thought you could get away with it, huh? Thought you were still over there in TERRORIST land, where your kind can just get up and do whatever the hell ya want. I don’t think so.” sheriff continued. Ali forced himself to beam his mad eyes up at the man who had disrespected him in his very home. He’d love nothing more then to do grab a kendo-stick and destroy this pathetic American…
“Now…” The sheriff began to pace in front of Ali, his hands moved against his back. “You can either tell us where James King is located, or suffer the consequences.”
“Ain’t gonna be no electric heater that burns your back, son.” an elderly officer lined up to Ali’s right muttered, generating a chorus of laughs all around.
“What’s it going to be?”
The room quieted and Ali glared up at his interrogator. He didn’t want to tell them anything. The disrespect they’d shown him was stunning. But he didn’t want to be humiliated even further. A lie, he thought, would work out perfectly.
“Ali does not know. Loyal henchmen take peasant away, not tell Ali location.” spoke Ali, slowly and with the most effort to sound convincing.
Ali received no response. Instead, he was kicked in the chest hard. Ali rolled and flailed on the floor, coughing from the missing air that was kicked out of his chest, hoping to stand but unable. The officers laughed and laughed and laughed. Just as it things seemed hopeless…
The four officers around Ali stopped laughing. Their faces became gaping glances at the wall behind their sheriff. It was as if they’d seen a ghost. Sheriff’s laugh slowly died down as he realized his officers had stopped. He mouthed “what?…” , thinking they were looking at him.
They weren’t.
A large hand wrapped around the sheriff’s head, hat and all. This same large hand pushed him forward with such velocity that he knocked another officer down and crashed into the wall with enough force to leave him laying out cold.
The three other officers shook their shock away and charged. The leader of the group met a kick in the face while the other two were captured by the head and knocked out by each others crashing craniums. The forth officer, the one who had been knocked down, stood up and stared at his attacker with fear in both eyes. He reach for his belt and clumsily pulled out his pistol.
The officer pointed it at Ali’s savoir and shook. He appeared to have never used one before. Sweat ran down his face, but he closed his eyes, ready to force himself to pull the trigger, when suddenly a heel crushed into the side of his head like a brick.
The cracking sound that resulted because of the kick was swift and so was the officer flying across the room and crumbling up against the wall. Electra stepped into the scene, over top of her master Ali. Seconds later, the Great Mufasa walked over his master as well.
Electra helped Ali up to his feet and Mufasa, demonstrating amazing strength, ripped the handcuffs apart.
It took Ali a moment to collect himself. His chest still hurt, but he ignored it for the moment and looked at Electra. A smile snuck up and formed on his face. Then he looked at his pupil. The smile grew larger.
“Wonderful!”
He turned and walked to his fetch his turban.
“Fantastic, actually.” he continued, putting on the turban tightly and walking back.
“I was in a bad situation. What became of my henchmen?”
“Outside.” Electra quickly responded, with a smile. “But we need to move before back up arrive.”
“Yes. Follow me.” Ali spoke with a smile, so incredibly proud of his pupils. Electra and Mufassa followed, and they made their way out of the area.
That was it. That was what Ali and Mufasa needed. The three of them, Indian Greatness, had bonded well over the last few days. Not with time, but with actions. What would become of James? Who knows. What would become of the police or the search for Ali? Who knows. What is known is that Ali and Mufasa would win at Season’s Beatings. Nothing the Nasty Nameths or anyone else could do, would stop them.
