ARSALAAN SIDDIQUE………..ADNAN SIDDIQUE………..

AMEER SIDDIQUE

NAFEEZ BIN KHALED………

SIFAT KARIM RASEL……….SAYEEEM KARIM RASEL……..

FARDIN BASHAR………….

ZACKRIA YASIN
CISS: The Irregulars
The speed boats were closing in, but Arsalaan definitely had a head start. Judging the distance, he
turned off the yatch headlights and unbuttoned his collar crest. It was time he gauged his options.

A subtle moonlight was playing across the glassy waters. The December mist had intensified and a
searing air brushed past Arsalaan’s lean yet handsomely athletic figure as he sped across the ocean in a
high-speed water chase.

Hell, they are desperate, Arsalaan chuckled, watching the searchlights veering off in the distance.
Carefully he extracted the jet ski embedded in the yatch and took at final glance at the yatch controls
before jumping ship. Given it ran on the adjusted course at the current speed for half an hour more, he
could easily ride off in the opposite direction on his jet ski, undetected. He was not in a hurry, but he had
a family function to attend back at home, halfway across the globe.

Just as he was gaining speed, his silver cufflinks buzzed to life. Arsalaan smiled, Sonner than I expected.
Keeping his course steady, he activated the earpiece.

“Sir, all passes have been approved. A diplomatic jet will be there at the next border”

“Well, that wouldn’t be necessary. I enjoy the sea, thank you”

Arsalaan glanced at his Regal 672 Silver Edition, ticking away the seconds. Plenty of time for me, he
mused. By the time he hit the port of Chittagong, he would have crossed five international time zones
and it still wouldn’t be more than half past seven at home. More than enough time to wait for Mom and
Dad to dress up for the Bashars’ Wedding, Arsalaan chuckled. Relaxed, he eyed the retrieved ledger lying
in the glove compartment. It had been a big day and nothing could be a better conclusion than some fun
with friends at an epic Chittagonian wedding!

But the celebrations can start now, Arsalaan clicked a metal key on his Regal 672 Silver. Half a mile away,
the flares on the empty yatch lit up into a plethora of gorgeous light, tailed by a series of choppers and
speedboats while Arsalaan sped off into the horizon for his beloved hometown.

Unbeknownst to him, a sniper aimed sharp at his chest from the distance.

***

Chittagong, trade capital, Bangladesh. A gleaming beacon of staggering nation-wide progress in the
southern hemisphere. One of those few cities that have seen sky-rocketing transformations in less than
two decades. And as the cliché goes, growing power drives growing envy in other others, and envy
breeds enemity. Then you either have to hold your ground or fall prey to your enemies. And Chittagong
was brilliantly holding its ground, strong and jubilant.

Unlike many empires that were built on tyranny and bloodshed, Chittagong was founded by the
unyielding valor of only a handful of powerful honest men. Yes, Only an empire would serve as a fitting
allegory for the magnificent excalibur of Chittagong. Then voices arose in hushed tones and rumors
spread by. What was it that had turned the wheels of fate for Chittagong? What was behind its
escalating