Chapter 1
The faint taste of dust and smoke still clung to Sammy’s tongue when he woke. The echoes of his restless dreams pressed stubbornly behind his closed eyelids: copper pots clanging, heavy boots pounding dirt, and his mother’s desperate voice cutting through the chaos.
Run, she had said. Be a mouse.
His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath while the nightmare’s grip slowly released.
His heart thundered in his ears, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
Blinking against the soft morning light streaming through the blinds, he took in the room around him, grounding himself in the here and now.
His desk was a controlled chaos of screens and tech, an array of monitors streaming lines of code, a half-assembled quadcopter resting beside a soldering iron, and textbooks stacked haphazardly next to notebooks filled with sketches and formulas.
Open tabs on the laptop glowed with articles on drone engineering and flight algorithms.
This was his sanctuary, the place where science and technology wove together into the promise of a future far from the dust-choked streets of Basra.
The quiet farmhouse hummed softly, the creak of wood settling, the faint sound of breakfast in the kitchen, and the soft whir of a ceiling fan stirring warm air.
He was thirteen now. No longer the small boy crawling through fear and dirt. Here, he was safe. Here, he was home.
But safety felt like a burden pressing down, trapping him beneath its silence.
Outside, the early morning sun cast long shadows over the Blue Ridge Mountains.
He could hear the distant laughter of Amelia and Kenzi chasing the dog, Salty, through the fields.
The steady rhythm of his days included school lessons, afternoon chores, and evenings spent tinkering with drones or fine-tuning his solar energy projects.
These moments blended seamlessly with family dinners around a worn wooden table.
It was a beautiful, peaceful life that felt completely unearned.
A sharp, hollow ache bloomed inside him.
The guilt settled on his chest like a stone.
Why had he been given a soft bed and clean air while his mother, Noor, was trapped behind bars he could not cross?
Locked away and battered by the man who claimed to be her husband, his father, the very man who had torn them apart.
He swallowed hard, tasting the dust again, not on his tongue this time, but in the hollow left by her absence.
A soft knock on the door frame made him jump.
“Sammy?” Rhys, Bear’s eleven-year-old son, poked his head in, holding a tangled mess of wires and propellers. “My drone’s acting up again. The gyro is drifting left. You think you can—?”
Rhys stopped, his excited grin fading. His gaze, usually bright with curiosity, sharpened on Sammy’s pale face, the sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead. “Woah. You okay, Sammy? You look like you just wrestled a ghost.”
Sammy forced a smile, pushing the lingering dread of the nightmare into a mental box. “Just a bad dream, R. Too much late-night coding, maybe.” He reached out, taking the drone.
The cool plastic and circuitry, familiar and concrete, helped ground him. “What’s the trouble here? The gyro’s probably off because it needs recalibrating. You don’t need me. Remember that YouTube channel? Pull it up. You’re smarter than you think, Rhys.”
Rhys’s eyes lit up with renewed confidence. “Really? You think I can?”
Sammy nodded. “Absolutely. Just follow the steps carefully.”
Rhys grinned, the worry sliding off his face. “Thanks, Sammy. I’ll totally give it a shot.”
Sammy smirked and bumped his fist. “Nice. Just don’t turn it into a total disaster. I don’t wanna be the drone doctor for a bigger mess when I get back.”
Rhys laughed softly. “Deal. But if I nail it first try, don’t get jealous.”
Sammy rolled his eyes with a grin. “We’ll see. Help me grab my stuff.”
Rhys’s smile faded as he lowered his voice. “Is it time?”
Sammy nodded, glancing at his tactical gear slumped against the wall. “Yeah. Can you check that my computer stuff’s all packed in the other bag?”
Rhys gave a quick thumbs up. “Got it. Hey, do you need the extra battery pack? And what about an adapter? Are you gonna need one for Iraq?”
Sammy nodded. “Yeah, grab the extra battery pack for me. And I already packed the adapter, can’t risk being powerless over there.”
As Rhys carefully checked through the gear, Sammy finished getting dressed, pulling on his jacket and tightening his boots.
Once ready, he took the drone back from Rhys, who stood with a satisfied nod.
The boy who fixed toys was staying behind; the boy who had survived the streets was the one heading out the door.
Together, they walked through the warm, familiar kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the faint scent of sausage, usually a sign of a slow, easy morning, felt strangely out of place. Sammy poured himself a cup of coffee and handed Rhys a sausage biscuit from the plate on the counter.
“Here, you might need this,” Sammy said with a small smile.
Rhys took the biscuit, eyes wide. “Wait—your dad lets you have coffee?”
Sammy looked slightly surprised, then smirked. “Never thought to ask.”
Rhys grinned. “I don’t think I’m old enough for that yet.”
Sammy chuckled softly. “You’ll be there soon enough.”
Rhys took the drone gently from Sammy’s hands, his grip sure and steady. Without another word, he headed toward the back door, slipping outside into the morning light.
Sammy watched him go and gave a quick nod. Rhys returned it, their silent exchange carrying deeper meaning than words.
Turning toward a plain door in the kitchen, Sammy pushed it open and stepped into the pantry, a narrow, dimly lit space lined with shelves stocked with everyday staples.
Unsuspecting visitors to the farmhouse would never guess that at the far end of this ordinary storage room lay a hidden steel door.
He slipped through the pantry, the floor creaking softly beneath his boots. The scent of dried herbs and powdered sugar lingered in the stale air, a stark contrast to the serious purpose beyond.
At the pantry’s far end, the heavy reinforced door awaited, tucked discreetly in the corner, framed by the faded farmhouse walls. Against the rustic kitchen cabinets, it looked foreign, a steel barrier marking the boundary between everyday life and the mission ahead.
Sammy leaned forward, aligning his eye with the small panel mounted at eye level. A beam of red light scanned his iris.
Access Granted.
The lock clicked open with a heavy thud.