Every part of this game aroused him. Watching her from class to class, working so diligently and with her purpose, so unaware and helpless. She was in her own world. As a biology student Ari was busy with many classes and papers. She was organized which made her distracted and out of touch with most social inclinations. A mature and studious girl, she knew how attractive she was. The fine ass and smooth almond skin she had were what she tried to hide from.

She wore thick framed glasses and spent many hours in the labs wearing her white coat, looking through microscopes and recording data, she could not help bending down and showing her figure through the thin layer of white fabric. It made a warm coil through Peter when he saw her concentrated face. Her dumb ignorance. She tried so hard. She wanted to be taken seriously so badly. Yet her well formed breasts and short brown hair only drove more practical aspects of biology against her.

The other university students were clearly not on her level as romantic candidates.However Peter, a finely dressed older man, he could give her what she desired, he could be perfect for her.

He would watch her finish for the day, hang up her lab-coat and collect her things to return to her room. Biology was soon becoming phased out, like physics and other hard sciences, it was believed that they detracted from religion and the doctrine of the Islamic state. However the government could not simply shut down such institutions without a proper excuse, or face a larger and unified front of dissonance. Ari might do nicely as that excuse, it certainly would mean more money for him if he could produce a key target of their agenda. He could imagine when she was brought to the tribunal that the judges would clamor to agree that she was turned against the state because of her scientific practices.

Over the next few weeks, Peter would casually "run into her". It was always at times that were convenient He liked to use romance as a way of keeping distance, to keep her from knowing too much about him at first.

She would be halfway home when he would make himself known. Walking quickly as she crossed the quad or before going inside her building, grasping her shoulder from behind, the soft cashmere sweater covering her collarbone between his fingers.

"Hey."

He would say it exactly the same each time he greeted her, a way of instilling his supposed character. It would be this crucial mystery of identity but feeling of character that would remain in her head as he drove her towards the same fate as Ese. He had already forgotten about her, yet the happily surprised look in Ari's eye as she turned, the sudden glint of recognition, the loose and open guard of her virtue in his presence, it brought back, not so much a memory, but a fading hint.

"Hey you." She would say, literally bouncing on the balls of her feet. Eyes wide with a spark with which she looked at other pursuits in no other way. No doubts remained in her mind about him even though she hardly knew him at all.

"Where are you off to?" Said Peter with a smirk, pulling himself closer and grasping the small of her back above that firm ass in full view of any possible onlookers. Public displays in all forms were looked at as tasteless and borderline criminal.

"Stop that" she said, looking quickly around with a smile.

"Would you like to see a show?" said Peter producing two tickets from his pocket to the Opera house's version of Verdi's Il Trovatore. It was one of the few artistic institutions that showed works by Christian artists.

Of course she would agree, she agreed in that childish way of being excited to be treated as an adult, to do an adult thing, and have a mature experience with someone of the other gender. Yet beneath it was the same young blood pumping through her. It was just a method to a purpose.

"Haha wow, Yeah definitely!" She said

"Do you know Verdi at all?" Said Peter

"No, not really."

"Ha ha, well not many do anymore. The Opera is struggling as are all the arts."

A hint of recollection sprang to her face.

"Yeah, so are sciences. There are a lot of people who would like to shut them both down."

"Well, as long as I'm around, I wont let the arts die. We need to make a stand in these times when our knowledge and culture are being suppressed."

"Your a lot braver than I am. I don't think I could do anything revolutionary."

Peter smiled, "Well, for tonight we can just take in a show." He grasped her and she hugged him back, pressing her breasts against his chest. "I'll pick you up at six."

He couldn't resist squeezing her ass again, just to blow on the embers.

"Hey!" she laughed, pulling away.

"Dress classy."

It was only supposed to be a small protest. Peter had already notified the authorities. Less than two dozen people, easily handled.

This was wrong.

Strange moods came over Peter as he cradled Ari's bloodied body in his arms. He called for an ambulance, and whispered soft words, words of hope, of succor, knowing full well what a military caliber hollow point could do.

The military police were in no mood for games today. As soon as the leftists arrived, they were immediately confronted by armed riot-breakers. Shots rang out, and the demonstration scattered, dragging behind their dead and wounded.


Peter held Ari for half an hour, while her life slipped away. No ambulance came, nor was there ever one coming. Even the police had left. They had more pressing matters to attend to.

They ruined everything. This isn't how Ari was supposed to die. She hadn't been broken, hadn't lost her self, had not even yet come to worship Peter, as she would have before the end.

What an Allah damned mess. If this government wasn't going to kill his girls the proper way, then maybe it was time for a new government.

Peter coughed. Where was all this smoke coming from? Their little act of defiance had been over for a while. The hot winds blowing in from the desert grew silent, the air was still, followed by a cool breeze in a new direction, from the sea. He remembered what the old woman at the hookah bar had told him. When the wind changes, spring has come.

The smell of fire was unmistakeable now. It was coming from the port district. Scattered gunshots could be heard in the distance. A noticeable buzz permeated the square. The military was gone, but thugs roamed the streets, in black and green masks, throwing stones, rioting. The main mass had not yet made it to the square, but marched unopposed.

One of them came up to Peter and handed him a few stones. He said:

"For the revolution! Brother."

Peter was so angry he threw all the stones at once. Rocks bounced off statues, broke windows, vases. He took the nose off of one of the dictator's busts. He nodded in strange satisfaction.

There was no way these two events were related. He chuckled, knowing the military police had overlooked such a massive outburst, but then again so had he. So caught up in his little harem of death, he forgot how miniscule his own part was, forgot that he had a part even, in this grand charade.


Peter, hero of the revolution!

Unknown to Peter, his picture had been plastered all over social media. As an informant his presence at these events was expected. Becoming a figurehead for a revolution was above his pay grade and more importantly, above the military's current level of competence. Peter was going to be facing some hard choices in the near future.