Amin_Karrit's forum posts
"I will be with you soon, Ada", were Amin's last words to the Black Dahlia. Sliding into the backseat of a classic chauffeured Mercedes-Benz W108, the Blue Gangster rolled his neck, folded his leg, and enjoyed the ride. Lounging in fine leather seats, Amin heard the jazzy melody of Karen Souza's"Paris" float to his ears - a song as beautiful as the city Ada was from. Peering past the tinted windows, his cold eyes glanced as La Sociétédrove in formation around him, their cars as unassuming as his, blending in with those that roamed the quiet streets of Graaff-Reinet. Tourists shopped at the Windmill Junction, a charming country store, while others lounged in the open air terrace of the Coldstream Restaurant.
Ah but soon, they fled in fright as their phones beeped with news of the city's mayor bending at the knees before Ada, before the woman whose ambitions would never be tamed. And from the backseat of his car, Amin watched them flee, his eyes empty of any compassion for their fear. Averting his gaze, the Blue Gangster peered ahead, his eyes looking past the windshield as the smooth and concrete pavement gave way to a bumpy dirt road. They were in rural Graaff-Reinet now, where the city ended and the poor townships began. "Stop", his strong voice echoed, and his chauffeur complied, slowing the car to a halt as other Société agents did theirs. Stepping out his car, Amin was a sight to behold. Wide-chested, broad-shouldered and towering at 6'6", he cast an intimidating presence, one magnified by his dominant posture and icy gravitas.
"Half of you, go on foot, armed. Test the waters the heroes want to swim in - and drown them", he ordered, waving them into action before glancing back at those who remained. "The rest of you", he paused, his face and eyes always marshaling the quiet intensity of a commander and strongman, "With me. We will go closer to the other camp". Retiring to his Mercedes as his men retired to their vehicles, Amin turned around and headed for Camp Falcon. "Tell the ones in the mountains I want two choppers ready. One for extraction, later, and one for attack, now", he commanded, his chauffeur, a Société agent complying and forwarding the Man of Steel's demand. But as they left, his other agents remained, trekking into the difficult terrain that surrounded Camp Hayden. Gifted by Amin's brother, theirs were weapons designed to mangle metahumans.
But their orders were to test the waters. To stay true to the Blue Gangster's strategic vision. Enemy resistance was in and around Camp Hayden, it was where the heroes who'd come to disrupt Ada's plans lurked. And it was part of Amin's forces, his agents' overall strategy to appear to want the enemy's center of gravity forced into the camp, as though they sought to isolate each hero from the other. So as they marched deeper into the heart of conflict, closer to the camp, the Société agents broke into formation, with some staying behind to secure escape routes, while others readied themselves for combat - and fired. Unloading a downpour of high caliber bullets and military-grade explosives on all heroes and enemies save for the Vibranium Maharajah, Amin's forces attacked with a ferocity meant to deceive their foes into believing that this was the totality of their firepower.
All in a bid to cut off their mobility, to force them into frantically re-positioning themselves away from the offensive hailstorm - and away from Camp Hayden to a more open terrain where an attack chopper could obliterate them from above. They were not to use their exotic weaponry yet. Elsewhere, Amin and the other half of his forces sought to rendezvous with Ada.
Dutch Reformed Church, Graaf-Reinet, South Africa
Sunlight peeked into the empty church through it's tall arching windows. Dust seemed to glitter in the air, hanging side by side with a suspense too subtle for the senses of most. Calmly, Amin Karrit sat himself, a dark Ermenegildo Zegna suit clinging to his powerful frame, the wooden bench creaking from his weight as he folded one leg over the other. Resting one hand atop the other, Amin tilted his head up, and his cold eyes gazed upon the cross of Christ hanging high before him. "No religion can convince me that I am immoral for expressing my contempt for the limp and indifferent person", Amin echoed, his face steely, and his voice floating with an icy matter-of-fact accent of Lebanese origin.
"I did not come to this country to wipe the noses of it's people, but to confront the enemies of my confidant who is here to do as she will do", he shrugged, his pale blue eyes never breaking their glare from the cross above him. "For the people who have a weak will... it does not concern me". And for Amin and his twin brother, Satar, little save for their own personal power had ever concerned them. Separated at birth, raised differently, but united later in life, the two brothers had carved their own path in the world. Satar had become the world's most fearsome terrorist, the scourge of global geopolitical order. But Amin? He was more subtle. He was the Blue Gangster in his native Lebanon, named for his proclivity for navy blue suits. It was there that he was raised by the Karrit Family, an Arab-Albanian family of would-be mafiosos - pretenders who copied the way Hollywood thought gangsters ought to act.
They were a joke. One that Amin had transformed into a family of true sociopolitical power, a family that now spearheaded an era of violent capitalism and control. With them, Amin had his people strategically placed throughout the Beirut underground political elite. Much of the city's police brass was in his pocket - he was feared. None of which the Blue Gangster had accomplished his own. His hand in politics, his networks of influence, would not have been possible without Ada Guillaume. They had met years before, and she had lent him her expertise on the mind and the laws of manipulation, expertise that Amin's empire could not have risen without. He admired her, and his desire for power matched hers for revolution. They had corresponded, planned, and Amin had put his political and criminal pursuit on pause to stand by her in the moment she would most need him.
He has thrown heroes off cliffs for her, leaving mangled bodies for police investigators to scratch their heads over. And he has fractured the skulls of those who dared investigate her. "Everything is God's will", Amin mocked, his gaze finally breaking from the cross hanging before him. Standing to his feet, the Blue Gangster strode down the isle, his back to the church's Lord, his commanding gravitas drowning out the frown from the heavens. Stepping out the church, his dress shoes clicking and clacking on the concrete pavement, Amin watched the cars on the road slow to a screeching halt. And from them, emerged agents and killers from La Société, a Paris-based terrorist faction run by him and funded by Satar.
They were armed, wondering why Ada had chosen Graaf-Reinet and not greater South African cities like Durban, Cape Town, or Johannesburg, but bound to the Blue Gangster's will. Gazing into the distance, as if knowing exactly where Ada lounged, Amin tugged on the cuffs of his suit, adjusting them as a Société agent brought a dialing phone to his hear. "Do you have need of me?", he asked, his voice floating over the call-line for only Ada to hear.