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Miranda Tigris · (09-30-2013)

OOC: Yeah, this is an introduction piece. And yes, this is pretty late. Just roll with it.

Mogadishu, Somalia. What a shithole, Miranda couldn't help but think as the Jeep ripped down the dirt roads, spitting dust backwards at the pedestrians. Looking backwards, through the thin layer of dust she could see a man so thin that his bones almost poked through his skin carrying what she assumed were his last earthly possessions. A worn out, sloppily patched up backpack looped around one of his arms bounces and sways with each step. The bottom tears open, the contents spilling onto the ground before he realizes what happened. Without warning, scavengers rush to the pile while he turns around and make off with some of the goods before he can stop them.

"Sucks for him," Miranda stated, laughing at his misfortune while wrapping her hands around the neck of the glass soda bottle she had been sipping throughout the entire ride. Bringing the bottle to her lips once more, she swallows more of the liquid before turning her attention to the driver. "How much longer, dammit?" She said with an exasperated sigh, childlike in nature.

"Calm yourself. It shouldn't be too much longer," the driver replied, flashing a fake smile Miranda's way. Her boss sighed once more, taking another swig from the bottle before setting back in between her thighs. Reaching down and sifting through the bag of her own possessions, Miranda pulls out by its handle a machete, its blade glistening in the light of the sun. Giddily, she swings around the blade.

After minutes of conversationless driving, the Jeep finally pulls up in front of the intended destination; a medium sized factory on the outskirts of the city. The chain link gate, topped with razor wire slides open and they continue into the compound. After parking the car, the two get out and walk into the main room of the factory, followed by the security guard who let them in.

The interior reeks of sweat, blood, and gunpowder. In silence, the two examine the workers until one of them whispers something in whatever African language Ethiopians speak.

"What the fuck did he just say?!" Miranda's eyes lit up as the words raced out of her mouth. Looking past her colleague; she stared daggers into the security guard.

"She's our boss?" The guard's voice trembled at the sight of the machete in Miranda's hand being raised. A grin creeps across her face, while she waves the machete around as if she was conducting a symphony. She brings her other hand into his line of vision, pointing at the man who spoke.

"Get him," she whispered, and the guard obliged. Sneaking up to the man, he grabs him by the shoulder and drags him over to where Miranda and her colleague stood. "No; bring him front and center," she demands, not screaming or yelling and yet retaining the authoritative tone in her voice. She twirls the machete in her hand while following the guard, who began to march the employee to the front of the factory floor.

"Okay! Pay attention, everyone," Miranda screamed, loud enough to get every worker to turn their head from the too complicated for its own good machines that they left their hands by. The guard throws a punch that connects right under the jaw of the frightened employee. He falls against the table, which the visibly angry CEO uses to her advantage. With the hand that isn't clutching the machete, she grabs his forearm and forces his hand onto the flat surface of the wooden table. Her eyes glimmer as she turns her attention to the crowd at large.

"This, THIS is what happens when you FUCK with your boss!" The last word leaves her mouth and she raises the machete over her head. With one flick of the wrist and drop of the arm; the machete hits the table with both a thud and the sound of flesh being sliced through. Dragging the blade to the left; the hand leads the way. Blood sprays from the stump and the man screams out to the sky. Miranda's driver cringes at the sight, averting her eyes from the unfolding scene. A trickle of blood appears on the corner of Miranda's mouth, which she wipes off onto her arm before grabbing a cloth to clean the blade.

Seconds, which feel like hours pass as the frightened workers stare on in silence at the maimed man and his attacker, their boss.

"What are you gawking at? Get back to work!" Without hesitation; the workers follow that but of instruction. Returning back to their posts, eyes still widened, heart rates still rapid, while Miranda walks back over to her colleague. Looking back and seeing the man still standing and holding his stump, she turns back around to face him. "You too, stumpy," she implores, and the man rushes over to his workstation. Finally content; she turns back to the woman who was now right in front of her.

"What the hell was that? Do you honestly think that was necessary?!"

"Would I have done it, were it not necessary?"

With that, and nothing else, Miranda retraced her steps out of the building before feeling her colleague's hand on her shoulder. Spinning around, she walks right into a glare from the woman who actually knew the way back to the airport.

"We still have more to-"

"No, we don't. I've seen all I need to see."

"Can't argue there." Once more, she shudders at the mere thought of what had transpired.

In silence, the two made their way out of the building, back into the scorching, barren wasteland that was Mogadishu, Somalia.

"What a fucking shithole."

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