In the center of Al-Rafid, near its trademark fountain, was a resplendent mansion that was out of place compared to the rest of the city due to its obviously western design and its overbearing stance over the smaller residences around.
The villa was once a palace of luxury, built by oil magnates before the war with the western forces turned it into a fortress.
White marble walls now bore the scars of bullet holes and scorch marks, while the grand chandeliers cast an eerie glow over the lavish Persian carpets that had been dirtied by blood and boot prints.
The air was thick with the scent of incense, masking the underlying stench of gunpowder and sweat.
At the center of the dimly lit room, there was a man kneeling with his head on the ground, his body trembling with terror.
Looking at the uniform he was wearing, with its medals and superior design, it was clear that this was a warlord in his own right, yet the fellow was kneeling like a dog.
