13 minutes before the events of Sins of the State
A pile of 7.62 bullets scattered about on the floor clinked against the van's metal frame as it rocked over the rough roads of the outskirts of Los Angeles.
"Ta'akad min dakhiratak!" Yahya yelled, fastening the last rifle magazine onto his vest. The dusky eyes behind his brothers-in-arms masks raised the hair on his skin. No one answered him; no one needed to. The van fell silent again, broken by the occasional clinks of rolling brass. Yahya ran his finger along the blood-stained wooden finish of his rifle.
Passing the illuminated neon-white sign reading "Saint Moore's Veteran Retirement Home." The van's chassis recoiled forward as it screeched to a stop. Pulling on the door handle, Yahya led his men outside, the pouring rain streaking down their black face masks.
"I could have brought a better costume for this…" Saleh said, patting the bundle of grenades wired together on his chest.
"Focus," Yahya told him, his voice cold. A second van pulled up to their side, another half a dozen armed men stepping out of it, same uniforms, same intent. The leader of the second group walked up to Yahya, having two red streaks on his mask just like him. "For Sana'a," the man said.
"For Sana'a…" Yahya thought, giving the man opposite a firm nod but no words.
The see-through doors of the nursing home slid open, and a shadowy, lanky figure with a blue nurse's uniform stormed out, marching towards the group. "Excuse me! You can't park…" A thunderbolt in the distance flashed a streak of light across the retirement home; for a heartbeat, everything was frozen: weapons, faces, intent. As another flash pierced the night, the rain was no longer the loudest thing on the street. The woman fell, choking on her own blood as the men ran by her.