"Silent Hunting Ground"

The Secret War of a Lone Shooter

The wind howled over the silent cityscape of Marvi Town. Midnight cloaked the streets in shadows, broken only by the neon flickers of forgotten billboards. From a desolate rooftop, a figure knelt — still, focused, invisible.

His name was Zameer Aftab. Code name: Hawk.

A former special ops sniper, now a ghost. No records. No ID. Only a war — a personal war — fought from the shadows.

Zameer adjusted the long-range scope of his M24 sniper rifle. A red laser line danced faintly through the fog, locked on a distant warehouse window. Inside that warehouse: Salman Dhamra, an arms smuggler feeding weapons to insurgents in Balakistan. Dozens of innocents had died in bombings traced back to him. But legally, no evidence. No arrest.

That’s when Zameer stepped in.

He wasn’t working for money.

He was working for vengeance.

His younger brother, Sameer, a schoolteacher, had died in one of those bombings — blown apart while protecting his students. When justice failed, Zameer became it.


---

A voice crackled softly in his earpiece. It was Shireen, his only contact.

> "Target is confirmed. Ten hostiles. Salman is inside. You’re clear to engage."



"Copy," Zameer whispered.

He inhaled slowly, finger resting on the trigger. In the stillness, his heartbeat slowed. The world vanished. Only the rifle, the scope, the breath… and the target.

One shot. One fate.

He fired.

The bullet flew silently — a whisper of death.

Salman Dhamra dropped, a clean hole between his eyes. No noise. No alarms.

Zameer didn’t smile.

He stood. Reloaded.

One down. Nine to go.


---

The silence shattered.

Gunfire erupted from the warehouse. Spotlights scanned rooftops. Zameer sprinted low along the ledge, bullets hissing past like angry bees.

> "They saw the flash!" Shireen warned. "Get out!"



“No. They’ll just replace him. I’m ending it tonight.”

Zameer pulled a small remote from his vest and clicked.

Across the street, a car exploded — creating smoke, confusion, and fear. In the chaos, he descended like a shadow. Using a zipline, he slid down to the alley behind the warehouse.

He moved like a phantom — no sound, no hesitation.


---

Inside the warehouse, the remaining men were shouting in panic.

Zameer entered from the rear, using a silenced pistol. One guard near the fuse box — gone. Another by the crates — dropped silently. The rest were circling near the front, distracted by the chaos outside.

He planted small explosives on the weapon crates. Then turned.

A sudden noise. A tall man lunged with a knife.

Zameer ducked, rolled, and fired. Blood sprayed the concrete. But not before the alarm blared.

Red lights flashed. More footsteps. Reinforcements.

> "Zameer! Heat signatures incoming — three trucks from west side. You need extraction!"



“No extraction,” he said grimly. “This ends here.”


---

He set the final charge and ran upstairs to the control room. From there, he could see the full compound.

The trucks arrived. Dozens of armed men poured out.

Zameer activated his drone cam — relaying visuals to Shireen.

> "There’s too many, Zameer. You’re outnumbered!"



"I know," he said, loading the final magazine.

He placed the detonator on the desk.


---

As the first wave entered, Zameer began his final stand. Every shot precise. Every movement calculated. He dropped body after body, ducking behind desks, leaping between floors.

Blood and fire painted the night.

But they were too many.

He was shot in the leg. Then the shoulder. He fell back, bleeding, gasping — but defiant.

He pressed the detonator.

Boom.

The warehouse exploded, fire lighting up the skyline.

Weapons gone. The cartel shattered.

Zameer crawled to the edge of the rooftop, barely alive.

> "Zameer!" Shireen’s voice was breaking. “Are you...?”



“I’m here,” he whispered. “It’s done.”


---

Hours later, in the hills beyond the city, a jeep arrived silently.

Shireen helped Zameer into the back. Bloodied, but breathing.

“You’ll live,” she smiled faintly, tears in her eyes.

Zameer looked at the city in the distance — smoke still rising.

“Justice,” he murmured. “For Sameer.”

Then he passed out.


---

Epilogue

Months passed.
No news reports. No headlines. But the arms route dried up. The insurgents were weakened. Children walked to school safely again.

Somewhere in the north, a lone man recovered in the mountains. A sniper rifle hung on the wall beside him.

Zameer Aftab was no longer just a soldier.
He was a myth.
A whisper in the dark.
A ghost in the hunting ground.

The silent war had just begun.