*Subject is a male thirty-four year old veteran from the American Garrison at Gabon. Wife is Anna Gervis, sons and daughters none. Interview starts at 00:10 Hours.*

"I remember it all. The explosion, the ambush, and of course, Mohmar."

"Let me start my story properly."

"It was about to be my second-to-the-last tour in Africa; that place was hell for me, and frankly, I could say that I was glad to leave that f*cking hellhole. The entire place was crawling with bugs, and I'm not talking about the ones you find in the desert or the forest. Anyway, that mission was a good ole' recon run; just a simple in and out of the outskirts of The Zone."

*Subject sighs, shoulders slump.*

"It was already sundown that time. The air was cold and dry, and nobody argued about going back to base as fast as possible. Anyways, we were still travelling in Cameroon when suddenly, the MRAP I was in tumbled to the air. I myself couldn't believe it. It must have been one of those barrels of doom, or demo traps, those intel goons call it."

*Subject stops. Interviewer says go on with his story.*

"All right. I started to grab my service pistol when I suddenly felt sick, and I threw up on the floor of the MRAP. I tried to open the door, but the next thing I knew was that the vehicle tumbled sideways, and then I lost my consciousness at that."

"The next thing I knew, I was sleeping in some sort of a bed, and then, there was.. there was... him."

"Mohmar."

*Subject is in tears. Superintendent recommends to continue debriefing 22:00 this day. Interviewer seconds the motion. Recess of debriefing recorded at 00:23 Hours.*

Don't you mean Sulaymaan? Mohmar's dead.

Oh, this Mohmar is different from the Mohmar you know. I couldn't explain more here, since I would be spoiling the story.

***
*Interview restarted at 22:01. Interviewer leads the subject to where he stopped. Subject is in a better mood.*

"Yes, yes, I was there. I saw him. Mohmar."

*Interviewer asks if it was Mohmar the Deathstrike. Subject bows head.*

"I- I don't know. The very first words I heard from him was, 'Are you feeling fine?' So, I couldn't suppose that he is. Anyway, I was lying down in some sort of bed, and some person was sitting near my head. When I turned my head, I saw him leaning to me. The he asked me if I was feeling fine. I said that I was fine, and I asked him 'Where am I?' and then he responded that I was safe. I tried to stand up, but my body failed me, and I fell on the bed again."

*Subject stops. Interviewer waits for a response. After two minutes, twelve seconds, the subject continues.*

"Then I woe up again, this time the surroundings were dark. There was a single light beside me; I tried to reach and grab it, but it fell. I heard footsteps, so, I hid beneath the covers. Through my blanket, I can see a small spot of light. Then a voice called out, 'American? Are you okay?' I slowly came out of my cover, and saw a bespectacled man wearing an very old and dusty robes, carrying with him another lamp. I uttered several unintelligible sounds by then; I thought he was one of the GLA. Then he said slowly 'I am not your enemy, American. Sleep for now and await for the sunrise.' Which of course I did."

*Subject sighs and looks up to the ceiling.*

"Anyway, when I woke up the next morning, I saw him sitting on a chair, leaning on a table and reading something. I tried to silently get up, but he noticed me. He smiled and said, 'Ah, there you are, American. You look impoverished! Come, let us eat."

"And so eat we did. We were the only one at his dining table, although there were three plates. The meal started awkwardly, until he said, 'Hello. American. I am Mohmar. What should I call you?' I just told him to call me Gervis. He inquired if that was a first name or a last name. I told him that it was a last name. We both ate in silence again until he said, 'You might be asking as to why I kept you here. I simply nodded. Then, i was surprised when he said, 'So that we could talk properly, I will now tell you that I am not part of the so-called GLA. I'm just a farmer out here in the desert, I assure you. I looked at him skeptically. I mean, who the hell simply becomes a farmer when he's got the GLA as a f*cking neighbor? Anyway, I think I just mumbled, 'Yeah Right.' at that time. He just smiled, and then-then..."

*Subject pauses again. He seems to recollect a very painful memory. Interviewer encourages him to go on with his story.*

"I-I'm sorry about that. Anyway, he told his story to me. He told me that before Central Africa became Sulaymaan's playground, he was once a professor of philosophy in Congo, in some place called Kinsasha. He lived with his wife in a fairly simple home, he said. By the time there were riots in the country, he decided to evacuate his family, especially since he said that his wife was bearing their first child, a boy. They were in a civilian convoy when they were strafed by aircraft. He didn't remember what happened next, but the next thing he knew, his wife was beside him, all covered in dust and blood and... he can't even describe what really happened to her, just that a single bullet to her stomach ended her life. He left her body in the road with so much regret. I then asked if he knew who it was who strafed their convoy. He said that whatever or whomever it was, it was large and noisy with a gun that relentlessly rattled. I asked him if he knew who it was who strafed their convoy. I was in shock when he replied; 'Americans, who else?' I felt the spoon I was using fall from my hands. His face, which smiled, betrayed the statement he gave to me. There I was, an American, being told by a stranger that Americans killed his wife and son,a nd he still cared for me and even nursed me back to health. I asked him, 'Why?'"

*Subject stops and sobs slightly.*

"He asked back 'What why are you asking?' I responded, 'Why... Why did you take care of me, then?' He jsut sighed, and told me a lesson I would never forget in my entire life."

*Subject pauses to recompose himself.*

"He said to me, 'Would the act of not taking care of you bring back my wife Sarai and my unborn son Mokolo? What good would it do? All I can do now is to do good things, so that I could see again my family heaven when I die."

*Subject fully bursts to tears. Interviewer recommends another short recess for snacks and re-composure, as well as the review of the subject's information so far. Interview to continue at 23:10. Interview ended at 22:15 Hours.*