Destruction. Terror. Blood running in the streets. I came to Baghdad to track down the cult. All I've managed to do is be another witness to their murderous rampage and nearly get myself killed to boot.
The papers say there are 55 dead across a wide swathe of Iraq. More than 255 wounded. I was in an alley meeting with my inside man, a former cultist (or was he still in the crew and hoping to stab me in the back? I'll never know now), when the bomb went off in the restaurant across the street.
The blast was so powerful it knocked me flat on my ass. When I got back up, Mahmoud was bleeding out from some big chunks of shrapnel in the back of his head. Nothing I could do for him. I got out of there right quick; even if the cultists had already fled the scene, the locals get suspicious of blue-eyed travelers like myself.
I guess I was lucky today. I never saw the bomber, but I actually heard him shout his calling-card unholy prayer before he blew himself and a whole bunch of folks to smithereens: "Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn!"
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