For days, the only thing I kept thinking about was how I could cut away these useless feelings of affection and love that always hinder and hurt me. In my sleep, I dreamed about shouting, insulting, kicking Elena and Alessia, throwing things at these ladies while being angry at them. Maybe I was still a loving and caring person inside, but what use did these qualities have when they failed to achieve anything? If I was really that beautiful and smart and funny and kind as I thought, then why the fuck did I always get rejected and betrayed?
The deeper the feeling, the greater the pain. Dealing with the breakup and betrayal was hard enough. The scene changes again, to the very next day. I got a phone call from one of the acquaintances back in Dalabistan that my brother and father were killed in a terrorist attack in Alakala.
On April 10, 2004, the Islamic terrorists orchestrated the explosions of the shopping mall. That acquaintance also told me on the phone that violence started to escalate in Dalabistan since Operation Artemisia that began in March of the same year. That operation consisted of the Dalabistani military returning terrorists and Al-Qaeda brides from Iraq to “rehabilitate” them to normal life.
Apparently, that “rehabilitation” didn’t work, and they continued to do their thing, only now it was in Dalabistan instead of Baghdad’s streets. When I heard the news, my heart started to burn with hate. Hate that had lived inside me for years for Islamic terrorism and Volkan Babayev’s government for destroying my homeland, for Alessia betraying me, and for myself for not being tough enough. I lost all of the people who have softened my heart of stone, except for Bong Ju. With them, the vast majority of my warm feelings for humanity have left me. Now only having Bong Ju by my side was able to stop me from completely burning with hate and desire for power.
A day after I returned to Dreamhouse University from the funeral, Bong Ju came to me and offered to create a conglomerate business together. He was a skilled guy in the novel spheres of computer science. I understood the business side of things, so I thought our partnership was necessary to succeed in 2004. Both of us dropped out of Dreamhouse University and initially began our business as selling electronics and creating several programs.
Since I was still single, I decided to change my approach with women. No longer would I be the nice guy. It was time I was the alpha. That is when I understood how the world is indeed not fair. He who understands it benefits from it; he who doesn’t pays for it. Love wasn’t an interest of mine anymore; it was all about pleasure, nothing serious. That is the approach that lands me dates and flings, not rejections. In the end, the dumper feels better than the dumpee. Not only the dumper doesn’t have pain from the breakup, but the dumper also ends up with a better option at the dumper’s feet. That’s when I really started to have fun and develop my personal tastes. The soft, empathetic, kind, friendly, loyal guy turned into a ruthless, cold, abusive man I have dreamed of becoming.
Did you think I forgot you, Elena and Alessia? You hoped I had. Every girl grows up to be a woman. They seem so harmless at first. Small, kind, offering their signs of affection. But once they get old enough, they draw blood and nerves. Sometimes from the hand that feeds them with reciprocated love. For those of us climbing the top of the social hierarchy, there can be no mercy. There are but two rules: dump or be dumped on; and cheat or be cheated on. Elena and Alessia helped me to realize these crucial principles, and the only regret I have is that I didn’t abuse and betray them earlier…
When I wake back to 2013, Caroline is gone. Perhaps it’s time for her to move on to another alpha. Maybe she did not like how I fuck. I wonder who used who, but I really don’t care about the answer. In a few hours, I would have to meet my Korean business partner, Dae-Hyun Dam, about expanding my operations into Seoul.
I quickly dress in my suit and drive to the headquarters of Karabars & Kim Industries. When I enter the main floor, I find the room filled with people sleeping in front of their computers, only pretending to do any work.
I slam the books behind one man’s seat and roar at him, “So this is the team specializing in Korean expansion… Where is your marketing plan?”
The man shivers in fear and mumbles, “Let’s show what we are doing to attract our customers. We are trying to develop a promotional campaign to attract investors for opening up our project to South Korea.”
I look at the brochures that they developed. Nothing looks right. The fonts are too old-fashioned, and the graphics are so old that they wouldn’t sell anything! I have to intervene because otherwise these lazy slackers will fail me, “You guys don’t know what you’re doing. I’m going to get someone else to do the marketing because this is so messed up, idiots!”
Another man stands up and complains, “Yeah, but you have a meeting with your Korean business partner Dae-Hyun Dam at lunch, and we can’t make a new campaign today.”
I take a breath before roaring, “If you don’t share our enthusiasm, our work ethic, and our vision of this business…”
One of the employees mumbles, “No, no, no, no… I just…”
I point to the door. “Get out, idiot!”
“What? Did I just…”
“Get your stuff and move out, sluggard!”
“What, wait…” he puts his hands up and moves closer to me.
“You’re done!”
“What, are you gonna, you’re gonna fire me? Seriously?”
“No! I already fired you! Why are you still here?”
“Dude, I was the best marketer on your team. Without me, you would fail to expand beyond the garage of Dreamhouse University parking lot!”
“You are the number one marketing specialist in America in destroying my expansion plans!”
“Alright, Mr. Karabars, let’s just continue fixing, and we would make it just in time.”
“Don’t fix it! I will do everything on my own with Bong Ju Kim and Mr. Dam!” After this final shout of mine, the employees are silent in obedience. Shouting and intimidating me is what my father did to me to stop being lazy and do work. That turned out to make me who I am—Alisher Karabars, the successful tycoon.
Chapter 2: Long Live the King
I grab another cup of tea in my office’s small kitchenette. I have a little time to spare, so before a business meeting with Mr. Dam, I turn on the TV for some news. CNN fills the screen, and a blonde female anchor reports breaking news:
“Dalabistan’s veteran leader, Volkan Babayev, has died at the age of 85 after thirty-three years in power. State media announced he passed away today after suffering a stroke. His son, Anar, has been named his successor, the Second President of Dalabistan, and the next Great Khan of All Dalabs.
“Volkan Babayev’s body is lying in state at the Presidential Headquarters in the country’s capital, Volkan, before the funeral in three hours.
“A period of mourning has been declared in Dalabistan for three days. Human rights groups say Mr. Babayev repressed opposition to his rule, but he represented stability for supporters. Amnesty International says the Dalabistani government under Babayev is one of the most repressive in the world, notably after a repressive crackdown in the western city of Munai in 2004, when hundreds were brutally killed.
“Mr. Babayev’s supporters argue that curbs on freedom are a small but necessary price to pay for law, order, and peace in their land.”
That is not something I expected to find on the news. Volkan seemed eternal, like someone who would exist forever. I heard that his son was immature, rash, and had been spotted smoking crack-cocaine, had no respect for the Commoners and was quite possibly worse than Volkan Babayev. At least Volkan Babayev’s regime was just corrupt and evil; Dalabistan was about to be led by a merciless idiot!
If Anar assumed the title of the Khan, no one would be able to replace him until Anar would call a coffin home.
To say I am shocked would be an understatement! Perhaps my South Korean colleague would understand because he may have this feeling every time another patriarch
of the Kim Juche dynasty dies. My country can’t go to hell after Babayev! But I have to put these thoughts aside because my meeting with Dae-Hyun Dam is imminent.
I enter the brightly lit room and sit on a chair to the opposite of Mr. Dam. He is a tall man with slightly gray facial hair, sharp eyes, thick black glasses, and short hair. He wears a dark blue suit and a gray tie. His cold gaze at me gives me a feeling that he is a serious man.
He firmly shakes my hand and says, “Thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Karabars. What did you have in mind regarding your expansion into Seoul?”
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Dam. I’ve come up with what I’m sure you’ll agree is a very beneficial offer.”
“Go ahead.”
“We currently operate in the United States, Australia, and Europe. However, Seoul is an important logistical center in Asia. Because of that, we want to open factories and office buildings in South Korea so that we would be able to ship our goods and to employ South Korean workers from your firm. From our side, you and your franchise would get 25 percent of total revenue from Karabars & Kim Industries’ South Korean operations. From your side, our company needs your factories, skilled workers and scientists, and ports so that we would be able to expand your business. Would you consider this proposal?”
“That sounds like a very tempting offer. What is the expected revenue from the South Korean market for your company?”
“Around ten billion dollars after one year of operations.”
“Great, how about I supply you with my employees and advisors on how to conduct business in South Korea as part of this deal. You know, it’s quite hard to compete against chaebols in Korea.”
“Well, I agree with you on this one. We can fix the deal today and start opening the business next week. Agreed?”
“Agreed! Sounds good to me. Thank you very much, Mr. Karabars, and I am looking forward to our cooperation.”
I shake his hand, and my secretary Sara Moore brings in the contract and I sign it with Mr. Dam. After he leaves the room, I return to my office and turn on the online live broadcast of Dalabistan TV. The horse chariot slowly carries the coffin carrying Volkan Babayev, draped in the Dalabistani flag. The flag consists of a yellow background with an image of the cyan steppe eagle under the sun in the center. On that flag, seventeen cyan stars are arranged in a vertical band on the left to represent the seventeen tribes of Dalabistan: three big stars representing the Elite Tribes, and the remaining fourteen smaller ones are for the Commoner Tribes. A tearful voice of a female anchor wails at the same time:
“Today, every Dalabistani has grief and remembrance for the Greatest Khan of All Dalabs, First President of the independent Dalabistan Volkan Babayev. According to his wishes, Volkan Babayev is buried in the National Necropolis. He is honored with a military rifle salute and a ceremonial burial procession.”
Maybe April 19 is the funeral of the more peaceful Dalabistan that I knew and the starting trigger for an even more chaotic regime? Or is it a potential trigger for a new era? We will soon see since hindsight is always 20/20. I hope things will get better because while Anar Babayev is rash, he did not use the security forces up to date. He is relatively young though. I still remember him making some controversial statements, like, “So long as I will be the Khan, the Commoners will no longer be whining crybabies. They will have plenty of time to complain in hell!”
I picture how my late father told me one day with tears in his eyes, “Please get out of Dalabistan before Volkan Babayev dies, because when Anar the vicious idiot son comes to power, everything would become much worse, in ways that you never imagined, Alisher.”
Thankfully, now I am out, as well as most of my friends. Sabit is working in a technology laboratory in Texas. Elena is currently employed in France. Zholan is doing his work in Germany. I’m glad that they safely evacuated from Dalabistan because I have no idea what will happen next. A new dictator that will topple the weak Babayev from power? Quite probable like it happened in Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. Maybe the Babayev dynasty would just continue accumulating wealth at the expense of the Commoners, suppressing dissent, and getting their things done like in North Korea? A dictator can never rule out that probability. I just need to wait until the first statement of Anar Babayev during his coronation.
The television shows the guards lowering the golden coffin into the National Necropolis’s first grave. The broadcast clearly indicates that the grave complex is so luxurious that it challenges the idea that you cannot take your riches with you after death. No, Volkan Babayev’s funeral showed that you can take expensive gold used to make the coffin, ornate Italian marble for the gravestone, and elite Karl Lagerfeld suits to the other world, but only as long as you are a member of the Three Elite Tribes and the ultimate embezzler of the people! Great success!
The broadcast switches to the tribune on the Dalab Eli square, on which one elderly man places a crown on the head of Anar, the successor. Then the man and his team of four workers bring Anar Babayev’s new royal throne on a special carriage. It is the three-meter-tall iron chair with a two-meter eagle with its wings spread behind the chair. As he gets his throne and golden crown, he starts to speak:
“Fellow compatriots. My father, Volkan Babayev, was the most outstanding leader we have ever seen. His iron rule has preserved our independence, resources, soil, and peace and facilitated the tremendous economic growth that transformed Dalabistan into a modern superpower. I will continue his tough actions because they would yield the greatest prosperity for all Dalabistanis.
“An important issue for our country is the potential breach of our stability through foreign NGOs trying to brainwash our people and show their destructive actions. Moreover, the countless freaks, bastard disabled people, detrimental Shyngys tribe members, and useless miners in the West who do nothing, but protest are all putting a serious burden on our society today.
“Therefore, I propose the final solution against the useless eaters and mouths of Dalabistan, for a life worthy of life needing to have its worth and utility. Without this utility, a citizen becomes an unbearable burden on all of us and on every single one of you. With that, I will revive the just system of labor camps that the Soviets had built and was ruined by corrupt ‘humanist’ libtards. I will make these cockroaches finally work and build a better Dalabistan through their hard labor! Hail the Greatest Khan Volkan Babayev! Glory to Dalabistan and the Three Elite Tribes!”
The military troops at the funeral salute Anar Babayev by raising their right hands up and shout synchronously, “Glory to the Great Khan! We serve our Leader Babayev and our Fatherland!”
These brainwashed faces and lavish funeral procession probably mean another thirty turbulent years for Dalabistan. I feel sorry for all the Commoners and honest Dalabistanis currently there. The misery appears it will continue, if not increase significantly over the next few years. Poor Elena and her family! They are from the Shyngys tribe. Thank God they are in France and England right now, escaping the future violence and inevitable deaths in Anar’s GULAGs! If only I could stop this political disgrace and chaos.
Chapter 3: The Hand of Help
The next day, I wake from a fitful slumber. Thoughts of my homeland and the past, plus worries of the future of Dalabistan, kept me from getting any good sleep. When I get up, the first thing I do is grab my phone and see what updates the news has on Dalabistan. Each update is worse than the previous.
“Devaluation strikes Dalabistan. The day after Volkan Babayev’s funeral, Dalabistan’s currency, the aldan, lost its value to the US dollar by 500 percent. Now it is traded for 15,000 aldans for one US dollar.”
I’m glad that my friends are out. I feel pity for those Dalabistanis who kept their savings in aldans instead of using US dollars, euros, or even Russian rubles or Kazakhstani tenge! I cannot imagine how worthless the people’s already-meager savings became. With the falling aldan, it would take six hours of hard physical labor in the oil fields just to buy a loaf o
f bread.
“Several small-scale protests and pickets were suppressed by the police in Alakala.”
I did not expect to hear about any of these protests; Dalabistan did not have any protests of such a scale since the brutal crackdown of the Munai strike in 2003. Maybe this is the beginning of the end for Babayevs? Or the beginning of the end for the country due to killing nearly half of its population for “protesting” and “treason”?
“The lavish funeral at the expense of the aldan and people’s money: a modern tale of Dalabistan, the absolute monarchy dominated by tribalism and corruption.”
Finally, someone recognized it as an absolute monarchy! It has been evident to nearly everyone that Dalabistan that Babayev rule is a quasi-monarchy that hides under the name of “a republic.” Too bad Volkan Babayev did not name my country as “Democratic People’s Republic of Dalabistan.” It would have been an express ticket to join the top list of the Dictators’ Club. The funeral is just another extravagant vanity fair of the Babayev dynasty. The Great Khan is dead! Long live the Great Khan! Anar just needs a new cult of personality to completely destroy Dalabistan’s rotting finances.
“Radio Liberty: Three million Dalabistan’s workers belonging to the Fourteen Commoners Tribes were fired by the government as a way to decrease the operational costs the day after the funeral.”
What? And where will everyone be employed? Are Dalabistanis becoming the country of unemployed slackers who live in poverty and stable instability? If only I could make their lives better… If only there was a way.
The Outcast Presidents Page 5
