Ikram's bike tore through the congesting traffic like a sharp blade through a tough meat. He whizzed and turned, kicking at the side of cars when needed. He couldn't be bothered with them, not with what is playing inside his head. He gripped the handle tight and twists the accelerator.
The images in his head points him towards an old, empty building just outside the reaches of the capital city. He kicked the stand and sat the bike down. He removed the helmet from his head and placed it on the seat before killing the engine of his roaring bike. The sun was just about to peak and the heat was about to crawl to his skin. He pulled the key from the ignition and slipped into the shadows of the old building, away from the sun.
There wasn't much to see around the building. Its sole occupants were dead leaves and broken tricycle belonged to a kid long gone. Ikram walked around the building. This was the building he saw in his head. He placed his hand on the ground and closed his eyes. He felt the cold rise through his palm. Heard the joy, the memories of the occupants of the building before they slowly died away.
And then he heard it. It was like a whisper at the back of his head. A voice. A chant of calling. The image in his head changed, to a room, overlooking the twin tower at the heart of the capital city. Ikram opened his eyes and looked up to the white ceiling above him. He ran for the stairs and jumped up two steps at a time. He checked every door, tearing into empty rooms with the image in his head as his guide.
He tore through the door of the second room before the top-most floor and his eyes sprung wide. Inside was a circle, red and badly drawn with six candles placed around it. Ikram stepped closer and knelt. He placed a finger on the circle and gave it a nudge. The circle glowed and explodes into black clouds, surprising Ikram.