[b]Bandar Anzali, Iran[/b]

There was something about the Caspian that had always enamored Ali Pahlavi. The fair winds and steady seas, perhaps, for its sailing. The coasts were lush and beautiful, hilly and forested. The beaches were nice, too: a stretch of beautiful clean sand extended for kilometers in front of the Shah's summer vacation estate. The sleek, ultramodern building sat on a hillside overlooking the sea and the various vessels that sailed out on it. The spacious compound was lined with tall windows and porches that wrapped around, hanging over the cliffs over the sea. It looked like it would be more fit in the possession of some sort of nefarious Russian oligarch, but it had been constructed in the thirties for an oil baron. When the oil baron was imprisoned for financial crimes and his assets auctioned off, the Shah decided that he liked the property and bought it for a hefty sum. His grounds, located near the Bojagh National Park, had amenities for all sorts of outside activities. There were forests, paths, a golf course, a dock, and fields for playing games like football. An avid outdoorsman, Ali was fond of bicycling, golfing, sailing, running, climbing, and shooting guns. Today was set aside for the latter, and the Shah had driven up to his shooting range located on the perch of a hilly valley. Locking his car at the parking lot beside a squat white building, Ali pushed through the doors to see his rangemaster sweeping the floor absently.

The middle-aged Afghan looked up from his job and waved hello to the Shah, before putting the broom back in the corner and heading over for a handshake. The rangemaster was a scout sniper during Operation 100: before that, a close friend of Ali's sister when they lived in Los Angeles. His daughter had gone to the same highschool as her and his son was her boyfriend for a while, or something to that effect: Ali was never one to keep track of whatever his little sister was doing with whom just as long as she didn't come back after prom with a baby in her uterus. But the rangemaster - his name was Karim bin Ghurid - was an excellent shooter and often talked about firearms with Ali when he came to the house to pick his sister up after a sleepover or some other sort of social. Eventually, during Ali's studies at UCLA, the two would go off and shoot guns at the local ranges. Karim, for some reason, had been able to purchase a legally automatic firearm from before the gun control measures of the 2010s - a piece that he loved to flaunt and shoot and that attracted the attention of curious law enforcement from time to time. Of course, none of them enjoyed California's particularly repressive gun laws. Politics came into play shortly thereafter and Karim agreed to participate in Operation 100: he spent the Revolt traipsing around Bandar Abbas and shooting IRGC officers.

When that was over, he had chosen not to continue his career into the newly reformed Imperial military and instead accepting Ali's suggestion that he should set up his own business. With the backing of some of Ali's fortune, Karim decided to set up a firing range on his friend's estate on the coast. He catered exclusively to the Shah and the rest of the staff on the estate who liked to shoot guns, and was paid damn well for it. He had collected an arsenal of guns that he rented out to the Shah and his servants for weekend shooting.

"Welcome, Ali! How's it going?" Karim beamed, smoothing out some wrinkles in his khakis.

"[i]Salaam[/i], Karim," the Shah replied casually as he patted the rangemaster on the back before stepping back to allow his wife to introduce herself. Ali's wife - Tosya - was almost unanimously determined to be stunningly beautiful. She was an Armenian with dark eyes and darker hair, but with a fair complexion similar to the Shah himself. Her spotless face gleamed under the lights as she accepted a traditional kiss on the hand. Parallels to Jackie Kennedy had been made many times, but now wasn't the time for glamorous dresses. Instead of a carefully made public appearance, she wore just a plain blouse and shorts to accompany her husband's sporting trip. Tosya shook hands with Karim before stepping back to peruse the various arms manufacturers' flags on the wall.

"Coming to shoot today?" asked Karim as he led the monarchs back to the armory's counter.

"Of course. It's a pleasant afternoon. Wind shouldn't be too bad."

"Oh, no, it's been calm all this week," agreed Karim as he swiped a keycard hanging from his neck across the scanner. The door clicked open, and he went in to look for some guns. "Is Tosya shooting with you, too?"

Ali looked back at his wife who smiled sheepishly and shrugged. She wasn't as into the sport as Ali was. "Maybe," Ali determined. "I'll let you know if we need another piece."

"That's totally fine. I'll put out some rifles just in case. Had any in mind?"

Ali nodded, and said that he'd like to try out the new Fabrique Nationale battle rifle: the FN2040. In experimental use with some European special forces, Ali had managed to purchase it off of the assembly line in what may or may not have been an FN-sanctioned deal. Karim, in turn, withdrew a black plastic case from a shelf behind the counter emblazoned with the company's logo. When Ali opened it, he saw the fierce, futuristic weapon sitting in a foam insert and lifted it up. Incredibly lightweight, being made of some recent polymers. An electronic scope on the top rail turned on and displayed a crosshair over the captured image. Ali aimed it up at the nearby wall, finger still pressed against the receiver, and tested it. A small knob on the side changed ranging - displayed by a small red number of meters on the bottom left - while another changed magnification. A switch cycled between normal, IR, BHOT/WHOT thermal viewing modes, and a backscatter xray mode that allowed him to see through certain materials. The scope was probably at least as expensive as the gun. A lot of these vision modes were rather useless, of course, but people liked to play with them and show up at events with the flashiest technology they had. The Shah, still being rather young at twenty-seven, was not immune to this. He grinned at Karim as he lowered the weapon and said: "I quite like this."

"It's no match for a keen eye, but sometimes even the best needs a little help," commented Karim wisely, sliding another case full of magazines over the table. 7.62mm caseless match grade rounds. Ali smiled and took them, placing the briefcase on top of the rifle case.

"Any lane?"

"Any lane. I'll pop up some targets. Enjoy today... and you, too, Tosya!"

Tosya nodded her head kindly and took the rifle case from her husband as he pushed open the door for her. They emerged into the still, warm air, and headed off to where they had parked the car to retrieve Ali's baseball cap. It was a black cap that bore the logo of the LA Galaxy football club, betraying his American heritage and youth. He placed it squarely atop his head and offered to take the rifle case from Tosya, who gave it over without too much of a hassle. She smiled: "Thank you, dear."

The couple had approached a shooting line shortly thereafter and laid out their belongings to the side as Ali fiddled with the rifle's bipod. "I've got to videoconference with the agricultural minister tomorrow," he lamented as the green light came on telling him that the range was clear.

"I don't like him," agreed Tosya. "He keeps trying to throw his colleagues under the bus. That, and he's a drunkard. Didn't they catch him with a hooker in Isfahan last year?"

"Yep. Plowing her like a field of beans while drinking too much."

"And we kept him?" asked Tosya disgustedly.

"He does his job well, even if he is an asshole. I mean, have you seen the reports that I forget about and leave on the kitchen table? He knows his way around agriculture. We're expanding our food production by a huge margin."

"I don't read those," Tosya shot back, shaking her head. "I turn them into paper planes and throw them into the fireplace when I get bored."

"Heh. I love you so much," the Shah said with a grin, looking up at her and slapping her on the ass playfully.

"I know," she replied with a similar cheeky smile.

"Anyways... After that I meet the energy minister about this new solar plant we're building in Tehran. I'm supposed to be there, you know, to encourage the progress in renewable energy. I get to cut the ribbon," Ali continued, placing his hand on the grip and shouldering the piece. "I hate it. I feel like a douchebag when I do it. But you smile for the cameras."

Tosya let out her beautiful laugh - a giggle, really - and squatted down by her husband's side as he went prone. "You don't know the least of it, dear! I'm supposed to be the Iranian Jackie Kennedy, so I have these reporters following me around and posting my dresses and hairstyles all over their stupid blogs. Or on slow news days, they talk about how I set style for the Iranian women. They can't find anything else to report on? Isn't there a war in Africa?"

"There's always a war in Africa," noted Ali before taking aim at a target 100 meters away. The white target was outlined in red, with two blue circles representing the chest and the head. It vaguely simulated a target with an intact body before Ali landed three shots into its torso. The rounds - kept in place by a delayed blowback system on the rifle - entered evenly and pierced through. With the scope, Ali dialed in to see the damage. He whistled coolly while Tosya picked up a set of binoculars from the nearby folding table.

"You're an assassin," she complemented. "Maybe you can countersnipe the people who want to kill you."

"The whack Shia fundamentalists? We smashed them during Operation 100 and gave them to Pakistan."

"Among other people," Tosya joked.

"If you threaten to poison my soup again-" Ali warned before being cut off.

"No sex for you tonight if you keep it up," hissed Tosya. Truly, the wife was the boss.

"Sure thing." Ali shook his head. "I'll be quiet."

"Awesome. It works just like TV," the Queen grinned with a facetious raised fist. She was making fun of him now.

Ali wordlessly blasted through another set of targets, mentally imagining the agricultural minister's face on each and every one of them. They were all older, of course, and didn't quite understand why Ali did the things he did. Why did politicians have to politicize his evenings out with Tosya? Or his shooting sports? The answer, obviously, was to win support for their parties and shame Ali into giving the go for legislature in order to retain public support. But it was a far cry from just six years ago when he was a happy college junior at UCLA, driving around in his car and trying to pick up cougars at bars because his friends had dared him to. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if the agriculture minister would try to use that as some sort of excuse the next time he was caught naked in a car going double the highway speed limit. Ali thought that maybe he would just fire him the next time that happened. It was embarrassing, and he would have to groom the undersecretary for the job as well.

"I actually like videoconferencing, though," said the Shah as he eyed the targets.

"Because you don't kill anyone when they're being stupid?" asked his Queen.

"That. And then I can put beer in my coffee mug and wear boxers."

"Is that a game to you?"

"It's a game to see how many government officials I can videoconference with without pants on, yes," Ali joked. "I've gone through entire crisis meetings sans my pants. Basically, I get bored."

"I don't think you ever really graduated out of highschool," Tosya observed while shaking her head. "I feel like I'm the mature one sometimes."

"You just threatened to boycott sex, Tosya. And before that you were going to kill me."

"Yes, but I do it because I love you," replied his wife without too much sarcasm. She bent over and gave him a peck on the cheek, smiling.

"Yes, yes. A woman will drive a man insane."

"Not as insane as the government. Maybe you [i]will[/i] snap and shoot up the place. Imagine that headline in the news. [i]Shah Snaps: Shoots 47 in Psychotic Rampage[/i]."

"May Allah deliver a sweet and merciful death, along with my 72 virgins in Heaven for exterminating the sinners in my cabinet," Ali prayed, clasping his hands together almost mockingly.

"Was one virgin not good enough for you?" shot back his wife.

"She was plenty."

"Then not another word out of you, King of the Aryans."

They continued to talk and shoot for another two hours, with Tosya eventually shooting off a few rounds at targets. She missed wildly, of course, but she still posed with the gun for a picture with her husband. They made silly faces and said that they'd keep the picture forever, because that's the sort of thing that they should do. Then Ali continued to ramble about the government and his responsibilities: the police action in Iraq, the international meeting that he would need to fly out to soon, and the oncoming World Cup in Africa. His schedule was busy for the next week, overseeing the various departments keeping his country running in good shape. The neutrality had worked out for him, but brought with it certain problems. Iran was now a regional power, and that thrust Ali into a position of responsibility that he simply hadn't been groomed for. For the most part, he listened to his advisers. But at some points he began to feel fear and uncertainty. He was practically alone: his family had moved to Tehran but they were normal people. His father had been the owner of a media company, for God's sake! Not a king like his grandfather, who had died of lymphoma in 1980. He was of no help, despite his best efforts. His wife hadn't come from a royal dynasty either - there was none to speak of in Armenia. He had just met her while out clubbing in college and married her shortly after graduation. But this wasn't on his mind as he packed his gear and headed back to the slick grey SUV that sat on the gravel parking lot. The gun was turned back in to Karim, and Ali drove back to the estate with his wife at his side. They returned home, and Ali fell asleep an hour later while watching the football game on the couch. He would awake the next day with much to do. For now, though, he dreamed of being back in college: back when the world was so much simpler.