249: Chapter 249 We Need Support

"Yes. I've said it before."

He left.

Nadia closed the door, leaned her back against it, and closed her eyes. A few seconds later, she opened them, walked to the table, and spread out her textbooks—tomorrow she still had to teach the children math and poetry.

The camera crew captured all of this.

There was no sensationalism, no deliberate exaggeration of tragedy. Only everyday goodbyes, quiet worries, and love and fear buried deep in silence.

For the segment on military victory, Sinwar decided to appear on camera personally.

Not as a commander, but as a soldier.

The filming location was chosen among the ruins in the north of the city—a tank battle had occurred here just three days ago. Three Squid Nation "merkava" Mk4 main battle tanks had attempted to advance, only to be ambushed and destroyed by the Resistance Organization's anti-tank teams using "Kornet" missiles.

The wreckage of the tanks was still smoldering.

Sinwar stood beside an overturned merkava. The tank's turret had been blown off and lay a dozen meters away, looking like the severed head of a dead steel behemoth.

"Let's begin," he said to the camera crew leader.

The camera started rolling.

Sinwar didn't look at the lens. He stared at the tank wreckage for a long time. Then, he bent down and picked up a fragment from the ground—it was a piece of tank armor, its edges still hot to the touch.

"This is a merkava," he began, his voice calm but every word clear and powerful. "The Squid Nation's most advanced main battle tank. They say it's the 'safest tank in the world,' that it can protect the soldiers inside."

He held the fragment up against the sunlight. The metal reflected a piercing glare.

"But now, it's here. Turned into scrap metal."

Sinwar tossed the fragment aside and walked toward the next wreck. This tank had been pierced from the side by a missile; through the breach, charred equipment was visible inside.

"Three days ago, these three tanks tried to drive into our neighborhood. They were followed by infantry, intending to occupy this area and establish a forward base."

He crouched before the breach, reached inside, and pulled something out.

A scorched soldier's dog tag.

A name was engraved on it: Yoshi Cohen. Rank: Sergeant. Blood type: A+.

"Yoshi Cohen," Sinwar read the name. "Twenty-three years old. From Tel Aviv. He might have been a good son, a good brother, a good boyfriend. But here, he was an aggressor."

Sinwar stood up and placed the dog tag on the tank's armor.

"I don't want to celebrate his death. Death is never something to be celebrated. But I want to say: this is the price of aggression."

He turned to face the camera.

This was the first time in the entire documentary that Sinwar looked directly into the lens.

"What you see in the news is: 'The Squid Nation Defense Forces encountered resistance in Gaza, three tanks damaged.' What you don't see is: inside these three tanks were twelve young men like Yoshi. They died because their government sent them to occupy land that does not belong to them."

Sinwar walked forward to the highest point of the ruins.

Behind him was the burning skyline of Gaza. Thick smoke billowed, and sporadic gunfire echoed in the distance.

"We fight here not to kill, but to survive. So that our children can grow up in their own homes, not in refugee camps; so that our elderly can rest in peace in their own beds, not be buried under rubble; so that our young people can go to school, work, and fall in love, instead of picking up guns to kill and be killed."

He paused for a moment.

The wind swept across the ruins, kicking up dust.

"Many people sympathize with us. They say, 'Poor Palestinians.' They donate money, food, and medicine. We appreciate this help, truly."

Sinwar's voice changed. It became harder, colder.

"But we don't need sympathy."

He emphasized every word:

"We need weapons. We need dignity. We need the world to recognize that we are not begging for charity, but fighting for our birthright—the right to live, the right to be free, the right to live on our own land."

The camera zoomed in.

Sinwar's face filled the screen. It was a weathered face with sunken eyes and stubble. But in those eyes, a fire was burning.

"So, don't just sympathize. If you really want to help us, give us the tools to fight. Give us missiles, give us air defense systems, give us weapons that can make the aggressors pay the price. Or, at the very least, don't stop others from giving us these weapons."

"Because sympathy cannot save Gaza."

"Only weapons and dignity can."

After the last sentence, Sinwar turned his back to the camera and looked toward the burning city.

The image froze there.

Five seconds of black screen.

Then, the end credits slowly appeared:

gaza diary

Director: Jiasha Resistance Organization

Dedicated to all who fight for freedom

We don't need sympathy, we need weapons and dignity

The night after filming ended.

Sinwar was in the underground command center, watching the final cut edited by the camera crew.

The film was 47 minutes long. The four segments transitioned smoothly, and the music was used perfectly—not a tragic symphony, but simple folk instruments, occasionally interspersed with children's singing.

"How is it?" the camera crew leader asked.

Sinwar watched it twice.

The first time, he watched as an audience member. The second time, he watched as a soldier.

"Very good," he finally said. "But there's one problem."

"What problem?"

"It's too real," Sinwar said. "So real that... it might make some people uncomfortable."

"That's exactly what we want, isn't it?"

Sinwar smiled.

"Yes. Exactly what we want."

He pulled up the system panel and selected [Global Media Network Penetration Pack].

"Targeting: Al Jazeera in Qatar, TRT in Turkey, BBC World News, France 24, ZDF in Germany, RAI in Italy, TVE in Spain, NHK in Japan, KBS in Korea, NDTV in India... and all Arabic satellite channels."

[Confirm deployment? This operation will consume 1,000 points]

[Current points: 3,484,000]

"Confirm."

[Deployment started]

[Estimated arrival time: Within 1 hour]

[Estimated premiere time: Within 3-6 hours]

Sinwar closed the panel.

He looked at the frozen image on the screen—the view of his back standing on the ruins.

"Tomorrow," he whispered, "the world will see the real Gaza."

Three hours later.

Doha, Al Jazeera headquarters.

In the newsroom, Editor-in-Chief Ahmed Saleh was reviewing the broadcast schedule for the evening news. Suddenly, his encrypted mailbox received a massive attachment.

Sender: anonymous@securemail.ir