Sunderland, England — 12:36 AM
Underground Facility — Location Unmarked
The stale air inside the basement was thick with the stench of blood, perfume, and iron. Beneath a luxurious estate, hidden under layers of concrete and encrypted silence, lay a sprawling underworld prison—one that didn't house criminals, but victims.Caged like animals, dozens of young girls huddled in tight cells—eyes hollow, lips cracked, wrists bruised from steel shackles. Some were screaming. Some were crying. Some… had already gone silent, too numb to process the evil they had been sold into.
Rows of heavy bars sectioned the basement like a butcher's market. Some girls were drugged, barely conscious, their heads lolling against the damp walls as if sleep were their only mercy. Some were still dressed in the clothes they were taken in. Others were stripped and forced into silken robes that barely clung to their shivering bodies.Above the cages, faint music thumped from the floor above, masked in velvet and wine—where men in black coats and foreign tongues laughed and drank, waiting for their 'entertainment' to be delivered. Businessmen. Ministers. Oil tycoons. Drug lords. VIP clients with sick desires and unlimited money.And the merchandise.Human souls.In a corner of the basement, standing beside a security monitor and a large crate of confiscated belongings, a sharply dressed man took a call. His shoes gleamed. His eyes did not.
He pressed a finger to his earpiece, speaking low but proud."Boss, the last van's arrived. Thirty more. Young ones. Fresh batches from universities and international airports. We've already processed them and moved some to upper levels. The clients are… satisfied."A pause. The smirk on his face stretched wider."Deals are getting signed even faster tonight. Every room's in use. Every pocket is opening."The voice on the other end was a slow, chilling whisper of control.Rex.Reyaan Malhotra.He didn't need to shout to command. His voice carried a deadly confidence."Ensure no girl leaves without a client mark. Keep the ones with spirit. They sell higher. And the loud ones? Drug them until they forget how to speak."
"Yes, sir," the man replied with a short bow, even though Rex wasn't physically present. "No interference yet. Police don't suspect a thing. Our runners in Scotland, Swindon, Leeds—all reporting clean drops. And no losses. Not one."There was silence for a moment.Then Rex spoke again, softly, like a purr before a lion's bite. "This is why my empire thrives. Because I deal in currency more powerful than gold… desperation and desire. Keep the flames hot. Let them burn slowly."He ended the call with a tap.
Meanwhile, above, the so-called party raged on.Red lights. Veiled corridors. Silhouettes of girls being dragged to rooms where music drowned out their screams. Contracts signed over skin, deals paid in flesh. Clients were handed 'cards' with a girl's photo and background—like items on a menu. One man licked his lips as he scanned through the photos."She's got fire in her eyes," he laughed, picking a girl barely eighteen. "Perfect. I love breaking them."In the center of the upper lounge, a tall man in a golden mask sipped wine and observed it all. An under-boss—one of Rex's state handlers. Every region in England had one. Each handled a part of the network, but all reported back to one name: Rex. The Marked Devil. The one who controls every thread without ever showing his face.
The man chuckled, watching another girl disappear into a room. "And the world still thinks this is a 'missing person's case'…"
Meanwhile, in Swindon, far from the devil's lair, Kiaan's hands clenched around the file folder.He didn't know where yet. But he could feel it.A web was tightening.
And this time, the spider was still watching.
CBI HQ – Swindon, England
Top-Secret Briefing Room – 9:17 AM
The glass walls of the high-security meeting room were fogged for privacy, and a dense tension filled the air like static electricity. On the large screen were slides—victims' faces, missing dates, locations, and eerily similar patterns.Kiaan stood near the head of the table, laser pointer in hand, his sharp eyes darting across the reports that Dev, Tara, and Rehaan had compiled over the past 48 hours.The atmosphere was different. Tighter. More urgent. This wasn't a regular mission—this was personal for Kiaan now. A new hunt had begun.Tara sat with her arms crossed, squinting at the pixelated photo of a high-end hotel lobby. Rehaan was furiously typing on his tablet, trying to trace digital movement. Dev was flipping through a file of financial transactions—hotel bookings, club memberships, private jet logs.Kiaan finally broke the silence."These aren't just missing persons. This is organized."He clicked to the next slide, revealing a map with glowing red markers. "Twelve disappearances in the last three weeks. All females. Ages 19 to 26. Tourists, students, even local girls. All last seen at upscale clubs, 5-star hotels, or private invitation-only parties."He turned toward the others, voice calm—but the rage beneath it crackled."This isn't random. It's trafficking. And someone's selling them under our nose."Tara leaned forward. "You're thinking it's an international circuit?"Kiaan nodded once. "Maybe. Maybe something worse. But they're using England's elite culture as camouflage. Lavish venues. Private events. Somewhere in those shadows—they're being taken."Rehaan frowned. "But the CCTV footage we managed to scrape is wiped clean in most places. It's like someone's already sterilizing the evidence."Kiaan turned to Tara.
"Then hack deeper. Every luxurious club in Swindon, Sunderland, London—start pulling the CCTV data from the source servers. Even if they've erased it from public reach, I want it back. Use the dark net if you have to. If we find just one frame of one girl being taken, we'll tear the entire ring down."Tara gave a slight smirk, flexing her knuckles. "Looks like I won't be sleeping tonight."
"Good," Kiaan replied. "Let your insomnia serve justice."He turned to Dev next."Dev—I want intel on underground transactions. Look for movement of untraceable currencies—bitcoins, crypto wallets, black card usage. Cross-reference them with nights the girls disappeared. Someone's paying to keep this ring hidden."Dev saluted. "On it. I'll run the numbers so hard, their ghosts will leave fingerprints."
Kiaan looked at Rehaan. "You said most victims were last seen at 'private events.' Get me a list of invite-only clubs, member-based organizations, secret societies operating across these cities."Rehaan looked up. "That could include high-level businessmen, politicians… even foreign agents."Kiaan's gaze hardened. "Then let's shake their worlds.mHe turned back to the screen and clicked on the image of a girl—21, last seen smiling on the balcony of a velvet-lit lounge.
"Her name was Anika Sharma. She came here for college. Now she's vanished into thin air like she never existed. I want to find out where that thin air leads."Silence fell in the room for a moment as everyone stared at the missing girl's photo.Then Tara spoke, softly but with steel in her tone. "You think this is connected to… him?"Kiaan didn't answer right away.But something in his clenched jaw said yes. "Rex hides in elite circles. He moves through shadows wearing silk and smoke. If this ring leads to him—or if he's using it as a front—I want it burned to the ground."He tapped the map again. "We don't wait. We start tonight. Quietly. No one from outside our core circle gets looped in. Not Zid, not the other units. If word gets out, we lose our only chance to hunt this thing."
Tara nodded. Rehaan and Dev exchanged glances—they understood.This was off-book.Illegal, even.But righteous.And Kiaan—he wasn't chasing headlines.He was chasing ghosts…And maybe… chasing his own monster.As the screen flicked off and they all stood, readying to leave, Kiaan said one last thing:"This time… we hunt beneath the glamour. Beneath the gold.
Beneath the skin—we find the rot."