The city burned.
Delhi's ancient walls glowed crimson under the firelight, smoke coiling into the night sky like vengeful serpents. Streets that once hummed with the music of life—the laughter of chai vendors, the bargaining of shoppers, the rhythm of rickshaw bells—now echoed with the dissonant symphony of chaos: shattering glass, terrified shrieks, the relentless drumbeat of angry boots on asphalt. The air itself was thick with the scent of ash and rage.
And in the heart of the inferno— stood Alok.
Blood seeped from a graze on his arm, a souvenir from a sniper's bullet, staining his white sleeve a dark, rusted red. Yet, the fire in his eyes outshone the flames devouring the city. Each step he took was a deliberate, heavy punctuation in a sentence of rebellion. Behind him, a sea of faces—students with backpacks still slung over shoulders, laborers with calloused hands, the disenfranchised and the furious—moved as one entity. Their unified cry was a single word, a mantra, a war song that shook the very foundations of the night:
"Justice!"
---
The March
Saurabh fought his way through the throng, his face a mask of panic and desperation. He reached Alok's side, grabbing his elbow.
"Bhaiya, please, listen to me! This has gone too far! They're burning shops—attacking people who had nothing to do with what happened to Shree! This isn't justice; it's madness!"
Alok didn't break stride. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his profile sharp and unyielding in the flickering light. The heat of the fires warmed his skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold fury burning within him.
"They ignored our whispers, Saurabh," Alok said, his voice low and hardened, like stone grinding against stone. "Now they will hear our roar."
Saurabh tightened his grip, his voice cracking. "And how many innocent voices must be silenced for yours to be heard? Shree would have hated this—you know she would!"
Alok whirled around, his eyes flashing with raw, untamed anger. He shoved Saurabh back, the movement sharp and violent.
"Don't," he snarled, the word a blade. "Don't you dare say her name as if you understood her heart better than I did. She is gone because this world watched her die. Now this world will learn the cost of its silence."
The mob roared its approval, a beast awakened and hungry, feeding on his pain, his fury, his fire.
---
RAW's Pursuit
High above the chaos, in a sterile, blue-lit command center, Shakti's voice cut through the crackle of comms, strained and urgent.
"I said stand down! Do NOT engage without my direct order!"
On the screens before her, live feeds showed Alok's mob surging through the streets. They were no longer a group of protestors; they were a force of nature, an avalanche of anger.
Dhanna Seth's voice, cold and authoritative, boomed over the line. "If he leads that mob into Connaught Place, it will be a bloodbath. The operation is greenlit. Neutralize him. Now."
Shakti slammed her palm on the console, the impact echoing in the tense room. "You'll make him a martyr! If you kill him, you ignite the entire country!"
"Then you stop him," Seth's voice was ice, devoid of emotion. "Or we will."
---
The Temple Gates
Alok's march halted before the ancient steps of a temple, its sandstone façade glowing in the hellish light. The mob crowded behind him, a restless, breathing entity, their chants a low, steady hum. The air was electric, thick with anticipation.
He climbed the steps slowly, each footfall a deliberate act. The stone was warm beneath his touch. From the top, he looked down upon the sea of faces, each one etched with pain, with hope, with rage. He was their king, their general, their god of vengeance.
He raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent, hanging on his every word.
"This city!" his voice rang out, clear and powerful, carrying over the crackle of distant fires. "This city closed its eyes to our pain! It turned a deaf ear to our cries! Tonight, we become the fire they cannot ignore! Tonight, we become the truth they cannot silence!"
The mob erupted, a thunderous wave of sound and fury. Fists punched the air; voices rose in a primal scream.
But before the wave could crash forward, a single, clear voice cut through the noise, sharp as a shard of glass.
"Alok, stop!"
The crowd's roar faltered, fading into a confused murmur. Hundreds of heads turned.
At the foot of the temple steps stood Shakti. She was alone, her frame slight against the massive, angry crowd. The smoke parted around her like a curtain. Her hair was windswept, her face smudged with soot, but her eyes—her eyes held a ferocity that silenced the mob more effectively than any command.
---
Confrontation
Alok's jaw tightened, a muscle flickering. His voice, when it came, was cold, stripped of all recognition. "You shouldn't have come here, Shakti. There's no place for you in this."
She took a shaky step forward, then another, her boots scuffing on the ancient stone. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. The air grew still, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
"And let you drown in the same hatred that killed her?" Her voice trembled but did not break. "No, Alok. If you choose to burn, then I will burn with you."
A ripple of confusion went through the crowd. Whispers spread. Who is she? Is she with them?
Alok's laugh was a harsh, bitter sound. He spread his arms wide, addressing his followers. "You see? Even now, they send their agents to divide us! To protect the powerful! She doesn't care about Shree—she doesn't care about justice! She serves her masters!"
"No!" Shakti's cry was raw, ripped from her throat. She took the steps two at a time, stopping just a few feet from him. The wind picked up, whipping her hair across her face. "I care about you! I care about the boy who made Shree laugh until she cried! The boy who spent his nights tutoring slum kids for free! That boy is still in there, Alok! I know he is! I see him fighting!"
Alok flinched. For a single, breathtaking moment, the armor of his rage cracked. His eyes, for a fraction of a second, were not those of a vengeful demon, but of a shattered boy, lost and in unimaginable pain. He saw Shree's smile, heard her laugh, felt the ghost of her hand in his.
The air grew heavy, charged. A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. The first drop of rain hit his cheek, cool and startling against his feverish skin.
Then another.
And another.
A sudden, torrential downpour erupted from the heavens, as if the gods themselves were weeping. The rain hissed as it hit the burning buildings, steam rising in great clouds. It drenched the crowd, plastering hair to faces and clothes to skin, washing soot and tears alike down the temple steps.
Through the curtain of water, Alok stared at Shakti. The rain made it look like she was crying.
And in that moment, the faint, distant sound of a prayer mantra, played on a loop from a nearby temple's speakers, drifted through the storm, a haunting, spiritual counterpoint to the violence. The air blew, cold and insistent, as if trying to cleanse the night, to whisper a secret, to beg for something pure from them.
But the moment shattered.
The familiar, terrifying red dot of a laser sight appeared on Alok's chest, glowing faintly through the pouring rain.
---
The Shot, Again
Shakti's eyes widened in sheer terror. She screamed, her voice tearing through the storm, "NO! DON'T—!"
Crack.
The gunshot was muffled by the rain and thunder, but its impact was visceral. A chunk of stone beside Alok's head exploded, spraying fragments across his face.
The mob's fear instantly mutated back into rage. The beast was provoked. Screams turned into battle cries. Stones were hurled toward the rooftops; the surge of bodies became a stampede of fury.
Alok's brief moment of doubt was incinerated. He pointed a trembling finger toward the sniper's nest, his face a contorted mask of betrayal and wrath. "THEY ARE KILLING US! FIGHT BACK! BURN IT ALL!"
The crowd surged forward like a tidal wave, a single organism of destruction.
Shakti stumbled back, rain stinging her eyes. She screamed into her hidden comms, her voice raw and desperate. "Cease fire! I order you, cease fire now! You're making it worse!"
There was no response but static. They weren't listening to her anymore. She was just noise.
---
The Edge
Ignoring the chaos erupting around her, Shakti fought her way back up the steps to Alok. She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his wet skin, her body trembling from cold and adrenaline and fear.
"Look at me!" she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper yet somehow sharper than any scream. The rain soaked them both, making them seem like the only two people in the world, isolated in a storm of their own making. "This isn't you! This is the monster your grief has created! Don't you see? You're letting them turn Shree's memory into a weapon for the very hatred that killed her!"
Alok's blazing eyes met hers, and she saw it—the conflict. The unending war inside him. His voice, when it came, was broken, stripped bare, the voice of the boy he used to be.
"She loved me, Shakti." A sob escaped him, mingling with the rain. "And I couldn't protect her. That's all I am. That's all I'll ever be. The man who failed her."
Shakti shook her head violently, her own tears finally breaking free, mixing with the rain on her cheeks. "No! You are the man she believed in! The man she loved! If you destroy that man tonight, then she truly dies with you! Her memory, her love, her dream—it all turns to ash!"
Alok froze. Her words, laced with a truth so profound it was physical, hit him squarely in the chest. He staggered, the fight draining from his shoulders. For the first time, he looked… lost.
---
The Breaking Point
Suddenly, Saurabh stumbled through the fray onto the steps. His face was bruised and bleeding, his shirt torn. He shoved his way to the front, his voice a hoarse, desperate cry that cut through the rain and the chants.
"Alok! Enough! Open your eyes and look! Just look!"
Alok, shaken from his trance, turned.
And he saw.
Really saw.
Not the abstract concept of revenge, not the faceless enemy. He saw a young mother clutching a wailing infant, fleeing a burning shop—her shop, her life's work. He saw an old man being helped away, his face etched with a terror that mirrored Shree's in her last moments. He saw blood on the rain-slicked pavement, and it was not the blood of politicians or rioters. It was the blood of ordinary people. It was the blood Shree had spilled.
His breath hitched. His chest constricted, the weight of his actions crashing down upon him with the force of the monsoon rain. This was not justice. This was a funeral pyre, and he was building it on the bones of the innocent.
Saurabh's voice broke, filled with a pain deeper than any physical wound. "This isn't justice, bhaiya. This is Shree dying all over again… and this time… you're holding the knife."
The words were a final, devastating blow. Alok's knees buckled. He staggered, clutching his head, a raw, guttural sound of agony tearing from his throat. The storm inside him finally broke.
---
RAW Moves In
The thunder of helicopters suddenly drowned out the mob. Brilliant white searchlights sliced through the rain and smoke, pinning the crowd in their glare. The heavy rumble of armored vehicles echoed down the surrounding streets. The state's response had arrived, and it was merciless.
In her ear, Shakti heard Seth's voice, colder than the rain, utterly final.
"The window has closed. Take the shot. End this."
Her blood ran cold. She screamed into the mic, "NO! I have him! He's stopping! Give me one more minute! PLEASE!"
But her plea was met with dead air. The order had been given. She looked frantically toward the rooftops, knowing what was coming. She turned back to Alok, her entire world narrowing to his broken form on the steps.
"Alok," her voice was a desperate whisper, choked with tears and rain. "If you don't stop now, right now, they will kill you. And I… I won't be able to save you. Not this time."
---
The Decision
The world seemed to slow. The chants of the mob faded into a dull roar. The rain fell in slow, heavy drops. The mantra from the temple played on, a serene, haunting melody amidst the chaos.
Alok stood on the temple steps, a king at the precipice of his ruin. He was torn apart, his rage warring with a dawning, horrifying clarity. He saw the abyss he was about to leap into, and he saw the faint, fading image of the boy he used to be—the boy Shree loved.
His fists unclenched. His jaw, once set in iron, trembled. He looked at Shakti—really looked—and for the first time, he didn't see an obstacle or a spy. He saw his oldest friend. He saw the last bridge back to a world that made sense. He saw unwavering loyalty, and a love he had been too blind to notice.
His voice, when it finally came, was barely audible, a broken thing laid bare on the stone steps between them.
"Tell me, Shakti…" he whispered, the rain washing the grime and tears from his face. "If I stop… what is left of me?"
She stepped forward, closing the final distance between them. Her hand, cold and wet, found his. Her grip was fierce, an anchor in the storm. Her eyes, blazing with a love that duty could never erase, held his.
"What's left," she said, her voice steady and sure, "is the man Shree loved. And the man I… have always loved. The man I refuse to lose."
The words were a key, turning in the lock of his soul. They didn't erase the pain, but they gave him a reason to bear it. His chest heaved with a ragged, soul-deep breath. The fight left his body. His shoulders slumped. His hand, the one that had been raised to command an army, began to lower. It was a surrender. It was a beginning.
---
The Cliffhanger
And just as his fingers interlaced with hers—
A second crack, louder, closer, definitive.
Not from a rooftop.
From the crowd.
Shakti's eyes flew wide open. A spray of crimson bloomed on Alok's shoulder. He cried out, stumbling backward, his hand ripped from hers.
Time snapped back into violent, screaming focus.
The world went black.