The morning after the storm, Karachi woke to sirens.
At 6:14 AM, a private research lab in Gulshan went up in flames.
By 6:20, Inspector Jamshed was already on site — eyes sharp, coat wet from the lingering drizzle.
Ash and paper floated through the air like snow.
Among the burning wreckage, the lab's sign still hung:
"NeuroSym Research — Professor Dawood Consulting Division."
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The Burnt Message
Sub-Inspector Ahmed ran up, coughing from the smoke. "Sir… we found this near the entry gate."
He handed over a sealed plastic bag containing a scorched arrowhead — blackened, but intact.
Jamshed examined it carefully.
Etched on one side was a number: 47.
On the other — a single Urdu word, carved deep and clean: "Qurbani."
Sacrifice.
Major Rehman looked grim. "He's taunting us. Every number, every symbol — calculated."
Dawood arrived moments later, escorted by Farooq. He looked like a ghost.
"That was my old lab," he whispered. "I shut it down years ago. But the backup systems… if they survived, they hold files about Zain's experiments."
Jamshed turned toward him. "Then we retrieve them before he does."
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The Hunt Begins
Mehmood and Farzana set up a mobile command van nearby, feeding drone footage to the big screen.
Smoke plumes rose high, but deep in the rubble, thermal imaging revealed something else — a cold space below the main floor.
Farzana zoomed in. "There's a hatch, Abbu. Metal reinforcement. He didn't want us to find it."
Minutes later, the team pried it open.
A concrete tunnel led downward, lined with old computers still faintly humming on emergency power.
And on one flickering monitor — a live feed of Dawood's university office.
The screen glitched, then shifted.
A silhouette stood in Dawood's chair.
The same masked figure, holding another steel arrow.
> "The teacher must pay for the student's curse," the voice rasped.
"And you, Inspector, must decide who deserves to die."
The feed cut to black.
Then — a timer began counting down.
00:59:58.
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Race Against Time
Jamshed barked orders. "Ahmed, take the van! Mehmood, patch into the university CCTV! Farooq, triangulate the feed origin — NOW!"
The team scattered like gears in motion.
At the university, classes had begun. Students filled the corridors, unaware of the threat ticking toward them.
Rehman coordinated evacuation, while Jamshed and Farzana sprinted through the main hallway.
Farzana stopped mid-run. "Abbu! Look!"
Spray-painted on the wall — an arrow pointing left, followed by the same word: Qurbani.
They followed it down to Dawood's lab.
The door was locked — from the outside.
Inside, through the glass window, Dawood stood frozen — a steel arrow pressed to his chest, tied to a small mechanical trigger.
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The Impossible Choice
Mehmood's voice came through earpiece: "Abbu, the trigger's linked to a heart-rate sensor. If his pulse spikes — it detonates. We need precision."
Jamshed steadied himself, eyes calculating the rhythm of the machine.
"Farzana, distract him. Talk. Keep him calm."
Farzana stepped close to the glass, voice trembling but soft:
"Uncle Dawood… remember when you told me symbols can heal as much as they hurt? Focus on that. Not the pain. Breathe."
While she spoke, Jamshed unscrewed the air vent and crawled through the duct — every move silent, every breath controlled.
He reached the other side, behind the lab bench.
Timer: 00:01:26.
He closed his eyes for half a second. Then, with surgical speed, he plunged his knife into the trigger's circuit.
Sparks flew — the countdown froze at 00:00:03.
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The Aftermath
The arrow fell harmlessly to the floor.
Farzana burst into tears; Ahmed let out a shout of relief.
But their relief was short-lived.
Mehmood's voice cracked over the comm:
"Abbu, you need to get out. NOW. I traced the signal — the bomb wasn't here. It was in the command van."
Everyone turned.
Outside, through the glass, a flash of white light split the air.
BOOM!
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Silence
When the ringing in Jamshed's ears finally faded, he staggered outside.
The van was gone — twisted wreckage burning under the rain.
Farooq knelt beside it, blood on his hands, screaming for Ahmed.
The sub-inspector's radio lay on the ground, shattered but still buzzing faintly.
> "One down," the killer's voice whispered through static.
"Justice is balance, Inspector. The next arrow flies tonight."
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End of Chapter 5 — "The Arrow for Dawood"
The case is no longer about prevention — it's war.
Inspector Jamshed's team just lost their first man, and the arrows are still flying.