They say that the reckoning for evil deeds happens right here in this life, and whatever vile acts Prashant had committed until now—his account had already been settled long before he even realized it. Oblivious to the consequences of his own dark karma, Prashant sat slumped in a chair, staring up at the ceiling fan. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he muttered feverishly, "Why did they do this to me? If I hadn't found out in time, India's Prime Minister would be dead by now. Why did my own friends betray me like this?"Meanwhile, three figures sprinted through the shadows, their footsteps pounding against the night. One was tall and lanky, known as Lambu; another was diminutive, barely taller than a child, called Chhotu; and the third was stocky, a self-proclaimed poison expert who concocted toxins so elusive that no laboratory in the world could ever identify them. No one had ever detected his poisons—not once.Chhotu, the runt of the trio, was muttering under his breath as they ran. "How did our perfect plan fail? Everything was flawless! Why didn't the Prime Minister approach the children to shake hands? How did security suddenly go on such high alert?"Lambu, panting heavily, replied, "Our plan's busted. Someone must have tipped them off."The poisoner bellowed, cutting through the night air, "First, let's get back to the hideout! That drunkard Prashant must've reached there by now. His plans have never failed—not once. If today's operation went south, there's a reason behind it, and it's got to be Prashant. He must've triggered his private emergency system and sent an alert, or we'd have been caught by now. Move—faster!"
When the three finally burst into the hideout, the drunkard was nowhere to be seen. The poisoner snarled, "Lambu, call him on the private messenger—now! He should've been here ages ago, just like he said." Lambu's fingers trembled as he dialed. The call refused to connect. He tried again, sweat beading on his brow, but the line stayed dead. Chhotu snapped, "If it's not connecting, why keep trying, you idiot? Track him—find out where he is!" "Y-yeah, yeah, one second…" Lambu stammered, swiping frantically at his screen. "Wait… what the hell? His tracker's off. How—? Did he… did he get caught?" The poisoner's face twisted in disbelief. "Impossible. No one's sharper than the drunkard. No one in this world. His plans never fail. So how did this one collapse—and where is he?" At that exact moment, the crunch of boots echoed outside the hideout. Lambu crept to the grimy window and peered through the slit. Uniforms. Rifles. Police. He whirled around, voice a ragged whisper. "Cops… they've got guns…" Chhotu's eyes bulged. "How? Unless… unless the drunkard betrayed us! But he wouldn't—" "He couldn't," the poisoner cut in, panic cracking his voice. "He doesn't know—he can't know! Only the three of us knew the real plan. There's no way he found out. He wouldn't sell us out. We have to move—now!" They scrambled for the back exit, hearts hammering. But what betrayal were they so terrified of?
What had these three done to the drunkard(Prashant), the mastermind behind every flawless scheme—that filled them with dread at the thought of him discovering the truth?