We see—
Rohan, on the day he arrived in Amritsar for the very first time.
Not far from the airport,
by the side of the road,
stood an old roadside dhaba.
Rohan—
who had slaughtered a hundred men
just hours earlier—
sat there calmly,
eating naan and chole
as if nothing had happened.
As if no blood
had ever stained his hands.
The television inside the dhaba
played the news.
The anchor's voice
suddenly rose—
"Breaking News.
A major exposé involving
Northline Corp Chairman,
Arvind Malhotra."
Spoons froze mid-air.
Conversations died down.
"…Arvind Malhotra has been accused of
direct involvement in narcotics trafficking
and active links with terrorist organizations."
The entire dhaba fell silent.
"What…?"
"How is that even possible?"
From the crowd,
a man scoffed—
"They don't have any real news.
They just defame powerful people.
Anything for TRP."
Rohan kept eating.
Silent. Unbothered.
The anchor's voice echoed again—
"You may ask—how do we know this?
Let us tell you.
One day before Arvind Malhotra's body was found,
intelligence agencies confirmed
that he had been kidnapped."
The noise inside the dhaba
slowly disappeared.
"Soon after, we received information
that his body was discovered
at a construction site
outside the city."
The anchor paused.
"Investigations revealed
that he was brutally murdered.
Clear signs of torture were found."
The screen shifted to a flashback—
Arvind Malhotra.
Tied to a chair.
Broken.
He confesses—
his connection with terrorist organizations.
He reveals their base.
The next moment—
Rohan slices the artery in his neck.
Blood erupts
like a fountain.
No scream escapes Arvind's throat.
Rohan places a tablet beside the body
and walks away
without looking back.
The broadcast resumes.
A video plays.
Low light.
A man tied to a chair.
A battered face.
Swollen eyes.
Arvind Malhotra.
"In this video, he himself admits
to funding terrorist groups
and running an extensive narcotics network."
No one inside the dhaba speaks.
"The Government has seized
all properties belonging to Arvind Malhotra."
Images flash—
bungalows,
offices,
warehouses.
"Most locations yielded nothing.
However, a farmhouse on the outskirts of the city—
Greenfield—
revealed something horrifying."
The screen shows
Greenfield Farmhouse.
Blood everywhere.
Bodies scattered.
Heads severed from torsos.
Limbs torn apart.
A reporter questions
the head of the forensic team—
"Sir, what happened here?"
The forensic head replies—
"Hundreds of bodies have been recovered."
The reporter asks again—
"How do you think this was done?"
The forensic head exhales slowly—
"It appears as though the bodies
were cut by machines.
This looks like the work of
a major secret organization.
No single human could do this alone."
The reporter turns to the police.
"Sir, any further details?"
The officer answers—
"Nothing was found beyond this farmhouse.
And when we checked the CCTV footage—
the hard disks were missing."
The anchor continues.
Maps appear on screen.
"Large quantities of experimental drugs,
heroin,
ganja,
and other narcotics
have been seized."
Red lines spread across the map.
"This supply network
was operating across
the entire country."
The anchor asks—
"Who is the person
who exposed such a massive network?"
"And considering the scale of these crimes,
it would not be wrong to say
that this could not have been done
by one man alone."
People sit silently before the TV.
"Another question arises—
was the work meant to be done by the government
carried out by a secret organization instead?"
"And how did hundreds of terrorists
enter India undetected?"
This news was not limited to Amritsar.
Rajasthan.
Gujarat.
HELL.
Across all of India.
Some watched in relief.
Some in rage.
Some in fear.
HELL.
A dark room.
Multiple screens.
Berserker laughs loudly.
"Senior, check the dark web too,"
he says to Titan and Hebi.
"That's where the real news is."
Bloody clips.
Unfiltered footage.
"Senior Young Reaper really destroyed them,"
Berserker adds.
Reaper stands at a distance,
watching everything.
No smile on his face.
Only one thought—
My dear students…
don't celebrate yet.
Rohan hasn't even reached
Rajasthan or Gujarat.
Rajasthan.
A terrorist base.
Rohan's second dark web video
plays on screen.
The boss stands up,
laughing like a psychopath.
"Those mannerisms of yours…"
he chuckles.
"You're coming to me,
but I won't let you leave."
He laughs again.
Gujarat.
The boss stares at the screen.
Then screams—
"I will not spare you!"
Back at the dhaba.
The news ends.
Another program begins.
Rohan finishes his meal.
Places the money on the counter.
Stands up.
Without looking back,
he walks toward the airport.
A long war
had already begun.
COUNTDOWN: 5 / 10 DAYS
Only five days remained.