01-11-2025, 11:40 PM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
THAT NIGHT
Night had already wrapped Mumbai in its neon haze when Hemant’s vehicle pulled into his apartment building parking lot. The roar of the city dulled behind concrete walls as he stepped out, carrying the weight of his nightmares from the villa. The scent of cool in the air — the kind that reminded him of old beginnings. He exhaled once before heading upstairs.
When he entered the apartment, laughter greeted him. Karan was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, eyes glued to the television where digital racers tore through city streets. Beside him, Anjali sat cross-legged on the rug, textbooks and medical notes spread around her like a small battlefield. The warmth of the room pulled at something deep inside Hemant — something that still believed in family.
"Papa! You’re home!"
Karan dropped the controller and ran to him. Hemant smiled, the first genuine one of the day, as he knelt to catch his son in an embrace. “You beat the new level?” he asked, ruffling the boy’s hair.
"Almost! You got the new game, right? The one you promised?"
Hemant pulled the case from his coat pocket with a flourish.
"Of course. A promise is a promise"
Karan’s cheer echoed through the living room.
Anjali looked up from her notes and smiled.
"You’re spoiling him, Bhaiya"
He shrugged lightly.
"He deserves it. Studies treating you well?"
"Barely" she said, rubbing her temples.
"Pharmacology is trying to kill me, it might try again in the coming year, but I’ll survive"
"You’ll do more than survive" Hemant said, his tone softening.
"You’ll make a great doctor one day"
The sincerity in his voice made her smile wider. For a moment, it almost felt like the old days before everything had fallen apart. Karan pulled Hemant to the couch.
"Come on, Papa, let’s play! I’ll show you how to drift!"
They played for almost an hour — father and son locked in harmless competition, laughing over near misses and virtual crashes. It was a picture of joy, framed by the ordinary. And yet, behind it, something fragile hung — a silence that belonged to Sonarika, who stood by the doorway watching them. She smiled faintly. Watching them together was both balm and punishment. Her therapist had told her that healing began with acceptance — and seeing Hemant happy, even if not with her, was a small victory. She lingered quietly, clutching a cup of tea, before finally saying,
"Dinner’s ready whenever you both are"
Later that night, when Karan was asleep, the apartment dimmed into a quiet hum. Sonarika sat by the window, moonlight touching her face. Hemant walked past her with his usual restraint, a polite nod and little else.
"He’ll miss you when you go" he said, his tone even, unreadable.
She looked at him gently.
"I’ll miss seeing you both together. You’re a wonderful father, Hemant. Goa will feel… emptier without that"
He didn’t meet her eyes.
"Don’t worry. Soon I won’t have to torture myself seeing your face anymore"
The words hit her like ice.
"You don’t have to be cruel" she said quietly.
"I understand your pain. But sometimes the way you talk—"
"It should hurt" he interrupted.
"Because that’s what you left me with"
She took a breath, steady but trembling.
"I know. I made a terrible mistake. I’m trying to fix myself… therapy is helping. I know you hate me, and once I leave for Goa, you’ll finally have peace. But Hemant—"
Her voice cracked slightly.
"I still love you"
He turned to her then, eyes burning with something darker than anger.
"You always say that. Until Vikram walks in and you willingly spread your legs. Then love means nothing"
The venom in his voice came from heartbreak, not hatred.
"Go to Goa. Build your new life with your man, your new family with him. I’ll make sure Karan visits when he wants to. You won’t hear my complaints. After all , you've already pushed me to a corner and want me to stay a looser in this whole fiasco"
"Don't say that.....I never wanted you to be anything like that" Sonarika said with shaky voice.
"And yet here I am. You're walking away , back to his arms , a future full of potential. You will have everything. A millionaire charming man who will give you countless orgasms , you will have a new family , willing to birth his kids. You will still have Karan , Anjali. And me? I will be forced to live in my dream house reminding me of my failures and how much of a loser I am since my wife found a better man to keep herself warm"
"Its not true Hemant , I am not going back to him"
"I don't care. Atleast for now , you going away , will make me feel less tortured and captive in this relationship"
"You do care. Which is why you keep bringing it up"
Hemant looked at her a little taken aback. He didn't expect for her to see through his mockery.
"How can I not? You know , I just went to my new house this evening. And when I was seeing all the finished work and ambience , all it gave me was a reminder that this home was my tomb , the tomb of my marriage. And when I closed my eyes. I saw a nightmare , and that nightmare involved you and your new lover. The way both of you mocked me while doing the most vile things in front of me , it made me realize that the nightmare showed me the mirror. I am the one who looses everything in this scenario. You get to wreck my heart and my life and you're getting rewarded with a new life in a new place with your man!!!"
Sonarika was stunned about how Hemant thinks and at the same time overwhelmed with emotions as tears fell listening to her husband's confession and his turmoil. But then she saw the shift in his demeanor. Him taking over control over his emotional state as Hemant spoke again.
"But don't worry Sonarika. I am not going to sit and take it all like a mockery of my life. Like I did in the past , I am going to mould those mockery and turn it into fuel to my drive to my growth. I will not let your decisions be my legacy. I will move on , move on from your meaningless existence in my life. Atleast with you going to Goa , I will finally get some sort of relief and the motivation to move on from you. So all the best for your perfect life Sonarika. Just make sure our interaction is minimal for the future!"
Hemant silently walked away and slept on the bed ignoring her. She looked down, tears welling despite herself. The mockery in his tone wasn’t lost on her, but beneath it she saw the man who was still bleeding. She wanted to reach out, to bridge that distance with warmth, but she knew it would only deepen the wound.
"I know I have hurt you enough" she whispered.
"But you're making me fall in love with you all over again Mister!!!"
Sonarika sat still, staring at the moonlight spilling over Karan’s toy car on the floor. Somewhere deep down, she still believed distance might heal what time had shattered. But for now, all that filled the home was the quiet ache of two people who once promised forever — now hoping for a redemption of being together again.
FEW DAYS LATER
The morning sun was a pale gold, rising slowly over the industrial skyline of Mumbai. Hemant Kumar stood inside the main assembly floor of YOD Industries, watching a massive hydraulic frame lower a prototype chassis for a military-grade mobility vehicle. Sparks from welding torches rained in steady rhythm. It was a morning like any other—until Raquel entered. The sound of his shoes echoed against the concrete floor, breaking the hum of machines. His usually composed face was hard, jaw locked.
"Bhaijaan" Raquel said in a voice that didn’t match the calm morning.
"We’ve got a problem in Azad Colony"
Hemant slowly turned. No panic. Just a quiet, cold shift in his gaze. He rolled his cuff down, buttoned it, and said.
"Let’s go"
Outside, the engine of the green BMW M5 E39 growled to life, startling a few workers who had no idea their boss was driving into something far darker than boardroom meetings. As the M5 shot out of the factory gate, the early light struck the Eagle Crest mounted on the hood like a battle standard.
Azad Colony was already a storm when they arrived. Parents crowded the street, voices breaking through the humid air. Mothers in saris clutched photos, fathers barked into phones, kids stared wide-eyed. security officer hadn’t even shown up. When Hemant stepped out, the crowd shifted, as if a pillar had arrived. A desperate father ran to him, grabbed his shirt sleeve.
"Bhai… they took my daughter. Karim’s brothel in Kamathipura. They are going to destroy her!!!"
Another woman wailed
"They’re just children!"
Raquel’s voice was a grim knife.
"Karim’s men are hosting a daylight auction. Buyers from Dubai and Turkey landed this morning. This is big"
Hemant placed a steady hand on the man’s trembling shoulder.
"Listen to me" His voice was low, smooth as a blade sliding from its sheath.
"I will bring them home. All of them"
Silence fell on the crowd. For these people, his word was iron.
Raquel filled him in as they walked to the car.
"Three girls, all from the colony. Went missing just after they left for their institute. Witnesses saw a black Bolero van with tinted glass. It’s Karim Lala’s people. No doubt"
Hemant’s grip on the steering wheel tightened just slightly.
"Karim Lala?”
"He is a pimp and one of loyalist of Dilawar , his death has made his business difficuilt!"
Raquel corrected.
"He used to supply women for Dilawar and Raquel. The brothers were the muscle for his business. He works from a section at Kamathipura , thing is a fortress full of anti-social elements"
He stepped back, already shifting gears in his head.
"Raquel. Rally our men. Full kit. Its time to test their skills. Full warfare tactics!"
Within minutes, black SUVs rolled up to the Colony’s edge. The men who stepped out weren’t cops or gangsters—they were Hemant’s personal shadows. Ex-military, PMC veterans, ghosts who didn’t ask questions.
"Gear up at our Navi Mumbai hangar" Hemant ordered.
"We have a bunch of anti-social elements to be neutralized for good. Strategy will be shock and awe. It will bean aerial insertion. Suit up and wait for the plane to arrive. Raquel , I want the drone in the sky for some recon. You lead the initial surveillance"
Raquel gave a single nod.
"On it, Bhaijaan"
Hemant watched them move out like a trained blade being drawn. Then, without waiting, he slid back behind the wheel and drove. Not to Kamathipura. Not yet. First, he had a promise to keep with himself. The factory where YOD's primary HQ stood quiet, dust drifting through the morning beams. He walked through the silent hallway, past awards and framed newspaper clippings celebrating a man who built machines that reshaped the world. But beyond that—he knew— there was a part of him that ended lives.
The golden eagle statue on his desk gleamed faintly. He pressed its beak like a trigger. The wall behind the desk groaned, gears turning, until it split open like the gates of a hidden temple. An arsenal lay behind it. Rows of polished, deadly tools: Cold War relics reborn with modern precision. Carbines. Rifles. Knives. A stainless steel Smith & Wesson Model 629 .44 Magnum revolver with a chrome handle sat in its cradle like a silver beast.
But what stood in the center was something older. Darker.
The Inquisitor.
The blade leaned on its stand like it had been waiting for him to return.
His hand hovered over it. Hemant Kumar had kept Michael King on standby , a phantom that laid dormant and fed the success of Hemant Kumar—the phantom of blood and vengeance that once haunted the streets of London, Azarbaijaan and Shanghai. Michael was not just a storm , he was a calamity. Michael was fear itself.
And now, Karim’s people had touched the wrong children.
He wrapped his fingers around the sword’s crown-shaped hilt. The runes shimmered faintly under the sunbeams sneaking into the room.
As he lifted the blade, the Garuda ring—Anjali’s gift—caught the light, burning gold. On the other finger, the silver Archangel ring glimmered in sunlight like a quiet omen. The past and present met in the grip of that blade.
The air itself seemed to shift, the weight of the morning no longer gentle but heavy with coming violence.
He crossed the room and opened the matte-black gear locker. Out came the reinforced vest, black tactical coat, leather gloves, and combat boots polished not for ceremony—but war. Each buckle, each strap felt like closing a door on Hemant Kumar and reviving something older.
Raquel’s voice crackled through the comm in his ear.
"Bhaijaan. Drones confirm location. Karim’s base is set. Two dozen men. Heavy guard. Girls are alive. Buyers arrive in one hour"
Hemant’s tone was calm, but it chilled the air.
"Operation's a go , the plane will arrive in 15 minutes"
He holstered the revolver under his coat. The Inquisitor slid across his back with a soft, metallic whisper. He adjusted his gloves, pulled the hood over his head, and looked at his reflection in the steel locker door.
Hemant was gone.
Michael King was standing there.
"Let’s give the devil a reason to remember me" he whispered.
The sound of rotors began to grow distant outside as the men looked out of the hangar to see a Grey Cessna 206 taxing to the hangar. The men were confused as a mysterious man walked out wearing the same gear they had as he said.
"You boys ready....lets get going.....we're on the clock!"
Kamathipura was waiting, and Michael King had no mercy to offer. Karim Lala thought he was getting even for the death of his trusted ally. But little did he knew , he has awakened the same storm that dismantles Dilawar and Rafique's empire down!
The morning haze over Kamathipura shimmered faintly as the heat began to rise from the streets. Raquel sat in an old black pickup truck a block away from Karim Lala’s domain. His eyes scanned the brothel’s front gate through polarized glasses. Two heavy steel doors. Watchtowers rigged with floodlights. And outside, gleaming under the weak sun, a collection of imported SUVs and luxury sedans—silent proof of the “big money” guests already inside. Raquel pressed his comms.
"Command, eyes on the target. The main entrance is crawling with guards. And the rumors are true—buyers from Dubai and Turkey. I count at least eight high-end cars inside"
Back at YOD Industries HQ, Kamya and Vaibhav sat before glowing monitors in the Control Room. Vaibhav maneuvered the drone, its shadow gliding over tin rooftops. Kamya toggled on the x-ray scanner.
"I’ve got fifty heat signatures inside" she said.
"Looks like a small army"
"Switch to thermal" Raquel ordered.
Kamya flipped the view. Red silhouettes flared against the black.
"Thirty armed. Mostly with country pistols and shotguns. Nothing exotic, but plenty of bodies"
Raquel smirked.
"Thirty armed. That’s thirty coffins"
In the sky, the soft drone of propellers grew louder. A gray Cessna 206 cut through the morning clouds, heading straight for the slum labyrinth. Inside, Hemant’s black-ops team sat in silence—faces hidden behind tactical masks, Vector R4 rifles resting across armored vests embossed with the Eagle sigil.
"Green light" Raquel’s voice came through.
"Drop zone is clear"
The rear hatch opened. Wind roared in. One by one, the men jumped, parachutes blooming like ghostly wings against the sky. They cut through the rising sun, shadows descending toward hell. Raquel climbed up a nearby building, his boots grinding against the concrete as he reached the rooftop. He unzipped the long case he’d carried and assembled the CheyTac Intervention sniper rifle—the same one he used to put down Dilawar’s lieutenants. He lay prone, chambered a round, and whispered.
"Overwatch in position"
The mercenaries landed with soft precision on the brothel’s roof. Two rooftop guards smoked carelessly by a rusted water tank. They never heard the silenced shots that dropped them. Inside, below the corrugated roof, chaos had its own rhythm. Dozens of men were packed around an indoor fighting pit, laughing, drinking, smoking. A filthy stage rose at the center. Karim Lala strutted onto it, gold rings flashing, cigar between his teeth. A cheer went up.
A giant music system was being played , humming a vintage song from the classic film Mohra named Tu Cheez Badi Hain Mast Mast.
"Gentlemen!" Karim’s voice boomed through the cheap loudspeakers.
"Today, I bring you fresh quality—untouched and priceless!"
His goons dragged out the kidnapped girls, still in their uniforms. Their faces were red and swollen from crying. The crowd howled like animals. Karim cracked a grin, making vile remarks about their age, their worth, their “purity.”
"Let the bidding begin!" he barked.
Numbers flew. A heavyset man in a keffiyeh raised his hand with a smug grin. He outbid them all. The room broke into applause.
The girl screamed.
"Maa! Maa, help!"
Then the ceiling opened.
The rafters came alive with shadows. Hemant’s men rappelled down with rifles spitting suppressed bursts. Lookouts were taken out before they even turned their heads. The first henchman to die didn’t even hit the floor before the next one followed. Panic erupted. Karim’s men scrambled for guns, but Hemant’s mercenaries moved like a black tide—precise, surgical, merciless.
From the rooftop, Raquel’s scope followed every twitch of muscle. Crack. A henchman’s skull painted the back wall. Crack. Another’s shotgun clattered to the floor, his body folding backward like paper. One by one, they fell. By the time the mercs controlled the rafters, half the room was dead or disarmed. The remaining henchmen huddled in confusion, buyers ducking behind crates.
Karim Lala’s face twisted from arrogance to fear.
"KAUN HAI WOH!!!! (WHO IS HE!!!)" he screamed.
"USS AADMI KO DHONDOO!!! (FIND THE MAN BEHIND THIS?!)"
A young girl—the third one in the line—lifted her tear-streaked face. Her voice shook but carried.
"Aadmi Nahin! (It’s not a man)…" she said.
"Toofan!!!! (It’s a storm)"
Just then , one of Hemant's man came near the music system , turned off the old music and plugged his phone to play Toofan song from KGF 2.
Then the main door exploded open.
Samandar Mein Lehar Uthi Hain Ziddi Ziddi Hain Toofan!
(Waves Have Risen In The Sea By This Stubborn Stubborn Storm!)
Sunlight poured through like a blade. Hemant stepped in, wearing his black tactical coat, leather gloves, reinforced vest, and boots that echoed like a war drum against the floor. The room fell into a stillness thick enough to choke on.
Chattanein Bhi Kaap Rahin Hain Ziddi Ziddi Hain Toofan!
(Even The Mountains Are Trembling By This Stubborn Stubborn Storm!)
Behind him, the faint gleam of the Inquisitor (Hemant’s sword) caught the sun—an old blade with a crown-shaped hilt, whispering of legends best left buried. He didn’t walk like a man on a mission. He walked like Judgment itself.
He lifted his hand and gave a silent signal. His men lowered their rifles.
Ziddi Hain.....Ziddi Hai.....Ziddi Hain!
(Stubborn.....So Stubborn!)
"KILL HIM!" Karim roared in anger and panic.
The remaining goons rushed.
As the Toofan song reverbrated from the music system , it set the stage for another mayhem for the revived Michael King. The Inquisitor flashed from its sheath like a predator set loose. The first man who charged lost his arm before he understood what was happening. The second met the flat of the blade, which sent him crashing into a wall. The third tried to fire—Hemant twisted, deflected, and opened him up from shoulder to hip in one fluid motion.
Michael King was awake.
The blade moved like it wasn’t bound by earthly weight—cutting, spinning, dancing through flesh. Screams mixed with the clash of steel. Blood streaked the concrete floor. Bodies piled up in an orderly line of death. No street-trained thug could match his years of war. His strikes were clean, deliberate—every movement from a mind that had mapped this dance long ago in darker places. Karim’s empire collapsed in minutes.
When the last henchman hit the ground, only Karim and the foreign buyers remained. Hemant advanced, boots splashing in blood. One of the buyers tried to speak—he never finished. Hemant swung the Inquisitor in a single, perfect arc. The man’s head rolled onto the bidding table. Karim backed away, eyes wide, gold rings shaking.
"You.....killed Dilawar" he stammered.
"He was like a brother—"
Hemant tilted his head slightly. His voice was quiet.
"Then let me send you to him!"
The blade slid into Karim’s gut with surgical precision. Karim’s scream tore through the emptying hall as Hemant twisted the blade, then let the man drop like the trash he was.
"Free them all" Hemant ordered, voice cold.
His men moved immediately—chains were cut, doors kicked open, girls ushered out with soft hands and steady words. The older women imprisoned there sobbed as they saw the eagle sigil and realized their nightmare was over.
Raquel descended from the rooftop, boots crunching on spent shells. He looked around at the red-painted floor and the mountain of dead men.
"Bhaijaan" he muttered.
"What’s next?" He asked.
Hemant wiped the blade clean on Karim’s expensive sherwani.
"We erase this place"
Raquel nodded and signaled. Several mercenaries rolled in gas cylinders from the kitchen, smashing open valves. Others doused the brothel in petrol and kerosene, moving with military precision. Outside, the girls were being escorted into waiting vans, away from the inferno to come. Hemant stood alone in the doorway where he had first appeared, Inquisitor hanging at his side. He looked back one last time at the sea of steel cylinders lying across the floor. Then he picked up a shotgun dropped by a dead henchman.
Click.
One pull of the trigger.
The world behind him erupted.
A column of fire tore through Karim’s domain, the shockwave shattering nearby windows. The explosion consumed every trace of the trafficking den, sending a dark plume high into the morning sky. The explosions tremors were felt across the city as the fire cloud formed was massive and visible through kilometers.
Hemant didn’t flinch. He walked away as fire ate the final remnants of Dilawar's empire , erasing his existence for good, his boots crunching on broken glass. Behind him, Michael King’s storm faded back into silence—until the next time he’d be called.
The promise was fulfilled. Azad Colony’s daughters were going home. And a portion of Kamathipura was burning.
The flames of Kamathipura still painted the far horizon with a faint orange smear when Hemant Kumar’s green BMW M5 E39 rolled back into Azad Colony. The streets that had been a cradle of grief that morning were now alive with voices, laughter, and tears of joy. Mothers ran barefoot into the street, fathers stumbled forward with trembling hands, and young girls—still shaken, but alive—were stepping down from YOD transport vans wrapped in blankets, led gently by Hemant’s men.
The crowd parted as Hemant stepped out of his car. He was still wearing the black tactical coat, though the collar was turned up to hide the blood at the edge of his sleeve. His face carried no triumph—only a quiet exhaustion, the weight of a man who had seen what he had to become to keep his word.
The first father to see him broke into tears and dropped to his knees, clutching Hemant’s hand.
"Sir… you brought her back" he said, voice cracking.
"You brought my girl back" Behind him, his daughter sobbed in her mother’s arms, whispering.
"He came, Ma… he came to save us!"
Another woman stepped forward, her palms pressed together.
"Kumar Saab, we will never forget this day" she said, eyes shining.
"You didn’t just save them. You saved all of our honor. We will always stand by you. Azad Colony is your kingdom!"
A chorus followed—men and women speaking over each other, voices trembling but strong.
"You’re our protector!"
"Our brother!"
"Our King!"
The term king bothered him. It brought that twinge of nightmare back in him. He had people who trusted him in the past and then they all perished and he couldn't save them. Hemant raised a hand, motioning for calm.
"I am not a king.....and you all don’t owe me anything" he said quietly.
"What you owe is to yourselves—to never bow again. To no man. To no monster"
His gaze swept the Colony, the place he had once liberated from Dilawar’s chains.
"Azad Colony stays free because you fight to keep it that way. I am just here as a support"
The people nodded, still weeping, still clinging to their children.
Raquel approached from behind, his usual sharp smirk softened.
"You did it again, Bhaijaan" he said, voice low.
"Perhaps you should accept that not everything about your past is a pain!"
Hemant exhaled slowly, eyes tracing the faces around him—mothers whispering prayers, fathers holding daughters as if afraid to let go.
"No" he murmured.
"I can't Raquel.....because everytime I try...it brings the memories of loss with it and I cannot bear it anymore!"
As the noise faded around him, his mind drifted. For a moment, he wasn’t standing in the middle of the street surrounded by gratitude—he was back in the empty silence of his home. The echo of Sonarika’s voice still lingered in his memory, the bitterness of their last argument, the cold distance that had become their routine.
Not so long ago victory felt hollow. When every battle he won left him more alone because of the situation in his house. But now, watching the fathers lift their daughters high into the air, hearing the laughter break through the scars of the morning—he felt something different. Something pure.
It wasn’t redemption. It was purpose.
Maybe his marriage was falling apart. Maybe the home he built in love had become a cage of silence. But this—this sight of Azad Colony reborn—was proof that his fight still meant something. That he could still protect, still build, still give others what he could not keep for himself.
Raquel stood beside him, arms folded.
"They’ll remember this day for generations" he said.
Hemant’s eyes stayed on the people.
"They shouldn’t remember me" he said.
"They should remember that they were never helpless"
A small girl, no older than nine, ran up to him suddenly. She held a small paper flower, crushed slightly from her grip, and pressed it into his palm.
"For you, Uncle" she said, smiling.
"Thank you for saving us"
For the first time that day, Hemant’s lips curved—not quite a smile, but close enough to one. He crouched and brushed her hair back gently.
"Be strong" he said.
"Always"
The child nodded and ran back to her mother.
Raquel caught the look in Hemant’s eyes—half fire, half ache.
"You know" he said quietly.
"Maybe you can’t fix everything, Bhaijaan. But you still make the world better one street at a time"
Hemant looked toward the rising sun over Mumbai’s skyline.
"That’s enough for now" he said simply.
"That’s enough"
As he turned to leave, the Colony erupted again with cheers, chants of his name echoing through the narrow lanes. He didn’t stop to bask in it. He simply walked back to his car, the day wind carrying the faint smell of burning smoke from the ruins of Kamathipura.
Behind him, families were whole again.
Ahead of him, his factory awaited—another day, another mask to wear.
But deep inside, where the identities of Hemant Kumar and Michael King switched accordingly, a quiet peace lingered. For all the fire and blood he carried, he had still kept one promise that mattered.
And in that promise, he found a sliver of light strong enough to keep the darkness at bay.
(TO BE CONTD)
Night had already wrapped Mumbai in its neon haze when Hemant’s vehicle pulled into his apartment building parking lot. The roar of the city dulled behind concrete walls as he stepped out, carrying the weight of his nightmares from the villa. The scent of cool in the air — the kind that reminded him of old beginnings. He exhaled once before heading upstairs.
When he entered the apartment, laughter greeted him. Karan was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, eyes glued to the television where digital racers tore through city streets. Beside him, Anjali sat cross-legged on the rug, textbooks and medical notes spread around her like a small battlefield. The warmth of the room pulled at something deep inside Hemant — something that still believed in family.
"Papa! You’re home!"
Karan dropped the controller and ran to him. Hemant smiled, the first genuine one of the day, as he knelt to catch his son in an embrace. “You beat the new level?” he asked, ruffling the boy’s hair.
"Almost! You got the new game, right? The one you promised?"
Hemant pulled the case from his coat pocket with a flourish.
"Of course. A promise is a promise"
Karan’s cheer echoed through the living room.
Anjali looked up from her notes and smiled.
"You’re spoiling him, Bhaiya"
He shrugged lightly.
"He deserves it. Studies treating you well?"
"Barely" she said, rubbing her temples.
"Pharmacology is trying to kill me, it might try again in the coming year, but I’ll survive"
"You’ll do more than survive" Hemant said, his tone softening.
"You’ll make a great doctor one day"
The sincerity in his voice made her smile wider. For a moment, it almost felt like the old days before everything had fallen apart. Karan pulled Hemant to the couch.
"Come on, Papa, let’s play! I’ll show you how to drift!"
They played for almost an hour — father and son locked in harmless competition, laughing over near misses and virtual crashes. It was a picture of joy, framed by the ordinary. And yet, behind it, something fragile hung — a silence that belonged to Sonarika, who stood by the doorway watching them. She smiled faintly. Watching them together was both balm and punishment. Her therapist had told her that healing began with acceptance — and seeing Hemant happy, even if not with her, was a small victory. She lingered quietly, clutching a cup of tea, before finally saying,
"Dinner’s ready whenever you both are"
Later that night, when Karan was asleep, the apartment dimmed into a quiet hum. Sonarika sat by the window, moonlight touching her face. Hemant walked past her with his usual restraint, a polite nod and little else.
"He’ll miss you when you go" he said, his tone even, unreadable.
She looked at him gently.
"I’ll miss seeing you both together. You’re a wonderful father, Hemant. Goa will feel… emptier without that"
He didn’t meet her eyes.
"Don’t worry. Soon I won’t have to torture myself seeing your face anymore"
The words hit her like ice.
"You don’t have to be cruel" she said quietly.
"I understand your pain. But sometimes the way you talk—"
"It should hurt" he interrupted.
"Because that’s what you left me with"
She took a breath, steady but trembling.
"I know. I made a terrible mistake. I’m trying to fix myself… therapy is helping. I know you hate me, and once I leave for Goa, you’ll finally have peace. But Hemant—"
Her voice cracked slightly.
"I still love you"
He turned to her then, eyes burning with something darker than anger.
"You always say that. Until Vikram walks in and you willingly spread your legs. Then love means nothing"
The venom in his voice came from heartbreak, not hatred.
"Go to Goa. Build your new life with your man, your new family with him. I’ll make sure Karan visits when he wants to. You won’t hear my complaints. After all , you've already pushed me to a corner and want me to stay a looser in this whole fiasco"
"Don't say that.....I never wanted you to be anything like that" Sonarika said with shaky voice.
"And yet here I am. You're walking away , back to his arms , a future full of potential. You will have everything. A millionaire charming man who will give you countless orgasms , you will have a new family , willing to birth his kids. You will still have Karan , Anjali. And me? I will be forced to live in my dream house reminding me of my failures and how much of a loser I am since my wife found a better man to keep herself warm"
"Its not true Hemant , I am not going back to him"
"I don't care. Atleast for now , you going away , will make me feel less tortured and captive in this relationship"
"You do care. Which is why you keep bringing it up"
Hemant looked at her a little taken aback. He didn't expect for her to see through his mockery.
"How can I not? You know , I just went to my new house this evening. And when I was seeing all the finished work and ambience , all it gave me was a reminder that this home was my tomb , the tomb of my marriage. And when I closed my eyes. I saw a nightmare , and that nightmare involved you and your new lover. The way both of you mocked me while doing the most vile things in front of me , it made me realize that the nightmare showed me the mirror. I am the one who looses everything in this scenario. You get to wreck my heart and my life and you're getting rewarded with a new life in a new place with your man!!!"
Sonarika was stunned about how Hemant thinks and at the same time overwhelmed with emotions as tears fell listening to her husband's confession and his turmoil. But then she saw the shift in his demeanor. Him taking over control over his emotional state as Hemant spoke again.
"But don't worry Sonarika. I am not going to sit and take it all like a mockery of my life. Like I did in the past , I am going to mould those mockery and turn it into fuel to my drive to my growth. I will not let your decisions be my legacy. I will move on , move on from your meaningless existence in my life. Atleast with you going to Goa , I will finally get some sort of relief and the motivation to move on from you. So all the best for your perfect life Sonarika. Just make sure our interaction is minimal for the future!"
Hemant silently walked away and slept on the bed ignoring her. She looked down, tears welling despite herself. The mockery in his tone wasn’t lost on her, but beneath it she saw the man who was still bleeding. She wanted to reach out, to bridge that distance with warmth, but she knew it would only deepen the wound.
"I know I have hurt you enough" she whispered.
"But you're making me fall in love with you all over again Mister!!!"
Sonarika sat still, staring at the moonlight spilling over Karan’s toy car on the floor. Somewhere deep down, she still believed distance might heal what time had shattered. But for now, all that filled the home was the quiet ache of two people who once promised forever — now hoping for a redemption of being together again.
FEW DAYS LATER
The morning sun was a pale gold, rising slowly over the industrial skyline of Mumbai. Hemant Kumar stood inside the main assembly floor of YOD Industries, watching a massive hydraulic frame lower a prototype chassis for a military-grade mobility vehicle. Sparks from welding torches rained in steady rhythm. It was a morning like any other—until Raquel entered. The sound of his shoes echoed against the concrete floor, breaking the hum of machines. His usually composed face was hard, jaw locked.
"Bhaijaan" Raquel said in a voice that didn’t match the calm morning.
"We’ve got a problem in Azad Colony"
Hemant slowly turned. No panic. Just a quiet, cold shift in his gaze. He rolled his cuff down, buttoned it, and said.
"Let’s go"
Outside, the engine of the green BMW M5 E39 growled to life, startling a few workers who had no idea their boss was driving into something far darker than boardroom meetings. As the M5 shot out of the factory gate, the early light struck the Eagle Crest mounted on the hood like a battle standard.
Azad Colony was already a storm when they arrived. Parents crowded the street, voices breaking through the humid air. Mothers in saris clutched photos, fathers barked into phones, kids stared wide-eyed. security officer hadn’t even shown up. When Hemant stepped out, the crowd shifted, as if a pillar had arrived. A desperate father ran to him, grabbed his shirt sleeve.
"Bhai… they took my daughter. Karim’s brothel in Kamathipura. They are going to destroy her!!!"
Another woman wailed
"They’re just children!"
Raquel’s voice was a grim knife.
"Karim’s men are hosting a daylight auction. Buyers from Dubai and Turkey landed this morning. This is big"
Hemant placed a steady hand on the man’s trembling shoulder.
"Listen to me" His voice was low, smooth as a blade sliding from its sheath.
"I will bring them home. All of them"
Silence fell on the crowd. For these people, his word was iron.
Raquel filled him in as they walked to the car.
"Three girls, all from the colony. Went missing just after they left for their institute. Witnesses saw a black Bolero van with tinted glass. It’s Karim Lala’s people. No doubt"
Hemant’s grip on the steering wheel tightened just slightly.
"Karim Lala?”
"He is a pimp and one of loyalist of Dilawar , his death has made his business difficuilt!"
Raquel corrected.
"He used to supply women for Dilawar and Raquel. The brothers were the muscle for his business. He works from a section at Kamathipura , thing is a fortress full of anti-social elements"
He stepped back, already shifting gears in his head.
"Raquel. Rally our men. Full kit. Its time to test their skills. Full warfare tactics!"
Within minutes, black SUVs rolled up to the Colony’s edge. The men who stepped out weren’t cops or gangsters—they were Hemant’s personal shadows. Ex-military, PMC veterans, ghosts who didn’t ask questions.
"Gear up at our Navi Mumbai hangar" Hemant ordered.
"We have a bunch of anti-social elements to be neutralized for good. Strategy will be shock and awe. It will bean aerial insertion. Suit up and wait for the plane to arrive. Raquel , I want the drone in the sky for some recon. You lead the initial surveillance"
Raquel gave a single nod.
"On it, Bhaijaan"
Hemant watched them move out like a trained blade being drawn. Then, without waiting, he slid back behind the wheel and drove. Not to Kamathipura. Not yet. First, he had a promise to keep with himself. The factory where YOD's primary HQ stood quiet, dust drifting through the morning beams. He walked through the silent hallway, past awards and framed newspaper clippings celebrating a man who built machines that reshaped the world. But beyond that—he knew— there was a part of him that ended lives.
The golden eagle statue on his desk gleamed faintly. He pressed its beak like a trigger. The wall behind the desk groaned, gears turning, until it split open like the gates of a hidden temple. An arsenal lay behind it. Rows of polished, deadly tools: Cold War relics reborn with modern precision. Carbines. Rifles. Knives. A stainless steel Smith & Wesson Model 629 .44 Magnum revolver with a chrome handle sat in its cradle like a silver beast.
But what stood in the center was something older. Darker.
The Inquisitor.
The blade leaned on its stand like it had been waiting for him to return.
His hand hovered over it. Hemant Kumar had kept Michael King on standby , a phantom that laid dormant and fed the success of Hemant Kumar—the phantom of blood and vengeance that once haunted the streets of London, Azarbaijaan and Shanghai. Michael was not just a storm , he was a calamity. Michael was fear itself.
And now, Karim’s people had touched the wrong children.
He wrapped his fingers around the sword’s crown-shaped hilt. The runes shimmered faintly under the sunbeams sneaking into the room.
As he lifted the blade, the Garuda ring—Anjali’s gift—caught the light, burning gold. On the other finger, the silver Archangel ring glimmered in sunlight like a quiet omen. The past and present met in the grip of that blade.
The air itself seemed to shift, the weight of the morning no longer gentle but heavy with coming violence.
He crossed the room and opened the matte-black gear locker. Out came the reinforced vest, black tactical coat, leather gloves, and combat boots polished not for ceremony—but war. Each buckle, each strap felt like closing a door on Hemant Kumar and reviving something older.
Raquel’s voice crackled through the comm in his ear.
"Bhaijaan. Drones confirm location. Karim’s base is set. Two dozen men. Heavy guard. Girls are alive. Buyers arrive in one hour"
Hemant’s tone was calm, but it chilled the air.
"Operation's a go , the plane will arrive in 15 minutes"
He holstered the revolver under his coat. The Inquisitor slid across his back with a soft, metallic whisper. He adjusted his gloves, pulled the hood over his head, and looked at his reflection in the steel locker door.
Hemant was gone.
Michael King was standing there.
"Let’s give the devil a reason to remember me" he whispered.
The sound of rotors began to grow distant outside as the men looked out of the hangar to see a Grey Cessna 206 taxing to the hangar. The men were confused as a mysterious man walked out wearing the same gear they had as he said.
"You boys ready....lets get going.....we're on the clock!"
Kamathipura was waiting, and Michael King had no mercy to offer. Karim Lala thought he was getting even for the death of his trusted ally. But little did he knew , he has awakened the same storm that dismantles Dilawar and Rafique's empire down!
The morning haze over Kamathipura shimmered faintly as the heat began to rise from the streets. Raquel sat in an old black pickup truck a block away from Karim Lala’s domain. His eyes scanned the brothel’s front gate through polarized glasses. Two heavy steel doors. Watchtowers rigged with floodlights. And outside, gleaming under the weak sun, a collection of imported SUVs and luxury sedans—silent proof of the “big money” guests already inside. Raquel pressed his comms.
"Command, eyes on the target. The main entrance is crawling with guards. And the rumors are true—buyers from Dubai and Turkey. I count at least eight high-end cars inside"
Back at YOD Industries HQ, Kamya and Vaibhav sat before glowing monitors in the Control Room. Vaibhav maneuvered the drone, its shadow gliding over tin rooftops. Kamya toggled on the x-ray scanner.
"I’ve got fifty heat signatures inside" she said.
"Looks like a small army"
"Switch to thermal" Raquel ordered.
Kamya flipped the view. Red silhouettes flared against the black.
"Thirty armed. Mostly with country pistols and shotguns. Nothing exotic, but plenty of bodies"
Raquel smirked.
"Thirty armed. That’s thirty coffins"
In the sky, the soft drone of propellers grew louder. A gray Cessna 206 cut through the morning clouds, heading straight for the slum labyrinth. Inside, Hemant’s black-ops team sat in silence—faces hidden behind tactical masks, Vector R4 rifles resting across armored vests embossed with the Eagle sigil.
"Green light" Raquel’s voice came through.
"Drop zone is clear"
The rear hatch opened. Wind roared in. One by one, the men jumped, parachutes blooming like ghostly wings against the sky. They cut through the rising sun, shadows descending toward hell. Raquel climbed up a nearby building, his boots grinding against the concrete as he reached the rooftop. He unzipped the long case he’d carried and assembled the CheyTac Intervention sniper rifle—the same one he used to put down Dilawar’s lieutenants. He lay prone, chambered a round, and whispered.
"Overwatch in position"
The mercenaries landed with soft precision on the brothel’s roof. Two rooftop guards smoked carelessly by a rusted water tank. They never heard the silenced shots that dropped them. Inside, below the corrugated roof, chaos had its own rhythm. Dozens of men were packed around an indoor fighting pit, laughing, drinking, smoking. A filthy stage rose at the center. Karim Lala strutted onto it, gold rings flashing, cigar between his teeth. A cheer went up.
A giant music system was being played , humming a vintage song from the classic film Mohra named Tu Cheez Badi Hain Mast Mast.
"Gentlemen!" Karim’s voice boomed through the cheap loudspeakers.
"Today, I bring you fresh quality—untouched and priceless!"
His goons dragged out the kidnapped girls, still in their uniforms. Their faces were red and swollen from crying. The crowd howled like animals. Karim cracked a grin, making vile remarks about their age, their worth, their “purity.”
"Let the bidding begin!" he barked.
Numbers flew. A heavyset man in a keffiyeh raised his hand with a smug grin. He outbid them all. The room broke into applause.
The girl screamed.
"Maa! Maa, help!"
Then the ceiling opened.
The rafters came alive with shadows. Hemant’s men rappelled down with rifles spitting suppressed bursts. Lookouts were taken out before they even turned their heads. The first henchman to die didn’t even hit the floor before the next one followed. Panic erupted. Karim’s men scrambled for guns, but Hemant’s mercenaries moved like a black tide—precise, surgical, merciless.
From the rooftop, Raquel’s scope followed every twitch of muscle. Crack. A henchman’s skull painted the back wall. Crack. Another’s shotgun clattered to the floor, his body folding backward like paper. One by one, they fell. By the time the mercs controlled the rafters, half the room was dead or disarmed. The remaining henchmen huddled in confusion, buyers ducking behind crates.
Karim Lala’s face twisted from arrogance to fear.
"KAUN HAI WOH!!!! (WHO IS HE!!!)" he screamed.
"USS AADMI KO DHONDOO!!! (FIND THE MAN BEHIND THIS?!)"
A young girl—the third one in the line—lifted her tear-streaked face. Her voice shook but carried.
"Aadmi Nahin! (It’s not a man)…" she said.
"Toofan!!!! (It’s a storm)"
Just then , one of Hemant's man came near the music system , turned off the old music and plugged his phone to play Toofan song from KGF 2.
Then the main door exploded open.
Samandar Mein Lehar Uthi Hain Ziddi Ziddi Hain Toofan!
(Waves Have Risen In The Sea By This Stubborn Stubborn Storm!)
Sunlight poured through like a blade. Hemant stepped in, wearing his black tactical coat, leather gloves, reinforced vest, and boots that echoed like a war drum against the floor. The room fell into a stillness thick enough to choke on.
Chattanein Bhi Kaap Rahin Hain Ziddi Ziddi Hain Toofan!
(Even The Mountains Are Trembling By This Stubborn Stubborn Storm!)
Behind him, the faint gleam of the Inquisitor (Hemant’s sword) caught the sun—an old blade with a crown-shaped hilt, whispering of legends best left buried. He didn’t walk like a man on a mission. He walked like Judgment itself.
He lifted his hand and gave a silent signal. His men lowered their rifles.
Ziddi Hain.....Ziddi Hai.....Ziddi Hain!
(Stubborn.....So Stubborn!)
"KILL HIM!" Karim roared in anger and panic.
The remaining goons rushed.
As the Toofan song reverbrated from the music system , it set the stage for another mayhem for the revived Michael King. The Inquisitor flashed from its sheath like a predator set loose. The first man who charged lost his arm before he understood what was happening. The second met the flat of the blade, which sent him crashing into a wall. The third tried to fire—Hemant twisted, deflected, and opened him up from shoulder to hip in one fluid motion.
Michael King was awake.
The blade moved like it wasn’t bound by earthly weight—cutting, spinning, dancing through flesh. Screams mixed with the clash of steel. Blood streaked the concrete floor. Bodies piled up in an orderly line of death. No street-trained thug could match his years of war. His strikes were clean, deliberate—every movement from a mind that had mapped this dance long ago in darker places. Karim’s empire collapsed in minutes.
When the last henchman hit the ground, only Karim and the foreign buyers remained. Hemant advanced, boots splashing in blood. One of the buyers tried to speak—he never finished. Hemant swung the Inquisitor in a single, perfect arc. The man’s head rolled onto the bidding table. Karim backed away, eyes wide, gold rings shaking.
"You.....killed Dilawar" he stammered.
"He was like a brother—"
Hemant tilted his head slightly. His voice was quiet.
"Then let me send you to him!"
The blade slid into Karim’s gut with surgical precision. Karim’s scream tore through the emptying hall as Hemant twisted the blade, then let the man drop like the trash he was.
"Free them all" Hemant ordered, voice cold.
His men moved immediately—chains were cut, doors kicked open, girls ushered out with soft hands and steady words. The older women imprisoned there sobbed as they saw the eagle sigil and realized their nightmare was over.
Raquel descended from the rooftop, boots crunching on spent shells. He looked around at the red-painted floor and the mountain of dead men.
"Bhaijaan" he muttered.
"What’s next?" He asked.
Hemant wiped the blade clean on Karim’s expensive sherwani.
"We erase this place"
Raquel nodded and signaled. Several mercenaries rolled in gas cylinders from the kitchen, smashing open valves. Others doused the brothel in petrol and kerosene, moving with military precision. Outside, the girls were being escorted into waiting vans, away from the inferno to come. Hemant stood alone in the doorway where he had first appeared, Inquisitor hanging at his side. He looked back one last time at the sea of steel cylinders lying across the floor. Then he picked up a shotgun dropped by a dead henchman.
Click.
One pull of the trigger.
The world behind him erupted.
A column of fire tore through Karim’s domain, the shockwave shattering nearby windows. The explosion consumed every trace of the trafficking den, sending a dark plume high into the morning sky. The explosions tremors were felt across the city as the fire cloud formed was massive and visible through kilometers.
Hemant didn’t flinch. He walked away as fire ate the final remnants of Dilawar's empire , erasing his existence for good, his boots crunching on broken glass. Behind him, Michael King’s storm faded back into silence—until the next time he’d be called.
The promise was fulfilled. Azad Colony’s daughters were going home. And a portion of Kamathipura was burning.
The flames of Kamathipura still painted the far horizon with a faint orange smear when Hemant Kumar’s green BMW M5 E39 rolled back into Azad Colony. The streets that had been a cradle of grief that morning were now alive with voices, laughter, and tears of joy. Mothers ran barefoot into the street, fathers stumbled forward with trembling hands, and young girls—still shaken, but alive—were stepping down from YOD transport vans wrapped in blankets, led gently by Hemant’s men.
The crowd parted as Hemant stepped out of his car. He was still wearing the black tactical coat, though the collar was turned up to hide the blood at the edge of his sleeve. His face carried no triumph—only a quiet exhaustion, the weight of a man who had seen what he had to become to keep his word.
The first father to see him broke into tears and dropped to his knees, clutching Hemant’s hand.
"Sir… you brought her back" he said, voice cracking.
"You brought my girl back" Behind him, his daughter sobbed in her mother’s arms, whispering.
"He came, Ma… he came to save us!"
Another woman stepped forward, her palms pressed together.
"Kumar Saab, we will never forget this day" she said, eyes shining.
"You didn’t just save them. You saved all of our honor. We will always stand by you. Azad Colony is your kingdom!"
A chorus followed—men and women speaking over each other, voices trembling but strong.
"You’re our protector!"
"Our brother!"
"Our King!"
The term king bothered him. It brought that twinge of nightmare back in him. He had people who trusted him in the past and then they all perished and he couldn't save them. Hemant raised a hand, motioning for calm.
"I am not a king.....and you all don’t owe me anything" he said quietly.
"What you owe is to yourselves—to never bow again. To no man. To no monster"
His gaze swept the Colony, the place he had once liberated from Dilawar’s chains.
"Azad Colony stays free because you fight to keep it that way. I am just here as a support"
The people nodded, still weeping, still clinging to their children.
Raquel approached from behind, his usual sharp smirk softened.
"You did it again, Bhaijaan" he said, voice low.
"Perhaps you should accept that not everything about your past is a pain!"
Hemant exhaled slowly, eyes tracing the faces around him—mothers whispering prayers, fathers holding daughters as if afraid to let go.
"No" he murmured.
"I can't Raquel.....because everytime I try...it brings the memories of loss with it and I cannot bear it anymore!"
As the noise faded around him, his mind drifted. For a moment, he wasn’t standing in the middle of the street surrounded by gratitude—he was back in the empty silence of his home. The echo of Sonarika’s voice still lingered in his memory, the bitterness of their last argument, the cold distance that had become their routine.
Not so long ago victory felt hollow. When every battle he won left him more alone because of the situation in his house. But now, watching the fathers lift their daughters high into the air, hearing the laughter break through the scars of the morning—he felt something different. Something pure.
It wasn’t redemption. It was purpose.
Maybe his marriage was falling apart. Maybe the home he built in love had become a cage of silence. But this—this sight of Azad Colony reborn—was proof that his fight still meant something. That he could still protect, still build, still give others what he could not keep for himself.
Raquel stood beside him, arms folded.
"They’ll remember this day for generations" he said.
Hemant’s eyes stayed on the people.
"They shouldn’t remember me" he said.
"They should remember that they were never helpless"
A small girl, no older than nine, ran up to him suddenly. She held a small paper flower, crushed slightly from her grip, and pressed it into his palm.
"For you, Uncle" she said, smiling.
"Thank you for saving us"
For the first time that day, Hemant’s lips curved—not quite a smile, but close enough to one. He crouched and brushed her hair back gently.
"Be strong" he said.
"Always"
The child nodded and ran back to her mother.
Raquel caught the look in Hemant’s eyes—half fire, half ache.
"You know" he said quietly.
"Maybe you can’t fix everything, Bhaijaan. But you still make the world better one street at a time"
Hemant looked toward the rising sun over Mumbai’s skyline.
"That’s enough for now" he said simply.
"That’s enough"
As he turned to leave, the Colony erupted again with cheers, chants of his name echoing through the narrow lanes. He didn’t stop to bask in it. He simply walked back to his car, the day wind carrying the faint smell of burning smoke from the ruins of Kamathipura.
Behind him, families were whole again.
Ahead of him, his factory awaited—another day, another mask to wear.
But deep inside, where the identities of Hemant Kumar and Michael King switched accordingly, a quiet peace lingered. For all the fire and blood he carried, he had still kept one promise that mattered.
And in that promise, he found a sliver of light strong enough to keep the darkness at bay.
(TO BE CONTD)
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