I remember the day everything changed. Rain hammered the tin roofs of the chawl, and the streets turned to sludge. I stood over Rehmat’s body, my hands trembling not from cold, but from rage. He wasn’t just my guardian—he was the only father I ever knew. And they killed him like a dog.

Now, the city breathes fear. Landlords evict families, cops look the other way, and justice is auctioned to the highest bidder. I tried playing by the rules once. I lasted a day.

My brother Suraj still wears the uniform. He thinks he can fix this rot from within. But I’ve seen the files he’s forced to close, the names he’s told to forget.

Tonight, I burned Thakur Sher Bahadur Singh’s warehouse. His men will come for me. Maybe even Suraj will lead the charge.

I don’t care.

Because if living means kneeling, then I’d rather die standing.

The radio crackles—'Karamveer, they’ve taken Chanda.'

My hands clench the revolver. Do I storm the safehouse alone? Do I call Suraj, knowing he might arrest me instead? Or do I vanish—let them think I’m gone, and strike from the shadows?

Time’s up.