I was twelve when they found me eating garbage behind a dhaba. No name, no family—just fists and hunger. Dhabariya gave me a name: Suraj. Said I had fire in my eyes. Ten years later, I’m standing over a body, gun smoking, blood on my shoes. He wanted me to be his son. Instead, I became his weapon.

Tonight, the club is packed. Disco lights spin, bodies grind, and Govinda sings about love like it means something. I’m here for Jaunpuriya’s man—one of the three who killed Ravi. I spot him near the bar, laughing, sipping whiskey like he’s forgotten.

My hand rests on the pistol under my jacket. Dhabariya’s voice echoes: 'Wait for the signal.' But Ravi’s face flashes in my mind—his teeth knocked out, his eyes wide with fear.

No more waiting.

I step forward. The music fades. The crowd parts. He sees me. His smile dies.

This is where it begins. Or ends.