⚠️ WARNING:
This story contains fictional depictions of crime and justice. It does not promote violence or vigilante behavior. Reader discretion is advised.
The streets pulsed with heat, but Kavir's eyes remained cool behind the scratched windshield of Ratan's old sedan.
Three days.
That's how long he had watched them.
Each of the women lived separate lives—normal, clean, masked. They shopped at upscale boutiques, wore expensive perfumes, posted motivational quotes online. The world adored them.
Kavir followed silently, never getting too close. He noted the hours they spent alone. Their daily patterns. The rhythm of their cruelty hidden behind a painted smile.
By the third night, everything was prepared.
The Hunt Ends
One by one, the women vanished.
No struggle. No witnesses. No mess.
Just shadows in the alley, a cloth soaked in ether, and surgical precision.
They awoke in darkness.
The Chamber
The air inside the room was heavy.
Walls draped in blood-red velvet muffled every sound. The curtains drank in the light like thirsty ghosts. From the ceiling, thin wires descended in silence, connecting to cuffs wrapped around each woman's limbs—arms, legs, fingers, jaw… even their eyelids.
Their bodies hung upright like dolls waiting for a puppeteer.
And that puppeteer had just walked in.
Kavir stepped inside, sleeves rolled up. He said nothing. His eyes flicked over the setup Ratan had spent days perfecting.
With a twist of a dial, the wires tightened. Eyelids jerked open. Jaws clenched involuntarily. Fingers snapped straight. It wasn't pain—not yet—but a terrifying loss of control.
The first scream came when they saw the rod.
A thick iron bar, glowing orange-red. Fresh out of the furnace.
Judgment
The rod hissed against the first patch of skin. The smell of seared flesh bloomed into the air, mixing with the scent of velvet and fear. The woman shrieked, her body trying to flinch away—but the wires held her perfectly still.
Another burn. Another scream.
Kavir worked methodically, moving from one woman to the next. The rod kissed shoulders, thighs, stomachs—never enough to kill. Only enough to leave a memory that would outlive them.
He set the rod down.
And picked up the pliers.
"Do you remember what you did to that child's smile?" he asked quietly.
None of them answered. Their mouths trembled, forced open by the jaw wires.
"To bleed from the mouth… let's return the favor."
One by one, teeth were pulled—cracked, twisted, extracted raw. No anesthesia. No pause between screams.
Blood dripped down their chins, mixing with tears and spit.
By the time Kavir stepped back, the room was soaked in a silence broken only by muffled sobbing and the distant whirr of mechanical tension in the wires.
The Well
They were dragged out like sacks of meat.
Still conscious. Still bleeding.
Ratan was already waiting outside with his old pickup truck. The forest road they took led to a crumbling house wrapped in vines and silence. One of many.
Inside, a stone well stood like the mouth of a monster, its edge chipped and blackened with time. Rusted chains circled its rim.
Kavir peered inside.
It was deep.
Dark.
Alive—with the sound of skittering claws.
Rats.
Bones.
A child's shoe.
Three skulls, half-drowned in the muck.
"This place," Kavir muttered, "wasn't built for water."
Ratan lit a cigarette, leaning against the wall. "Retirement's boring. These houses don't sell, so I kept them. Everyone needs a hobby."
Kavir didn't smile. But something glinted in his eyes.
One by one, the women were tipped over the edge.
Their muffled shrieks echoed for only a second before being swallowed by the abyss.
A splash.
Then the frantic, desperate scratching of claws.
Then… nothing.
Home
Night fell by the time they returned to the office.
The city buzzed outside—cars honking, chai stalls clinking.
But inside Ratan's office, there was peace.
Samar lay curled on the leather sofa, wrapped in a thick blanket. The air-conditioner hummed. A small toy train rested near his hand.
Kavir entered, wiping blood off his shoes with a cloth.
Ratan sat in his chair, sipping warm tea.
"Done?" he asked.
Kavir nodded.
There was no celebration. No high-fives. Just an understanding that justice—whatever shape it took—had been delivered.
A small yawn interrupted the silence.
Samar sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked at both men sleepily.
"You came back…" he mumbled.
Kavir raised an eyebrow. "Where else would we go?"
Ratan walked over and knelt beside him.
"Good news, beta," he said softly. "We found your parents. They're coming here soon."
Samar's face lit up like a lightbulb. "Really?!"
"They'll be here any minute," Kavir added, voice softer than usual.
Without another word, Samar threw his arms around Ratan, hugging him tight.
Then he turned and hugged Kavir—firm and small, like he was clinging to a rock in a storm.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Kavir stood frozen for a moment. Then, gently, awkwardly, he placed a hand on the boy's back.
"Don't mention it," he muttered.
Samar sat back down, smiling.
Ratan returned to his chair, glancing toward Kavir.
"You've changed," he said.
Kavir looked out the window, where the moon was barely visible through the dust.
"No," he replied. "I've just found better targets."