Amar's plan took shape in the quiet of his Koregaon Park apartment, shadows swirling like a storm around him. The task force was chasing phantoms, and The Man Might be baiting traps through Arjun Malhotra. To shift the board, Amar needed an ally—someone inside the system, someone with influence. Inspector General Vikram Rathore, the grizzled leader of the task force, was that man. His reputation as a relentless, principled officer made him the perfect candidate. Amar's golden eyes gleamed. "Let's see if you believe in ghosts," he murmured, vanishing into the darkness.
Under the cover of night, Amar materialized in Rathore's Delhi home as a shadow-wreathed figure, his form a flicker of dread in the dimly lit study. Rathore froze, his coffee mug halfway to his lips, eyes wide as Amar's golden gaze burned through the gloom. "Do you still believe I'm not real?" Amar's voice rumbled, laced with a mocking laugh. Shadows coiled around the room, brushing against bookshelves, dimming the lamplight. Rathore's hand twitched toward his service pistol, but he stopped, sensing the futility. "Who—what are you?" he demanded, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.
Amar stepped closer, his silhouette rippling. "I'm no group of hackers, Rathore. I'm the Darkness, and I'm not your enemy." He paused, letting the words sink in. "You're a good man. You want truth. I'll give you a clue." His voice lowered, sharp with purpose. "Arjun Malhotra, the billionaire. Follow him, and you'll find the truth—about me." Before Rathore could respond, Amar dissolved into shadows, leaving only a chill in the air.
The next morning, Rathore stood before his task force, his face a mask of determination. "We're shifting focus," he announced, his gravelly voice cutting through the murmurs. "Arjun Malhotra, the Mumbai billionaire. He's connected to Sharma's trafficking ring—and maybe to the vigilantes we're chasing. Dig into him, everything he's got." His team exchanged glances, puzzled but obedient. Priya, the cyber analyst, raised an eyebrow. "Sir, we've got nothing solid on this 'God of Darkness' group. Why Malhotra now?" Rathore's jaw tightened. "Call it a hunch," he said, his mind flashing to the shadow in his study. He didn't believe it—not fully—but his heart whispered otherwise. He kept the encounter secret, unwilling to admit he'd faced something beyond reason.
The task force pivoted with zeal, raiding Malhotra's financial records, tailing his associates, and hacking his encrypted communications. Days of relentless work unearthed no trace of a vigilante group, but Malhotra's truth spilled like poison: bank transfers to offshore accounts, coded messages tying him to Sharma's trafficking ring, and whispers of his influence over politicians. Rathore built a watertight case, his team's evidence painting Malhotra as a kingpin of crime. He submitted the file to the Home Minister, expecting action.
The meeting was a disaster. In the Home Minister's opulent office, the file landed on the desk with a thud. The Minister's eyes scanned it, then darkened with fury. "Malhotra?" he roared, tossing the file into a trash bin. "He's a donor to our party! You were tasked with catching this 'God of Darkness' nonsense, not chasing legitimate businessmen!" Rathore's fists clenched, his voice low but fierce. "Sir, the evidence is undeniable. Malhotra's dirty—trafficking, corruption, everything." The Minister leaned forward, his tone venomous. "Go back, Rathore. Find the vigilantes. Or you're done."
Unseen, a shadow clung to Rathore, Amar's silent witness. From his apartment, Amar watched and listened through his dark tendrils, a chuckle escaping his lips as the Minister's tirade echoed. "Perfect," he murmured. The system's corruption was laid bare, and Rathore's anger was exactly what he'd hoped for—a spark to ignite doubt in a good man's heart.
Rathore stormed out of the Ministry, his mind a tempest. "The system protects monsters like Malhotra," he muttered to himself, climbing into his car. "And I'm chasing shadows for them." His belief in the task force's mission faltered, just as Amar intended. The God of Darkness leaned back, shadows swirling. Malhotra was exposed, Rathore was disillusioned, and The Man's trap was unraveling. The stage was shifting, and Amar was ready to make his next move.