In the quiet aftermath of their contract, Amar returned to his Koregaon Park apartment, shadows lingering around him like faithful guardians. The bond with Inspector General Vikram Rathore was fresh, a telepathic link pulsing with potential. The next morning, as Amar sipped chai and reviewed his gathered intel, Rathore's voice echoed in his mind—clear, gravelly, and urgent.
Amar? You there? Rathore thought, his mental tone laced with excitement.
Amar set down his cup, closing his eyes to focus. I'm here, Rathore. What's on your mind?
I've compiled everything, Rathore replied, his thoughts buzzing with energy. The data you fed me on those ministers—kickbacks, trafficking links, offshore accounts. It's solid. I've got files thick enough to bury them. We can strike now, take down a dozen at once. Public confessions, arrests—the works.
Amar's golden eyes narrowed, his chaotic heart steadying. Good work, but hold off. We can deal with them later. Our priority is The Man. He's the head of the snake. Without him, the rest crumble.
Rathore's response carried a hint of frustration. The Man? We've got nothing on him—no face, no location. You've hit ministers, I've dug through records, but he's a ghost. How do we even find him?
That's the problem, Amar admitted, his mental voice grim. As proxies, we're restricted—can't sense each other directly, can't pierce the veil. He hides behind puppets, layers of deception. But we keep climbing. The higher we go, the closer we get.
There was a pause, Rathore's thoughts churning. You're right, but you can't do this alone. That contract power—you gave it to me. Why stop there? Form your own group. Contract more people—trustworthy ones. Build a massive network. Eyes and ears everywhere. You shouldn't shoulder all the work yourself.
Amar leaned back, considering. A network… like his, but mine. Shadows in every corner, protected from his control.
Exactly, Rathore pressed. Start with officers I trust, journalists, insiders. Make them untouchable, give them your gifts. We'll outflank him.
Amar's resolve hardened. I will. It's time to expand. Keep building those files, Rathore. We'll need them soon.
The link faded, leaving Amar to plot. "A web of my own," he murmured, shadows swirling in agreement.
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit conference room in a Delhi high-rise, The Man stood at the head of a long, polished table with 25 seats. Twelve were occupied—not by flesh and blood, but by flickering holograms, their forms bathed in ethereal blue light. Features obscured, four appeared feminine in elegant attire, eight masculine in sharp suits. The room was shrouded in darkness, holographic emitters humming softly.
The Man, his bearded face stern, gripped the back of his chair. "This God of Darkness—or whoever he truly is—is smarter than anticipated," he said, his voice echoing in the void. "Every trap I set, every corner I push him into, he finds a way out. Slippery, resourceful."
One of the male holograms leaned forward, its blue form shimmering. "So you can't even handle him?" the voice sneered, distorted but cutting. "A problem in your own territory, and it escalates to this? If it were me, things wouldn't have come so far. Pathetic."
The Man's eyes flashed with anger, but he kept his tone even. "Watch your words. I'm handling it."
The hologram laughed, a hollow sound. "Handling? You've lost Malhotra, your traps fail, and now he's sniffing at our edges. What do you need from us? Resources? Reinforcements? Or are you admitting defeat?"
"Nothing," The Man snapped, straightening. "I'm just reporting, as protocol demands. I'll find him. I'll end him."
Another male hologram interjected, its voice calm but authoritative. "It's been too long. Delays breed weakness. You have three months."
The Man's fists clenched. "Three months? For what?"
"To resolve this," the hologram said firmly. "Kill him, or bring him to our side. Turn the God of Darkness into an asset. Fail, and the committee will decide your fate—and his."
The female holograms nodded in unison, one adding, "We've invested too much in your operations. Don't squander it."
The Man's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Understood. Three months. He'll be dealt with."
The holograms flickered out one by one, leaving The Man alone in the dark room. He slammed a fist on the table, growling. "Three months… I'll crush you before then, God of Darkness." His mind raced with new schemes, the ultimatum fueling his resolve. The game had escalated, and failure was not an option.