Hyderabad's monsoon rain lashed the police headquarters in Banjara Hills, its concrete facade a grim backdrop to the chaos within. Inside, the command center buzzed with monitors and urgent voices, the air thick with tension. Aisha Seth stood by a screen replaying surveillance footage: Tara, her five-year-old daughter, clutching her stuffed bear, snatched by a masked man from an unlicensed van. The image seared Aisha's soul, her crimson blouse and skirt now a disheveled testament to her panic. Two hours had passed, and every second felt like a betrayal of Tara's trust.
Anna Fernandes, guilt etched on her face, had defied Aisha's orders, her call to Robin Seth a desperate act. "He's Tara's father," she'd whispered to herself, slipping away from the Fernandes villa. Now, the headquarters doors slammed open, and Robin stormed in, his black jacket dripping, his Don Robin fire blazing in his eyes. His smartwatch pinged, the AI-driven health app tracking a spike, but his Fighting instincts held steady, a black flame ready to ignite.
"Aisha, why didn't you tell me?" Robin's voice was low, lethal, cutting through the room. "Tara's gone, and you waited two hours?" His rage, fueled by Anna's call, boiled over. Before Aisha could respond, his hand cracked across her cheek—a sharp slap echoing like thunder. Gasps rippled through the room.
Aisha stumbled, shock and humiliation flooding her. "How dare you!" she hissed, clutching her face. "Tara ran because of you, Robin! She was looking for her precious daddy, and now she's gone!" Her blame, raw and desperate, masked her guilt—she'd let pride delay the call.
Vikram Malhotra, lounging by a desk, his suit rumpled but his smirk intact, stepped forward. "Seth, you're out of line," he snapped, his "concern" a thin veil over his glee. Tara's kidnapping was his jackpot—no custody fight, Aisha vulnerable, her empire his. He'd texted Rocky Bhai, whose organization ran the Trigger front, "Keep the kid out of sight." "Aisha's handling this with professionals," Vikram added, his ego stung by Robin's presence.
Ravi Mehta, a wiry operative from the Hunters, her dark eyes sharp, joined in. "Violence won't help, Seth. You're complicating things." The Hunters, an elite group of Detectives and operatives, were coordinating with the police, their undercover agent embedded in Rocky Bhai's Organization.
Captain Manoj, grizzled and cautious, eyed Robin warily, sensing a formidable force. "Mr. Seth, the van's linked to the Trigger —Rocky Bhai's Organization," he said, pulling up a map. "They traffic kids by sea—small boats from Visakhapatnam to international waters. We've got an agent inside, but it's delicate."
Robin's gaze locked on the footage, Tara's tiny form struggling in the masked man's grip. His heart twisted, his Don Robin fire roaring. "Delicate?" he growled. "She's five. Your agent's too slow." He turned to Aisha, his voice steel. "I'll bring Tara back, Aisha. No bet, no custody talk—just her."
Aisha, still reeling from the slap, clutched her tablet, her eyes flashing. "You don't get to play hero, Robin. I'm posting a 20 million bounty—social media, news, everywhere." Her desperation, a mix of guilt and fear, drove her to defiance.
Ravi stepped forward, his voice urgent. "A bounty's suicide, Ms. Seth. Rocky Bhai's crew kills to cover tracks—kids like Tara become liabilities. Trust our agent."
Robin scoffed, his instincts sharp. "Trust? I don't trust you." He studied the footage again, noting the van's route—Old City, near Hussain Sagar. His past as Don Robin, pulling strings in Hyderabad's underworld, stirred. He'd called in favors before; he'd do it again.
Anna, in her salwar kameez, stood by Robin, her defiance clear. "He's right, Aisha di. Robin's got connections you don't. Let him help."
Vikram's smile tightened, his duplicity hidden. If Tara's gone, Aisha's mine, he thought, his texts to Rocky Bhai a secret blade. "Aisha, let the Hunters handle it," he urged. "Seth's just grandstanding."
Aisha's eyes wavered, Robin's resolve shaking her. "You don't get to decide, Robin," she said, but her voice cracked, Tara's absence a chasm.
Outside, Priya Reddy, in an emerald-green kurta, waited in her car, her phone buzzing with Sanjay Gupta's updates. "Robin, I've got Sanjay's team tracking vans in the Old City," she'd texted. "All of Reddy's resources are yours—find Tara."
Robin faced Aisha and Anna, his voice unyielding. "I'm finding Tara—my way. You can't stop me." He turned to Manoj. "Get me the port schedules in Visakhapatnam. I know people there." His past connections—underworld fixers, old allies—were his edge.
Manoj nodded, wary but impressed. "We'll share what we can, but don't cross our operation."
As Robin strode out, Priya joined him, her kurta catching the rain. "Sanjay's hacked street cams," she said, smirking. "We'll beat Rocky Bhai's dogs.
Back in the command center, Aisha sank into a chair, her bounty plan faltering. Vikram, sensing her weakness, leaned close. "We'll get her, Aisha. Trust me." His words were honey, but his heart was ice, banking on Tara's loss.
Robin, speeding toward the Old City, felt the weight of Tara's life being on the line, and the sea was calling. His war had begun.