The monsoon rain lashed Visakhapatnam's east dock, a sprawl of rusted cranes and shadowed warehouses under a midnight sky. Robin Seth's car screeched to a stop, tires skidding on wet asphalt, the clock ticking past 11:30 p.m. His smartwatch pinged, the AI-driven health app flashing a warning—his pulse raced, but his Fighting instincts, a modernized Kalaripayattu, burned steady. Tara, his five-year-old daughter, was somewhere on this dock, held by Rocky Bhai's Organization, their Trigger front a veil for their child trafficking ring. Vikram Rao's tip—east dock, midnight—had brought him here, but the Rao Gang boss's flicker of deceit gnawed at Robin. Was Vikram playing both sides, tied to Rocky Bhai or Naga?
Priya Reddy, leapt from the passenger seat, her phone glowing with Sanjay Gupta's updates. "Robin, Sanjay's team hacked the dock's cams," she said, her voice sharp, her sass a spark in the dark. "Two vans pulled in 20 minutes ago—Trigger's men, loading crates. Tara's close."
Robin's eyes scanned the dock, spotting a flickering light near a pier. "That's our target," he said, his Don Robin fire a blade's edge. "Sanjay's boat—where is it?"
Priya pointed to a shadowed jetty. "Moored, ready. Let's move." Robin nodded, his mind on Tara's stuffed bear, her tiny hand waving in the surveillance footage. The spy's text—"Naga's Son knows you're moving"—echoed, Was Naga's faction pulling strings, or was Rocky Bhai's Organization acting alone? The dock held answers, and time was bleeding out.
Back at the police headquarters in Banjara Hills, Aisha Seth paced, her cheek still stinging from Robin's slap. The Hunters' updates were maddeningly slow, and Tara's absence was a vise around her heart. Captain Manoj Singh, his face grim, checked his tablet. "Our agent's at the east dock," he said. "No confirmation on Tara yet."
Ravi Mehta, the Hunters' wiry operative, crossed his arms. "Robin's a loose cannon, Ms. Seth. He'll botch this. Trust our plan." His skepticism mirrored Vikram Malhotra's, who leaned against a desk, his suit rumpled but his smirk sharp.
"Robin's chasing shadows," Vikram said, his voice smooth as venom. "Aisha, the Hunters are your best bet." His texts to Rocky Bhai—"Hide the girl, dock's hot"—ensured Tara stayed out of reach, his jealousy of Robin a fire, his ambition to claim Aisha's empire a blade. Her vulnerability was his prize.
Anna Fernandes, in her salwar kameez, glared. "Aisha di, Robin's tearing through the underworld for Tara," she said, her defiance cutting. "You're dismissing her best chance because of pride." Her guilt, for not watching Tara, fueled her stand.
Aisha's eyes flashed, her voice brittle. "Robin's no hero, Anna. I'm going to the dock myself—see Tara safe." Her desperation, raw and jagged, pushed her past doubt.
Manoj's phone buzzed, his eyes widening. "East dock, midnight—Trigger's moving. Our agent spotted vans." He turned to Aisha. "We're mobilizing—Hunters, select police. You can come, but stay behind us."
Aisha nodded, her resolve iron. "I'm seeing Tara." Vikram's smirk faltered, her involvement a threat to his plans.
At the dock, Robin and Priya crept through the shadows, the rain masking their steps. A warehouse loomed, its doors ajar, voices echoing inside. Robin's Fighting instincts sharpened, his parkour-honed agility ready. "Stay low," he whispered to Priya. "We hit hard, fast."
Priya's eyes glinted. "Sanjay's got eyes on three guards—Trigger's muscle. Take them, Robin, and I'll check the crates."
Robin nodded, slipping toward the warehouse. A guard, rifle slung, stood by the door. Robin moved—a silent strike to the neck dropped him. Two more guards inside, loading crates, didn't see him coming. A kick to one's chest, a chop to the other's throat, and they crumpled. The crates, marked with Trigger's logo, smelled of fear.
"Tara!" Robin called, his voice low but urgent. A muffled cry answered from a crate. His heart leapt, but a shadow moved—another guard, radio crackling. Robin's fist met his jaw before he could speak.
Priya pried open a crate, her face paling. "Empty," she whispered. "But I hear her—nearby."
Back at headquarters, Aisha climbed into a police van with Manoj and Ravi, her heart pounding. "Tara's there," she murmured, doubt creeping in. Had Robin been right to act alone?
At Charminar Villa, Vikram Rao sipped chai, his mind on the underworld's balance. "Robin's a storm," he told his men. "If he saves the girl, and best Trigger, we should Befriend him. Naga's watching, and Rocky Bhai's desperate. Stay sharp."
Robin, at the dock, heard Tara's cry again—closer. The rain hid his steps, A crate rattled, but nothing, the sound of cars approaching Robin's Don Robin fire roared, headlights flared—Hunters or foes? The rescue hung on a knife's edge.