Visakhapatnam's east dock was a cauldron of chaos, the midnight rain hammering rusted cranes and sodden crates. Robin Seth crouched behind a stack of barrels, his black jacket soaked, his Fighting instincts honed to the limit. Tara, his five-year-old daughter, her cry piercing the night. Vikram Rao's tip—east dock, midnight—had led him here, to a looming ship where Rocky Bhai's Organization, cloaked by their Trigger front, held her. His smartwatch pinged, the AI-driven health app flashing a warning, but his Don Robin fire burned hotter than fear. The headlights from minutes ago—Hunters or foes—had vanished, but the battle was coming.
Priya Reddy, crouched beside him, her phone glowing with Sanjay Gupta's updates. "Robin, Sanjay's cams show Trigger's men loading kids onto that ship," she whispered. "Tara's inside—Sanjay's boat's ready at the jetty." Her eyes glinted, her loyalty a beacon.
Robin nodded, his gaze locked on the ship's gangway. "I'm going in—covert. Keep Sanjay's eyes on the dock." His parkour-honed agility was ready, his plan to slip aboard during the chaos forming.
Across the dock, Captain Manoj Singh and Kiran led the Hunters' tactical strike, their dark gear blending with the rain. Captain Ganesh's police team fanned out, surrounding the ship, their flashlights cutting through the dark. Manoj signaled, his voice low. "Sunny and Raka —Trigger's top dogs—are onboard. B-rank fighters, ruthless. Hit hard, secure the kids."
Kiran, her eyes sharp, checked her weapon. "Sunny's fast, Raka's brutal. We take them, the rest scatter." The Hunters moved, shadows among shadows, but Trigger's men—armed and feral—spotted them. Gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off crates, the dock a battlefield.
Inside the ship's hold, Tara Seth sat bound with six other children, their wrists tied, their faces pale. Her stuffed bear lay discarded, but her eyes blazed with defiance. "My daddy's coming," she whispered to a trembling boy beside her. "My Father never gives up." Her faith, small but fierce, was a spark in the dark.
Aisha Seth arrived at the dock, her crimson Dress drenched, her heart pounding. Defying Manoj's orders to stay back, she slipped away from the police van, driven by a mother's desperation. Vikram Malhotra had followed, his suit sodden, his voice insistent. "Aisha, let me protect you," he'd said, his "concern" a mask. But at the gangway, with gunfire cracking, he froze, his cowardice bared. "It's too dangerous," he muttered, backing away.
Aisha's eyes narrowed, disillusionment crashing in. Robin's face flashed—his reliability in crises, his Don Robin fire when their world crumbled years ago. "You're useless, Vikram," she spat, her voice raw. She slipped toward the ship's cabin alone, her heart screaming for Tara.
On the deck, Manoj and Kiran faced "Sunny" Sharma and "Raka" Kumar. Sunny, lean and quick, wielded a knife with lethal grace, while Raka, a hulking brute, swung a chain. Manoj dodged Sunny's slash, countering with a precise strike, but Sunny parried, sneering. "You're outclassed, cop." Kiran tackled Raka, her agility matching his strength, but his fist grazed her shoulder, pain flaring.
Robin, unseen, scaled the ship's hull, his parkour skills silent against the rain. He slipped through a porthole into the hold, his Fighting instincts a Blade's edge. Tara's cry guided him—closer, desperate. He moved past crates, avoiding Trigger's guards, their radios crackling with panic as the Hunters' assault intensified.
Aisha, creeping through a corridor, heard Tara's voice. "Mummy?" a faint call came. Aisha's heart leapt, but a guard blocked her path, rifle raised. She froze, her courage wavering.
Outside, Vikram Malhotra watched from a safe distance, his smirk returning. His texts to Rocky Bhai—"Dock's a mess,Move Away" were helpful but not fast enough. Tara's loss was his gain, Aisha's empire his prize. But her defiance, her rush to the ship, gnawed at him.