The warehouse near Okhla wasn't on any map.It looked abandoned from the road — cracked windows, graffiti, a rusted gate — but inside, generators hummed, laptops blinked, and a dozen men packed weapons into crates labeled "Medical Supplies."
Jackal stood near the loading bay, cigarette between his fingers, watching two men argue over inventory.His beard was thicker now, hair short, eyes half-dead but always scanning.
A man approached — suit, gold chain, expensive watch."Shipment to Mumbai done, sir. Broker says next batch leaves tonight."
Jackal nodded. "Send it. No names, no mistakes."
The man hesitated. "He also said the 'Delhi problem' needs to be handled quietly."
Jackal looked at him. "Which problem?"
"School kid. Rumors say he fights like trained unit. They call him Ghost."
Jackal's jaw tightened.He flicked the cigarette away and turned."Show me the footage."
1. The Footage
The man handed him a phone — a ten-second clip from a school fight.Aryan.Older, calmer, same precision.Same instinct.
Jackal didn't move for a few seconds. His throat went dry, and his eyes softened for the first time in years.
"Still the same. No wasted motion. Damn kid."
The man spoke carefully. "Should I inform Broker's office?"
Jackal's tone hardened instantly. "No. Not yet. Delete every copy."
"But—"
Jackal stepped forward, voice low and sharp."Not yet."
The man nodded and left.Jackal exhaled slowly, running his hand through his hair.He looked at the tiny scar on his wrist — the one Aryan had stitched years ago with a broken needle when they were still kids in Aleppo.
2. Memories in Dust
He walked out to the back of the warehouse, where the city's hum turned to silence.The sky was dirty orange; a train horn echoed somewhere far away.For a moment, he let himself remember.
Two kids running through alleys, stealing bread from a truck.The younger one—quiet, fast, eyes too sharp for his age.Jackal throwing his jacket over him when the bombs hit.
He'd promised to protect Aryan.But the day the Broker took him into Circuit's private army, everything changed.
He'd built a name, a crew, respect. But at the cost of his soul.
And Aryan had vanished — presumed dead after a mission gone wrong.Until now.
3. The Meeting
Later that night, Jackal entered a luxury hotel in Nehru Place.Top floor. Room 1503.Inside waited a man in a black kurta, eyes like mirrors, sipping tea.
The Broker.
"Jackal," he said smoothly. "You're late."
Jackal bowed his head slightly. "Traffic."
The Broker smiled faintly. "I hear you've been sloppy lately. Street fights, school rumors. Even the police are whispering about the Ghost."
Jackal kept his expression neutral. "Just noise. Delhi kids love legends."
The Broker leaned back. "Make sure it stays legend.Circuit is expanding to Mumbai, Bangalore, Kolkata. I don't need distractions."
Jackal nodded. "Understood."
The Broker's smile vanished. "If this Ghost becomes real… eliminate him."
A long silence filled the room.Jackal's jaw clenched, but his voice stayed calm. "If necessary."
The Broker's eyes narrowed. "It will be necessary."
4. Alone Again
Outside, Jackal stood on the hotel balcony, city lights reflecting off his face.He lit another cigarette, staring at the cars moving far below.
He whispered under his breath,
"They want me to kill you, Aryan. But not this time."
He looked at the night sky — thick with pollution, orange haze glowing faintly.
"You survived Syria. You survived me. Maybe you're the only one who can end this."
He crushed the cigarette, pocketed the dog-tag half, and walked back toward the car.
Behind him, a phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number:
"He knows you're here. They'll move soon."
Jackal typed a single reply:
"Let them. The Ghost isn't alone anymore."