The rain in Mumbai didn't wash away the filth; it only made the gutters overflow.
Rudra Pratap, sat in the leather chair of his penthouse office in Lower Parel. The electricity had been cut an hour ago. The only light came from the glow of the city below—a city he had helped build, a city that had just turned its back on him.
On the mahogany desk lay a single document: Asset Liquidation Order.
"They didn't just want the money," Rudra whispered, his voice raspy from days of shouting in courtrooms. "They wanted the humiliation."
The coalition—a nexus of a compromised media house, a corrupt rival conglomerate, and a politician who hid his greed behind the veil of 'social justice'—had orchestrated a masterclass in destruction. They had framed him for embezzlement, frozen his accounts, and dismantled the Pratap Group piece by piece.
He poured the last of the scotch into a glass. His hand didn't shake. He was past fear. He was in the cold embrace of absolute clarity.
"I played by the rules," he muttered, looking at the rain-streaked window. "I built schools. I paid taxes. I loved this country. And this is the price? Betrayal?"
A sharp pain, like a serrated knife, twisted in his chest. His vision blurred. It wasn't the alcohol. It was the stress of a thousand sleepless nights finally cashing its check.
He slumped forward, his cheek pressing against the cool wood of the desk. As darkness encroached, a final, burning thought consumed him.
If I had another chance... I wouldn't be the shield. I would be the sword. I would buy them all, break them all, and burn their hypocrisy to ash.
The darkness swallowed him whole. And then, a blue screen flickered in the void.
[Transaction Pending...][Payment Accepted: Life Essence.][Initiating Reboot.]