Chapter One
The Weight of Justice
My name is Rudra Shaa.
I was eight years old when the truck hit our car.
I remember my baby sister beside me. She was only two. My mother was in the front seat, my father driving. I don't remember the sound of the crash clearly — only the sudden silence afterward. The kind of silence that doesn't belong in this world.
They told me later that I survived because I was thrown clear before the car crushed completely.
Sometimes I wonder if my mother prayed in her final seconds. Maybe she begged her God to save her son. Maybe God listened her.
Maybe He took them as sacrifice.
I am alive.
And I am ashamed to say — a part of me is grateful for it.
Thirty-six days after I was discharged from the hospital, I was taken to court.
Thirty-six days after my family died.
The official story was simple:
A drunk truck driver lost consciousness and crashed into our vehicle.
But that wasn't the story I heard whispered inside the courtroom.
They said my father, Manoj Shaa, was fighting with my mother, Rita Shaa.
They said he lost control.
They said he caused the accident.
They turned my father into the villain. They erased the drunk driver. They erased the company that owned the truck. They erased the truth.
The truck belonged to a powerful transport company. Money moved quietly. Statements changed. Evidence shifted. Witnesses forgot things.
The case closed faster than my wounds healed. Iam sad I'm hurt I can't say anything
That was the day I understood how world is terrifying. And how money can change whole story and how justice could change depends on whos money is spending trough trials
Justice.
is bought.
My father once told me, "Justice is beautiful, Rudra. It protects the innocent."
So you too protect the people who needs help. Okie??
But in that courtroom, it was dark. Rotten. Dirty. There so much to say but I can't figure out how to say it
They say the statue of justice wears a blindfold
Because of humans greeds, desire, blood solds, justices. Maybe she is tired of humans so she wears blindfold.
She is blind because people made her that way.
And the world opens its eyes only for greed.
Iam scared because my family was gone.
Iam scared iam alone now.
Iam scared how to survive.
I'm scared how to get food.
And.
I was scared because I understood the world too early.
An eight-year-old should fear monsters under the bed. Or sleep peacefully to wake for happy next day.
I feared I feared I feared feared feared world is scary
After the case ended, I was sent to an orphanage.
My relatives showed up, not to hold me — but to claim my parents' property. Within months, everything my parents owned was gone.
And I was forgotten.
That was when I made a decision.
That there would be people like me everywhere dying every moment due to injustice corruption so.
I would become a prosecutor.
Not for power.
Not for fame.
But to give hope to the people who sit alone in courtrooms, confused and betrayed — like I once did.
Years passed.
I studied to the dead . I read law books under dim hostel lights. I memorized sections, precedents, loopholes. I trained myself not only to understand the law — but to understand the people who break it.
Years passed
Now, I am Rudra Shaa.
Special Public Prosecutor
Completed all trails for this chair
Iam now known as dark Angel
Because I look terrible people get scared to look to my eyes it's very dark and scary.. sometimes I get scared myself.
And I look like emotionlees I can't smile neither I can't show my emotions how iam I'm just expressionless
I'm happy but.
"Hmmm… I'm tired."
The junior officer standing before my desk shifted nervously. He couldn't meet my eyes for long.
As if I'm devil
I've seen that look before.
He was afraid. Like I have seen many people
As I raised my gaze toward him, he swallowed.
He looked at me as if I were something not entirely human.
Perhaps he isn't wrong.
"Sir… the higher-ups sent you a case file," he said carefully. "They asked you to review it. You may accept or reject it. They said it's… dangerous. One of the most terrifying cases so far."
His voice trembled near the end.
"May I leave, sir?
My office was silent except for the ticking clock.
"Hmmm," I said, my voice low and steady. "Go."
The tone alone made him flinch.
"Thank you for your time, sir."
The door closed.
Silence returned.
"Dangerous… huh?"
I leaned back in my chair.
For a moment, the room felt heavy.
Then I opened the file.
And the moment I saw the photographs — my hands tightened.
Pain.
Rage.
Memories.
Sadness.
The injustice I buried years ago clawed its way back to the surface.
The system had failed again.
Different situations.
Same corruption's
powerful hands pulling invisible strings.
My jaw tightened.
Not again.
Not while I am still breathing.
I closed the file slowly.
Because this time…
the prosecutor was not an eight-year-old boy sitting helpless in court.
This time —
Justice would not be bought. Not when I'm still alive I will then through blood of either mine or them.
I would take the case.
To the.
Depth of the hell..
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