The road hummed beneath the tires as Raja gripped the steering wheel tighter, the air thick with tension. The truck groaned under its load as it rumbled out of the port, headlights slicing through the afternoon haze.
Beside him, Dilip Topi leaned back, smoke curling from his cigarette. He looked calm — too calm.
"Halfway there," Dilip said, exhaling slowly. "Not bad, Raja. Keep steady. We'll be kings after today."
Raja forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Yes, boss."
But inside, his stomach was a knot. Every second that passed, every mile closer to the destination, he felt the plan slipping away. The weeks of risk, Veer's carefully built scheme, his own chance at freedom — it was all hanging by a thread.
Then, suddenly, Dilip pointed ahead.
"Turn left. Through the main road. The rally's passing that way — less police, more noise. We can slip through faster."
Raja's heart thudded once, hard. The rally.
The Maharaj Circle lay right along that path. The exact spot Veer had chosen for the takeover.
He nodded, hiding his relief.
"Got it, boss."
On the other side of the city, near Maharaj Circle, the air pulsed with noise. The crowd chanted slogans, police shouted directions, and the air smelled of sweat, dust, and exhaust.
At a small tea stall just off the road, Veer and Jatin sat quietly, cups of steaming chai between them, their faces unreadable amid the chaos.
The tea stall was dangerously close to the barricades — close enough to see the road where the trucks and rally would cross paths.
"Jatin," Veer said softly, not looking up. "You know the plan, right? Keep it clean. No escalation unless I give the word."
Jatin nodded, his eyes on the swirling tea in his cup. "Yeah, I got it. Just cause a distraction when Arjun arrives, right?"
Veer's gaze flicked to the road. "Enough for them to believe the rival party sent thugs. Once they're busy with that, you get behind the truck, knock out the guard, and I'll take the wheel. Raja's inside — he'll do the rest."
Jatin smirked faintly. "Simple enough."
"Nothing's simple today," Veer muttered.
The first truck appeared in the distance, followed by the others. Party flags fluttered from their sides, blending perfectly into the rally traffic.
Raja's truck — the fourth one — rolled closer, its engine growling. Veer's pulse quickened. He scanned the cabin. Two men sat beside Raja: one older, one younger. And in the middle — unmistakable — was Dilip Topi.
Veer's jaw tightened.
"Shit," he breathed. "Dilip's with him. The plan's blown."
Jatin looked up sharply. "Then what do we do?"
"We don't stop," Veer said. "We adapt."
He gave a quick signal with his hand toward the wall behind the stall. A few shadows stirred — kids, barely older than teenagers, the ones he'd placed there as a backup.
Behind the wall, one of them whispered, "Signal mil gaya." The next second, Veer picked up a rock and hurled it into the rally. It clanged off a car's hood, drawing angry shouts. The boys behind the wall followed his lead — rocks rained over the barricades.
At the same time, a kid planted among Arjun's gang began shouting,
"Yeh logon ke paas chaku aur bandook hai! They've got weapons!"
The crowd erupted instantly. Police scrambled, trying to push the rally workers back, but panic spread faster than orders could be shouted. Banners toppled, people screamed, and in the confusion, Arjun's men rushed forward, swinging bats and iron rods.
"Now, Jatin!" Veer barked.
Jatin slipped through the smoke and confusion, darting to the back of the truck. He pulled open the tarpaulin — and froze.
Inside, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, were fifteen men. Machetes. Hockey sticks. Eyes like wolves.
Before he could react, one of them grinned.
"Looking for something, bhai?"
Jatin's blood ran cold. He spun on instinct and leapt out, rolling across the road just as the first man lunged out after him. Within seconds, the tarpaulin tore open and the armed men poured into the street, roaring like unleashed beasts.
The rally dissolved into a riot. Rocks and bottles flew. A Molotov burst nearby, sending flames licking up the side of a police jeep.
Inside the truck, Dilip glanced toward the rearview mirror and cursed. "What the hell—?!"
Before he could react, Raja turned, eyes wide with panic and purpose. Dilip caught the flicker of movement — but too late.
Raja kicked hard, his boot slamming into Dilip's face. The older man's head cracked against the dashboard as the truck skidded sideways. The third man shouted, reaching for his gun, but Raja elbowed him and yanked the wheel, sending both of them tumbling out onto the road.
The truck crashed into a barricade, shattering the wooden poles.
From the crowd, Veer moved — silent and quick, his hood pulled low. He dodged through the melee, striking down anyone who tried to grab him. His blows were surgical — to the ribs, the throat, the knee. Every movement was controlled violence.
Ahead, he saw them: Dilip, bleeding and dazed; Arjun, his gun already raised.
Three men stood in a triangle of chaos — Veer, Arjun, and Dilip — with the burning rally behind them.
Arjun sneered, shouting over the roar. "So, this is the rat who's been playing both sides!"
Dilip spat blood, glaring at both. "You idiots think you can take me? I made this city bleed before you were born!"
Veer said nothing. He just stepped forward.
Arjun didn't wait — he fired.
The first bullet missed Veer by inches; the second struck a pole behind him. Dilip ducked, dragging one of his men into the line of fire — the bullet punched through the man's chest.
Veer dove behind a truck, glass shattering above him. The street exploded in violence — Molotovs flying, police sirens blaring, fire licking the night sky.
Arjun's gang fought the police; Dilip's men fought back; the rally workers fought everyone.
Veer crouched, breathing hard. His hand brushed the pistol tucked under his jacket — cold metal, steady in his grip.
This was no longer a plan.
It was a war.