The days after the war room meeting were quiet. Too quiet.
It was the kind of silence that wraps around your lungs and makes it hard to breathe. The city hadn't changed on the surface—buses still honked, vendors still screamed their prices, and lovers still held hands in alleyways they shouldn't be in. But those of us in the underworld… we could feel it.
The White Serpents had started moving.
---
I was in our intel room now, going through stacks of reports, photos, and digital surveillance feeds. It wasn't glamorous work—but it was real. Raw. The kind of job that separated men from corpses.
"Ten disappearances in one week," I muttered.
Most were low-level dealers. A few small-time smugglers. But all of them were Crimson Fang assets, even if unofficial. And they all vanished in the zones we lost to the Serpents.
Vijay entered the room, holding two steaming paper cups of tea.
"Morning, Sherlock," he said, placing one in front of me.
"Morning, muscle," I replied, eyes still on the files.
He leaned over my shoulder, scanning a few images.
"You notice how none of the Serpents leave bodies?"
I nodded. "Like ghosts. No blood, no message. Just silence."
He sipped his tea. "That's not just brutality. That's calculation. Someone's teaching them restraint. Discipline."
"And someone's feeding them intel," I added. "They're hitting places we don't even list on our active zone charts."
---
Kiyaan called a meeting that evening.
Only the Inner Circle and a few trusted Executives were invited.
The hideout's war room was darker than usual. Faint cigar smoke curled from the ashtray beside Kiyaan, but he hadn't touched it once. He stood silently, gazing at the map pinned to the wall.
Red zones. Blue zones. Xs. Circles. And now, white marks spreading like venom on our borders.
"I want someone inside," he finally said.
We looked at him.
"Inside the Serpents?" Vijay asked.
Kiyaan nodded. "We've fought gangs before. We've crushed rebellions. But this is different. These snakes are ghosts. And if we can't chase ghosts…"
"We become one," I finished.
His eyes met mine. A faint nod.
"You'll lead a deep ops unit," he said. "Just three members. Small. Quiet. You'll operate off-book. Even our own Lieutenants won't know. Report only to me and Vijay."
It hit me like cold water.
This wasn't just an assignment. This was a test.
Vijay clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Welcome to the fun stuff."
---
The next day, I handpicked my crew.
First was Meena—an expert in surveillance tech. She used to run scams on cybercrime officers before Kiyaan hired her. Short, sharp-tongued, and always chewing bubblegum. You'd never think she could disable an entire building's security from a phone.
Second was Yash—a former getaway driver turned investigator.
Quiet. Always observing. There was something unnerving about how he never blinked when someone lied. The man could smell fear like a hound.
And then there was me. Still learning. Still hungry.
We didn't even have a name. Just a shared goal: get into the belly of the Serpent.
---
By midweek, Meena had set up taps on underground forums, burner phone trails, and darknet listings. She traced an unusual surge in weapon sales to a port in Vasai—territory that had gone 'neutral' a month ago after a Crimson Fang lieutenant disappeared.
"Serpents are importing something big," she said, blowing a bubble.
"How big?" I asked.
She turned her screen toward me.
"Ten crates of military-grade rifles. Unregistered serials. Paid in cryptocurrency. No paper trail."
I leaned in. "That's not a street gang move. That's war prep."
Vijay walked in, having overheard us.
"Time to visit Vasai?" he asked.
I stood up. "Yeah. Let's go see what these snakes are hiding."
---
We arrived at the docks just after midnight.
Rain tapped against the warehouse rooftops like ticking clocks. Yash was behind the wheel, silent as ever. Meena sat with her laptop, scanning frequencies.
I crept into the warehouse through the side panel we'd unlocked earlier.
Stacks of crates. All unmarked.
No guards. No sound.
Too clean.
As I approached the largest crate, I heard it. A faint hiss.
I spun around, bat drawn—
—but no one.
Only a spray-painted message on the wall behind me:
"The city will shed its skin."
I froze.
Another hiss—this time from above.
A small drone zipped past, recording.
They were watching us.
I grabbed my radio. "Pull back. Now. It's a trap."
Yash peeled out in seconds, tires screeching against the wet pavement.
We barely escaped.
But we weren't empty-handed.
We had proof the Serpents were evolving—and someone was scripting their moves like a master puppeteer.
---
Back at the hideout, I stood in front of the board.
More white zones. More names scratched out.
We weren't facing a gang anymore.
We were facing something new.
Something surgical.
Something… hungry.
I looked at the new message Meena had just decoded from another intercepted Serpent radio line:
"The Fangs are still snarling. But soon, they will rot."
The Serpents weren't just taking turf.
They were rewriting the rules.
And the worst part?
We still didn't know who was holding the pen.
---
TO BE CONTINUED