The streets of Lalbagh roared with life.
Rickshaw bells, shouting vendors, and the restless buzz of a city that never slept — just another day in Old Dhaka. The air carried the scent of fuchka and dust, a smell every local was born knowing.
By the college gates, chaos peaked.
It was 4 PM — class over, freedom hour. Students poured out of Lalbagh Govt College like a flood, laughing, arguing, and shouting plans for the evening. Today was special — their college cricket team had just crushed a rival to win the Dhaka Tournament.
The crowd was wild, joy thick in the air.
Sizan, 18, was in the middle of it all — laughing, teasing, alive. Just another face in the crowd. He slapped his friend Mostafa's shoulder.
"Bro, you legends finally did it! Now where's the treat?"
Mostafa grinned. "You can treat us, no problem. Just bring your wallet."
"I'll bring it, and you'll fill it."
They burst out laughing, joined by Rudro who jumped into the conversation. "Enough of this, let's hit Dhanmondi Lake. We'll eat there, chill a bit."
"Perfect," said Sizan. "Could use some peace after today's chaos."
Soon, twenty-something guys stormed off toward the lake park, their laughter echoing through the streets. They cracked jokes, took selfies, roasted each other — the usual teenage stupidity that made life feel infinite.
As the sun dipped orange over the water, they split up one by one, leaving only Rudro and Sizan walking home together.
"Hey, can you send me your biology notes tonight?" Rudro asked, half whining. "Coaching test tomorrow and I'm screwed."
"Yeah, yeah, I got you," said Sizan.
"Not like last time, dude. I need them tonight."
"Relax. I'll be out for a bit, but I'll send them by 10."
Rudro snorted. "Out for a bit, huh? Going to her place again?"
Sizan chuckled. "You think I'd miss a chance?"
They laughed until their paths split.
After returning home, Sizan refreshed, ate some snacks, and then started getting ready to go out. He lived in a modest apartment in a middle-class family, not far from college.
He usually didn't like to stay at home much, as his relationship with his family wasn't very good.
At this time, a familiar face ran toward him. That little boy seemed to be very excited.
"Big brother!"
His little brother came running up, clutching a phone. "Look! New fighting game! Let's play! Two players!"
Sizan smirked. "Why don't you fight me for real? That'll be more fun."
"But you're too strong!"
"Haha right. Lets play then"
They played. He lost...badly...seven times straight. His brother cheered while he sulked, pretending to pout.
Despite everything, the arguments at home, the distance... his brother was the only piece of peace he had left.
He then started getting ready for his hangout. Before going out, he slid a brass knuckle into his pocket, one of a dozen weapons he'd collected over the years.
He didn't usually carry brass knuckles. There was a reason for his extra caution today. Recent political instability had triggered a series of gang wars, making the streets more dangerous than usual.
He met Rafsan and the boys near a coffee shop. Laughter, some Coffee & Cigarettes.
But soon he stood, stretching. "Alright, I'm out. Got work to do."
Rafsan smirked. "Work, huh? Sure, bro. Be careful. Dhaka's turning into hell lately."
"Don't worry. I'm not walking empty-handed."
He left, heading for Azimpur. His girlfriend lived there, and they'd planned a quiet night — movies, laughter, netflix and chill. For a moment, life felt normal. The noise in his head faded.
As he made his way through a narrow alley, a distant but sharp sound echoed.
*Bang*
The sound split the air. Sharp. Real. Not fireworks.
People screamed. Another gunshot followed. The street erupted into chaos.
"Shit… not now." Sizan broke into a run, cutting through a narrow shortcut toward Azimpur. Bad move.
Halfway through, he was met with a group of gangsters, armed and grinning. Pipes, sticks, blades. And among them, a familiar face — one he'd beaten before this week.
They recognized him — the bastard who'd humiliated them last week. Perfect time for payback.
"Well, shit," he muttered.
He texted fast:
> In front of Fort alleyway. Trouble. Bring boys and guns Quick.
Then he looked up, smiling cold. "Five minutes till my guys show up. Think you can last that long?"
Sizan's hand instinctively reached for brass knuckle, clenching it to break jaws and bones today. Even without anyone's help Sizan still wasn't someone to be taken down easily.
The fight began.
They charged. He didn't wait.
Steel met flesh, bones cracked, shouts filled the air.
He moved on instinct — duck, swing, smash. Every strike hit hard. Every scream fueled him more. Blood sprayed. His heart slammed against his ribs like a drumline.
But the numbers overwhelmed him. Cuts opened across his arms and back. He fought on, desperate and furious, until a sudden crack split the air again.
A gunshot.
Pain tore through his back. He turned. Another flash.
Bang.
The world seemed to slow as he looked down to see blood spreading from a gunshot wound. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the ground.
Just at the moment,through fading vision, he saw Rafsan and the boys storming in, firing back. A bullet tore through the gunman's head.
A slight smile was seen in his face after seeing this.
"Y-you… could've come… earlier… bastards…"
"Shit! He's bleeding out!"
"Get him to a hospital—now!"
Their voices blurred. His world darkened. Faces turned to shadows. The noise faded.
Then.... nothing.
Darkness enveloped him, and the sounds of the world faded away.
----
A dead silence.
Sizan opened his eyes. The ground beneath him felt cold, unfamiliar. The air didn't smell like Dhaka anymore.
"Where… am I?"
He whispered to the emptiness.
Little did he know, this mysterious place was just the beginning...
(End of chapter)