That same night, Surya and Jey were ordered to rest. While following Mani, Jey noticed something in Surya's eyes—he was barely containing the rage bubbling inside him. Mani led them to the elevator, and once inside, he began to speak. "We don't have dorms here like in the South Zone. Rajiv introduced those for his members who had no homes to return to. But things work differently here—we only have training pits, a gym, offices, and meeting rooms. So, you'll be staying at a hotel. I've already booked a room for you."
Only Jey was listening. Surya, consumed by rage, wasn't even present in the moment. His mind was spiraling—haunted by his mother's death, his destroyed home, and her lifeless body lying in a hospital. And the man responsible? He was untouchable, sitting at the top of the world, rich and powerful, looking down on everyone. Surya's rage was escalating with every passing second.
The elevator doors opened. Jey gave Surya a slight push, snapping him back to reality.
Mani glanced back and said his final words, "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, Ryan and I will explain the mission," and stepped out of the elevator.
Jey and Surya started walking toward the hotel. Jey was mesmerized by the city—it felt like another world. Giant skyscrapers towered above, expensive cars zipped past, and the streets were filled with well-dressed people smiling, laughing, content.
But to Surya, it was different. The city's brightness felt blinding, its people fake. Every smile looked venomous. The glitz made his stomach churn.
After a fifteen-minute walk, they reached the hotel—huge, like a castle. But Jey quickly noticed Surya wasn't looking good. He was sweating heavily, his face pale, clutching his stomach in pain. Without a word, Jey grabbed him and rushed inside.
At the reception, Jey said, "Mani booked rooms for us." The receptionist handed over the keys, and Jey sprinted toward the elevators.
When they reached the rooms, Jey unlocked one. Surya immediately rushed inside, ran to the washroom, and vomited. Jey waited outside, sitting quietly, concern etched on his face.
A few minutes later, Surya stepped out, wiping his face.
"This city makes me sick," Surya muttered, staring out the window. "Their smiles look venomous. Even the air feels toxic. Everything here reeks of lies."Jey stood. "I understand, Surya. But you need to bear it for now. This mission is your chance to get closer to Ryan. I saw it the moment you entered the room—you despise him. But first, we need to earn their trust in the North Zone."
Surya replied in a low, tense voice, "I know. But every time I see his face, I remember my mother. He's my nightmare. I can't stand him. Every second… it begs me to kill him."
"I know that," Jey said firmly, "but you need to wait. We have to act carefully. One mistake, and Ryan will catch on—it'll all be over. For now, focus on completing the mission and earning their trust. Leave the rest to me. I'll make it happen. I'll help you cross every name off your list."
Surya nodded. "Thank you. I'm okay now. You should go get some rest."
Jey gave him a reassuring look, then left for his room.
Meanwhile, at headquarters, Mani approached Ryan.
"Sir," Mani began, "do you really think Surya and Jey are fit for this mission? If it's true, it could change everything in the company."
Ryan answered calmly, with the voice of a man who knew too much. "Mani, I know exactly what I'm doing. I've seen the fire in Surya's eyes. He'll consume everything in his path. There's a reason they call him the Wolf of the South Zone. I see what he is… and I know how to use him."
He paused, then added, "Go now. Prepare the people needed for the mission."
Ryan paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing.
"And one more thing…" he said coldly, "I want to see how this Surya fights. Tomorrow, throw him into the fighting pits. Let's see what kind of beast he is."
The morning arrived, and Surya and Jey made their way to the headquarters—only to be intercepted by Mani.
"Ah, you're finally here," Mani said calmly, eyeing Surya. "Well, Ryan wants to see if you're truly suitable for this mission. He's arranged a test—he wants to evaluate your fighting skills. You'll face one of our top fighters in the pit. Follow me."
The underground pit was nothing like the brutal chaos of the South Zone.
Here, it was colder. Clean. Controlled. But somehow, more dangerous.
The crowd wasn't rowdy. They were silent—watchful—waiting like wolves for meat to drop.
Surya stepped inside the ring.
Above, behind a one-way mirror, Ryan stood silently, arms crossed. Mani stood just to his side, clipboard in hand, his eyes locked on Surya.
Across the ring, the gate clanked open—and he stepped in.
Kamaal, one of the top fighters of the North Zone.
Tall, thick-built, a jaw like stone, and hands that looked like they were used to breaking bones more than shaking them.
His body was scarred, tattoos running down his arms like kill marks. He didn't blink. He didn't speak.
He cracked his knuckles and smiled. "You're the famous wolf?"
Surya didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Mani's voice echoed over the intercom.
"No weapons. No mercy.
Win, and you earn respect.
Lose, and you're forgotten."
A buzzer rang. The gate slammed shut.
The fight began.
Kamaal charged without hesitation—like a truck. His first punch flew like a cannonball.
Surya barely sidestepped, feeling the wind brush past his face.
The second strike came faster—a backfist—grazed Surya's temple. Blood trickled down.
The crowd gasped. Ryan didn't move.
Surya stumbled. Kamaal grinned.
"South Zone dog. You're out of your league."
He lunged again, but this time, Surya dropped low, sweeping Kamaal's legs.
The big man stumbled, but didn't fall—he twisted midair and elbowed Surya's back, sending him hard to the ground.
Surya coughed, tasting metal. His fingers curled against the concrete floor.
Then—he saw it.
A memory.
His mother's face.
Her bruised eyes.
Michael's laughter.
And rage took over.
He rose—not with balance, but with fury.
Kamaal grunted, rushing in for the final blow—
Surya caught his wrist mid-strike.
Snap.
The sound echoed like a whip. Kamaal screamed as his arm bent the wrong way.
Before he could pull back, Surya slammed his head into Kamaal's nose—once, twice, thrice.
Blood exploded. Kamaal staggered, dazed.
Surya grabbed him by the collar. Blood streamed from Kamaal's shattered nose.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
Then he drove his knee into Kamaal's ribs with brutal precision—once, twice—until Kamaal collapsed, coughing blood.
Surya climbed over him, fists raised—
But stopped.
He looked up.
Ryan was watching.
He could feel it. Behind the glass, the devil stood—unblinking.
Surya wiped the blood from his lip, stood over the fallen fighter, and stepped back.
He didn't finish him.
He didn't need to.
He turned to the viewing glass and stared—dead into it—his eyes sharp as blades.
In the Control Room
Mani lowered the clipboard.
"…He didn't finish him. Why?"
Ryan didn't smile. He didn't blink.
"Because he knew I was watching.
And because beasts… know when to wait."
After the fight in the North Zone pit, Surya was quiet—but more focused than ever.
Later that night, he and Jey were called into Ryan's private office.
Ryan sat behind his polished black desk, a crystal glass of untouched whiskey beside him. His voice was calm but carried weight like iron.
"There's something you need to see in the West Zone," he said, sliding a sealed envelope toward Surya. "Michael's been overseeing operations there. But something feels... off."
Surya's eyes narrowed at the name.
Michael. The West Zone. The place where my mother died. Where I met the old lady. The graveyard of my past.
Ryan leaned forward slightly.
"I'm authorizing you and Jey to investigate the West Complex. Discreetly. If you find anything… clean it up."
He paused.
"And Surya—if you do find something… kill him."
The next day, disguised under civilian clothing, Surya and Jey entered the decrepit heart of the West Zone. This place hadn't changed. The slums were darker. The air, heavier. Buildings leaned like they were mourning.
Surya didn't speak. His silence was boiling.
At the edge of the compound, they found Michael's office tower—a secure facility, polished on the outside, but hiding rot within.
Inside, past a hallway guarded with cameras and steel doors, they breached his office after hours. Surya broke the lock without hesitation.
They rifled through drawers, computers, cabinets—until Jey found it: a stack of ledgers, dusty and coded.
"These names… look at this. These aren't employee payouts," Jey muttered, eyes widening.
Surya flipped through page after page. The names meant nothing—but the final column did:
"Funded by M — for V's uprising."
"West Z squads: ready."
"Weapons distribution: Phase 2 – prepare East."
His knuckles turned white.
Michael was funding Victor's resurrection—trying to rebuild his army and seize back the organization, possibly even with help from the East Zone.
Surya called Mani immediately.
"We found proof. Michael's trying to raise an army. And he's not alone. East Zone's part of it too."
There was silence. Then Mani's voice—tight, shaken.
"Understood. Get out of there. I'll inform Ryan."
But Michael wasn't stupid.
The next day, armed guards increased around the tower. Surveillance doubled. Rumors spread that Michael had gone paranoid, locking himself in his suite, expecting "someone" to come for him.
And he was right.
But paranoia couldn't stop what was already decided.
Surya and Jey waited for the perfect moment.
It came two nights later.
Night fell over the West Zone like a curse.
The compound was silent—guards on break, surveillance looped, rain tapping like fingers on glass. Inside the top floor of the tower, Michael poured a drink, hand trembling slightly. He glanced around the room, sensing something. Maybe guilt. Maybe fear. Maybe instinct.
Then he saw the shadow step forward.
Surya.
Soaked from the rain, hood down, face hard as stone. His eyes locked on Michael like a predator sizing prey.
Michael froze.
"Surya," he breathed, glass clinking in his hand. "So… Ryan finally sent you."
Surya stepped in slowly, closing the distance with the weight of a ghost.
"I'm not here because of Ryan."
Michael blinked. "What?"
"I'm here for her."
Surya's voice was low. Measured. Controlled.
"For the woman you killed. For the child you laughed at. For the house you crushed. For the boy who lost everything in this place."
Michael's confidence cracked.
"Listen—Surya—I didn't know, I didn't—"
"You knew," Surya snapped. "You just didn't care."
Michael's fingers twitched toward the drawer. He lunged, pulling out a pistol—
Too late.
Surya kicked the desk into him, then pounced.
The gun clattered away.
Michael stumbled back, swinging wildly. His punch landed on Surya's jaw—but Surya didn't even flinch.
He grabbed Michael's arm, twisted it hard—crack—and slammed him into the bookshelf.
"I was just a boy," Surya growled. "You made me this."
Michael gasped, spitting blood. "You don't have to do this… We can—"
"No."
Surya grabbed him by the throat and threw him across the room, crashing into a glass table.
Michael tried to crawl, coughing, broken—but Surya walked up and kicked him onto his back, standing over him like a shadow out of hell.
"You created a demon, Michael."
Michael looked up, eyes wide with terror. "You… You're not that boy anymore…"
Surya leaned down, voice cold as death.
"That boy died the night you smiled over his mother's body."
Then he reached for the rope from his coat.
Michael thrashed, begged, cried—but Surya moved with surgical calm.
He looped the rope around Michael's neck and yanked him to his feet.
Michael screamed—then gurgled—as he was lifted, the rope tightening, feet kicking against air.
No mercy.
No words.
Surya watched, eyes cold and empty, until Michael's body stopped moving.
Then he cut the rope—let the body drop like garbage on the office floor.
Jey, who had been searching for more proof, entered Michael's office—only to witness the aftermath.
Blood. Broken glass. Silence.
And in the center of it all—Surya, sitting beside Michael's lifeless body, his eyes empty. A rope still dangled from the ceiling.
Surya was calm, almost too calm. With slow precision, he took out a blade and dragged it across his forearm, crossing out Michael's name—one of the names carved there long ago.
Jey didn't speak.
Surya stood, picked up the ledger, and without looking back, said,
"Split up. I'll meet you at the station."
Jey nodded silently.
They disappeared into opposite alleys, slipping into the shadows of the West Zone.
An hour later, they reunited at the train station.
Rain drizzled against the metal roof as the train arrived, steam hissing like a warning.
They boarded without a word.
Inside the dim carriage, Jey sat quietly, glancing at Surya, who stared at his forearm—at the names, at the scars, at the weight.
Surya whispered to himself, voice cold and quiet:
"Two gone."
"Two more remaining."
Then he paused.
There were only three names on his arm.
But fate had spoken.
The fourth name was never carved...
But destiny had carved a path—straight to the East Zone.