The chamber smelled like rust, reptile musk, and something far more sinister. In the flickering yellow light, the floor writhed — hundreds of snakes coiling over one another, tongues tasting the air like tiny whips.
A man knelt in the center, wrists tied behind his back, his eyes darting wildly between the vipers and the small vents hissing faintly in the corners. He tried to breathe, but the air was laced with something sweet and wrong — laughing gas. It made his lips twitch, made the corners of his mouth lift against his will, even as his eyes filled with terror.
Across from him, his executioner stood in a crisp black coat, face shadowed, fingers resting lightly on a small control panel. His voice cut through the stale air like a blade. "They say laughter is the best medicine. Pity it won't work on poison." He tilted his head, watching the man squirm. "Funny… you begged for mercy when you never gave any. You deserve this."
He pressed a button. A second hiss joined the first, deeper and harsher, flooding the chamber with another gas. The snakes stirred, tongues flickering faster. The man on the floor choked, laughter bursting out in ragged fits, his body convulsing as venomous fangs struck again and again.
The executioner didn't flinch. He sat down on a metal chair just outside the glass wall, watching with cold patience. His hands toyed with a small silver locket, opening and closing it slowly, eyes lost in whatever memory it contained. The man inside the chamber was no longer laughing — only gasping, writhing, then finally lying still as the snakes slithered away, their work done.
When it was over, the executioner stood, slipped the locket back under his coat, and walked out without a backward glance. The door clanged shut behind him, leaving the silent carnage behind.
Morning sunlight spilled into a cramped living room where a news anchor's voice blared from the television. Ishan, in a wrinkled T-shirt, was sprawled on the couch, a half-empty cup of chai in his hand. His brothers, Akshay and Debry, sat on either side of him, eyes glued to the broadcast.
"…the body of Ramesh Malhotra, personal aide to Chief Minister Dev Pratap, was found in what authorities describe as one of the most gruesome assassinations in recent memory…" The anchor's voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed a shiver. "…sources say the method of killing was highly elaborate, involving venomous snakes and unidentified gas."
Akshay whistled low. "Damn. That's… creative. In a serial killer kind of way."
Debry leaned forward, frowning. "Creative? That's political. Someone wanted to send a message."
Ishan said nothing, just sipped his chai. But when the news camera cut to a close-up of a blood-stained note found near the body, his jaw tightened. The words were simple, block letters written in thick black ink: Next Is The Right Hand.
By noon, the team was assembled in the department's glass-walled conference room. Annie was already flipping through crime scene photos; Anvi and Advi sat opposite her, comparing notes. Rags was leaning against the wall with a smirk, while Karsh quietly scanned through a list of known political enemies.
Ishan strode in, tossing a file onto the table. "Target's clear. Dev Pratap's right-hand man, Harsh. We move him to our most secure location, now."
Harsh was a thickset man with the permanent scowl of someone who trusted nobody. He didn't look thrilled when Ishan explained the situation, but he didn't protest either. Within an hour, he was locked inside the department's maximum-security room — seven separate locks, twenty armed guards, sixteen cameras watching every angle. Even his food would be scanned before it reached him.
"Safe enough for you?" Rags asked with a grin.
"Safer than your love life," Harsh grunted back.
The first hours passed without incident. Then, at exactly 7:00 p.m., a guard entered with Harsh's dinner. He waited for Ishan's nod before stepping inside. The door sealed shut behind him.
Five minutes ticked by. Then six. Then seven.
Ishan frowned. "Where the hell is he?"
Annie was already checking the monitors. "Camera four's dead."
They moved fast. When they burst into the outer chamber, the sight stopped them cold. Every guard stationed outside Harsh's room lay dead — throats slit, eyes open, bodies still warm.
At the far end of the hall, the "food scanner guard" was sprinting away. Ishan gave chase, but when he reached the inner lock, a masked figure was already inside, methodically torturing Harsh.
The killer worked like a butcher, slicing into different parts of Harsh's body, each cut deliberate. Harsh's screams echoed through the steel walls.
Ishan's hands flew over the locks, unlocking one, then another, heart pounding. Behind the glass, the killer doused Harsh's body in accelerant. Fire roared to life, swallowing him whole.
By the fifth lock, the killer was climbing a rope toward an open vent in the ceiling. He glanced down, saw Ishan's furious face, and raised a hand in a mock salute. "Goodbye," he called, voice muffled by the mask.
By the time Ishan broke through the final lock, Harsh was nothing but charred remains. On the floor lay another note, edges singed from the fire: Time of Losing A Generation!
The next morning, the press had a feeding frenzy. Cameras shoved in Ishan's face, reporters shouting questions about the "colossal security failure." Headlines screamed about incompetence, corruption, and danger to public officials.
Anvi and Advi arrived just in time to shoo the reporters away. "We've got him," Advi said loudly enough for the remaining cameras to hear. "We know who the killer is."
The press backed off, satisfied with the promise of answers.
Once they were gone, Ishan turned on her. "We don't have him. Why the hell did you say that?"
Annie tossed a USB drive onto the table. "Because," she said coolly, "the cameras caught his face."
Ishan stared at her for a long moment, then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Then let's catch the fucking bastard."
Outside, the city moved on as if nothing had happened. But in the shadows, someone else was already preparing for their next move.
To be continued…