Mumbai.
A city that never truly sleeps. A city that hides its rot beneath neon lights and glass towers.
I still remember the date—June5th.
It had been almost five years since I walked out of my house, with nothing but rage in my veins and a future uncertain.
But today was different.
Today marked my first big mission since joining one of the most feared gangs in the city—theCrimson Fangs.
Succeed, and I'd earn my first rank. Fail… and well, no one fails in the Fangs and lives to tell the tale.
The wind howled as I approached the target, tossing my hair like it wanted to warn me.
The mission was straightforward: robthePBIBank and vanish before the cops showed up.
No guilt.
PBI was a den for black money—corrupt politicians, crooked officials.
This wasn't theft. It was redistribution.
I wore a simple blackmask, carried nothing but a baseballbat, and still thought I could pull it off.
God, I was such a rookie !
I walked through the front gate like I owned the place.
Naturally, the security guard didn't appreciate that.
He came at me fast, eyes narrowing the second he saw the CrimsonFangsinsignia on my jacket.
He swung his iron baton at me, and I barely blocked it with my bat.
The impact rattled my bones.
He was strong—way too strong for a middle-aged guard.
I gritted my teeth and threw a solid pushkick to his solar plexus.
He collapsed—but got up again, without his weapon.
I aimed for his liver, but the bastard dodged.
I had no choice.
I brought my bat down on his head, hard.
He finally went limp.
"Man, that was one strong old man," I muttered, stepping inside.
The bank's interior was calm—too calm.
No screams. No panic. Just cold stares.
They knew.
The staff recognized the symbol I wore, and they compliedwithoutresistance.
I moved straight to the manager's office.
The man inside was shaking. A frail old thing with a silver moustache and sunken eyes.
"L-Listen, young man," he stammered. "Take whatever you want. Just… spare this branch in the future."
"Show me all the cash. Now."
He didn't argue.
Even though this was a new and small branch, his fear was disproportionate.
I stuffed everything I could carry.
Not a massive haul, but enough for a rookie mission.
Then came the sirens.
Police.
Shit.
It all clicked.
Why the staff was too obedient. Why the manager looked like he'd seen death.
They called the cops while Iwasinside.
It was a trap.
And I walked right into it.
Panicking, I dialed the only person I could trust.
DanielDeCosta.
Half-Portuguese, blonde hair, lean build. Not a fighter, but brilliant with machines.
He was the gang's mechanic, and a close friend.
The line clicked.
"Yo, Amit. What's up? How's the mission?"
"Went great until the damn cops showed up. I'm stuck. Need a ride. Can you help?"
"Damn. On it. Give me fifteen."
True to his word, fifteen minutes later, Danny rolled up behind the building in an old black SUV.
Not flashy. Just fast.
We peeled out through a narrow alley the police hadn't blocked.
Clean escape.
---
We pulled up at the Crimson Fangs' hideout—a dimly lit building buried in a forgotten alleyway, reeking of sweat and smoke.
My nerves were fried. I nearly botched the job, and if Danny hadn't shown up, I'd be in cuffs—or a body bag.
We entered the boss's chamber.
There he was.
KiyaanMalik—the Black Fang himself.
Mid-40s, towering build, bushy beard, and a long scar across his left eye. His presence was suffocating.
He stared at us. Silent. Unblinking.
Then he spoke.
"Amit, I heard you completed the job. But there was… trouble?"
"Y-Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I didn't expect—"
He raised a hand.
Silence.
"It's fine. First missions are meant to be messy. But you showed guts. You didn't abandon the job. That matters."
He stood up, towering over me.
"I see potential in you. So, I'm giving you a rank—Executive. Don't make me regret it."
I clenched my fist.
"Thank you, sir. I won't disappoint you."
This wasn't a win.
It was a stepping stone.
The first real step toward a dream forged in blood and fire.
A path I chose.
A path I would never stray from.
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TO BE CONTIINUED
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