Chapter Text
.̴̡̤̤̳͎͔͛̒͆̃̆̔͒̋͒̀͊̑̋̾͂̊̆ͅ.̴̜͓̗̭̣̻̣͔̰̯̙͔͎͕̯̃̅̋̄͂͜͝ͅ.̵̢̼̘͉͉̥͕̺͔̱͇̲̻̺̄ͅ.̶̨̳͙̝̺͙̉̂̽̏́̓̀̈̕̚̕͜.̵̡̡̻̤̻̬̥͓̒́̎ͅ.̶͍̤̭͇̳̤̙͎̼͍̩̥̰͈̠͍̼̘̐̆́͆̈́͐̇̇̀͆͑̅̆̔̋͘͝
S̶̨̧̛͕̗̥͔̪̹̥̯̻̰̈͐̆͗̾̿̂͑̂̔̅͘u̸͖̼̬̼̝͕̹̅̍́̈ͅc̶̢̪̙͙͙̘͛̀͌̔̆h̵̭̹̣̟͚̱̬̉͋̈́̔͗̈͆̊̾̓͘ͅ ̶̡̪̟̱̜̗͇̱̯͒̇̈́̄͆̓̿͋̑ͅm̶̛͚̺͊͒̇̇́̇̿̾͘͘͠á̵͎̝̬̤͑̀d̷̟̬̻̦͍̰̂̕n̵̻̓͊̚̕̚è̶͉̺̠͙̞̗̼͕͜s̸͍̩̞̖͗̒͛͆̋̉̋̈́́̚s̴̨̖̱͔͍̦̣̙̊̈͑̈́̑̃ ̵̦̠͇̺̺̯̀̀̀͜ḫ̵̢̡̳͚̳̭̩͉͎̍͋̊͒̈́̏̏́̕͘͝ͅͅă̵͇̰̋͒͂͊̍̕s̶͓͍̳̞̖̲̱̟̉ͅ ̵̢̨̘̤͎̋̓̓̾̚n̸̨̳̮̺̟̬̹̣̭͕̻̥̥͆̾ò̶̢̫̲͎͎̠̈́̈́͋̓͌̾͠ ̸̬͓̭̖͉̣̀͝͠c̷̮̘̻̊̈̀̋̾̈́̊u̷̧̢̳̟̘̹̘̬͍̦̱͕͊̓̇̄̕ͅr̸̼̩̠̥̻̹͔̃̍̓́͌͆͆̒̏̿͝͠ě̵̺͓̏͊̊͒͌͘͝.̶̖̪̞̗̼̆͂͋̽̂
I̵̧͎͙͎̦͍̖̚͝ͅẗ̶͈͉̣͉̜́̍̈́ͅ ̶̛̲̦̾̾f̵̞̰̣̰̰͔̫̅̅́̓̎̂͂̎̂͠é̴͙̲̯̮̮̓͂̌̆͗̕̚ḙ̸̡̹̌̈́̓d̶̯͈̤̠̙́̇́͐̃͝s̷̛͙̄͋̂͝ ̶̛̭̻̞̤͓̺̠̩̋̓̈́̐̅̉̽o̶͙̬̗̤̬͚͎̼̲̽́̍̀͜n̴̫̣̪͔͓͎̺̭̠̳̍̆̐ ̶̹͍͇̞̅͑̄̈b̸̡̡̯̳̙̿͑̏́̅̄̈́̎͂l̸̡͓͈͖̦̥̫̪͔̫͐̓́́̀̚ö̷̦̞̖̭̖̥͕̮́̌̓̂͋͆̄̚o̷̧̱͔͔͚͈̣͖̩̓̈̄ḓ̸̣̳̔̊ͅ ̷̢͙͇̃͊ą̸͈̤͗͛̅̎͝͠ͅṅ̴̖̦͉̙̙̑͛̎̑̓̈́͘ͅḑ̶̹͇̱̼͙̳̍̓̽̇̋͆̽̑͘ ̷̨̛̎̈́̈̒̔͊̃͘ć̵͕̽̐̄̎̓̀͘h̸̩̣͉̮̙͒̌̒́͠a̸̦̬͎̠͚̤͑̄̈́o̶̧͍̗̪̓̈͐̀̌̅̉̕s̴͉̅͑̂̕
.̵̦͖̮̻̞̂̎͂̾́͛̔͗͘̚
B̴̛̛̲͇̼̠͎͊̊͆̐͗̿͐̽̍́̀̄͐͌̀̌̀̇̓͊̑̉͆͌͋Ū̵̢̢̮͈̠̟̳̹̯̞̣͖̺͖̩͉̯̻̰̮͉̘̘̘̪́̎̓̆̑́̃̔̌͆͜R̴̡̞̺̜̣̱̼̖̜͇̜̲͚̦̩̻̲̟̱̪͍̫̫͚̰̥͔̠̮̣̼̪̥̭̙̓̏Ǹ̸͕̲̺͇̝̀͊͑̈́̀̊̓̿͗́ ̶̛̛̺̤̤͓̜̞̥̲͈̟̘͍͐͒̓̈́̂̂͌̓̅̂̆̄̔̓̃͑͒̃̓̈̔̋̇͊̃̉̽̇̊͘͘̕̕͝͝I̶̛̛̳͓͒̋͋͒̐̈́͗͊̀͑͌́̉̑͗͛ͅŢ̷̢̡̭̫̜̹̟͍̼̮͉̳̦̪͎̼̬̼̰̣͚̖̣͎̳̱̙̏̐̐̿̇̕͜͠ ̶̛̟̠̆͊͋̿̈́̓̅Ņ̷̢̧̪̖̠̩̲̣̹̹̙̝͈̼̊͐̊͜Ǫ̸̧̬͇̠̳̜̮̻̬̜̖̬̭̲̗̫̤̟̪͇̭̈̍͗̋̿̒̔̔̐̅̉̊̂͆̋̆̑́̈́̿͒̑͗̽̾̈͋͐̌̕̕͘͘̚͝͝͝ͅͅW̷̧̡̢̨̙̭͇͉̲͖̲͙͓̝͕͕͓͖̭̗̖̖̭̰̮̗̹̻̬̲̫͍̫̝̰̘̭̃͜.̶̢̡͚͍̘͚̩̦͈̪̺̘͋̏͐̿͛͊͐͒̆̀͂̍̉͘͘͜
.̶̛̲̩̀̓͋.̴̮̽̔͝.̸̡̰̦͚̾̃.̸̥̓̅́͛.̶̭͆͜͠.̷̜͑͑̚̕.̴̡̝̰̬̀.̷̛̰͕̆͑̕.̷̧̣̦̠͛̋͝.̷̡̜̄.̶̢̎̎͌̿.̷̛̖̲.̶͇̰̾.̴̨̝͌̅.̸̮̎.̵͓̩͇̗̃̋́.̷̳͍͈̽́ͅ.̸̯̜̓̍.̶͍̦̘̔̈́͝͠.̶̱̊.̵̪̋.̴̝͌͋.̷͛̈́͑̕͜.̷̟̾̎̓.̴̠̺̫͎̐͘.̴̫̘̥͌̿̈́.̶͍͐.̸̫̏.̶̰̻͊͠.̴̜̏́̚.̵̮̉̌.̴̺͇̲̈͗̄̽.̸̩̱̣̉̌͝.̸̡͖͔̣̄̕.̷̪̰͕̥̍.̴́͜.̴̠͕̱͌̏.̴̮͓̍̅͜
𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬▶ 𝗩𝗛𝗦
𝟭𝟯:𝟯𝟱 𝗦𝗘𝗣 . 𝟬𝟯 2𝟬𝟬8
•
Rehman leaned over his desk with papers in hand, his cup of tea lying forgotten and halfway on its way to becoming completely cold.
Eyes skimming through the documents like a hawk, he barely stirred from his seat whilst having his jaw clenched in focus. The warehouse profits were consistent as usual, but were now facing more scrutiny and checks due to the up and coming election.
Of course, these 'inspections' were nothing more than a ploy to fill the officers' greedy pockets up to the brim.
What would he do? Bribe them to not bribe him?
Or, there was always the wonderful option where Rehman could just unleash his boys to put the fear of god in those rascals....
Yeah, now that sounded like a reasonable solution.
Satisfied with his plans, he tossed the papers into the pile containing his completed paperwork.
Outside his office, the sounds of Hamza, Siyahi and Rashid echoed as they childishly fought over who would claim the latest, furbished model of a revolver. Siyahi had already got to work by body-slamming Hamza into the stack of hay behind them, Rashid following up with trying to bury him in the dry grass.
“Muh me mat daal, saale!” Hamza complained, spitting out pieces of hay from his mouth.
Hearing Hamza’s muffled words underneath their struggle, the other two burst into boyish laughter, cackling at the crude humor hidden in the words.
Taking advantage of their brief moment of distraction, Hamza lunged at both of them to tackle them into the grassy mattress, pinning them with his frankly monstrous arm strength.
Behind the window glass, Rehman sighed at their antics, like a gruffly lion who was tired of his cubs pulling at his tail. At this point, he was more likely to get high blood pressure and retire instead of getting encountered by the SP, he thought, massaging his temples.
The brief moment of domesticity prevailed, before being abruptly shattered by Donga’s arrival, which made Rehman look up, pausing the nearby roughhousing.
“BHAI!”
Never in Rehman’s life had he seen Donga look so pale before. The man’s face practically looked sheet white, and not to mention how he was trembling—
Rehman was moving as fast as a whip before he could even process what was happening,
“Bhai! Woh, U-Uzair bhai—!”
As soon as his brother’s name was uttered, Rehman felt like someone had put a noose around his still-beating heart and was ready to pull at it till it burst into pieces.
“Bol kya—!” Rehman’s voice was rough, his face convulsing and eyes pleading for him to hurry up and tell him—
.̶̛̲̩̀̓͋.̴̮̽̔͝.̸̡̰̦͚̾̃.̸̥̓̅́͛.̶̭͆͜͠.̷̜͑͑̚̕.̴̡̝̰̬̀.̷̛̰͕̆͑̕.̷̧̣̦̠͛̋͝.̷̡̜̄.̶̢̎̎͌̿.̷̛̖̲.̶͇̰̾.̴̨̝͌̅.̸̮̎.̵͓̩͇̗̃̋́.̷̳͍͈̽́ͅ.̸̯̜̓̍.̶͍̦̘̔̈́͝͠.̶̱̊.̵̪̋.̴̝͌͋.̷͛̈́͑̕͜.̷̟̾̎̓.̴̠̺̫͎̐͘.̴̫̘̥͌̿̈́.̶͍͐.̸̫̏.̶̰̻͊͠.̴̜̏́̚.̵̮̉̌.̴̺͇̲̈͗̄̽.̸̩̱̣̉̌͝.̸̡͖͔̣̄̕.̷̪̰͕̥̍.̵̪̋.̴̝͌͋.̷͛̈́͑̕͜.̷̟̾̎̓.̴̠̺̫͎̐͘.̴̫̘̥͌̿̈́.̶͍͐.̸̫̏.̶̰̻͊͠.̴̜̏́̚.̵̮̉̌.̴̺͇̲̈͗̄̽.̸̩̱̣̉̌͝.̸̡͖͔̣̄̕.̷̪̰͕̥̍
Albeit being crowded by half the town, the silence emanating from Cheel Chowk had never been louder.
The only sound that could be heard was of muted crying and drops of blood spilling onto the ground, dripping down from the blade of a cleaver.
In the center of it, stood a tall frame wearing a teal-yellow pathani—the lower half of his body splattered with vile amounts of blood.
His eyes were a pool of dark obsidian—full of bloodthirst and psychosis. His hands steadily held the weapon as he stared down in front of him.
“What’s with the tears? I’ve barely cut off two….”
At Uzair’s gravely words, the man began to pathetically try and drag himself away….red trailing behind him from the bloody stumps of his mutilated arm and leg.
“….”
Even the most hardened men of Lyari, who were used to the abhorrent slaughter conducted on the streets, shivered at the way Uzair slowly stalked towards the very man he had brutally dismembered moments ago.
Arshad Pappu's screams resumed as Uzair grabbed the back of his head with a clinical detachment to drag him back to the center of the chowk.
“Mere bhai ki maut me hissa liya tha na tune…” he rasped, raising the bloody cleaver up in the air, his body poised to strike,
“Ab yeh tera sir-kata murda Lyari ke sadko ke liye tanbeeh banega.”
•••
Rehman didn’t think that nightmares could ever come true.
Now, he stood shock-still at the side of the marketplace, struggling to comprehend the visage of his little brother, all bloody, rolling a head under his feet—like it was some fucked up game of football.
When Donga had started describing the frankly disturbing moment where he saw Uzair, whose eyes were filled with a manic sort of darkness, get a cleaver and march out without any preamble, Rehman couldn’t help but frown in confusion.
As far as he knew, there was absolutely no sort of conflict with his and Pappu’s men. Babu’s death had been enough to rattle them for a while. Hell, they hadn’t even seen any Pathan member lurking openly in the streets during their patrols.
Then, what in the world was this?
He had never seen this level of brutality being displayed by Uzair before; and frankly, his heart hadn’t stopped racing since he and the others had arrived to the sight of this…psychopathy.
Uzair’s eyes brimmed with an intensity which made even Rehman cautious to approach him in any way.
Rehman might have been a predator….but even he knew that mad lions were not to be tampered with, especially in the middle of a hunt.
The others in the back weren’t faring any better either.
Seeing this raw, and frankly animalistic side of Uzair was jarring and deeply unsettling. The cold executioner they were seeing wasn’t the Uzair they saw yesterday.
Just because they had the stomach to withstand the sight of the horridly mutilated corpse lying nearby, didn’t mean that their blood didn’t freeze at the first sight of it.
Just what the hell did they miss?