The Chase begins

The sun is harsh, but the tea stall sits in the cool shadow of a half-broken flyover. The smell of boiling ginger tea and cigarette smoke fills the air. Vikram, wearing a red shirt tucked under a plain white tee, jeans, and dark sunglasses, looks like just another tired man on the street. But his stillness gives him away—his mind is far away, running through plans, traps, and maps of the containers.

His tea glass fogs at the edges as he takes a slow sip. Behind his shades, his eyes keep darting—not at the people, but at reflections on steel counters, shop windows, the polished surface of a parked bike. Always calculating escape routes, always watching shadows.

A radio plays news in the background. The stall owner raises the volume.

> Radio Voice: “Tension rises at Chennai port as a group of protestors clashed with police earlier today. The port’s ownership remains unclear, with whispers of powerful underworld control…”

The word “underworld” makes Vikram tighten his grip on the glass. Kaali’s name isn’t said, but Vikram knows. Kaali is everywhere now, even in the mouths of protestors.

The bell above the stall door jingles. A thin man in a worn leather jacket slides in quietly, eyes shifting left and right before spotting Vikram. He doesn’t greet, doesn’t smile—just sits, lights a beedi, and slips an envelope under the table.

Vikram doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t need to. He finishes his tea, sets the glass down, and in the same motion palms the envelope into his hand.

For a moment, silence. Then Vikram finally speaks, voice low, almost like he’s talking to himself:

> Vikram: “Kaali thinks ports are his castles… but every king forgets, a castle has secret gates.”

Kaali’s Mansion

The room is dim, curtains drawn. A slow ceiling fan creaks above. Kaali sits back on a heavy chair, smoke circling around him as he drags on a beedi. His posture is lazy, but his eyes are sharp, restless. The sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the corridor.

The door creaks open. A nervous man enters, sweat on his forehead. Kaali’s head snaps toward him in one swift, predatory motion.

Kaali (low, sharp): Speak.

Man (stammering): Sir… news from the port. The coolies have started protesting. Police have been sent to investigate. If we don’t clear them out quickly… they might discover the path to the gold—before we secure it.

Kaali exhales a long stream of smoke, holding the beedi between his fingers. His eyes narrow with irritation, but his tone stays calm—deadly calm.

Kaali: Send JD to the port.

The man hesitates, then clears his throat.

Man: Sir… JD’s man, Sahir, is already in charge of that port. He says… one coolie is behind the protest. Stirring them up.

Kaali pauses. The smoke dances in front of his face as he leans forward, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Kaali: One coolie… can move an army.

(beat)

Tell Sahir—if he can’t break one coolie, I’ll break him.

The man: “…sir, one coolie made them protest.”

Kaali’s eyes twitch. A split-second flash—a young, powerful man in a coolie outfit, standing tall, smirking. The shot vanishes instantly.

Kaali exhales smoke, the beedi trembling slightly between his fingers.

Kaali (low, sharp): Send JD.

Port – Day

Containers stacked high. Sahir rests lazily on one of them, smoking.

A worker rushes in, panicked.

Worker: “Saahir! They’ve sent JD! Come quick!”

Sahir immediately jumps down, straightening his shirt. JD is already there, standing with fire in his eyes.

JD (sharp): “So? How’s the port doing?”

Sahir (gritting his teeth): “Now we know what happened. But don’t worry—we’ve caught that rat.”

JD smirks, nodding.

JD: “Oh? Is it? …Then gather everyone.”

Moments later, all the coolies are assembled, eyes nervous, murmuring. Sahir stands tall with a loudspeaker.

Sahir (booming): “TO ALL THE COOLIES PRESENT HERE! We all know what you did… and who you did it for.”

A crane whirs to life behind him. A man dangles from its hook, neck tied in a noose. He kicks and gasps, choking, his body twitching helplessly in midair.

The crowd freezes in horror.

Sahir (mocking): “This RAT thought he could rebel against us… cause chaos… even bring the police into this!”

(He points at the man, sneering.)

“Look at him now. Flapping like a fish. Hah… bitch.”

He lets the silence sit heavy. Then—he leans forward, voice dark.

Sahir: “But… there were more than one. You find me the other rat… and I’ll give the finder a lifetime worth of money.”

The coolies exchange fearful glances.

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