Port Mission

INT. SMALL SAFEHOUSE – NIGHT

The air is tense as Vikram paces the room, his hand clutching the file of information. He looks at his men.

VIKRAM

(gravely)

One container. The sixth one. That’s what Kaali wants shipped out. If it leaves this port, we lose everything.

The room is silent. Everyone’s eyes fix on Vikram.

VIKRAM (contd.)

For the next 10–20 days, I’ll be at the port myself. We need eyes inside. Ajay, you’ll lead the rest of the men there. Few agents with you—no mistakes.

They all nod. The group begins strapping on coolie uniforms, each receiving a badge number.

Vikram holds his badge for a moment. His hand trembles slightly. He sees flashes—

A young Vikram, years ago, leading coolies with pride.

The golden artifact of the Nayagans glinting in the sun.

Back to present—he gently wipes the dust off an old badge with a cloth used to cover a golden artifact. His eyes harden.

---

EXT. PORT – DAY

The atmosphere is heavy with labor. Whistles blow, cranes move containers, coolies shout instructions. Vikram blends in seamlessly, lifting sacks, pushing trolleys, head down like any worker.

Every morning, he sees the coolies lining up, phones submitted, rules followed with military precision under Saahir’s orders.

Occasionally, Vikram catches JD’s silhouette—watchful, calculating.

---

INT. PORT – RESTRICTED AREA – NIGHT

On the fifth day, Vikram notices Saahir slipping into a container. He silently follows, steps careful. Inside, he sees what looks like an ordinary container, but then—hidden deeper—it opens into a concealed room.

Vikram hides behind steel drums, watching. Saahir and a few loyal coolies whisper, papers exchanged. He catches fragments—

“...arrival soon…”

“…the sixth container…”

“…Kaali will take it himself…”

But the words twist into uncertainty—“maybe,” “if it arrives,” “timing unclear.”

Vikram’s brows furrow. Too many maybes. Something isn’t right.

He notices the restricted section again. Some coolies walk in, but only a few ever walk back out. His suspicion sharpens—

What’s in there?

One night, Vikram snuck into the restricted container again—and this time, he got it.

Saahir received word: exactly five days later, the container would arrive in the restricted zone. And not just that—Kaali himself would come to claim it.

The next day, Vikram blended back into his usual work, quietly picking up small hints, watching every move. But fate twisted unexpectedly.

A loud whistle cut through the air. Suddenly, all the coolies were ordered to gather near the central yard. Confusion rippled through the workers as they left their tasks and stood in a restless crowd.

High above, Saahir was having lunch on the roof of a container with a few of his men.

“Saahir! Saahir!” one of his trustees shouted, running toward him.

Saahir scowled, irritated.

Saahir: “What? Can’t you see I’m eating?”

The man panted, eyes wide with urgency.

Trustee: “JD… and Aamir… they’ve come!”

For a moment, silence.

Saahir froze, the words sinking in like thunder. His chair scraped as he stood in shock, tossing his plate aside. Without a word, he rushed down from the container.

Below, the crowd of coolies shifted uneasily, whispers spreading like wildfire.

JD and Aamir. Two names enough to shake the port.

Vikram, hidden in the crowd’s edges, narrowed his eyes. His heartbeat slowed.

“It begins…” he muttered under his breath.

Saahir pushed through the crowd of coolies, his men flanking him. The restless murmurs fell into silence as all eyes turned toward the edge of the yard.

And there they were.

JD and Aamir.

The two stood tall and calm, their presence enough to command the entire dockyard. JD leaned lazily on a container, dragging from his pipe, while Aamir exhaled smoke into the evening air, his eyes scanning the coolies like a hawk. Neither looked nervous—only dangerous.

Saahir’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer, trying to keep his composure, but his fists betrayed him, clenching and unclenching.

Just then, one of his men hurried to him, whispering.

Man: “Saahir… there’s a call. They said it’s urgent.”

Annoyed, Saahir snatched the phone and pressed it to his ear. His men watched nervously as the other side spoke just a single line.

The word was given.

Saahir’s face went pale. His grip on the phone trembled for a moment before he slowly lowered it, his eyes darting back to JD and Aamir, who were still calmly puffing their pipes, watching him with a ghost of a smirk.

Something bigger had just fallen into motion.

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