--- The Villain – Chapter 5: The Next Target

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The Villain – Chapter 5: The Next Target

The dhaba had quieted after the children’s laughter. The smell of spices and woodsmoke lingered in the damp night air, and Sully sat in silence, finishing the last grains of sabudana khichdi. The memory of kindness still clung to him, fragile, like a thin thread of light in the darkness.

Then the peace shattered.

A tall, broad man barged into the dhaba, his heavy steps thudding against the cracked cement floor. His eyes were sharp, his belly swollen with arrogance, and his voice cracked through the night like a whip.

“Where’s your father?” the man barked at the girl’s family, his tone drenched in contempt. “Rent was due last week.”

The girl froze, clutching her brother closer. Their mother, a frail woman with tired eyes, stepped forward, her hands trembling as she pressed them together in pleading.

“Please, sahib. We’ll pay soon. Just a few more days. The rains ruined the work, and we’ve been struggling—”

The man cut her off with a harsh laugh. “Struggling? That’s none of my concern. My property, my rules. No money, no mercy.”

He reached into the woman’s bag and snatched the small bundle of notes she had been saving—money meant for food, medicine, survival. The woman cried out, reaching for it, but he shoved her back roughly.

The dhaba went silent. No one dared to intervene. Fear hung heavy, choking the air.

Sully’s eyes darkened.

For a moment, he wasn’t in the dhaba. He was back in time—years ago, in a memory carved deep into his heart.

The boy.

His boy.

He remembered how the boy he loved had once been humiliated in the same way, beaten and robbed by men who thought pride gave them power. Sully had stood powerless then, watching helplessly as cruelty tore the only light from his world. The pain had never left him. It had festered, grown, until it consumed him.

Now, seeing the landlord’s hand clutching the stolen money, Sully felt the past bleed into the present. His chest tightened, his fists clenched, and a low heat burned behind his eyes.

The girl’s little brother began to cry. The girl, with trembling courage, stepped between her mother and the landlord. Her voice shook but carried defiance:

“We’ll pay you. Please. Don’t hurt us. Just give us time.”

The landlord sneered, leaning down so close his foul breath washed over her. “Time? Time won’t feed me, little brat. Tell your father—next time, I won’t just take money. I’ll take this house too.”

He shoved the girl aside and turned to leave, stuffing the money into his pocket.

The dhaba patrons stayed silent, eyes lowered, afraid to get involved. But one pair of eyes followed every move—the eyes of Sully.

In that instant, his hunger was gone. His pain turned to steel. His purpose sharpened.

This man—the landlord—had just signed his death warrant.

Sully’s face remained calm, almost expressionless, but inside his mind, the decision had already been made. The landlord was prideful, cruel, feeding on the weak. He fit the code. He deserved to be carved.

As the landlord swaggered out of the dhaba, Sully’s lips moved in the faintest whisper, almost like a vow:

“You’re next.”

The girl turned, as if sensing something behind her. For a brief second, her eyes met Sully’s across the dimly lit room. She saw nothing more than a tired, hungry man, but something in his gaze unsettled her—like staring into the eyes of a storm just before it breaks.

Sully lowered his head, hiding his expression. He stood slowly, slipping into the shadows of the street. His figure dissolved into the night, unnoticed as always.

But his mind was already alive with images—how, when, and where the landlord would fall.

The ghost had chosen his next victim.

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⚡ Cliffhanger Ending:

The landlord walked home alone, whistling smugly, clutching the money he had stolen. Behind him, in the puddles of rainwater, a second pair of footsteps echoed faintly—silent, patient, deadly.

Sully had begun the hunt.

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