DELHI.
Thick. Red. Blood
RED
The colour of Power
The colour of Authority
In a suffocating dark room, where the only source of light was a single red bulb glowing in one corner, a large wooden table stood at the opposite side,scattered on it were tools.
Deadly brutal tools.
Razor-sharp blades, blood-stained cutters, knives of every size, coiled ropes, iron rods and loaded guns.
Displayed with chilling precision, as though they were trophies rather than weapons.
The air smelled of torture and blood.
Each object whispered the same story--scream, pain and no mercy.
The polished wooden floor was covered in thick red blood, In the middle of the room lay the body of four unconscious men, half dead struggling with each breath.
There cloths were completely drenched in blood and sweat, their hands were tied by metal chains while the metal chain cutting their flesh deep, Cuts and bruises covered them whole, some new some old, while some swollen.
One of them groaned painfully, but immediately shut his mouth with his shivering palm.
Silence ruled the room.
Not because no one dared to speak.
Because everyone was waiting for him.
In one corner of the room stood a shivering man his eyes fixed on the big bags in front of him, the bags were wide open with millions of cash in them.
He adjusted his spectacles, his hands trembling.
"S-sir... Seventy five lakhs are missing," he said after calculating, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with fear.
In the middle of the room, on a throne like chair sat a MAN with legs wide open, his black eyes shinning while his hands were stained in blood.
He didn't seem to notice.
Or perhaps...
...he simply didn't care.
A cigarette burned lazily between his fingers as smoke curled around his face, hiding the expression in his dark eyes.
The sleeves of his white shirt rolled up till his elbow showing his strong veiny muscular hands,he leaned back casually as he took a slow drag of the cigarette unbothered by the words of his P.A.
"Hmmm" he hummed in his deep voice, the voice that have the power to shut thousand's at once.
The man stood up from the chair after taking one last drag of the cigarette and walked towards the wooden table.
From the wooden table, he pickup a polished steel blade, turning it between his fingers as if admiring its craftsmanship.
The chained men stared in horror.
One of them burst into tears.
"S-sahab... maaf kar dijiye...galti ho gai."( Sir p-please forgive us...we made a mistake.")
The man bend down towards his level and grabbed his jaw tight,his expression unreadable.
He clucked, the dark sound vibrating in the whole silent room,he lifted the blade and rested its cold edge against the man's trembling palm and dragged it up and down brutally from the tip of his palm to his wrist cutting his flesh in deep red.
"Ahhhhhhhhh...." the man let out a blood-curdling scream, his entire body trembling in agony and fell on the floor in pain.
"Mujhe galti karne wale log bilkul pasand nahi..." He wispered, venom dripping from his voice.
( I don't like people who make mistakes...)
"S-sahab hame m-maaf kar do"(S-sir p-please forgive us)
The other man begged while breathing heavily.
A slow smirk curved the man's lips.
"Well, in that case," he said calmly, "you should have thought about that before."
"Raghav," he said, extending his hand.
Without a word, Raghav stepped forward and placed the gun in his palm.
The four men froze, their eyes widened
"S-sir-"The word broke into a sob.
He tilted his head slightly, almost bored.
"Too late."
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Raghav flinched.
The room fell in complete silence
All the four man collapsed on the floor with thug.
"Did you really think you could betray me... and walk away sane?"
"Bloody fools."
The man didn't even blink.
Why would he ?
This was not something new for him...afterall it is the only thing he enjoys.
The MAN of his words.
He was non other than
MLA ARJUN RATHORE.
The man respected by few, feared by all.He wasn't just in power-he was power himself.
And this was the way he reminds the world-The cost of crossing him.
"Raghav," he said handing the gun back,
"clean this mess."
Raghav nodded immediately.
"S-sir... CM sir ka call hai," the P.A. said nervously "Woh aapse milna chahte hain. Kya bolu?"( Sir CM sir has called you....He wants to meet you. What should I say to him ? )
"Tell him," Arjun said, picking up his coat,"I'll be there in one hour."
____________
"Papa... Mumma... utho na... Chalo ghar chale..."
A six-year-old boy clung desperately to his parents' lifeless hands, his tiny voice breaking with every sob.
His father's trembling fingers reached his son's cheek one last time.
"Mera bachcha..." he whispered weakly, forcing a smile despite the tears in his eyes.
"Hume maaf kar dena... Hum tumhara saatva janamdin tumhare saath nahi mana paaye..."
The little boy screamed.
"Papaaaaaaaa!"
The sound echoed endlessly...
____________
"Sir" Raghav's voice broke the chain of Arjun's thoughts. "We are about to reach."
Hm," he hummed, while his gaze remained fixed outside the window while his thoughts drifted far from the present.
"Sir... what do you think? CM sir ne kyun bulaya hoga?"( Why would have CM Sir called us? )
Raghav asked, his voice low, nervousness slipping through despite his attempt to sound calm.
Arjun clucked darkly, the sound vibrated in the car.
"Pack your bags, Raghav," he said evenly. "Very soon, we'll be leaving for a rural trip."
Raghav frowned. "Sir... you already know?"
Arjun didn't answer immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on the sprawling government complex outside the window.
After a long silence, he spoke.
"Some battles aren't won on the day they're fought, Raghav."
He adjusted the cuff of my coat.
"They're won much before anyone realizes a battle has even begun."
Raghav looked at him, confused as if wanting to ask more, but held himself back.
The words hung heavy between them.
The car came to a sudden halt.
The official Chief Minister's Office stood tall under the bright afternoon sky, its grand structure radiating authority and power. The national flag fluttered proudly above the building, while a long line of government vehicles occupied the driveway.
Uniformed security personnel stood at perfect attention, their sharp eyes scanning every movement around the premises.
The moment the black SUV came to a halt, Raghav stepped out first before opening the rear door.
Arjun emerged from the car, adjusting the button of his coat with practiced ease.
Within seconds, his security detail surrounded him in a flawless formation, every man alert, every gaze fixed on the surroundings. Years of experience had taught them that danger never announced its arrival.
Raghav walked beside him.
"Appointment confirmed, sir," he said respectfully. "The Honourable Chief Minister is expecting you."
Arjun gave a single nod and continued walking toward the entrance.
Camera lenses immediately turned in his direction.
Some greeted him with folded hands while some offered crisp salutes.
Others simply watched in silence.
•ARJUN•
Respect.
Someone once said—Respect wasn't built on loyalty, It was built on fear.
And fear?
Fear listened when I spoke.
Outside those walls, I am MLA Arjun Rathore—A leader, an influencer, a man of principles, Someone people trusted their futures with.
Inside them
I am the unimaginable nightmare, the curse.
A shadow, everyone fears to get close with.
Power had an unusual way of introducing you,they rarely needed to ask your name.
Your reputation arrived before you.
The conference hall was already alive with quiet conversations by the time I stepped inside.
Rows of polished tables stretched across the room, occupied by cabinet ministers, senior bureaucrats, department heads, and officials whose signatures could change the fate of entire districts.
Files lay open before them, discussions paused midway, and every pair of eyes instinctively shifted toward the entrance.
The room grew noticeably quieter.
The Honourable Chief Minister looked up from the file in front of him. A faint smile crossed his face.
"Arjun. You're here."
I inclined my head in acknowledgment before taking the vacant seat reserved for me. Around the table, a few ministers greeted me politely. Others merely observed, trying to read an expression that revealed nothing.
Politics was an unusual game.
People believed victories were decided inside meeting halls.
They rarely understood that the real game began long before anyone gathered around a conference table.
The Chief Minister rose from his chair and addressed the room.
He spoke about the Veerpur development project—a project intended to bring new opportunities to the region but now stalled by persistent obstacles. Every department had completed its part on paper, yet the work on the ground had barely moved.
Different ministers offered explanations.
Administrative delays.
Local resistance.
Coordination issues.
Each answer sounded complete.
None sounded convincing.
The Chief Minister listened without interruption before closing the file in front of him.
"This project cannot remain unfinished," he said evenly. "We need someone who can take complete responsibility."
His gaze settled on me.
"Arjun."
The room fell silent.
"I want you to lead the Veerpur project."
Several faces around the table reflected surprise. One minister politely pointed out that I was already handling major responsibilities elsewhere.
I inhale deeply.
"Sir, with due respect, I cannot be a part of the new project since I already have lots of projects in line"
The CM looked up from the file
"Arjun," he said calmly, folding his hands, "this construction project will prove highly beneficial for the people, and for us and don't worry about the other projects I will handle that."
I didn't answer immediately.
Arjun samjhne ki koshish karo elections sar par hn aur yeh project kisi bhi kimat par election se phele pura hona chahiye...You know what I mean.
( Arjun, try to understand that elections are near and this project must be completed before the elections at any cost.)
"But sir-" he cut me in between.
"Arjun," he interrupted calmly, It's an order."
Inhaling deeply, I nodded.
I leaned back slightly.
"With respect, sir, accepting this assignment would require complete operational independence."
The Chief Minister studied me carefully.
"What do you mean?"
"My team answers to one command."
"There should be no conflicting instructions, no parallel authority, and no unnecessary interference. If I accept responsibility, I will also accept accountability. Those two cannot exist separately."
A thoughtful silence settled over the room.
The Chief Minister nodded slowly.
"Agreed."
"And one more condition," I added.
"I will decide where my team stays during the assignment."
A few officials exchanged puzzled glances, The Chief Minister tilted his head slightly and leaned back in his chair, studying me carefully.
"What exactly do you mean, Arjun?"
I met his gaze without hesitation.
"You know me, sir," I said evenly. "When I take responsibility for something, I see it through to the end. I want this project executed exactly as planned and completed without unnecessary interference. Don't worry, sir—I won't disappoint you."
The Chief Minister held my gaze for a long moment, as though trying to read the thoughts I hadn't spoken aloud. Finally, he gave a slow nod.
"Alright," he said. "You have my approval."
"You'll have the authority you need."
He slid the project file across the polished table.
"Veerpur is yours."
I accepted it without another word.
The meeting ended soon afterward.
As ministers and officials filtered out of the hall, Raghav walked beside me.
Raghav opened the car door for me.
I slid into the back seat, and the moment I settled in, he quietly closed the door behind me.
Silence settled inside the car.
I leaned back against the seat, my gaze fixed on the bustling scene through the tinted window.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.
The kind that appears only when every move has already been calculated...
When the pieces are finally in place...
When the outcome is no longer a matter of chance.
I drew a slow breath and whispered,
"Let the real game begin."
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