LOADING

Dark Streets

Ayan stood under the dim, flickering glow of a streetlamp. The sparse light stretched his shadow across the empty road, twisting it unnaturally. His breath curled in the night air as his eyes darted toward the opposite lane. Five cops loitered there, their stares locked onto him, unblinking.

His gut tightened.

The silence shattered.

RING.

Ayan jolted and fumbled for his phone. The screen glowed with an unknown number. Hesitating, he pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?"

A static-laced voice came through, low and urgent.

"The police are tailing you. If you want to get out, follow my instructions."

Ayan stiffened, glancing at the officers again. Their expressions were unreadable, but their eyes stayed on him like a wolf pack sizing up prey.

"How do they know?" he whispered.

"Doesn't matter. There's an alley behind you—GO RIGHT. Now."

Ayan hesitated, doubt gnawing at him. I don't trust you.

But then—

The cops shifted.

One of them raised his radio.

Ayan turned sharply and saw the narrow alley behind him, shrouded in darkness. He made his choice.

He bolted.

The Chase

His feet pounded against the pavement. The alley was damp, reeking of rot and something metallic. The walls loomed close, closing in like a vice.

"Second building on your right. Get inside."

Ayan skidded to a stop, chest heaving. The structure looked abandoned—wood splintered, windows shattered. A broken sign above the door read 'Choudhary Warehouse' in faded paint.

Behind him—SHOUTS. FOOTSTEPS.

He shoved the door open and stumbled inside.

The air was thick with dust and neglect. Moonlight streamed through broken skylights, carving jagged patterns across the floor.

"What the fuck is this place?" Ayan whispered.

"Doesn't matter. To your right—hide behind the desk."

Ayan's fingers twitched, but he obeyed. The desk was large, covered in old receipts and cigarette butts. He crouched low, pressing himself into the shadows.

"I'm not here," Haider's voice murmured, eerily detached.

"How the hell do you know all this?" Ayan's pulse thudded in his ears.

A beat of silence.

"You'll find out soon enough."

The Tension Mounts

DOOR BURSTS OPEN.

Flashlight beams slashed through the dark. Boots stomped against the floorboards.

Ayan gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay still. Sweat trickled down his neck.

"Keep low. When I say, run for the stairs," Haider whispered.

The officers spread out. Their voices were low murmurs, their radios crackling with commands.

One of them stopped just inches from Ayan's hiding spot.

A sickening pause.

Ayan held his breath.

The cop's light hovered over the desk, the beam crawling closer—closer—

"NOW."

Ayan EXPLODED from his hiding place.

The desk overturned with a crash. He sprinted toward the stairs, breath ragged.

Behind him—SHOUTS. MOVEMENT.

Then—THAAAIN THAAAIN.

Gunfire.

Plaster EXPLODED off the walls, spraying his face with dust. The acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air.

"FUCK! They're shooting at me!"

"Fourth floor—window. MOVE!"

The Leap

Ayan's legs burned. His lungs screamed. The stairwell was a vortex of darkness and chaos.

He reached the fourth floor. An OPEN WINDOW loomed at the end of the hall, the wind howling through it.

His phone buzzed. Haider.

"They want you badly."

"I'll surrender!" Ayan gasped, panic clawing at his throat.

"Then you'll disappear into some prison cell in the middle of nowhere. Or worse."

The footsteps pounded up the stairs, getting closer.

"Open the window."

Ayan's hands trembled as he threw it open.

Below—

A TRUCK. Parked in the alley. A carriage filled with cotton bales.

"Jump," Haider ordered.

"Jump? From the FOURTH FLOOR? Are you fucking insane?"

"This is your only way out."

"This is SUICIDE!" Ayan's heart jackhammered against his ribs. The cops were SECONDS away.

"JUMP. NOW."

The call CUT OFF.

The police rounded the corner.

Ayan's mind screamed at him. His body refused to move.

He looked down.

The truck. The cotton.

One shot fired.

The bullet WHIZZED past his ear.

Ayan LEAPT.