#29 : THE FIRE BENEATH THE BADGE.

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Central Junction 13 – 01:56 HRS

His grip was still like iron.

I felt it through my forearm as our fists collided again—bone slamming into bone, skin breaking, blood mixing with sweat.

Dev Sharma.

The man who used to ruffle my hair and tell me the city could still be saved.

Now?

He was trying to beat that hope out of me.

He moved like a machine. Every blow placed with surgical precision. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Every time I swung wide, he was already two steps ahead—parrying, countering, striking low, then high, then low again.

"Stay down, Amit."

I spat blood and shook my head.

No.

Not tonight.

He tried to sweep my legs. I jumped—barely—landed off balance, rolled, came up with a wild right hook.

It connected.

His jaw jerked sideways.

He staggered.

I blinked.

That… that actually landed?

For a second, he looked at me like something had cracked—not just in the fight, but in him.

His eyes… changed.

Softer. But not weak.

He stepped back.

"That punch..."

He exhaled, almost a whisper.

"...was your father's."

My breath hitched.

"What?"

He didn't answer.

He came at me again.

Harder.

Faster.

Every move was punishment. Like he was trying to erase what he'd just said.

His palm slammed into my chest. I gasped. He followed with a brutal elbow that cut across my cheek. I dropped to my knees, ears ringing.

I reached for the wall. Pulled myself up.

"You faked your death..." I coughed. "Why? You could've told Dad. You could've told me—"

"Told you what?" he snapped. "That the entire system we fought for was already compromised? That I had to watch the people we trusted turn into cogs for a machine we couldn't even see?"

His voice echoed off the metal and concrete.

"I didn't die, Amit."

"I disappeared."

"Because staying alive meant becoming part of the disease."

I stood again, fists trembling.

"And joining the Serpents was your cure?"

Dev's silence was loud.

Then:

"No."

"They're a symptom. I went deeper."

We clashed again.

He blocked my jabs, weaved through my low kicks, then launched me backward with a double-palm strike.

My spine hit the pillar.

I slid down.

Chest heaving.

Vision spinning.

But I wasn't done.

I couldn't be.

I gritted my teeth. Pushed myself up. My whole body protested. Every joint screamed. But I rose.

"You think your way's the only way," I said. "You think burning the whole system down will fix it."

He stared.

No rage.

No gloating.

Just a tired man behind a mask of resolve.

"No."

"But I couldn't fix it from inside. Not anymore."

He looked at me like he was seeing more than just a rival. Like he saw the boy I used to be.

The boy he helped raise.

The boy Karan Rathore bled for.

His face faltered—for just a second.

"You fight like him," he said. "Stubborn. Raw. Full of fire."

I stepped forward again.

No stance.

No strategy.

Just fists.

Just rage.

Just pain.

"Then finish it."

We charged.

It wasn't clean.

It wasn't cinematic.

It was raw.

Flesh on flesh.

Memories against truth.

Dev disarmed me again—this time by smashing my wrist against the wall. The pain was blinding. My hand went numb.

He slammed my head into the rail. My knees buckled. He flipped me over and pinned me with a knee to the chest.

I struggled.

Fought.

Clawed.

Until my arms just…

Dropped.

I couldn't breathe.

His forearm pressed against my throat.

Then stopped.

His eyes met mine.

"You're not ready, Amit."

My vision blurred.

I thought I was going to black out.

But he eased off.

Stood.

Stepped back.

I gasped for air, chest rising like I'd just surfaced from drowning.

"Why… didn't you finish it?" I rasped.

He looked down at me.

Not with contempt.

Not even with pity.

Just calm disappointment.

"Because next time..."

"...I want your answers."

"Not your fists."

And then—

He turned.

Walked into the shadows.

Gone.

Leaving me alone in the ruins of everything I thought I knew.

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Central Junction 13 – 02:13 HRS

I lay there.

Body bruised.

Ego shattered.

But something deeper burned.

Rage?

Yes.

But not just at him.

At myself.

At this city.

At the fact that Dev Sharma, a man I once worshipped, was now part of the system he swore to fight.

I stared at the flickering lights above.

And promised myself—

Next time?

I'd bring my fists and my answers.

And I wouldn't hold back.

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TO BE CONTINUED