The night was too quiet.
Not peaceful—just… still.
Like something was waiting.
Far from the city, hidden behind layers of darkness, one of Tiger Gang's largest warehouses stood guarded under dim industrial lights.
Men were stationed at every corner.
Weapons loaded.
Eyes alert.
Because in their world, silence never meant safety.
"Everything clear?" one of them asked.
"Clear," came the reply.
For a moment—
everything held.
Then the lights flickered.
Just once.
And in the next second—
an explosion tore through the side of the building.
The impact was violent.
Metal twisted.
Glass shattered.
Men were thrown back as the shockwave ripped through the structure.
"Attack!"
Gunfire erupted instantly.
Shots echoed in every direction as panic spread through the guards.
"Where are they?!"
"Find them!"
But there was nothing to find.
No visible enemy.
No movement.
No target.
Another blast hit the rear side.
Stronger.
More precise.
Smoke spread rapidly, filling the air, blinding vision, choking breath.
"What the hell is this?!" someone shouted.
No one answered.
Because no one knew.
Security systems failed.
Cameras went black.
Communication lines dropped.
Every layer of protection—
gone.
This wasn't random.
It was controlled.
Calculated.
"Fall back! Move back!"
But even retreat felt wrong.
Because every direction felt watched.
Every step felt followed.
Something was there.
They could feel it.
But they couldn't see it.
Within minutes—
it was over.
The gunfire stopped.
The explosions ended.
The smoke slowly settled.
What remained was destruction.
A once-secured stronghold now broken, burned, and silent.
No bodies of attackers.
No trace.
No clue.
Except one thing.
Near the main exit—
on a twisted metal door—
a symbol had been carved.
Deep.
Deliberate.
🐆
No words.
No claim.
Just a mark.
And that was enough.
Because everyone who saw it—
understood.
This wasn't just an attack.
It was a message.
The news spread fast through the underworld.
Too fast.
"Tiger Gang has been hit… multiple locations… same time…"
Fear didn't come from the damage.
It came from the method.
No one saw anything.
And that made it worse.
In a dark room, far from the chaos, a phone rang.
A man picked it up.
"Hello?"
There was a pause.
Then a voice came from the other side.
Calm.
Controlled.
"Where are you?"
A brief silence.
Then—
"In Mumbai."
The air shifted.
"Tiger…"
The name carried weight.
"Black Cat has moved."
Silence again.
Then a quiet response.
"I understand."
No panic.
No anger.
Only certainty.
"The situation is serious," the older man said.
"Multiple locations… heavy losses—"
"I said I'll handle it."
The tone didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
The call ended.
The man holding the phone—Ravan—lowered it slowly.
His face remained hidden in shadow.
But his grip tightened.
Even he could feel it.
This was different.
In another part of the city, inside a quiet room, a phone screen lit up.
Aarav looked at it.
Tiger Gang under attack.
He didn't react immediately.
Didn't move.
Then slowly—
his gaze darkened.
"…So it begins," he murmured.
Outside, the world remained unaware.
Still sleeping.
Still calm.
But beneath it—
something had already started.
Something that didn't need a face—
to be feared.