Chapter 25: Day Zero
February 14, 2012.
The administrative block of Cherlapally Jail was quiet. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, marking the final seconds of a four-year sentence.
Arjun stood at the counter. He was wearing the civilian clothes he had arrived in: the white shirt and trousers from his teenage years. They were laughably small now. The fabric strained tight against his chest and biceps, the sleeves ending halfway up his forearms. He looked like a giant trapped in a child's skin.
Shiva stood next to him, his massive frame bursting out of a faded t-shirt. Nanda was there too, shivering slightly, clutching a plastic bag of belongings like a lifeline.
"Sign here," the clerk grunted, pushing a dusty ledger forward without looking up.
Arjun picked up the pen. He didn't hesitate. He signed: Arjun. No surname. No initials. Just the name.
"Here are your personal effects," the clerk slid a plastic tray across the counter.
It contained a cheap digital wristwatch and a leather wallet. Arjun opened the wallet. The leather was cracked. Inside, preserved in plastic, was the photo of Vikram and Anjali.
Arjun stared at the photo. The grief that used to crush his chest was gone. In its place was a cold, hard engine that hummed with purpose. He slid the wallet into his pocket.
"You are free to go," the clerk said monotonously. "Don't come back."
Arjun smiled, a faint, razor-sharp curve of his lips.
"I own the bakery, my friend. Technically, I'm still on the payroll."
He turned around. "Let's go."
The walk to the main gate was a ceremonial procession.
The corridor was long and shadowed. As they walked, inmates pressed their faces against the bars of the barracks. There was no jeering, no catcalling. Just a heavy, respectful silence. They were watching the man who had fed them, loaned them money, and broken the old system.
A guard at the final checkpoint saluted. It wasn't protocol; it was instinct.
The heavy iron gates groaned. The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed like a thunderclap.
The gates opened.
The blinding white light of the Hyderabad afternoon sun hit them.
Arjun stepped out onto the asphalt road. He took a deep breath. The world outside felt vast.
Waiting for them, lined up on the dusty shoulder of the road, was a fleet.
Four black Ford Endeavours. Engines idling low. Windows tinted jet black.
Mallesh stood by the lead car. He had aged well. He wore a crisp linen shirt, dark trousers, and gold-rimmed aviators. Behind him stood twenty men—the core of the new army. They weren't dressed like street thugs. They wore smart casuals, looked fit, and stood with military discipline.
As Arjun stepped onto the road, Mallesh removed his sunglasses and bowed his head slightly. The twenty men followed suit.
"Bhai," Mallesh said, his voice thick with emotion.
Arjun walked down the steps. He looked at the cars. He looked at the open road stretching toward the city skyline.
"You're late, Mallesh," Arjun said, checking the cheap plastic watch on his wrist. "Two minutes."
"Traffic, Bhai," Mallesh grinned, opening the back door of the first SUV. "The city missed you."
"The city doesn't know me yet," Arjun said. "But it will."
He pointed to the black travel bag Mallesh was holding.
"The clothes?"
"Here, Bhai."
Arjun didn't get into the car to change. He stood right there, in the middle of the public road, under the open sky.
He peeled off the tight, suffocating prison shirt and threw it onto the dusty ground. He stripped off the undersized trousers.
He stood in his boxers for a moment, the sun highlighting the scars on his torso and the tattoo of a small sun he had gotten inked on his forearm inside the jail. He didn't care who was watching. A king doesn't feel shame in his own kingdom.
He opened the bag.
He pulled out a checkered shirt—blue and white squares. He put it on, leaving the top two buttons undone, the collar flaring open to the breeze. He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows with precise, deliberate movements.
Next, a pair of dark blue denim jeans. Fitted, rugged.
He sat on the step of the car to put on the shoes. White sneakers. Clean, sharp, ready to move.
Finally, the blazer. It was black, unstructured, and casual. He slipped it on over the checkered shirt. He didn't button it. He adjusted the collar, shaking his shoulders to let the fabric settle.
He put on a pair of black wayfarers.
He looked at his reflection in the tinted window of the Endeavour. The checkered shirt gave him a rough edge, the blazer gave him authority.
The prisoner was dead. The boy was gone. A predator stared back.
Nanda had quickly put on a tie, looking like a nervous accountant again. Shiva had pulled on a tight black t-shirt that struggled to contain his muscles.
"Where to, Bhai?" Mallesh asked. "The Guest House? I ordered biryani."
Arjun looked at the horizon, where the glass towers of Hitech City pierced the haze.
"The Guest House is for visitors, Mallesh," Arjun said, his voice calm and resonant. "We are not visitors."
He climbed into the leather seat of the car, stretching his legs.
"Take me to the Office."
"The office?" Mallesh paused. "You mean the new one in Madhapur?"
"Yes," Arjun leaned back, closing his eyes behind the dark glasses. "I want to see my view."
The convoy roared to life. Tires crunched on the gravel as the four black SUVs sped away from the prison walls, leaving the old white shirt lying in the middle of the road.
Inside the car, the AC was cool.
Arjun reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled map Maya had given him two years ago. The map to the Golden Sun.
"Nanda," Arjun said without turning his head.
"Yes, Bhai?"
"Draft a letter to Satya Constructions," Arjun said softly. "Subject: Eviction Notice."
Shiva grinned in the front seat. "We just got out, and you're already starting a war?"
"I didn't start it, Shiva," Arjun looked at the city rising before him. "I'm just here to finish it."
The University of Crime was closed. The Incubator was empty.
The CEO had arrived.