Daniel rose from his bed, slipped into his sandals, and slowly walked down the quiet hallway.
He opened the door to a room facing a balcony with an extraordinary view — sunlight spilling across the marble tiles.
Daniel sank into the chair near the wide glass window.
Two men approached.
One of them held out an iPad and tapped the screen.
A FaceTime window opened.
A half-naked man appeared — blood smeared across his face and chest.
He was beaten so badly that the only thing keeping him upright was fear.
Daniel smiled gently — almost kindly.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice calm and soft.
Just hearing that quiet tone made the injured man tremble even harder.
Daniel continued,
"If you don't accept my offer, we'll kill you in a way so painful you won't be able to bear it.
Accept the deal. I'm not giving you any more time."
Daniel's Thoughts:
Wait, wait — don't jump to conclusions yet.
I'm allergic to violence. I hate blood. I never wanted anything to do with crime. You must be wondering — if he hates violence, why is he doing this?
Well… listen.
Four Months Earlier — A Rainy Day
My name is Daniel — novelist, screenwriter, nobody special.
I lived in a tiny rented house and wrote stories from a borrowed office.
My first two novels did okay.
The ones that followed sank without a ripple.
That day, I needed a break.
I picked up some A4 sheets and an old fountain pen —
only to realize the ink had run out.
So I grabbed my umbrella and walked to the nearest convenience store.
I bought two bottles of ink — red and blue.
Just as I stepped back outside, my phone rang.
Joseph. My best friend.
I answered, but heard nothing.
Just silence.
I was about to hang up when Joseph's voice cracked through the rain.
"Help me. Please… help me."
Without thinking, I called a taxi and rushed to the location he sent —
an unfinished six-story building.
I sprinted up the stairs to the fifth floor.
And froze.
Twenty-one men surrounded Joseph.
He was on the floor, bleeding, covered in shallow knife cuts and bruises.
One man stepped forward.
"Your friend caused us damage," he said.
"He smashed up a bar, and he ruined an antique painting — very expensive."
I swallowed.
"How much?"
"Twenty thousand dollars," he replied with a smile too evil to be human.
"Sixteen lakh rupees. You have three days. Pay us… or we'll cut you apart while you're alive and feed what's left to my pets."
My heart nearly stopped.
I nodded like a coward.
"Fine. Three days. I've been hired to write a script — I'll get the money. Let us go today."
He let us walk out — but his laughter followed us like a curse.
Present — Summer
Ah yes — the script.
I should explain that part too.
Three days later, I delivered the script and scraped together as much cash as I could.
But it wasn't enough.
I begged for more time.
The gang refused.
"I gave you enough time," the leader said.
"I'll collect the rest from your organs."
I nearly fainted.
And then fate struck.
The Drug Control Bureau raided their hideout.
Gunfire.
Screams.
Blood.
Thirteen top gang members were shot.
Most were dying.
I should have run.
Instead — like an idiot — I dragged them into my car and took them home.
I bribed doctors, treated wounds, and spent every rupee I had.
The boss had taken a bullet to his vitals.
No saving him.
With his last breath, he spat out an order:
"Be loyal… to Daniel.
He… is your new boss."
And died.
In that moment, I became the leader of The Rat Diggers.
Joseph grabbed my shoulder, terrified.
"Buddy, we have no choice," he whispered.
"Become their boss. Otherwise they'll take our organs and sell them."
I agreed — because fear had already made the decision for me.
But then I remembered something.
An old script.
Two years old.
Unpublished.
Forgotten…
I ran to my office and tore through my drawer.
My hands shook as I flipped through the pages.
Every scene — every line — matched the real world exactly.
And the worst part?
In my script, the new boss becomes a ruthless villain…
and dies in 15 months.
I screamed.
If I don't act like a criminal, the gang kills me now.
If I do act like a criminal, I die later — exactly like in my script.
I was trapped in a story I wrote myself.
So Here I Am
Now I write not to entertain —
but to survive.
I tried changing the script, rewriting scenes, flipping chapters —
but reality refused to listen.
So I perform the role of a gangster.
I buy medicine to control panic attacks.
I pretend to like blood and violence.
But the truth is…
Even with medicine, the sight of blood makes me faint.
Luckily, the torture victim I was talking to was on a screen —
and only Joseph was in the room when I collapsed.
The Drug Control Side — Alfred's POV
Meanwhile, far away…
Alfred — Team Leader of the Drug Control Bureau — prepared his men behind the Rat Diggers' hideout.
Twelve officers.
Five chiefs.
Orders: wipe out the gang.
They expected seven members.
They found twenty-one.
Five officers died in the shootout.
Seventeen gangsters went down.
A few vanished — bodies missing.
Alfred reported the operation as a success —
but vowed that the remaining criminals would be hunted down.
A week later, standing at the funeral of his fallen men, Alfred whispered:
"I'll finish what we started."
Present Day Again
Two men sprinted down Daniel's hallway, breathless.
"Boss! Some of our people were killed by the Drug Control Department!"
Daniel swallowed hard.
I knew this would happen, he thought.
I warned them to hide. I begged them to leave the country.
But they didn't listen because they don't respect me.
He grabbed his script.
He scanned ahead.
No deaths left written in the pages.
But he took no chance.
"Gather everyone here," he ordered.
Because he discovered a loophole:
The script only controls what is written.
Anything between scenes — the blank space — can be changed.
But that rule applies
to both the hero…
and the villain.
Preparing for the Stage
Daniel leaned close to Joseph.
"Buddy… when I gave the speech from the balcony, it was okay. They were far away.
But when they stand near me — these monsters — I feel like I'll faint."
Joseph tried not to laugh or cry.
Soon, 160 gang members stood waiting for instructions.
Daniel swallowed his fear and faced them.
"Two of our main pillars are dead," he announced.
"Hide your families. Stay smart. I'll handle the rest."
As he drove to the graveyard to honor the fallen, he bought flowers — white lilies.
Another man bought the same flowers beside him.
They crossed paths again near the graves.
That man was Alfred.
And fate grinned in the shadows.
"Let the movie begin," a devilish voice whispered.
Forty-Five Days Later
The wounds were still fresh.
"Arun!" Daniel shouted.
Arun ran in.
"Yes, sir?"
"Pay compensation to every family.
Move anyone at risk out of the state.
Check police surveillance.
Contact our spy.
And send Joseph in."
Arun obeyed.
Joseph entered with a sigh and dropped into the sofa.
Daniel exhaled.
"According to the script, I have fifteen months left to live."
Joseph tried to reassure him, but Daniel continued:
"I let the monster out, Joseph.
But I will not let these men die.
They're not born criminals — life forced them here."
He stood tall.
"Set cameras everywhere.
If fate wants a show…
we'll broadcast it in 4K."