The morning light barely penetrated the heavy curtains of the hotel room where Akshat stood before the full-length mirror, adjusting the collar of his suit.
The fabric wasn't ordinary material—it was Kevlar Exo149, a technological marvel that cost more than most people made in a decade. Bulletproof, uncuttable, and resistant to extreme temperatures, it was the kind of protection that made a man feel invincible, or at least that's what the manufacturers claimed.
Across the room, Alexander was pulling on something far less impressive: Akshat's old brown bomber jacket, its leather worn soft in places and faded to a lighter shade at the shoulders. The jacket had seen better days, its zipper occasionally sticking, but Alexander treated it like a sacred artifact.
"Still think it's ridiculous," Akshat said, turning from the mirror. "Wearing my old jacket for luck."
Alexander shrugged, running a hand over the worn leather. "You wore this when we first meet in the cafeteria of the campus, remeber? You just hold my collar and saved me from falling while holding your dish." He zipped it up halfway, leaving the collar open. "If that's not good luck, I don't know what is."
The room was quiet except for the sound of their preparations. On the bed lay their tools of the trade—silenced pistols, electronic lock picks, and a small device that could disable any security system in seconds. Everything was arranged with military precision, each item in its designated place.
"Commissioner called," Alexander said, checking his phone one last time. "Delta Petrol police force is standing down. No interference, no records of our presence, and no response to any calls from this hotel for the next three hours."
Akshat nodded, strapping a knife to his ankle and other on his chest holster. "The money always talks, doesn't it?"
"Especially when you're offering enough to fund their entire department for a year." Alexander pocketed his phone. "Room 438. Harsh should still be asleep, hungover from whatever celebration he had last night."
The plan was simple almost to the point of stupidity, but that was its strength. No complex maneuvers, no backup teams, no escape routes that required split-second timing. Just two men walking into a hotel room and capturing one of the most dangerous criminals in South Asia. The room number had changed twice in the past twenty-four hours, but Alexander's contacts had tracked it to 438 on the fourth floor.
"He'll have guards," Akshat said, though it wasn't really a question.
"At least two, probably more." Alexander pulled up a chair and sat down to tie his shoes. "But they'll be outside the room, not in it. Harsh is paranoid enough to keep his inner circle small when he's sleeping."
Akshat finished his preparations and looked at his reflection again. The Kevlar suit moved like regular fabric, but it added a certain stiffness to his posture that he couldn't quite compensate for. "How do I look?"
"Like you're about to walk into a bulletproof factory and ask for a job." Alexander stood up and stretched. "Ready?"
The drive to the hotel was silent, both men lost in their own thoughts. Alexander kept one hand on the bomber jacket's pocket, where he kept a small photo of Shintae's sister—the reason they were doing this in the first place. Harsh had taken her somewhere and since then, nothing else had mattered.
The hotel lobby was bustling with morning activity—business travelers checking out, tourists asking for directions, staff rushing to fulfill requests. No one gave them a second glance as they walked toward the elevators, just two more guests in a sea of anonymous faces.
"Fourth floor," Alexander said as the elevator doors closed. "Harsh always prefers higher floors. Easier to spot approaching threats."
"Or easier to escape if there's a fire," Akshat replied, adjusting his suit jacket.
The elevator dinged at their floor, and they stepped out into a hallway that smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals and expensive perfume. Room 438 was at the end of the corridor, its number barely visible in the dim lighting.
Alexander stopped and placed a hand on Akshat's arm. "One more thing. If this goes wrong—"
"It won't," Akshat interrupted. "But if it does, you know what to do."
They approached the door, and Alexander pulled out the electronic lock pick. The device whirred softly as it worked, and within seconds, there was a faint click. The door was unlocked.
"Ready to finally get some answers?" Alexander whispered, his hand on the doorknob.
Akshat nodded, his expression unreadable. "After today, your sister can rest in peace."
The door swung open silently, revealing a dark room beyond. From inside came the sound of soft snoring—Harsh, asleep and vulnerable, exactly as they had planned.
The twenty days of preparation were over. The moment had arrived.
End of Release the Demon
To be continue...
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