Syndicate [Thriller]

Chapter 1: Walking Through The Fog

The narrow streets of Siliguri felt alive with a tension I could almost taste, the cigarette between my lips glowing dimly as I moved through the alleys, the faint scent of damp earth and distant chai stalls mixing in the air. This place—caught between the raw wilderness of West Bengal's foothills and the creeping sprawl of the city—had always had a way of making me feel like I was walking a line, a thin thread between peace and danger. Every creak of a door, every shuffle of feet felt like it carried weight, a whisper in the quiet evening that was just a bit too quiet for my liking. But then again, I wasn't one to trust 'quiet'.

I took a long drag, letting the smoke settle in my lungs before flicking the cigarette down, the tip hissing as it met the rain-soaked pavement. The glow died beneath the heel of my boot just as I approached the pub's wooden door. Inside, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses promised an escape, if only temporary, from the world outside. A warm drink, familiar faces—perhaps tonight I could allow myself that luxury. But as my hand touched the door, fate, as it often does, decided otherwise.

The explosion tore through the night like a thunderclap, shaking the ground beneath my feet. The shockwave hit before my mind could fully register it, instinct and muscle memory kicking in before thought had time to catch up. I hit the ground, the rough pavement scraping against my palms, heart hammering against my ribs as adrenaline surged through my veins. There was no time for fear, no time for hesitation.

The familiar weight of the gun at my side was a comfort, a reminder that I'd been through worse than this. In one smooth motion, I drew it, crouching low and staying close to the shadows as I moved toward the pub's entrance. Outside, the fog was thicker now, swirling like a living thing in the aftermath of the blast, concealing whatever hell had just descended on us.

I could make out the shapes of my comrades, scattered and still. Men I'd trusted with my life, men who'd been through fire and worse beside me. They lay crumpled in the street, the sharp tang of blood in the air mixing with the cold damp of the mist. My grip on the gun tightened, eyes darting through the haze, searching for a threat, but nothing moved in the fog.

I knelt beside one of them—my closest man, his breathing shallow but steady. His eyes were wide, the shock still fresh in his gaze. He was alive, but that was about the only good news I had.

"What the hell was that?" I muttered under my breath, not really expecting an answer. No one had one. My eyes returned to the street, scanning, waiting for the enemy to show their face. We'd been trained for moments like this—trained to stay sharp, to expect the unexpected, to never let down our guard. But this...this felt different. Calculated. Personal.

I holstered the gun slowly, the weight of what had just happened settling in. Something had shifted in the air tonight. Whoever had come for us knew exactly what they were doing, and this was only the beginning of something, I could feel it.

The door creaked open behind me, slow and deliberate. I didn't need to look back. I knew who it was. Jayash and Veer. They had that heavy walk, the one that tells you something's gone wrong before anyone opens their mouth. And when things went south, they were always the first to show up—never a second too late.

"Ajay," Jayash's voice broke the silence, gravelly and hard, thick with frustration. "How the hell does an explosion rip through our turf, and we don't hear a bloody whisper about it?"

I stood slowly, brushing off the dust from my jacket as I kept my gaze fixed outside. The street was still cloaked in that damned fog, swirling like a curse that refused to lift. The blast had come and gone, but the weight of it hung in the air. I didn't need to say much; the truth was right in front of us. "It wasn't random," I finally said, voice low but steady. "Someone wanted us to get the message, loud and clear."