Wheels of vengeance

PROLOGUE

The city breathed in shadows, exhaling whispers of secrets buried too deep to unearth. Rain lashed against the windows of crumbling skyscrapers, a symphony of chaos in a world teetering on the edge of collapse. Beneath the flickering streetlights, a figure moved—a phantom against the storm, their steps silent but purposeful.

Far away, in a courtroom bathed in sterile light, Saira stood frozen as the verdict echoed: "Case dismissed." The words carved into her like a blade, leaving a wound that bled rage. Her hands clenched the cold railing in front of her as the judge’s gavel came down, silencing her last hope. The government she had once trusted had betrayed her. The law she had upheld was nothing more than a veil for lies.

That night, as the rain turned the streets into rivers, she walked through the city’s underbelly, her heels clicking against the pavement. Her mother’s pendant hung heavy around her neck, a constant reminder of everything stolen from her. Justice was dead, she thought bitterly. But vengeance? Vengeance was alive and clawing at her chest.

In a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of the city, seven strangers gathered. Their faces were hardened by lives lived in the cracks of society, their eyes gleaming with a shared fury. Around them, weapons and maps lay scattered, the tools of an uprising waiting to ignite.

Aryan, standing at the head of the group, spoke with a voice that cut through the damp air like a knife. “They called us worthless. Abandoned. But the abandoned learn to survive. And when we strike, they won’t see us coming.”

From the shadows, Vikram stepped forward, his face weathered by battles no one dared to remember. “Surviving isn’t enough. If you want to take down an empire, you don’t fight. You dismantle.” His eyes narrowed as they landed on the faces before him. “And that takes more than anger. It takes ruthlessness.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling like smoke in their lungs. On the far wall, a grainy photograph fluttered under the hum of the single bulb above. It showed a young woman with defiant eyes, the headline beneath her image screaming in bold letters: "FAILED LAWYER LOSES HIGH-PROFILE CASE AGAINST GOVERNMENT."

Vikram’s gaze lingered on the photo. “She doesn’t know it yet,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But she’ll be the spark.”

Outside, the storm raged, thunder rumbling like a warning. In the heart of the city, Saira stopped in her tracks, the rain washing over her face. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed, a reminder that danger was closer than it seemed.

And as the shadows deepened, one truth began to take shape—a battle was coming, and the players were already in motion. In the silence between breaths, the city seemed to whisper: The abandoned always rise.