Kabhi

A person's pov

The clock on my screen blinked red.

02:14:33.

Rain swallowed the capital tonight. Not romantic rain the kind that eats sound and turns streets into mirrors for sins people pretend never happened.

“Agent… you’re late,” I whispered into the mic.

Static answered. Then his voice slid in, calm as if he were ordering coffee.

“Relax. I like to make an entrance.”

On my monitor, a black figure crossed the rooftop of the enemy headquarters. No badge. No name. No identity. Just a shadow moving faster than fear itself.

“Thermals show twelve hostiles inside,” I said. “Security rotation every forty seconds. Cameras on your left.”

“I see them.”

He crouched near the edge, rain dripping from his gloves. Below him: the building that funded half the black-market wars in Asia. Arms. Data theft. Political assassinations. Tonight, they were about to lose their pride.

“Door’s locked,” I warned.

Metal whispered.

He slid a blade into the keypad. Sparks died quietly. The door surrendered.

“Sometimes machines are more honest than humans,” he murmured.

Inside, the corridors glowed white and sterile. My pulse climbed even though I was safe behind glass and wires.

“Motion at eleven o’clock,” I said.

Two guards walked in laughing.

They never finished the joke.

One drop-kicked into the wall. The other folded before his gun could remember its purpose.

He didn’t run.

Didn’t rush.

He owned the hallway.

“Beautiful work,” I breathed.

“Try doing it in the rain wearing cheap boots,” he replied.

Gunfire erupted ahead. Three men. Assault rifles.

“Agent, fall back—”

He didn’t.

He slid across the marble floor, bullets stitching the air above him. He fired once. Twice. Thrice.

Silence returned like it owed him money.

“Hall cleared,” he said casually.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Data vault is twenty meters ahead. Thermal shows the boss inside.”

“Finally.”

He pushed the door open.

The man inside reached for a pistol with shaking hands.

“Please—”

Our agent tilted his head. Studied him like a broken app.

“You really built an empire just to lose it in pajamas?”

The man fired.

Big mistake.

One clean shot.

The body collapsed.

Rain leaked through the shattered window behind him. Lightning framed his silhouette — tall, still, unnamed.

“Package secured,” I said softly. “Extraction in sixty seconds.”

He looked down at the fallen king of criminals.

Then smiled.

A slow, dangerous curve of sarcasm.

He holstered his gun and whispered:

“Congrats. You’re officially unemployed… from life.”

Static returned.

And so did the legend.