CHAPTER 28: "THE HUNT"

  The manhunt for Rohit Verma consumed Delhi Police for the next two weeks. His face was plastered on wanted posters. News channels ran segments. But Rohit had gone to ground, vanishing into the city's endless sprawl.

  Vikram became part of the investigation, unofficially. Singh brought him to the police headquarters in ITO, showed him the case files, asked for insights.

  "Think like him," Singh said. "You understand his mindset. Where would he hide? Who would he target next?"

  Vikram studied the files. The four victims were all mid-level enforcers in Toofan's gang. Street-level operators. But Rohit had said Toofan was at the top of his list.

  "He's building up," Vikram said. "Taking out the smaller targets first. Learning. Refining his technique. But his real goal is Toofan."

  "Toofan is heavily guarded. He travels with six armed men. Lives in a fortified house in Ghazipur. How is Rohit planning to get to him?"

  Vikram thought about his own infiltration of Khanna's warehouse. "He needs inside information. Someone who knows Toofan's schedule, his vulnerabilities."

  "We've increased protection on Toofan. Not because we care about him, but because he's bait. If Rohit comes for him, we'll be ready."

  But Rohit didn't come for Toofan. Not yet.

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  Five days later, the fifth body appeared. Another enforcer, found dead in an abandoned factory in Mayur Vihar. Single stab wound to the heart. Quick. Professional.

  The media frenzy intensified. TV debates argued about vigilante

  justice. Some praised the Echo Killer. Others condemned him. Vikram's name was mentioned constantly, his case dissected, his actions analyzed.

  Arjun's article in The Delhi Chronicle tried to distance Vikram from the copycat, but it only fanned the flames. "Vigilante Engineer Disavows Copycat, Urges Surrender," the headline read.

  It made things worse. Now Vikram was seen as a hypocrite—a killer who had reformed and was now judging others.

  Hate mail arrived at the community center. Threatening messages on social media. Some praised him. Others called him a murderer who deserved to rot in jail.

  Priya wanted him to quit the center, to disappear again. "This is dangerous. They're associating you with these killings. What if someone comes after you?"

  "I can't hide. If I hide, it validates the connection. I have to stay visible, stay clean."

  But visibility came with a price. One evening, as Vikram left the center, a group of young men surrounded him. They weren't threatening

  —they were admiring.

  "Sir, you're a legend," one of them said. "You showed everyone that ordinary people can fight back."

  "What I did was wrong," Vikram said, trying to push past them.

  "No, sir. You did what the system wouldn't. That's why we respect

  you."

  They weren't listening. They had already made him into a symbol.

  And symbols are dangerous—they inspire imitation.

  That night, Vikram received a text from an unknown number: You created this. Now watch it burn. - R

  R

  Rohit was taunting him. Blaming him for the inspiration.

  Vikram called Singh. "He just texted me. Can you trace it?" "Send me the number."

  Twenty minutes later, Singh called back. "Burner phone. Purchased with cash in Laxmi Nagar. No way to trace it. But Vikram... he's right. You did create this. Unintentionally, but you did."

  "So what do I do?"

  "You help me catch him. Before he kills again."

  Vikram agreed. But deep down, he knew the truth. Rohit wasn't going to stop. Not until Toofan was dead. Not until the cycle of violence had completed another rotation.

  And Vikram was trapped in the middle, a reluctant prophet of violence.