Money - A master created by its own slaves

As the object descended alongside the gun, it revealed itself to be a smoke bomb—a clandestine tool procured from the shadows of the black market. The moment it made contact with the floor, a sudden release of thick fog erupted, shrouding the room in an impenetrable haze. The police and the politician found themselves engulfed in the disorienting embrace of the swirling mist.

Panic rippled through the room as visibility plummeted. Shouts and hurried footsteps echoed through the fog as the police attempted to regain control of the situation. The politician, still grappling with the surreal turn of events, clung to the hope that the authorities would swiftly apprehend the elusive intruder.

All hope dissipated as a figure emerged from the dissipating fog behind the politician, nudging him with the cold tip of a gun while a gloved hand covered his mouth to stifle any potential screams. Before the politician could muster the slightest chance to fight back, Rohit whispered—

"Do you want to die?"

The slow, low-pitched voice emanated from the shadows, sending a tingling sensation of fear coursing through the politician's entire being. The weight of the whispered words hung in the air, laden with a chilling certainty that left no room for negotiation or defiance. The darkness seemed to amplify the gravity of the situation, and the politician, now a captive within his own abode, felt the inexorable pull of fate closing in around him.

The whispered words from Rohit lingered in the air, their sinister undertone resonating solely within the politician's consciousness. However, the chaos induced by the smoke bomb had unwittingly played into Rohit's hands. The panic it created became a shield, allowing the politician's family to make a frantic escape from the bedroom. Their terrified screams echoed through the fog as they sprinted towards the general direction of the exit.

The police, though panicked and disoriented, recognized the familiar voices of the politician's family amidst the chaos. Momentarily swayed by the human instinct to aid those in distress, they allowed the terrified family members to escape.

As the smoke cleared, the police surveyed the aftermath of the chaotic encounter. To their astonishment, they found only the unconscious politician sprawled on the ground. The safe, previously hidden under the bed, now lay open for all to see, revealing its emptiness. Rohit had executed a masterful escape, leaving the police to grapple with the consequences of their momentary lapse.

*****

Outside the Villa of politician.

" Hahehahe....."

That was thrilling!

Rohit swiftly changed into a set of nondescript clothes, a shroud to conceal his identity. With calculated precision, he melted into the shadows of a narrow alley, assuming the guise of a beggar amidst the dimly lit corners. The pulsating rhythm of his veins hadn't subsided; the adrenaline rush still coursed through his every fiber. Hidden from the prying eyes of pursuit, Rohit lay low, taking measured, deep breaths to anchor himself in the reality of the escape.

The world around him seemed to hum with an electric tension, the night alive with the whispers of imminent pursuit. Every rustle of the wind, every distant footstep, heightened his senses. Rohit's mind raced as he mentally replayed the intricate steps of his daring heist, the thrill of the escape still tingling in the air. The adrenaline-fueled dance between danger and evasion had yet to conclude, and the alley provided a temporary sanctuary for him to recalibrate and strategize his next move.

"That was a daring heist... for a newbie."

A calm voice echoed in the alley, its source shrouded in the darkness. Rohit's senses sharpened, a prickling fear crawling up his spine. However, that became the trigger for his suicidal personality to come out.

"You have quite a big mouth for a rat." 

The hidden figure seethed with anger at Rohit's defiant words. Emerging from the shadows, they struck suddenly, delivering a swift and powerful kick to Rohit's guts.

"Khuk..."

Saliva forcefully escaped Rohit's mouth as the air was violently knocked out of his lungs. The dark alley became a sinister battleground, the echo of the impact reverberating through the silence. Before Rohit could regain his bearings, another brutal kick connected, this time landing squarely on his face. The force propelled him backward, slamming him into the cold, unforgiving wall.

" An insignificant thief as such you are, dares to insult me."

The figure's mouth twitched in anger as he picked up the bag full of money, throwing it right beside the battered Rohit. Despite his weakened state, Rohit managed to regain a modicum of strength. With shaky hands, he fumbled to retrieve a concealed gun, his face obscured by his own disheveled hair. One eye swollen shut, the other allowing only a sliver of vision, Rohit strained to lock onto the figure.

Undeterred, the figure delivered another relentless kick, this time targeting Rohit's hand that clutched the gun. Before Rohit could fully comprehend the swift assault, the weapon was sent flying, skittering away into the shadows. The metallic clatter echoed through the alley, sealing Rohit's fate with the loss of his only means of defense.

On the cold ground, Rohit writhed in pain, his battered form now robbed of the last vestige of resistance. The figure, a silhouette against the dimly lit backdrop, stood ominously over him.

A stark contrast manifested between the two figures in the dimly lit alley. Rohit, with an average body and a height of 5.8 feet, possessed a physique that, while somewhat imposing, held no inherent threat for a seasoned expert. His form, though not devoid of physicality, appeared softer in comparison to that of an experienced fighter. The lack of initial strength created a noticeable gap that Rohit struggled to bridge in the face of his adversary.

The seasoned expert, standing in ruthless opposition, exuded an air of physical prowess and honed skill. Every movement, deliberate and calculated, showcased a level of proficiency that set them apart from Rohit's less-refined capabilities.

The figure extracted a bottle from his shirt and sprayed its contents liberally over the money bag lying beside the battered Rohit. The acrid scent of the volatile liquid lingered in the air. Next, with a cold glint in his eyes, the figure produced a matchstick, igniting it with a swift motion. The flame danced in the darkness as the figure casually tossed it onto the soaked stack of money.

A sudden burst of intense heat erupted, and the alley was engulfed in the fervor of the growing flames. The money, once a symbol of ill-gotten gains, now became kindling for a merciless inferno. The orange glow illuminated the figure's face, revealing a sinister satisfaction in the destruction wrought upon the spoils of the daring heist.

The figure cruelly seized Rohit by his disheveled hair, forcing him to face the consuming flames directly. The crackling fire cast eerie shadows on Rohit's battered form, and the acrid scent of burning money hung heavy in the air. The very wealth Rohit had painstakingly worked to loot now spiraled into smoke before his anguished eyes.

"I despise those who run after money from every being of myself. I despise people who show off wealth. I despise everyone who thinks money is so important. I despise them..."

The figure's words echoed in the alley, laced with an unmistakable contempt that resonated through the burning chaos. His disdain for the very act Rohit had committed was palpable.

"The world is so much bigger, yet these fools run after money. And if that's not enough, they show off in front of others like they have won everything. I despise those."

The figure's gaze remained fixed on the stash of money, now engulfed in flames. Disgust etched in his eyes mirrored the fiery demise of the ill-gotten gains. The burning currency crackled like a twisted symphony, playing a dirge for the misguided pursuits of those who sought fortune at any cost.

"Do you know what money is?" The figure turned his attention to Rohit, his voice a low murmur carrying the weight of scorn.

The figure's lips curled in a sardonic smile as Rohit, despite his battered state, ventured a response.

"Money allows us to buy anything we want. Money can solve all the problems in anyone's life. Money is the ruler of the world. In everyone's opinion, that's what money is, right?"

The figure's eyes narrowed, the disdain in his gaze deepening. The sarcastic echo of Rohit's words seemed to amplify the hollowness of the beliefs he had just articulated.

The figure spat on the burning stash of money, the disdain evident in the gesture. As the flames devoured the currency, he spoke with a resonance that cut through the crackling embers.

"Money is the king of mankind, the ruler of the world who bends every human at its feet. It is a tyrant that plays with the life of every being on this earth."

A moment of profound silence followed, interrupted only by the relentless roar of the flames. The figure, his gaze fixed on the fiery spectacle, took a measured breath before continuing.

"Money is a master created by its own slaves—humans."