Unbroken

2. The Devil In Command

⚠️ Content Disclaimer ⚠️

This chapter contains scenes of violence, blood, and strong emotions that may be disturbing to some readers.
Please read with discretion - this content is intended purely for fictional and storytelling purposes.
No real individuals or events are represented, and violence is not promoted or glorified in any form.

If you're sensitive to such themes, feel free to skip or proceed with caution. 🖤

The scent of stale blood and cheap disinfectant clung to the air - a familiar perfume in the sterile, concrete chamber.
Rajbir Rana, a man whose face once held the sharp lines of defiance, now sagged - a broken doll propped against a cold metal pillar.

His breath hitched, a wet, rattling sound in the quiet room.

"Still nothing?"

The voice - deep and resonant - cut through the silence.
Shubman Harshavardhan Chauhan stood silhouetted against the single, grimy window, his posture rigid - a predator surveying its trapped prey. His gaze, sharp and unforgiving, raked over Rajbir.

Each woman, a viper in silk, he had learned.

His mother's betrayal - a festering wound - had taught him early: their smiles, their soft touches, were mere preludes to open legs and outstretched palms. Money. Always money.

"He's a stubborn one, brother," Abhishek Sharma offered, a thin smile playing on his lips.
He wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow, his knuckles still red from their earlier work. "Thinks he's tough."

"Tough men break," Shreyas Iyer added, his tone flat and devoid of emotion. He toyed with a length of thick rope, its fibers rough against his calloused fingers. "Eventually."

A guttural moan escaped Rajbir. His eyes, swollen and bruised, flickered toward Shubman. "I told you... I don't know anything."

Shubman stepped forward, his polished boots clicking ominously on the concrete floor. The silence stretched - heavy and suffocating. He stopped inches from Rajbir's face, his shadow engulfing the spy.

"You know. You always know. Every snitch, every rat - they all know. And they all sing. Some just need a little encouragement."

His voice, though calm, held an edge of steel that promised unimaginable pain.

"The route... who did you tell?" Shubman's question hung in the air like a venomous snake poised to strike. "Was it a woman, Rajbir? Did she promise you something sweet? A soft bed? A full purse?"

A sneer twisted his lips. "They always do. They offer their bodies, their lies - and then they drain you dry. Just like they drained my father."

Rajbir's head lolled, his gaze fixed on the floor. "No... no woman..."

Shubman's hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Rajbir's blood-matted hair, yanking his head back.
Rajbir cried out, a raw, animalistic sound.

"Don't lie to me. They're all the same - weak, greedy, eager to sell anything for a few coins. Your mother, your sister, your wife - they'd all open their legs if the price was right, wouldn't they? Just like yours did for whoever you sold our shipment route to."
"He's weakening, bro," Abhishek observed, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Perhaps a little reminder of what happens to traitors," Shreyas suggested, his gaze falling to a rusty pair of pliers on a nearby table.

Shubman's grip tightened on Rajbir's hair, pulling harder. "The name, Rajbir. Give me a name. Or I promise you, you'll wish you were dead long before you get there."

His words - a cold whisper - promised a fate far worse than death. The chamber filled with the sharp, metallic tang of fear.

"Reveal the name already," Shubman growled, before pulling the metal chain around Rajbir's throat.

Rajbir shrieked in pain. "Ahhh... I-I'll reveal it! It's Jaideep Mal... Malkhani! He wa-wants to destroy your brother Virat... and you..." he choked out between ragged breaths, the chain biting deeper with every word.

Shubman's face - usually a mask of controlled ferocity - momentarily tightened at the mention of the name. Virat. His elder brother. The legitimate face of the Chauhan empire - shielded and protected from the grime of the arms trade.

Rajbir, the fool, had clearly believed the threats were against his own family's connections to Virat, not realizing the depth of the familial bond he had just threatened.

He turned away from the pathetic figure of Rajbir, walking toward the door. "Malkhani wants to destroy Virat's legitimate deals," Shubman muttered - more to himself than to the room.

The comment was cryptic, a cold statement of fact that only Shreyas and Abhishek understood in full. Attacking Virat was attacking the foundation - the very name Chauhan.
"Finish the job, Shreyas," Shubman ordered, his voice now dangerously soft - like velvet wrapped around a blade. "I want to hear him sing."

Shreyas dropped the rope and picked up the pliers. The metal handle was cold against his palm. He approached Rajbir, whose eyes were wide with dawning horror - realizing that his confession had sealed his fate, not bought him mercy.

Rajbir tried to scramble away, dragging his broken body. "No! Please! I told you everything! Don't!"

"Shhh," Shreyas said, his voice unsettlingly calm. He knelt beside the spy. The air in the room grew heavy. A deep, agonizing moan escaped Rajbir as Shreyas applied the first pressure.

"Start humming, Rajbir," Shreyas instructed, his grip tightening.

A high-pitched, thin EEYAAHH! tore from Rajbir's lungs, followed by a wet, gurgling sound as he struggled for breath. The metallic SNIP of the pliers was sickeningly loud.

Shubman paused at the doorway, his back to the scene, listening to the symphony of pain. After the initial shriek, Rajbir's cries devolved into a continuous, low HMMMMMMMM of agony - a forced, vibrating sound of pure suffering that filled the chamber.

Abhishek watched, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "That's a lovely tune, man."

Shubman didn't look back. He hated the weakness of men like Rajbir - men who would sell out their own kin, or try to use his kin as leverage, for the sake of saving their pathetic hides.
He hated the weakness, the greed - the way they twisted loyalty into a transactional farce. Just like the women who twisted love into a price tag.

"Clean this mess," Shubman commanded, his voice flat. He stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind him with a heavy, final THUNK, muffling the last desperate gasp and the continuing, horrifying hum from within.

Malkhani had made a grave error.
And now, Shubman would remind the world why the name Chauhan commanded fear.

...................
"ज़ख़्म भी अब सौदे बन गए हैं,
वफ़ा बस नाम की रह गई है।
जो जितना निर्दयी है,
वो उतना ही वक़्त का मालिक बन गया है।"
.................................... ............................
Author's Note 💬

Hey everyone!
If you liked this chapter, please tap that vote button - let's hit a mini target of 5 votes before the next update!

Your votes and comments really help me know you're loving the story (and honestly, they're the reason I keep writing late at night ).
So if you're enjoying Shubman and Sara's world - show a little love and help us reach that target! 💛

Can't wait to hear your thoughts... things are only going to get darker and more intense from here .