S H I V A A Y
age :: 29
present.

Mumbai, unknown warehouse, 9:38 p.m.

"I need names." He spoke through gritted teeth as he dug his heels over the man's ankle.

"I don't know." the pained whimpers resonated through the room. Shivaay pursed his lips before stepping away from the man. The man panted as he was turned on his back.

Shivaay leaned over. "Khanna coffee." He asked.

Khanna sprung to follow the words.

"Make it extra hot for me this time, will you?" He asked quietly.

Khanna looked at him carefully before nodding.

"Shivaay will stay here." Kalyani spoke suddenly placing a hand on his shoulder halting the boy from taking a step out of the house.

Jhanvi's eyes widened, "Why?" She asked. She could see the fear written over her son's face before he looked down at his shoes. He clenched his fist firmly keeping it behind back.

He watched his badi maa taking a stand for him, while his mother silently stood behind in the shadows looking at him as if he was some stranger.

"Because he must learn the ways of an Oberoi."

The ways of an Oberoi.

A cruel smile stretched across his lips.

"Would you like to have a drink, good sir?" He asked with faux politeness, as he held up the glass above the quivering man beneath his feet.

The man's hopeful gaze only caused him to smile.

His gaze didn't waver, as he poured down the steaming coffee down the face of the knelt man before him. The screams that rang through the room didn't affect him that much. It would have horrified him to the core years ago, but now, it was reduced to just annoying buzz of a mosquito.

He ignored the horrified look that Khanna gave him, honestly, why was the man even surprised? Shivaay found himself asking. He didn't care much.

The man thrashed and spluttered as the steaming liquid was poured over his face, giving rise to blisters and burns that are going to stay on his face for a long time.

Shivaay knelt down beside the man, wiping the face with his handkerchief, hoisting him up by his collar.

"I think you will talk now."

Khanna stared at Shivaay, his eyes betraying none of the emotions that he was feeling. He was an Oberoi. Through and through.

He took out his phone, his hand hovering over the contact. Tej Singh Oberoi.

Shivaay glanced at Khanna and then at the phone screen. His jaw clenching slightly at the name of his uncle.

He didn't say a word. Just a short nod.

And Khanna tapped the send button.

Khanna, 10:14 p.m.
He did it, sir.

~^~

R U D R A
age :: 20
Noida, India, apartment 204, 04:02 p.m.

"Hey darling, home early?" He heard a voice ask as dumped his book on the couch. Rudra didn't need to glance up to see the smile behind the voice, he could guess it by the slightest chuckle hidden behind the words.

"Someone found the nicknames cheesy." He muttered dryly pretending to be annoyed, but the slightest upward curl of his lips betrayed his feelings.

"Well, not when I'm using them."

Rudra rolled his eyes at the reply, earning a soft whack of the pillow on his arm.

And his lips twitched up in a smile.

"How was the meeting?" He asked looking over through the mirror, as he took off his tie and watch. Looking over at his shoulder with a smile. He couldn't resist a subtle tease as he flexed his biceps in the mirror, earning a laugh from behind him.

Saumya's smile was radiant when she turned to look at him.

"We got the sponsorship." She said with a smile causing him to chuckle softly. Saumya was working on her own startup, it was still in early stages, looking for funds and sponsorships and deals.

"Anyways, any plans for tonight?" Rudra asked as he scrolled through his phone. His eyes going through his social media feed.

His thumb paused, as he stared at the recent post from his brother, Omkara. O, for him. But it's been so long that he wonders if he has the right to use the nickname or not. After all they are all practically strangers.

He stared at the picture.

Om was looking different from what he remembered of his brother. He now had longer hair, not the neat hairstyle he used to have back then when he was in school.

He zoomed in the picture and a wry smile curved up his lips when he saw the happy expression on his brother's face.

At least one of the brothers, someone, is happy with how their lives turned out.

He looked up when he heard Saumya clearing her throat.

"You know na, that we have a bottle of water right in front of us, on the table?" He said arching an eyebrow, as his girlfriend kept up with her act of exaggeration.

Saumya looked at him expectantly.

"Alright, you have my attention now." He said closing his phone and placing it in front of the table.

"Alright, so, Jhanvi aunty and Tej uncle, are returning back to India. They will be here by tomorrow evening." Saumya said carefully, gauging his reaction to her words carefully before continuing.

When she didn't get a verbal reply. She continued,

"They wanted you to return back to the Oberoi mansion, with your brothers." She spoke slowly, dragging her words, watching as Rudra tried to make sense of her words.

"No...."

"What do you mean no? We have no choice. It's not a request but an order." Saumya frowned.

"Keh diya na. We're not going." Rudra said vehemently, running his hand through his hair.

"But-"

"Don't forget why I moved out. Don't make me go back in that hellhole. Again."

Saumya had never seen Rudra this defensive. For a second there was almost desperation and slight plea in his voice. He would rather be anywhere than that mansion.

~^~

O M K A R A
age :: 25
Mumbai, Elixir Studio, Oberoi Industries,
04:13 p.m.

"Congratulations, Mr. Oberoi. Another successful collection."

Om turned to the man, smiling graciously as he accepted the compliment. He high fived Riddhima, his assistant.

"Well, well, would you look at that." Om smirked nudging her towards the crowd of guests. This was one of the most successful exhibition he had ever had.

Riddhima rolled her eyes playfully.

"Yeah, yeah, I believe you now."

He turned to look at his family. Jhanvi was smiling at him, her eyes filled with pride for her son. And then there was his father. Tej Singh Oberoi, analysing his paintings with a critical eye, as if searching for a mistake in each and every he walked past to.

And his expression turned sour as he looked at the woman clad in the black chequered saree behind his father. Svetlana Kapoor.

Riddhima subtly gestured back to client that was trying to get his attention. Om put on a fake smile as he politely discussed the pieces the client was interested in.

Until, he pointed at the centre of the exhibition.

Three figures.

One burning. One chained. One drowing.

"That painting is sensational..."

And words tuned out for Om as he stared at the image.

Three brothers.

Three sufferings.

"It's not for sale." Om interrupted the client.

"What-" Riddhima tried to steer the conversation away from the heavier topics.

"The painting is not up for sale. Remove it from the exhibition." He said coldly.

He took a last glance at the painting and sighed.

Burn.

Drown.

Suffocate.

~^~

S H I V A A Y
The next day.
Goa, Oberoi Villa, 01:58 a.m.

He slammed the car door shut. His eyes fell on the mirror, his gaze bloodshot, his cheek had a slight bruising, his hair was messed up.

In short, he was a mess.

He arrived in the main hall. The first face to greet him was the nurse. She stood up in greeting, her hands clutched on a file.

He arched an eyebrow in question as she continued fidgeting.

"There's...um...we are out of medicines for Mrs. Oberoi, we need more money to buy the new stock." She said tentatively.

Money.

More money.

Shivaay closed his eyes taking a deep breath.

"How...how much?" He asked quietly.

"Three lakhs." She said looking at the sheet, which he believed was the prescription.

Shivaay nodded.

"I...I...will arrange it by tomorrow evening."

The nurse nodded, a slight furrow in her eyebrows betrayed her confusion.

Shivaay walked past her, towards his own bedroom, scoffing. Tomorrow evening. He opened his phone and checked his bank account.

One lakh, twenty thousand and three rupees.

He closed his eyes in frustration.

His hand hovered over the Oberoi Industries account.

Access denied.

Denied.

Again.

He threw the phone on the bed, massaging his forehead.

He'd have to return to Mumbai again this evening, if he wanted to arrange the money for his mother. Beg again in front of his father.

He laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Drop the gun!

Mom! Drop the gun!

He closed his eyes.

Nooooo!!

Not the lighter!

I have no one else!

Please!!!

Don't leave me!!!

Stay!!!

It's not fair!!!

Somebody help!!

His hands clenched on the blanket. His chest heaving.

Make sure there is no information about this incident in the news.

She's in coma.

We tried our best.

He sat up. Wiping the sweat off his forehead. He looked at the clock.

Four in the morning.

He slumped down again.

Tears forming at the corner of his eyes. How long was he going to be fighting alone? He tossed and turned for who knew how long before succumbing into a fitful sleep.

Mercy!

Please!

Shivaay please. I beg you. I worked with you.

My wife and kids are waiting for me at home.

Don't orphan other kids for hiding the crime your family committed.

I beg-

And the body fell on the ground. The blood pooling around the floor.

Shivaay threw back the sheets and rushed over to the open door of his bathroom. Hunching over the toilet seat as he emptied his stomach contents.

Bile filled his mouth as he spat it out.

Please!

Spare me!

You are a killer!

No better than your family!

I curse you!

He threw up again.

His vision blurred as he looked around. Everything was getting hazy. His world tilted and collapsed down on the floor. The last thing he saw was his hands covered in blood.

A fitting gift.