The Tycoon's Odyssey

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Shattered glass and debris were scattered across the asphalt, mingling with the smoldering remains of the broken burnt-down convoy.

The air reeked of gunpowder and burnt rubber. Nearby trees and shrubs were scorched, twisted metal and charred pieces of tyres scattered through the area. The chaos had disrupted the once quiet, early evening.

A small crowd of onlookers had gathered at a distance, murmuring nervously among themselves, pointing at the wreckage in disbelief. The terror of the sudden assault was fresh in their minds, and many still seemed shaken, their eyes darting to where the distant convoy had once been. Some clutched their phones, frantically explaining to loved ones what they had witnessed, while others stood in stunned silence.

Sirens echoed in the distance, growing louder as a team of police cars, paramedics, and high-ranking officials approached the scene, their blue and red lights illuminating the smoky haze. The first responders quickly fanned out, examining the devastation and checking for survivors among the wreckage.

As the police secured the area, several reporters arrived, their cameras rolling as they captured the grim scene.

One of the reporters, a tall man in a rumpled suit, hurriedly pushed his way forward, his microphone in hand. His face was a mixture of concern and determination. As soon as he caught sight of a police officer overseeing the scene, he immediately went in for a statement.

"What exactly happened here?" the reporter demanded, his voice rising above the noise of the arriving vehicles. "Was this a terrorist attack? Or was it something else? Were the people targeted directly?"

The officer, a weathered man with sharp features and a badge denoting his senior rank, gave the reporter a steady look before speaking. His voice was calm but carried an unmistakable weight of authority.

"We\'re still piecing together the details of what exactly happened," he began, his gaze sweeping over the destruction. "But from what we can tell, this wasn\'t a random terrorist attack. This convoy was targeted specifically. We have evidence suggesting that this was an assassination attempt."

The reporter\'s eyes widened slightly, his microphone dipping for a moment before he gathered himself. "An assassination? On who?"

The officer paused, exchanging glances with his colleagues before answering. "That information is classified for now. What I can tell you is that the attackers were heavily armed and well-prepared. They had military-grade weapons—RPGs, assault rifles and they precisely knew when and where to strike."

The reporter nodded, furiously scribbling in his notebook. "Were there any casualties on the convoy\'s side? How did they manage to defend themselves against such heavy firepower?"

A second officer, this one younger and visibly rattled by the scene, chimed in. "No casualties from the convoy itself. We believe they were equipped with advanced technology, likely high-end security forces."

"But the people or assassins to say, who attacked here were dealt with brutally to the point that no remains of theirs had been left behind."

He then pointed toward the scattered remains of the terrorists\' vehicles. "Look at this… Gauss rifles, probably. Whatever hit these guys, it tore through their vehicles like paper."

The crowd had grown larger by now, some watching in shocked fascination as paramedics assessed the scene. A middle-aged woman in the group, her face pale with fear, murmured aloud to no one in particular. "It happened so fast… I didn\'t even see where they came from. Just—bang! Bang!—and then explosions everywhere. It was like a war zone."

Another younger man, his voice shaking, added, "I thought we were goners… I was just driving by when I heard the gunfire… I couldn\'t believe it. One minute, the road was clear; the next... chaos."

The senior officer addressing the media stepped forward, calming the situation as best he could. "Please, everyone, we need to clear the area for your safety. The situation is under control, but we\'re still investigating."

The reporter turned back to the officer. "What about the people responsible? Have you found any leads on who orchestrated this?"

"We\'ve already detained some suspects in connection with this incident," the officer replied, nodding toward a group of plainclothes agents nearby, who were reviewing tablet screens. "We\'ve managed to track certain communication signals, but it\'s too early to draw any definitive conclusions."

The reporter pressed on, his brow furrowing. "Was this an organized attack? Was there a specific individual they were after?"

The officer\'s lip tightened. "Again, I can\'t reveal much at this time. But I can tell you that this was a highly operational and planned tactical attack. We are approaching this quite confidentiality, so we can\'t disclose anything now."

_____

Amit Sharma sat at his desk, his fingers tapping impatiently on the polished wood surface. His brow furrowed while his hand gripped the bridge of his nose as frustration mounted.

"These idiots can\'t even handle one assassin properly," he muttered, barely concealing his irritation. "If they find out that Mithal\'s behind all this and then trace it back to me… No, I have to stop this before it spirals out of control."

He leaned back in his chair, thinking quickly. "I need to divert the media\'s attention. I can—"

Suddenly, the office door burst open and one of his agents rushed in, visibly shaken. "Sir, look at this… This is terrifying!"

Amit scowled, irritated by the interruption. "What now?" he snapped, his tone sharp.

Instead of explaining, the agent handed Amit a tablet, his hand still trembling. Amit grabbed it, his eyes turning cold. But the moment he saw the video playing on the screen, his expression changed, his eyes widened as shock replaced his frustration.

"What is this… thing?" he whispered, staring at the video.

For the first time in years, Amit Sharma felt a deep, unsettling fear creeping into his gut.

Before his eyes was something that he could never think was possible.