Chapter Text
Jassi doesn’t remember when it happened. One moment he was killing the bastards who took Jasleen. The next he was looking at his precious little sister tied up and covered in blood. He felt something break inside him.
Helplessness and anger surged through him as he gathered Jasleen into his arms. He wanted to wrap her in a blanket, and shield her from this world.
Jasleen felt nothing but overwhelming relief at the sight of her Veer-ji. She could feel herself sinking into the protective shell of his scent—warm vanilla, wildfire, and sandalwood. It was different from his usual muted scent of warm campfire and burning sandalwood, but it didn’t matter.
He was here.
She was finally safe.
————
It was during one of his court proceedings that he realized he had become an omega. You would think that after being transported into an omega-only prison, he would have figured something was amiss—but no. To him, there were more important things going on, and his biology wasn’t one of them.
The first time he learned of his new dynamic was when his attorney raised the issue of “pack threat defense” in a plea for a lighter sentence. That was also the first time he learned he was a dominant omega.
[Pack Threat: If their home or “pack” is breached, the nurturing nature of an omega shifts into a mother-like instinct to protect—one that can turn vicious.]
Honestly, he pushed it out of his mind. It didn’t matter whether he was a beta or an omega.
He was more worried about his family.
————
Outside the courthouse, his lawyer made points about moving to a higher court for a better plea, but he felt that he just couldn’t let his family suffer more than they already by having them sit in anymore of his hearings.
He moved away from that conversation and towards Pinda and Jasleen who stepped forward.
He told Jasleen to complete her studies and that if Pinda doesn’t change his ways then to stay unmarried. He asked Pinda to take care of Ma, and told him to stop bringing her court he didn’t want her to get sick.
He gave a gentle pat to Jasleen’s head and made his way to his Mumi.
She reached out to hold him, and he felt engulfed in her warm cinnamon-and-sugar scent. He wanted to stay like this forever, but something deep inside told him this would be the last time.
He told her he would write to her, and she became more teary.
After one last hug with his Mumi, he got into the police van.
It all happened in 2002, when he was being transported to another prison. One minute he was being transferred from Chandigarh Burial Jail to Central Jail via police vehicle and the next there was a barrage of bullets by a group of unknown armed men who were kidnapping him.
They covered his face with a black cloth and shoved him into another van.
When the hood was taken off, he found himself seated in front of an unknown man (Sushant Bansal). The man started the conversation by trying to sympathize with him. He didn’t know what to think. Thus he told the man that, “Taking revenge isn’t easy. Pain needs courage as fuel to turn it into revenge, and not everyone has that fuel in them.” The man just smirked at what Jassi said.
As foot steps alerted him to the presence of another person, the unknown man got up.
The new man stopped in front of him asked “Do you know me?”
Jassi said “Yes. Ajay Sanyal sir.”
Sanyal sir introduced the unknown man as Sushant Bansal, someone who works with him. He then took a seat in front of Jaskirat.
Jassi curiously asked “What do you need from me, sir?”
Sushant Bansal chimed in and said “We can save you from the death penalty. The Government can provide everything your mother and sister need to live their lives in comfort. In return, your life belongs to us. You will do exactly what we tell you.”
Jassi felt dumbfounded. He asked how can the Government take care of that Ma whom every government official turned away during a time of need. He felt anger and frustration, “You’re asking me to protect that system which did everything possible to destroy my life?” Jassi said that although patriotism runs in his family’s blood, what did it give them for loving this country? “The love I had for this nation, sir…It’s gone. I’m finished. I’ve got nothing left to give you. All I want now is to go to my Waheguru — I want to weep in His presence.”
In response, Ajay Sanyal says calmly, “A true warrior is one who fights for a cause. Even if he’s cut to pieces, he never abandons the battlefield. We’re men, Jaskirat. From the moment we’re born till the day we die, we are meant to fight. For our cause. For our dreams. For our right. For our family.”
That made Jassi’s heart beat faster than it has in ages. Never abandon the battlefield…For my family.
He felt a fire being lit inside him as Sanyal sir continued to speak.
Then out of nowhere Sanyal sir says, “Ghayal ho, isliye ghatak ho.” [A wounded lion doesn’t fear death, it just makes him more lethal.]
Jassi felt like things had become more clear.
He didn’t know why but he found himself saying, “You do know that I’m an omega right?”
In response Ajay Sanyal said, “I know.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even blink.
Jassi searched his face for doubt but found none. Just calm certainty. It unsettled him more than anything else that had happened tonight. Most Judged. Calculated. But Sanyal sir… simply accepted it.
Sushant Bansal leaned back against the table, arms crossed, watching the exchange with quiet amusement. “It doesn’t change anything. We want a Sher,” he said, voice stable and sharp.
Jaskirat unclenched his jaw. That word landed differently. Sher. Not a solider. Not a man. Not an omega. Something sharper. Something dangerous.
Sanyal leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Jaskirat’s. “Do you think war cares about what you are?” he asked quietly. “Do you think bullets stop to ask who’s stronger, who’s weaker?”
Jaskirat didn’t answer.
Sanyal sir continued, “Pain doesn’t discriminate. It either breaks you… or it reforges you into something no one can control.”
————
From then on, Jaskirat was pushed to his limits—physically and mentally. He learned to mask his scent through instinct-resistance training. He learned discipline. He learned how to control his body.
He made sure his Ma and bhen were taken care of.
And then, he learned how to become Hamza Ali Mazari.
Lyari was alive in a different way.
His first encounter with Mohammed Aalam, the juice-shop owner and his contact, was ordinary. To the outside world, Hamza was just a young man from Quetta who had come to Lyari for work, only to be turned away.
He didn’t leave, however. As night fell, he stood outside Mohammed Aalam’s juice shop, watching as the man began to close for the day.
The sound of footsteps alerted him to a presence behind him. Then a voice, teasing, cut through the quiet—“Pashtun or Baloch?”
A second later, a curved blade was pressed against his neck. The unknown man (Lulli Dakait) said, “He looks like a Baloch.”
Another man stepped in, snatching Hamza’s bag.
The first man looked him up and down, a smirk forming on his lips. “Beautiful,” he said. He stepped closer.
Hamza could hear his breathing—and more than that, he felt a hand slipping into the folds of his kurta-pajama.
Then it felt as though time itself had stopped.
And then, Hamza remembered something…