The monsoon had just begun to lash Mumbai, turning the already frenetic city into a shimmering, chaotic ballet of umbrellas and honking taxis. Inside a discreet, art deco apartment overlooking Marine Drive, Rohan Mehra watched the downpour with a detached amusement. He wasn’t concerned about getting wet; he rarely ventured out anymore. Why would he, when he held the world in his meticulously manicured hands?


Rohan wasn’t born evil. He was born brilliant, a child prodigy who devoured books on physics, philosophy, and psychology before he could tie his own shoelaces. But somewhere along the way, that brilliance curdled. He saw the world’s inherent messiness, the illogical chaos of human emotions, the infuriating inefficiency of systems. And he decided he could do better. He would do better.


His first act was subtle, almost invisible. A misplaced decimal point in a pharmaceutical company’s research data led to the discontinuation of a promising but expensive cancer drug. Millions suffered, but Rohan saw it as pruning a weak branch on the tree of humanity. “Survival of the fittest,” he’d murmured to the empty room, a chillingly serene smile playing on his lips.


Emboldened, his actions escalated. A carefully crafted rumour, seeded in the right online forums, triggered a stock market crash, wiping out the fortunes of those he deemed “parasites of capitalism.” A strategically timed power outage plunged a major metropolis into darkness, the ensuing panic a symphony to his twisted sense of order. Each act was meticulously planned, executed with the precision of a surgeon, and designed to be untraceable.

He left no fingerprints, no digital footprints, only ripples of chaos that the world attributed to misfortune or market forces.
His apartment became his control center. Banks of silent computers hummed in the background, monitoring global news feeds, financial markets, and social media trends. He was a ghost in the machine, a puppeteer pulling invisible strings. He felt a perverse sense of satisfaction, a godlike detachment as he orchestrated events that shaped the lives and deaths of millions.


One day, a news report caught his attention. A devastating earthquake had struck Nepal, leaving thousands dead and countless more homeless. Most would have felt horror, empathy. Rohan felt… opportunity. He subtly manipulated aid distribution, ensuring that certain regions received disproportionately less, furthering his twisted vision of natural selection. He even anonymously leaked information that led to violent clashes between different aid groups, revelling in the ensuing discord.


Detective Inspector Vijay Sharma was a man haunted by the sheer randomness of tragedy. He’d seen enough suffering to last several lifetimes. But lately, a disquieting pattern had begun to emerge. Seemingly unrelated disasters, financial collapses, and outbreaks of social unrest seemed to share an underlying, almost unnerving, efficiency. It was as if an invisible hand was guiding the chaos.


Vijay was a tenacious investigator, guided by logic and an unwavering belief in justice. He started connecting the dots, poring over seemingly disparate reports, searching for a link that no one else had seen. He felt like he was chasing a phantom, a malevolent intelligence operating in the shadows.


Rohan, meanwhile, felt a thrill in the game. He knew someone, somewhere, might be trying to understand the chaos. It added a layer of intellectual stimulation to his divine playacting. He even left subtle, almost imperceptible clues, intellectual breadcrumbs for a worthy adversary, though he was confident no one would ever truly see them for what they were.


One evening, as the Mumbai rain continued its relentless assault, Rohan watched a news report detailing Inspector Sharma’s relentless pursuit of the “unseen hand” behind the recent global events. A flicker of something akin to respect, or perhaps just intellectual curiosity, crossed Rohan’s face.


He leaned back in his leather chair, the city lights painting abstract patterns on his walls. He was untouchable, a ghost in the digital realm, a silent architect of global events. The world would never know his name, never understand the “divine order” he was trying to impose. He was the ultimate criminal, the most psychotic mind the world had ever produced, and he was playing God, unseen and unchallenged, in the heart of a rain-soaked city. The game, he mused, was far from over.