Darkness was his best friend. It provided solace, it provided peace, it provided the silence for one to think. Most of all it provided the refuge for one who wished to escape the glaring lights under which men and women like him were judged and subsequently hated. It was a blanket that covered their faults in a world desperate to uncover them, and then punish them for it.

When would this world understand a simple fact, he thought, no one is born evil. Men are not genetically engineered to be minions in their mother's wombs. They become evil because of the world around them that shaped their mentality that way. Their circumstances, their experiences and their hard-learned lessons make up who they are.

He was no different.

What right did this awful world have to label him a bad person? Where was this world when he had to suffer through his entire childhood for the smallest of bare necessities that became luxuries he could only dream of? Where was this world when he had to dream of a family for in reality he had none? Where was this world when he needed comfort over the loss of his mother, his guardian angel, and he was left with the monster he called his father? Where was this world when all his father was teaching him, with a slap or punch accompanying every lesson, was that money was everything.

Money was, indeed, everything.

It meant freedom, luxury, happiness, contentment, joy. It meant life!

So what if he was devising unusual ways of getting money. They might've been dishonorable, but they weren't illegal or wrong. And as far as money was concerned, he had soon stopped caring whether what he was doing was in any way illegal or wrong.

He wanted money, anyhow.

He would not return to that world, that time, when he was helpless, hungry and in pain. He would never beg for food anymore like he had to beg his father, his own damned father, for nourishment.

His five year old self sat in the corner of the one bedroom apartment staring in horror at the big six-legged spider that was coming hurtling in his direction. With a squeak he buried his face in his mother's drape that he used as a blanket. That piece of cloth still smelt like her. It helped him think that she would come running from the kitchen to kill the bug that was scaring her son.

But she no longer came from anywhere to save him. She was gone forever, his daddy would tell him. Since she was gone there were more and more bugs around the house. It scared him. It made him cry.

He peered up once more and tearfully looked for the horrifying creature and screamed in terror when he found it by his foot. Screaming and crying, the little boy ran to his sleeping father in the bedroom and woke him up.

"Daddy! Daddy! Wake up! Pwease! The buggie will eat me!"

His daddy, furious at having been woken up from his sleep, slapped the little boy so hard he was sent flying off the bed and onto the hard floor.

"You little piece of shit! How dare you wake me up! You need to be taught a lesson that worthless bitch of a mother didn't teach you! You won't get any food for a week! You hear me, you little creep! Get out of my sight!"

No one came to his rescue then, so no one had the right to label him now.

Time for revenge! And how sweet was the taste of vengeance! He would avenge his childhood, the love he lost, his innocence and the cruelty of having lost his lone benefactor that was his mother. It would bring him peace.

Peace. Finally.

He sighed with frustration as he was reminded of the task at hand. Reluctantly he switched on the computer that in turn illuminated the large screens on the wall in front of him. Six screens focused on six different locations, registering the different people relevant to his master plan. His gaze locked on to that one face.

His hatred multiplied a million times just by the sight of her face.

Mayra.

Mayra, the bitch, Hassan.

God, he'd never hated anyone more in his life than he hated her. He loathed the fact that she existed. He hated her enough to want to see her dead and gone. And why wouldn't he be happy if she just died! The amount of happiness it would bring him to see the meddlesome little bitch gone from his life forever.

Two times. He had come so close, so very close to achieving his goal two times and it was that bitch who had to mess everything up. That sick "holier-than-thou" and "better-than-you" attitude of hers. The way she looked down upon him, simply because he wasn't rich enough like her or that dumb idiot Sameera. The way she pretended to be better than him because she had higher morals and not because she was rich.

Filthy liar.

People like her could never understand. Growing up an only child in a rich father's house and having every whim answered before she could even mouth it, how the hell would someone like her ever understand the pain and the horror of a childhood gone so very wrong. She never had to beg on the streets for food, and then have her father take away everything. She never had to sit under the streetlights to do her homework and then have her father burn it in a fit of rage at the lack of enough alcohol. She never had to wear clothes that people gave away and come to college wearing such torn clothes and look at fashionistas defiantly.

What did daddy's little spoilt brat know of the troubles of a life lived on the streets?

And so he had relished her pain and enjoyed her suffering. He felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that she had received, at least to some measure, a taste of his life. Just a taste, for no one could go on living if they had lived like him. Especially not a rich spoilt brat like Mayra.

But now, it had gone deeper. Much, much deeper.

It wasn't about revenge or personal satisfaction anymore. He needed other things, desperately. Things that would free him once and for all and never would he have to think of these people or this sad excuse of his life ever again.

He would leave the country, he would never ever return.

Just when he had started to congratulate himself for having everything under control, the screen to his right lit up with a notification.

Frowning at the screen, he clicked at the message box and a new message popped up.

"You're finished."

Instant panic gripped his heart as though squeezing it tightly in sheer and unadulterated fear. What made the blood in his veins freeze was not just the content of the message but the fact that he had been sent a message in the first place. He had been invisible. He couldn't be contacted. He'd made sure of it.

Then how had the message come? Who had contacted him? How had they been able to do so?

Seconds ticked by and he sat there staring at the screen, his fingers numb but his mind racing out of control.

He had no idea how long he sat there staring at the screen but it was crystal clear in his head that in that moment, everything had changed. His intuition, often always right, told him that things for him had gone south already and that there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't even know why he felt that way but he simply did.

Breaking away from his stunned paralysis, he lunged at his laptop and quickly typed in the password. Going through the series of security checks he waited for all the material to show up that he had saved from Faiza and that we're going to fetch him his money.

As the files took their own sweet time to load, he could feel panic and fear tear up inside of him. Finally, the folder containing his ticket to freedom opened.

And it was empty.

He collapsed in the chair as he realized what had just happened. Someone had hacked his database and accessed all his files. Worst still, they had deleted them. They were gone, forever.

He wasn't going to get the money anymore. He wasn't going to get out of this alive. They would kill him. They wouldn't spare him another week to get the money.

He was, truly, finished.

Burying his face in his hands he willed himself not to cry even as hot tears poured down his face. Why did life have to be so cruel to him? What had he done to deserve this? Whenever he thought that he would have a shot at a normal, good life, things that to become so awful. Why?

Why him?

His screen rang up with an incoming call. He looked up slowly, pain slashing at his heart mercilessly. His head warned him not to take the call, but in that moment of ruined dreams he went ahead and answered.

He was silent but the person who had called knew exactly what was going on.

"You thought I would let you play with my family? You thought it would be so easy to try to ruin my sister's life and plan my wife's murder? You thought you could play games with me? Really, Jaffar? I thought you were a smart man."

Bristling with rage, he spat, "What do you want, Hassan?"

"I want to meet you."

Instantly he realized the plan. "Why? So you can throw me to the police?"

Aamir laughed lightly, "I can do much more than that! I can contact those creditors who are after your blood courtesy of your father. I've heard they've already started hunting you down. You owe them quite a lot, don't you? Which is why you're blackmailing us for money. Guess what, asshole, game's changed. Now you do as I dictate."

"You'll regret this Hassan!"

"May be," Aamir replied casually. "But not before you regret messing with the wrong person. Meet me tomorrow at nine at my office. You and I have a lot settle."

The line went blank as the call was cut, and with the call went away all hopes of a future and of a new beginning.

Tightening his hands into fists, he threw a glance at the table where his gun was.

If Aamir Hassan wanted to settle, settle they would.

*****