prologue

One look at all those stern, disapproving eyes and he froze,gripped by panic. He felt a chunk of coal burning in his pocket one after another. Drops of sweat tricked down his forehead like beads of a necklace pulled out effortlessly. He was drenched in the conscience of his own crime. But it was too late. Very soon, the jaws of justice would wither him into the abyss of absence.

Anticipating death is hugely different from looking it in the eye. Kazoo realized it today. Wasn’t it so much better to have been shot by the black commandos, having left no time for guilt to back-fire? He had known the answer. The visuals of the ravaged building, which had dodged him for long, were being played repeatedly now. A terrorist has somewhat began to feel the terror…