I Demand A Remake

The three men, in dark suits, gulped as they stepped off the helicopter. He smoothed his own suit and led the way into the cave-like opening. A tall, gaunt guard at the opening of the cave checked them for weapons. He snickered malevolently and let them pass through. Not that they dared carry anything in with them even slightly dangerous.

Inside, the cave floor was lined with large blocks of stone. The walls were smooth and painted white. More guards walked about in procession, armed with automatic weapons and grenades. With additional daggers and darts, the weaponry was on the ostentatious side, but considering the operations involved, it was difficult to trace the line which marked sufficient from extraneous arsenal. He understood all too well, wishing he didn't need to come here so often.

A guard came up to them, and gestured curtly for them to follow. In single file they proceeded deeper into this cave, this stronghold of the most dreaded terrorist ever to infiltrate Indian jurisdiction.

As they walked, they could hear the constant beep of information being processed and exchanged, pertaining to matters they could only wonder at the nature of. More guards, more weapons and several more gates, each with a towering soldier for protection. Ostentatious, he thought, but also powerful. Very powerful.

The final door opened when the guard pressed the code on the keypad in front of him, and they entered into a vast hall with white pillars and a throne at the opposite end. There, he sat, watching them with his hawk-like eyes.

Was it anger he saw in those eyes? He couldn't tell from this distance. He hoped it wasn't. Once again, he gulped.

They were walked up to half the distance of the hall, until they stood in a line in front of him. Ready to be praised, he thought, and also ready to be shot.

But he had good news, which he knew would save him tonight. He knew that, but it couldn't stop the sweat from pouring down his forehead.

Now, the man sitting on the throne in front of them. Dressed in gold tasseled attire, he was regal. His hair was in locks, and when he stood he cut a mighty, majestic figure, ruthless in bringing order and obedience to his business of bringing chaos to the world. He rested his left hand on the arm-rest of his throne, at the end of which was a globe of the world. His fingers, ornamented with heavy gold rings, tapped the globe's surface - the symbolic gesture was not affected, he really did dance this world on his fingertips. The man, this lord of chaos, looked at the men before him and nodded, allowing them to speak.

They blubbered over one another, in getting the words out. The grain stores had been adulterated with stones up to half in weightage. They would be selling poor qualities of rice to the Indians for exorbitant prices. The entire nation's food supply would soon be controlled to his plans. Weapons had been supplied to the various insurgent groups in the country, with strict instructions as to their usage. Knowledge of IEDs was being disseminated to them. Soon the entire nation would explode in communal violence. Riots and bloodshed would drain the nation of all its unity. India would be his for the taking. They spoke about their misdeeds under his orders, each seemingly disconnected but essential to the overall scheme he was executing through them and through hundreds of others.

The man smiled. They could see his approval and they felt glad. They would all be alive to return home tonight. He smiled and he tapped on the globe at his fingertips. He looked at them with razor-sharp eyes, now liquid with malevolence and an embodiment of evil.

He looked at them, as they exhaled in relief and exhaustion, and he said - "Mogambo khush hua."