Eve was still looking at the ocean, her crimson eyes tracking the movement of fish schools as they flowed through the dark water like liquid silver. The patterns they made were hyitself thousands of individual creatures moving as one, responding to invisible signals, creating beauty through pure instinct. She found herself trying to understand the mathematics of it, the way chaos organized itself into order without conscious direction.
Angela watched Eve watching the fish, and something hot and bitter rose in her chest. It wasn't rational, she knew that. Eve was just being herself, experiencing wonder at something simple and natural. But that was exactly what made it so infuriating Eve could feel wonder at all, while Angela felt nothing but this gnawing emptiness.
"Eve," Angela said, her voice sharper than she'd intended, "can you stop looking at those fish? It's annoying."
Eve's head turned immediately, her expression shifting from wonder to something like guilt. "Oh, sorry," she said quickly, her voice small and apologetic.
The automatic apology only made Angela's irritation worse. "Stop saying sorry every time," she snapped. "That's annoying too."
"Ohh... okay," Eve replied, and her voice carried such genuine sadness that it sounded almost human. Not the flat, programmed responses Angela remembered from before the fire, but real hurt, real emotion.
Angela felt guilt twist in her stomach, sharp and uncomfortable. But she said nothing, turning away to stare at the controls instead, not trusting herself to speak without making things worse.
*Am I really comparing myself to a damn robot?* she thought, the question bitter as poison. *Am I that hollow now? So empty that I'm jealous of a machine's capacity to feel? What does that make me?*
The answer that came was one she didn't want to acknowledge: *Less than human. Less than the artificial being sitting next to me. I've become exactly what I always feared Eve was a shell going through the motions without actually living.*
She was so deep in these dark thoughts, spiraling further into self-recrimination and existential despair, that she almost missed Carmilla speaking.
"Well, do you know about India?" Carmilla asked, her tone deliberately casual, as if she were trying to break the uncomfortable tension that had settled over the cabin.
Eve looked up, grateful for the distraction and the excuse to engage in conversation again. "Well, I know about it. Why did you ask?"
Angela finally came back to awareness, her mind pulling itself reluctantly from its spiral. "What are you talking about?" she asked, confusion replacing her earlier irritation.
"India," Eve replied simply.
Angela frowned, trying to follow the conversation's logic and failing to find any. "Well, I went to India once when I was young," she said slowly, dredging up the memory from before everything had gone wrong. "The place is beautiful, in my opinion. The colors, the architecture, the way the cities feel so alive... But why are you talking about this? What does India have to do with anything?"
Carmilla's fingers continued moving across her control panel, but her tone remained conversational. "Well, do you know that in India there's something found called Kālabandha?"
"Kālabandha?" Angela repeated, the unfamiliar word feeling strange on her tongue. The syllables were foreign, carrying weight she couldn't quite identify. "What is that?"
Carmilla shrugged, her reflection visible in the vehicle's transparent sections, her expression thoughtful. "To be honest, even I don't know exactly what it is. I've only heard references to it in certain classified documents, mentions in S.O.W. files that are above even my clearance level. But I think we'll know one day or another. These things have a way of revealing themselves when the time is right." She paused, then added almost as an afterthought, "I also heard that India wants to play a more active role in the global games, in the international market. They've been making moves, forming alliances, positioning themselves strategically."
Angela's frown deepened. "Why are you talking about this? What does any of this have to do with our mission?"
"Well," Carmilla admitted with a slight smile, "I'm bored. So yeah. We've got hours ahead of us in this underwater car, and silence gets oppressive after a while. Thought I'd make conversation."
"Uhh, guys?" Eve's voice cut through their exchange, carrying a note of concern that made both women turn to look at her. "I think sharks are coming."
Carmilla waved a hand dismissively, not even bothering to check her sensors. "Well, we shouldn't worry. This car is designed to withstand deep-sea pressure and marine life encounters. The hull can protect us from anything short of a military-grade torpedo. A few sharks aren't going to—"
"I don't think those are normal sharks," Angela interrupted, her voice tight with sudden tension. She was staring out through the transparent section of the vehicle, her synthetic eyes focusing on shapes moving through the dark water with unsettling purpose.
Carmilla finally looked up from her controls, following Angela's gaze. Her expression changed immediately, professional composure cracking as she took in what was approaching them.
"Uhh, oh shit," she breathed.
The creatures moving toward them were shark-like in the same way that a wolf was dog-like—technically the same species category, but so fundamentally different that the comparison felt almost insulting. They were massive, easily twice the size of the largest great white Angela had ever seen documented. Their bodies were covered not just with normal shark skin but with what looked like armored plating, thick scales that gleamed with a metallic sheen even in the dim underwater light.
But it was their eyes that were most disturbing. Normal shark eyes were black, empty, driven by pure predatory instinct. These creatures' eyes glowed with a sickly yellow-green bioluminescence, and behind that glow was something that looked disturbingly like intelligence. Like awareness. Like they were thinking, planning, coordinating their approach rather than just responding to the scent of potential prey.
There were seven of them, moving in a formation that was too precise to be natural. They circled the underwater car from different angles, their movements synchronized in a way that suggested pack tactics far more sophisticated than normal shark behavior.
"What the hell are those?" Angela whispered, unable to look away from the circling predators.
Carmilla's fingers flew across her control panel, pulling up data, running scans, trying to identify what they were dealing with. "I don't know," she admitted, and the fear in her voice was genuine. "They're not in any database I can access. Not natural species, not documented mutations, not anything that should exist in these waters or any waters."
The largest of the creatures easily twenty-five feet long, its armored scales covering what looked like enhanced musculature underneath broke away from the formation and swam directly at their vehicle. It moved with terrifying speed, its massive tail propelling it through the water like a living torpedo.
"Hold on!" Carmilla shouted, her hands gripping the controls as she tried to maneuver away.
But the creature was faster. It slammed into the side of the vehicle with tremendous force, and despite Carmilla's assurances about the hull's strength, the entire cabin shook violently. Warning lights flared across multiple control panels, and an automated voice began calmly announcing: "Hull integrity at ninety-two percent. Impact damage detected. Secondary shields engaging."
Eve gripped her seat, her synthetic body handling the violent motion better than a human's would, but her eyes were wide with genuine fear. Angela felt her own fear spike, adrenaline analogs flooding her system, her heart biological and real despite the synthetic body housing it pounding against her ribs.
The creatures continued their attack, taking turns ramming the vehicle from different angles, testing its defenses, probing for weaknesses. Each impact sent shudders through the cabin, and the hull integrity percentage slowly, inexorably, began to drop.
The scene shifted.
Thousands of miles away, in a country where snow-capped mountains touched the sky and ancient traditions blended with cutting-edge technology, a very different kind of predator was conducting business.
India's Parliament House stood magnificent in the afternoon light, its architecture a blend of colonial heritage and modern design. Inside, in a private dining room that few knew existed, India's newly elected Prime Minister sat across from an unexpected guest.
Prime Minister Ananya Sharma was in her early forties, her appearance carefully maintained to project strength and competence. She wore a elegant saree in deep blue, her hair pulled back in a practical bun, minimal jewelry except for a pair of earrings that were actually sophisticated communication devices. Two robot bodyguards stood at attention near the door
humanoid machines with blank faces and bodies designed more for function than aesthetics, their hands capable of transforming into various defensive and offensive configurations.
One of the robots spoke in a flat, emotionless voice: "Ma'am Ananya, a guest has arrived to speak with you. However, he requested a private dinner, one-on-one conversation."
Ananya set down the document she'd been reviewing, considering this request. Private dinners with unknown parties were always risky, especially for someone in her position. But they could also be opportunities. "Well then," she said slowly, "I will accept. Or maybe not. Show him in first. Let me see who thinks they're important enough to request my private attention."
The door opened.
The Scientist entered, his appearance as immaculate as always tailored suit, every hair in place, that slight smile that never quite reached his eyes. He moved with the confidence of someone who owned whatever room he entered, regardless of who else was present.
"Good evening," he said, his voice smooth and cultured. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Prime Minister."
"The pleasure is mutual," Ananya replied, her tone professionally warm but guarded. She gestured to the seat across from her. "Please, sit. Today's weather is quite hot, isn't it?"
"Perhaps," he agreed, settling into the chair with casual grace. "Though I find the heat preferable to cold. Cold makes people cautious, makes them slow. Heat makes them careless."
Ananya smiled at this, recognizing the subtext. "Well then, how is your life, dear?"
"Mine is pretty fine," he replied with that same slight smile, picking up the menu and glancing over it. "And I must say, this food is amazing. As always, I can enjoy Indian food anytime. The complexity of flavors, the way spices layer upon each other it's an art form that few cuisines can match."
"Well, I'm happy to hear that," Ananya said, watching him carefully. Everything about this man set off alarm bells in her mind, but she couldn't identify any specific threat. He was too smooth, too comfortable, too confident. "I think the country has become more powerful under your guidance. And I heard you want India to play more significant games on the global stage."
"Well, yes," she acknowledged, surprised he knew about that. Those plans hadn't been made public yet. "But technically indirectly. We're not interested in overt displays of force or aggressive expansion. More... strategic positioning. Influence through economics and technology rather than military might."
"I'm impressed by this move," he said, and something in his tone suggested he genuinely was. "It shows sophisticated thinking. Too many leaders still believe power comes from armies and nuclear weapons. They don't understand that in the modern world, whoever controls information and resources controls everything else."
Ananya began eating her dinner tandoori chicken, perfectly spiced rice, fresh naan
but her attention never left her guest. "Well, do you know about the Sinners?"
His expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "Perhaps I know about them. They're very dangerous, from what I understand. An organization with resources and reach that rival entire nations. Why do you ask?"
She set down her fork, her voice dropping to something more serious. "What if I told you I'm connected to them? Through another group, indirectly, but connected nonetheless."
He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, and his eyes widened slightly. "Wait, really?" The surprise seemed genuine, his voice carrying confusion and interest. "Woah, I didn't know about that. That's... quite a revelation, Prime Minister."
Ananya pushed back from the table and stood, her movements fluid and deliberate. She walked around the table toward him, her expression shifting into something more predatory. "Well, dear," she said, her voice taking on a seductive tone, "I don't think you should play games with me. And perhaps..." She reached out, placing her hand on his chest, her fingers tracing inappropriate patterns across his suit jacket. "You are very handsome."
He didn't flinch. Didn't react at all, actually, just sat there calmly as she touched him with increasing boldness, her hands moving across his chest, down toward his abdomen, testing his boundaries, seeing if she could provoke any response.
"Well, I think we should focus on business," he said, his tone unchanged, as if she weren't currently running her hands over him in a way that would make most people extremely uncomfortable. "Where is Kālabandha?"
She continued touching him, her hands moving even more inappropriately, her voice a purr. "Why do you think I would tell you that? Information has value, after all. What are you offering in exchange?"
He sighed not with frustration or discomfort, but with something like resignation. Then he snapped his fingers.
The sound was sharp and clear. And with it, reality seemed to hiccup.
Spikes erupted from seemingly nowhere
thin, needle-like projectiles that shot from the walls with tremendous velocity. They struck seemingly random points in the room, piercing empty air, embedding themselves in walls and furniture.
Except the air wasn't empty.
Bodies began appearing, flickering into visibility like malfunctioning holograms. Seven people assassins equipped with advanced stealth technology, invisible shields that bent light around them suddenly became very visible as the spikes pierced through their camouflage systems and into their flesh. They dropped to the ground, dead before they could even scream, blood pooling around their bodies.
Ananya froze, her hands still on the Scientist's chest. Her eyes went wide with shock, her professional composure shattering completely. "You..." she breathed. "You knew they were there. The whole time."
"Of course," he said simply. "Did you think I would walk into a potential trap without taking precautions? I knew about your little insurance policy assassins waiting in stealth mode to kill me if our conversation went poorly before I even accepted your invitation."
She laughed then, a genuine sound of surprise and respect, pulling her hands back and returning to her seat. "You are interesting, aren't you? More interesting than I gave you credit for."
"I try," he replied modestly.
She straightened in her chair, her expression becoming more guarded. "Well then, you still can't have me. I won't tell you about Kālabandha, no matter what you—"
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bag, setting it on the table between them. It was small, innocuous-looking, made of plain brown paper. "Look inside the bag," he said.
Ananya hesitated, then reached for it. The paper crinkled as she opened it, and the smell hit her first copper and decay, the unmistakable scent of death. She looked inside and her face went pale.
Body parts. Human body parts. Fingers, specifically, cut cleanly at the knuckle. And among them, a wedding ring she recognized.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice tight with disgust, though she was already beginning to understand.
"Your husband," the Scientist said calmly, as if discussing the weather. "Or rather, pieces of him. The rest is somewhere safe, if you're curious."
Ananya's hands shook, but she forced herself to maintain composure. "You think that's enough to intimidate me? I already cheated on him anyway. Multiple times. Our marriage was political convenience, nothing more. His death doesn't affect me emotionally."
"I know," he replied. Then he pulled out a small device and activated a hologram projection above the table.
The image showed two children a boy about eight years old, a girl about six. They were playing in what looked like a private garden, laughing, completely unaware they were being recorded. And standing nearby, watching them with obvious affection, was a man Ananya recognized immediately.
Her real family. The one she'd kept completely secret, hidden behind layers of false identities and offshore accounts. The children from her affair with her actual love, the man she'd been with for years while maintaining her public marriage for political purposes.
Her face went white. "H-how do you know about this?" she stammered, all pretense of calm authority vanishing. "This is... this was impossible to trace. Everything was encrypted, hidden, protected by the best security money could buy."
"Nothing is truly hidden," he said simply. "Not from people with sufficient resources and motivation. Now, you have two choices. Either tell me where Kālabandha is, and your children and your lover live. Or don't tell me, and they join your husband."
She was stunned into silence, her mind racing. *How much does he know? How deep does his information go? Who else knows? Can this be contained?* The questions spiraled through her consciousness, each one more terrifying than the last.
Finally, her voice barely above a whisper, she said: "Himalaya. It's somewhere in the Himalayan mountain range. The exact location changes it's not a fixed place but something that moves, that exists in multiple locations simultaneously, or shifts between them. That's all I know. I swear, that's everything I have."
"Thank you," he said, standing and straightening his jacket. "That's very helpful. By the way..." He paused at the door, looking back at her with something that might have been sympathy but was more likely just clinical interest. "That video I showed you? It's three days old."
The words took a moment to register. Then the full horror crashed down on her. "What?"
He reached into another pocket and pulled out a second bag, tossing it onto the table. It landed with a wet thump, heavier than the first.
Ananya's hands shook as she opened it. More body parts. But these were smaller. Children's fingers. And among them, a charm bracelet her daughter had begged for last Christmas.
She vomited immediately, the expensive dinner coming back up as her body rejected the sight, the smell, the terrible reality of what she was seeing. Tears streamed down her face, makeup running, all pretense of strength dissolving into raw anguish.
"I will kill you," she gasped between retches, her voice carrying absolute hatred. "I don't care how long it takes. I don't care what I have to do. I will fucking kill you."
"You can try," he said pleasantly, as if she'd just made a mildly interesting comment about the weather. "But I don't think it will work. You're welcome to attempt it, though. I do enjoy a challenge." He tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Good evening, Prime Minister. Thank you for your cooperation."
And then he was gone, leaving her alone with the bodies of her assassins, the remains of her secret family, and the complete destruction of everything she'd tried to build and protect.
The scene shifted again.
Somewhere high in the snow-covered mountains, where the air was thin and the cold cut like knives, Pranit sat on a fallen log and tried to warm his hands over a small fire. The flames danced weakly in the wind, providing minimal heat against the brutal cold.
"Damn, this place is cold as shit," he muttered to himself, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air. His usual theatricality was subdued by the sheer misery of the environment. Even someone with his enhanced abilities and resistance to physical discomfort found this level of cold unpleasant.
He heard footsteps crunching through the snow and looked up to see a couple approaching a man and woman in their thirties, wearing heavy winter gear that looked well-used but quality. They looked exhausted, their faces wind-burned and their movements suggesting they'd been traveling for days.
"Excuse me," the man called out as they got closer. "Do you have any food to spare? We got separated from our expedition group, and our supplies were lost in an avalanche. We've been trying to make it to the nearest settlement, but..." He trailed off, looking embarrassed by the admission of their desperate situation.
Pranit gave them his most charming smile
the one that looked genuine, friendly, trustworthy. "Food? No, sorry. I'm running pretty low myself. Just got enough for maybe another day or two."
The couple's faces fell with obvious disappointment. "Damn," the woman said softly. "Well, we won't trouble you then. Thank you anyway."
"Hey, but you're welcome to share my fire for a bit," Pranit offered, gesturing to the small flames. "Warm up before you keep moving. It's dangerous to travel through the mountains at night when you're already this cold. Rest here, get your strength back, then head out at first light."
The couple exchanged glances, relief evident on their faces. "Really? Thank you so much," the man said. "We'll just stay for a few hours, I promise. We don't want to impose."
"No imposition at all," Pranit assured them, his smile never wavering. "We're all just trying to survive out here, right? Got to help each other when we can. We're friends now."
"Friends," the woman repeated, smiling tiredly as she settled near the fire. "That's kind of you to say."
Night fell quickly in the mountains, the temperature dropping even further. The couple huddled close to the fire, eventually falling asleep from exhaustion, their bodies finally relaxing after days of desperate travel.
Pranit watched them sleep, his expression unreadable. Then, when he was certain they were deeply unconscious, his smile changed. It was no longer charming or friendly. It was hungry.
Hours later, the man woke to a nightmare.
His wife's body lay beside him, but only half of it remained. Her torso had been torn open, organs removed with surgical precision, flesh stripped from bone in places. Blood stained the snow in a wide circle around her, dark and freezing in the mountain air.
And sitting across from him, illuminated by the dying fire, was Pranit. His mouth and hands were covered in blood, and he was chewing methodically, savoring each bite.
The man screamed a sound of pure horror and anguish that echoed across the empty mountains.
"You bastard!" he shrieked, scrambling backward, slipping on the bloody snow. "We trusted you! We thought you were our friend!"
Pranit swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and shrugged. "Sorry, dude. But survival comes first. You understand, right? It's just the way things are. Nothing personal."
"You're a devil!" the man sobbed, his voice breaking. "You're a fucking devil!"
"I know," Pranit replied calmly, standing and picking up his axe. "Trust me, I'm very aware of what I am."
Before the man could scream again, before he could beg for mercy or curse his killer or do anything else, Pranit threw the axe with casual precision. It spun through the air and embedded itself in the man's forehead with a meaty thunk, killing him instantly.
"Annoying," Pranit muttered, walking over to retrieve his weapon. He pulled it free, wiped it clean on the man's jacket, and returned to his meal.
The mountains were silent except for the wind and the sound of Pranit eating, utterly alone with his monstrous hunger, completely at peace with what he was.