17 September — Evening (6:12 PM)
Vikram Sharma Residence
Vikram sat on the sofa, motionless.
His thoughts kept returning to Aditya Kamble's stare in Parliament—the way his eyes had fixed on him when he asked that question. Vikram couldn't tell whether it had been an insult or a warning.
Or a challenge.
He didn't notice his wife approach until he heard the soft sound of her payal.
He looked up.
She was thirty-three, standing close now, watching him with quiet concern.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked gently.
Seeing the worry on her face, Vikram forced himself to smile.
"Nothing," he said. "Today was exhausting. A lot happened. I'm just tired."
She didn't believe him.
"Is it because of the sudden change in power?" she asked. "Or the protests? Everything feels… unstable right now."
Vikram sensed her anxiety rising.
"There's no need to panic," he said quickly. "We have it under control. The Cabinet is already approving measures to fix things."
He paused, then added lightly,
"Why don't you relax instead of stressing yourself—and me?"
She studied him for a moment.
"You told me once," she said slowly, "that when you became Prime Minister, there would be a system that would come after you."
Her voice lowered.
"Is it really that bad?"
Vikram looked away.
For a moment, he said nothing.
"Why don't you go do something else?" he said quietly. "I'm trying to—"
He stopped.
Trying to what, he didn't know.
She understood. She always did.
"Fine," she said softly.
She turned and began to walk away.
Before she reached the doorway, Vikram spoke again.
"Please send my PA."
She nodded and left the room.
Vikram remained seated, staring at nothing—
the weight of what he couldn't say pressing heavier than anything he had spoken aloud.
Vikram PA walks in with
"Sir?"
The PA stood near the doorway. "You called me. What happened?"
Vikram looked at him, his expression tired—uneasy in a way the PA hadn't seen before.
"I was thinking," Vikram said slowly, "about how deeply the system has eaten our system alive. So deeply that no one dares to speak."
The PA had no answer. He remained silent.
Vikram looked down at his hands.
"You want to know something?" he said quietly. "The man who came to my office this morning…"
He looked up.
"Who was he?" he asked.
The PA hesitated. Vikram gestured for him to sit.
Vikram exhaled. "He was the Head of the Strategic Council," he said. "The third-strongest member of the system."
The PA stiffened. He could hear the unease in Vikram's voice now.
"Everything will be fine, sir," he said, though he wasn't fully convinced himself.
Vikram let out a short, humorless breath.
"I thought it would be easier," he said. "But when the sun sets, the darkness reminds you—nothing you do is ever enough. In the end, they expect you to bow."
The PA shook his head. "Not every day is the same, sir."
Vikram looked at him sharply.
"Do you know what happened in 2007?" he asked.
The room felt smaller.
"Yes, sir," the PA said cautiously.
"People were dying of food poisoning," Vikram continued. "The numbers kept rising. Crime increased. Protests filled the streets. Industries collapsed. Companies failed. Everything was falling apart."
The PA listened without interrupting.
"And yet," Vikram said, his voice steady, "one company made record profits."
He paused.
"Neuraxis."
The PA nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. Even my family was affected back then. And… their medicines worked. I never questioned it."
"That's the mistake," Vikram said. "No one questioned it."
He leaned forward.
"The System has been on my watch for a very long time," he said. "And I will erase them—no matter what it costs. I swore to erase it"
The PA froze. He had never heard Vikram speak like this before.
"Sir…" He placed a hand on Vikram's shoulder, trying to steady him.
Vikram looked up again.
"You know him?" he asked. "The man from this morning. He always wears a gold bracelet on his left wrist."
His eyes hardened.
"That bastard probably stole it from his mother's grave."
The PA shook his head slowly.
Vikram stared at him for a long moment.
Then he said, quietly—
"His name is Anuj."
17 September — Evening (6:23 PM)
Neuraxis HQ — New Delhi
Anuj sat alone in his office, reading through a stack of documents.
The door opened quietly. His junior—the same man who had driven earlier that day—stepped inside, holding a phone.
"For you, sir," he said. "I'm redirecting the call to your desk."
Anuj nodded.
The phone rang. He picked it up.
A voice spoke from the other end—flat, urgent.
"Things did not go as planned. Not everything worked out. Headquarters is issuing instructions."
The line went dead.
The junior looked up.
"Who was it, sir?"
Anuj raised his eyes.
"Direct orders from above."
Behind them, the fax machine came to life. Paper slid out with a mechanical whine.
The junior picked it up and handed it over.
"A fax… in 2022," he muttered. "They really—"
"Don't say something you can't take back," Anuj cut in.
His tone was calm, but his eyes were not.
The junior felt the warning immediately. He lowered his head.
Anuj read the document in silence.
After a moment, he folded it.
"Understood."
The junior hesitated.
"What does it say, sir?"
Anuj placed the paper on the desk and looked at him.
"It's a directive from headquarters," he said. "Effective immediately."
He continued, "Go to the DSO office. Tell the Director of Strategic Operations that I'm summoning him."
The junior nodded and left quickly.
Anuj stood and walked toward the window.
Outside, the sun had already disappeared. Darkness had settled over the city, and rain had begun to fall—slow, steady.
He looked back at the letter.
"They went too far this time," he said quietly. "That wasn't necessary."
A pause.
"Crazy."
There was a knock at the door.
Anuj didn't turn.
"Come in," he said.
"Sir."
The Director of Strategic Operations stood at attention.
Anuj exhaled slowly.
"Prepare the naval unit," he said. "It's time to sink the floating stone."
He paused.
"Operation code: P3-001."
Silence followed.
The DSO hesitated. "Are we capturing the target, sir?"
Anuj turned toward him.
"No," he said flatly. "We are destroying it. Load the warships."
"Yes, sir," the DSO replied. "We'll depart immediately once preparations are complete."
"No," Anuj said. "Wait for my command. Prepare everything, but do not move until I give the order."
The DSO nodded. "Understood, sir."
A heavy silence filled the room.
"You may leave now," Anuj said.
The DSO turned and exited the office, closing the door behind him.
Anuj remained alone.
The decision had been made.
17 September — Night
On the train
The compartment was quiet.
Arjun and the others sat in their seats, phones glowing softly in the dark. Outside the window, nothing could be seen—only motion and shadow.
Kabir glanced down at Arjun.
"You should sleep now," he said quietly.
Arjun looked up at him.
"You should too," he replied, smiling faintly.
After a moment, Arjun spoke again, his voice low.
"I keep thinking about it," he said. "Whether I live or die… everything will stay the same. Sometimes I don't even know if I'm really living."
Imran looked up sharply.
"Please stop," he said. "I don't want to hear this."
The others nodded in silent agreement.
Arjun didn't argue. He just smiled softly, pulled the blanket over himself, and closed his eyes.
The train continued moving through the night.
Anuj's Residence — Noida
17 September — Night
Rain hammered against the windows. Thunder cracked overhead, sharp and close.
Anuj stood near the table, holding an old newspaper in one hand and a classified document in the other.
The newspaper was yellowed with age.
A policewoman went missing on May 13, 2005.
She had been leading a special unit investigating missing children.
She was last seen at her residence.
Anuj placed the paper down slowly.
The phone rang.
He looked up at once.
That phone was reserved only for system-level communication.
He stood, hesitated for a brief moment, then picked it up.
Before he could speak, a voice came through the line.
"Have you heard the news?" the voice asked. "The Director says the military convoy has been located."
Anuj's expression didn't change.
"So?" he replied. "What's the concern?"
There was a pause.
"It appears the Neuraxis System has been mentioned in the incident," the voice continued.
"The Director has been summoned tomorrow morning. By the President."
Anuj's fingers tightened slightly around the receiver.
"And?" he asked.
"The instructions from Headquarters," the voice said carefully.
"The ones sent to your fax earlier—put the strike on hold."
The line went dead.
Anuj lowered the phone.
Outside, the rain continued to fall—steady, relentless.
He looked back at the old newspaper.
Some things, he knew, never stayed buried.
18 September — Morning
On the way to Parliament
Vikram sat in the back seat, staring ahead as the car moved toward Parliament. The city felt different after the news—quieter, watchful.
"That's it, sir," the PA said, unable to hide his optimism. "We have them now. The System Director will have to answer. This time, there's no way out."
Vikram nodded slowly. He could feel it too—the shift.
"Yes," he said. "You're right. Now we wait for the President's directive. This is no longer political. It's a national issue."
He paused, then added, "The President won't stay silent."
The car came to a stop.
Vikram stepped out and moved quickly toward the Parliament building, his pace urgent, deliberate.
Behind him, the PA lingered for a moment and turned to the driver.
"Something big is about to happen," he said quietly.
The driver frowned. "What do you mean, sir?"
The PA only smiled—thin, knowing—and said nothing.
Anuj's Office — Afternoon
Anuj sat at his desk, eyes fixed on the wall clock.
Each second felt louder than the last.
The phone on the table rang.
He picked it up immediately.
"This is the Deputy National Director," a voice said. "A message for the Strategic Oversight Council. The fax has been sent. Review it carefully and follow the instructions."
The line disconnected.
Almost instantly, the fax machine whirred to life.
Paper slid out.
Anuj took the sheet and read it.
Two words.
Erase the evidence.
He didn't react.
He folded the paper once and placed it neatly on the desk.
The clock continued to tick.
-END-