Astra Research Division (ARD), Himachal Pradesh
Above ground, the building stretched two floors high — sleek corridors, motion-triggered lights, and silent surveillance drones hovering from ceiling rails. The outer facade bore no signboard. No unit number. Just blank grey walls and a steel gate guarded by soldiers who never smiled.
But it was what lay beneath that mattered.
An elevator, locked behind three layers of biometric clearance, led to the lower levels — a hidden sub-basement where the real work began. Cold, sterile air filled the underground facility. Cameras watched every corner. Keypads blinked red. Inside, figures in lab coats moved methodically, surrounded by monitors, glowing data panels, and containment locks.
At the center of the lab: a massive cylindrical structure. A capsule — easily four meters tall, reinforced with layers of black titanium alloy. It looked like it had been built to contain a secret the world was never meant to see.
A team of scientists worked in silence, checking readouts, adjusting calibrations. Sparks flew briefly as one of them welded a segment near the base. Every inch was being perfected — not rushed, but reverent. As if they were building something holy… or dangerous.
Above, behind a soundproof glass wall, a control cabin overlooked the lab. Rows of screens tracked heat signatures, biometric feedback, and security metrics in real-time. The staff inside monitored everything — every pulse of energy, every shift in the capsule's internal readings.
"Sector 3 humidity stabilized," one of the analysts muttered.
"Keep watch on the cooling unit. We can't have a temperature spike again," replied another.
Outside the glass, nothing looked out of place.
But beneath the hum of machines and the ticking of data logs, tension brewed like a storm trapped under ice.
In a corner of the lab, two workers — not scientists, just part of the cleaning crew — moved cautiously. One mopped the gleaming white tiles, while the other sat on a crate, glancing around nervously.
"Hey," the one mopping whispered, "do you even know what we're cleaning around?"
The other shook his head. "No idea. But I've heard things… Something about a stone. Found during mining. Whatever it is, they're keeping it damn secret."
The first worker leaned closer. "Makes sense. They don't even let us call home. Haven't spoken to my family in over a year."
The second nodded, eyes distant. "Yeah. My daughter turned six last month. I couldn't even send a message."
The silence returned — broken only by the soft buzz of machines and the ever-watching eyes of the CCTV above them.
Back at the army training camp, the world was very different — alive, loud, and endlessly demanding.
The sun still refused to shine properly. The sky remained tinted in a strange reddish haze. But no one questioned it anymore. They were soldiers in the making — and soldiers marched, no matter the color of the sky.
Morning drills kicked off as usual. The cadets lined up on the range, rifles in hand. Dust clung to their boots, sweat rolled down their necks, but their eyes remained fixed on targets ahead.
Rivet exhaled slowly, remembering Keshav's advice. "Block the noise. Feel the breath. Own the shot."
He fired.
Bullseye.
Another shot. Closer.
By the third, he wasn't thinking anymore — his arms moved with rhythm, precision, and belief.
Keshav stood a few spots away, his form flawless — the rifle seemed an extension of his body. The instructors nodded quietly, watching the two.
Colonel Vikrant Rathore observed from a distance, arms folded. A small smile tugged at the edge of his otherwise rigid face. Beside him, Major Abhay Singh scribbled notes on a pad, grunting occasionally at missed shots from other cadets.
"Progress is showing," Vikrant muttered.
Abhay nodded. "Give them two more weeks. They'll move like wolves."
By midday, the cadets gathered in the lecture hall, notebooks in hand. A guest instructor — a retired commando — detailed the inner workings of improvised explosive devices, explaining both detection and disarmament with grim clarity.
Rivet jotted down notes silently, eyes narrowing at every word. No classroom had ever felt this important before.
Lunch was loud and hurried. Metal trays clanked. Rice, dal, and boiled vegetables — the usual. Keshav cracked a joke about how the dal looked like "radioactive slime," and the whole table burst into laughter.
Even Arnav, who had been silent all morning, finally spoke. "If this is army food… I fear for my wedding dinner."
More laughter. For a moment, the tension faded.
Then came the afternoon obstacle games — crawling through mud, scaling ropes, timed dashes across barricades. Muscles screamed. Knees bled. But none of them stopped.
Rivet slipped once while leaping over a tire wall, but rolled and kept running. Keshav was already three paces ahead, breathing heavily, but with a grin on his face.
"Faster, soldier!" one of the trainers barked.
They pushed harder.
By the time evening fell, the sky darkened like bruised flesh. Rain threatened again, clouds swirling with electricity.
Rivet reached his room slowly, his entire body aching. He peeled off his boots, sat at the edge of his bed, and stared at the floor for a full minute.
The storm hadn't even started — but it already felt like he'd walked through one.
He showered quietly, changed into his basic uniform, and collapsed into bed. No calls. No thoughts.
Just silence.
And somewhere, far beneath the world he knew, machines hummed… waiting.