Chapter 10: Buying Frenzy.
Inside his quiet room, Vikram sat beside the window, the faded cotton curtain gently swaying in the breeze. Outside, the village of Gola lay hushed under a haze of heat and stillness. The long fields shimmered in the golden light of late afternoon. But Vikram's mind was pacing — sharpened by memories and flickering schemes.
He had returned home in body, but not yet in purpose. Part of him was still watching from the borders of conflict, still sifting through data, patterns, and names. He had begun rebuilding the architecture of revolution — one technological seed at a time — but the scale was vast. The future needed to be written faster.
That's when the system activated in his mind with a sudden presence, its invisible interface blooming across his thoughts like a calm yet imposing whisper.
> [Congratulations, Host. Yearly discount is here. All items in the System Shop are available at 99% discount for the next 3 hours.]
For a moment, he didn't move. Then, realization struck.
This was the moment he had waited for.
He immediately summoned the system interface, his mind pushing open the layers of translucent menus, each listing gleaming with impossible technology. What once seemed unattainable now shimmered within reach.
The possibilities were staggering.
He moved quickly but deliberately. There was no time for awe — only strategy.
One of the first entries to catch his attention wasn't a missile or an aircraft—it was something surprisingly ordinary.
> Carbonated Cold Drink – Cola Flavor (20 G.P.)
> More flavorful and healthier than existing brands. Reduced sugar formula. Contains natural energy compounds. Low production cost.
At first glance, it was trivial, but Vikram saw the industrial implications. An entire market could be built from this formula. Multinationals would not even step onto Indian soil before being outpaced.
He bought it instantly. A scroll appeared in his hand—light, dense with formulas and system-certified chemistry.
He purchased six other flavors: orange, mint, ginger lemon, jeera, apple, and a red-bull-type energy drink. Seven total. Cost: 140 G.P.
Remaining balance: 19,900 G.P.
Next came the foundation of modern transport.
> 2000s Car Engine Technology (50 G.P.)
> Thirty years ahead of existing Indian capabilities. High efficiency. Suitable for trucks, buses, and passenger cars.
He then added all necessary vehicle components: transmission systems, suspension models, axle designs, thermoplastic dashboards, power steering units, braking frameworks, battery technologies, tire formulas — every piece needed to build a generation of vehicles the world hadn't yet imagined. This alone cost 2,100 G.P.
Remaining G.P.: 17,800
Military design followed.
> Kaveri 4th and 5th Generation Jet Engine Design (100 G.P. and 200 G.P.)
He bought both. These technologies would take India decades to build on its own; he was bending time with his fingertips.
Another 800 G.P. went into acquiring stealth coatings, avionics for fourth-generation aircraft, electronic warfare packages, and theoretical designs for thermonuclear weapons. These had once been secrets buried under glass-layered bunkers in the real world's future. Not anymore.
Remaining balance: 16,700 G.P.
Then, something monumental appeared.
> ISRO Technology Compendium (1971–1991) – 2,000 G.P.
> Blueprints for Aryabhata, App-Bhaskara, Rohini, IRS, and INSAT Series. Launch system documentation for SLV-3 and ASLV.
Vikram bought it immediately. A thick binder — warm to the touch and coded with protective filaments — appeared beside him.
He barely acknowledged it. Time ticked down.
Then he saw it.
> BR-1 Artificial Intelligence Robot – from Year 2210 – 3,000 G.P.
> Micro-reactor powered. Changes face and voice with exact mimicry. Super-sonic mobility — flight, ground, and marine. Memory extraction on contact. Surveillance over 100 km. Loyalty hardcoded.
He didn't hesitate. He bought five.
15,000 G.P. vanished. Only 700 G.P. remained.
That last balance, he used carefully:
- Blueprint for supercomputers
- Advanced fertilizer formula yielding up to 10x output
- Nuclear radiation-neutralizing serum — a safeguard for a darker future
- Experimental anti-ballistic missile system design (prototype for the S-500)
Just as the final second ticked away, the system confirmed the cart was empty.
And then they appeared.
Five humanoid beings walked into the room, fully formed. They looked like civilians—tall, human, expressionless, and calm. They wore ordinary clothing. But they radiated quiet, unnatural power.
One knelt before him, then spoke in a perfectly neutral voice.
"Master, your servant is here. Please issue your orders."
Without alarm or formality, Vikram designated him.
"This one will be called Mr. Bharat," he thought calmly.
He laid out the terms of the mission in calculated detail:
- Identify and eliminate only the most dangerous politicians—those guilty of rape, murder, riot-mongering, or theft of public funds at scales beyond comprehension. Limit it to five per month.
- For judges and senior police officials meeting similar standards of corruption, the quota was set to ten per month.
- For bureaucrats and civil servants, the maximum was twenty acts of discretionary justice per cycle.
- For those who harmed women and children through predatory crimes, there was no mercy. They were to be executed on sight, regardless of class or influence.
Every action would be evidence-backed. Everybody would be left with a letter listing each crime—and always signed, not anonymously—but boldly:
"Mr. Bharat"
The robot saluted, then vanished into thin air, shedding no heat, no wind, no breath.
Vikram then categorized the other four as Agents Mark 1 through Mark 4. They were silently assigned to future intelligence operations, emerging industries, scientific ventures, and national stabilization. These machines would become hands where Vikram couldn't reach, eyes where no one was expected to look.
For the first time in months, Vikram exhaled fully.
He shut the system interface in his mind and leaned back under the slow-whirring fan. The room settled into silence. He slept a deep, dreamless sleep—his burdens fractionally lighter.
The next morning, his father, Arjun Singh, visited the home of Krishan Lal, the village priest. The visit was twofold. Arjun proposed the idea of marriage between Vikram and Krishan Lal's elder daughter, Sakshi. But during the visit, he also heard the full account of what had happened to Jyoti—how she had been attacked and how Vikram had saved her life.
Arjun did not show tears, but the pride in his stiffened shoulders gave him away. His son, silent and unflinching, had brought honor to the village again—without needing applause.
When Sakshi learned of the proposal, she consented readily. She had known Vikram in passing—seen him, once during childhood visits, and once at a temple procession. Now, after what he had done to protect her sister, she needed no further evidence.
The two families scheduled the wedding immediately. Vikram's return to active intelligence duty was uncertain, but swift deployment seemed inevitable. The ceremony was planned for the third of September.
Meanwhile, something quietly began unraveling across the government.
Within one week, five members of the Legislative Assembly were dead. Three local law enforcement heads. Two district court judges. The cause in every case seemed untraceable—but the message was unmistakable.
Folded neatly beside each body were handwritten notes on plain white paper:
- Lists of documented crimes
- Years of recorded misconduct
- Victims' testimonies
- Embezzlement calculations
- Mentions of collusion with foreign agencies
And finally:
Signature: Mr. Bharat
Government-controlled newsrooms tried to suppress the events. They issued press statements dismissing the evidence as forgeries, the narrative as conspiracy. Editors were ordered to kill headlines or to frame the stories as mass hysteria. Ministers called the notes "unverified nonsense."
But people heard.
Farmers whispered about judgment descending. Young constables who believed justice had long been beyond their reach discussed the possibility of an invisible protector. A few secretly began collecting names and testimonies, waiting for a message to send.
Even soldiers, bound to chain of command, began watching their own officers more closely. Some began leaving anonymous letters, hoping Mr. Bharat would listen to where the courts never had.
On the day of his wedding, Vikram stood quietly beneath the marigold canopy as incense curled through hanging garlands. Sakshi smiled through graceful eyes as the rituals unfolded. The fire burned steadily between them as mantras wove their names into a sacred bond. Friends and well-wishers stood around in plain cotton clothes. Modest brass vessels lined the ritual area, and the priest's voice carried through the courtyard.
There were no photographers. No extravagant speeches.
Only stillness. Ceremony. And the warm promise of something righteous.
No one knew that the man exchanging vows here had launched a silent revolution.
But far beyond the village, in secret phone calls and sealed reports, his name—Mr. Bharat—was already being hunted with desperation.
And so, even as the final prayers were whispered and married blessings sealed with turmeric and vermilion, a storm beyond imagination had already begun taking root.
One that would bend, break, or quietly rewrite the soul of the nation.
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