Chapter 11: After the Wedding
After bidding farewell to the last of his village friends who had been celebrating his marriage late into the night, Vikram finally entered his room. The air carried traces of incense, rose petals, and wood smoke. Quiet now, the house dimmed under sleeping lamps, and the corners of the old brick walls held only the sound of crickets outside.
The room, set apart from the rest of the home, offered seclusion. Vikram discreetly locked the door, its latch sliding into place with a soft clink. No voices from inside would be heard by anyone beyond its walls.
Inside, Sakshi sat on the bed, nervously clasping her hands in her lap. She wore an elegant red bridal sari, her face lowered beneath the embroidered veil. Quiet anticipation hovered in the air like a candle waiting to be lit. Vikram approached, sat beside her, and lifted the veil gently away.
Her eyes remained fixed downward, but Vikram placed a steady hand beneath her chin, guiding her gaze toward his. Their eyes met. What followed was silence—heavy and sweet—the unspoken understanding between two people who, though strangers until now, were tethered by tradition and sealed vows.
Time, for that night, belonged only to them.
By morning, the first rays of sunlight crept through the slits in the window. The village was just beginning to stir—farmers rising with the birds, cooking fires being lit, and old men on cots preparing their early tea.
Inside the room, the couple still slept, entwined in the warmth of shared space. Sakshi lay peacefully atop Vikram's chest, her breath slow and rhythmic. His arms rested on her back, holding her with care and familiarity, his presence calm and still after a night of emotional and physical intimacy.
But while Vikram slept, the world outside was being remade.
His creation—Mr. Bharat—had begun executing his mission across the country. Within less than a week, 600 individuals had been eliminated. Among them were five parliamentarians, sitting judges, senior police officials, influential bureaucrats, and dozens of documented repeat offenders guilty of sexual violence and human exploitation. The operations were conducted with surgical precision in Delhi, Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, West Bengal, Maharashtra, Gujarat, and several other regions.
Each killing was meticulously planned and appeared to have no witnesses or evidence—no security had been breached, alarms untouched, guards unharmed. The only constant was a crisp letter left at every scene, handwritten with determination. In every one, the crimes committed by the target were listed in painstaking detail—dates, victims, hidden accounts, suppressed inquiries, and charges erased by procedural abuse.
Signed, always, by Mr. Bharat.
As word of these killings spread, the public responded not with fear, but with admiration. In tea shops and alley corners, on train platforms and under banyan trees, people spoke in low voices of an avenger who seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. The stories were shared privately, yet passionately—all rooted in truth.
Crimes rates across affected states began to fall. Petty criminals disappeared from the streets. Bribe chains began to fracture. Fear, for once, visited not the innocent but the guilty.
The government, in contrast, was engulfed in chaos. Intelligence agencies found themselves helpless. Surveillance units yielded nothing. Entire task forces dedicated to locating the mysterious figure were dissolved after weeks of embarrassment. Officers tasked with internal inquiries resigned in desperation.
Inside secure halls of power, ministers shouted. Committees debated. Special task forces were formed, budgets escalated—but no progress was made. No fingerprints. No patterns. Only bodies, letters, and a name.
Vikram, seated in his home far from the capital, monitored the information but did not intervene. Mr. Bharat had fulfilled the monthly limit with brutal efficiency. Yet Vikram knew the scale of rot extended farther.
After careful consideration, he increased the monthly limit of high-profile terminations: from five to thirty, extended across different states. He also approved the elimination of one Member of Parliament per month from then on. These corrections, he reasoned, had to originate from the highest levels for real change to reach the bottom.
His reasoning was simple: if political leaders at the top stopped accepting bribes and committing atrocities—if they were afraid for their own lives—then their subordinates would also fall into line from fear rather than moral reform. A corrupt superior fearful for his life would no longer tolerate the freedom of a corrupt subordinate. Fear, layered above and below, would become a self-cleaning system.
Within seventy-two hours of receiving his new quota, Mr. Bharat—now acting from across the country—completed the assignments. Targets were selected with care, and messages once again delivered with factual finality.
Everything they had stolen, hoarded, or hidden—was also collected. The robot, having access to the same System Inventory as Vikram, gathered all black money, bullion, luxury vehicles, and property documentation. These were promptly teleported into secured inventories.
By mid-September, Vikram reviewed the collected data.
Total liquid assets: ₹120 crore (₹1.2 billion) in unreported cash. A staggering array of gold bullion and jewel-studded ornaments also lay catalogued within the System.
He had also sold several seized luxury vehicles back to the System in exchange for 2,200 Gamer Points.
But the time for rest had passed.
On the morning of 13th September 1970, Vikram packed his travel bag in silence. Sakshi stood beside him, helping fold his neatly pressed shirts and organizing steel containers filled with dried snacks prepared by his mother.
Her silence betrayed her mood. She clung to the edges of his presence with gentle glances, her eyes heavy with sadness.
It had been less than twenty days. She asked him if he could stay longer, her voice low, hesitant.
Vikram calmly explained that he wished to stay—but orders had come unexpectedly. His leave had ended early. A mission had arrived.
Before leaving, he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her forehead, a quiet moment carved against farewell.
As he stepped outside, the sun had begun its climb. In the hall, his mother and father waited. Their expressions were mixed—Arjun Singh stoic with military understanding, Leela Devi openly upset that her son was leaving again so soon. Vikram knelt and touched their feet, receiving blessings and silent prayers.
Outside, his younger brother Aditya stood waiting at the gate, ready with Vikram's bag and a modest smile.
They walked together toward the village's edge. Before reaching the bus stop, Vikram stopped him and reached into his bag, retrieving a small envelope and a flat pouch sealed with careful wraps.
Aditya looked confused as he took them.
Inside the envelope was an admission letter to Harvard University. The note confirmed paid tuition, travel, and initial housing.
In the pouch was ₹15000 rupees and 20 cheque's of ten thousand dollars each totalling $200,000.
Aditya stood speechless.
Vikram explained that he was to settle in America and claim citizenship. Along with the documents, Vikram gave him the **Thumbs Up cold drink formula** taken from the System — a revised version of classic cola, richer in taste and cheaper in cost. Outclassing most known carbonated drinks, it included energy-enhancing properties and health safeguards.
Vikram authorized Aditya to develop it into a legitimate business. He advised him to guard the formula closely and promised to support him with more funds annually. No formula bought from the System could be replicated unless he personally permitted it. His brother was now one of the few with such access.
To ensure Aditya's safety in a foreign land, Vikram had already dispatched Mark 4, one of his AI robots, to the United States. There, the robot had infiltrated a powerful criminal syndicate, discreetly eliminating its kingpin and taking over his identity and assets.
Under Vikram's subtle command, the robot began transitioning the gang from illegal trade to legal business empire—starting with supply chains, logistics, and political lobbying. Similar plans were now set to unfold in Japan and Hong Kong, preparing for opportunities that would only emerge in the decade to come. China, he knew, would take until 1980 before unlocking its doors to the world.
Aditya, trembling with emotion, hugged his older brother tightly.
Vikram placed one hand on his shoulder, nodded, and began walking calmly toward the bus station.
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