"The first rule of shadows? The closer they follow the light… the easier they become the light."— RED X File Archive, Unknown
05:33 A.M. – East Bangalore, Rooftop of Gokul Night School
The city was waking up.
Somewhere, milkmen were rolling down lanes, cafes powering on, early commuters checking their traffic apps.
But atop a quiet school building, where no bell had rung in over a year, something else stirred.
Zayen stood near the edge, chalk in hand.
Below him: Kabir. Hidden. Watching.
The rooftop had appeared too many times in the footage — the angle, the timing, the silence.
This was where the first true unseen kill had happened. The site no one knew existed — except the killer… and someone who'd cleaned it up.
Kabir moved slowly through the stairwell, weapon sheathed.
He had no orders tonight. No team.
Just questions.
Zayen didn't flinch as Kabir stepped into view.
He merely drew the last mark on the rooftop wall.
A single red check. Clean. Perfect.
Then he spoke.
"I didn't kill them."
Kabir watched him carefully. "I believe you."
A pause.
"But someone wants everyone to think you did."
Zayen turned, a smirk forming beneath his breath. "Isn't that the point of masks?"
"Whose mask is it now?" Kabir asked.
Zayen's face hardened.
"That's what we're going to find out."
Suddenly — a roar in the sky.
Chopper blades.
Not one. Three.
Floodlights beamed onto the rooftop as black-clad operatives rappelled onto adjacent buildings.
Kabir's earpiece crackled — an old line, reactivated.
"Sharma, stand down. RED X is a terminate order. Engage immediately."
He didn't respond.
Zayen's eyes narrowed.
"You brought them?"
"No," Kabir said, drawing his gun.
"I came alone."
The first shot rang out — not from Kabir's gun.Not from Zayen's.
From the shadows behind them.
A sniper round blew apart the rooftop antenna just inches above Zayen's head.
Kabir tackled him to cover.
"Who the hell is engaging?" he barked into the mic.
No reply.
Zayen pulled a flash drive from his hoodie and shoved it into Kabir's vest.
"If I don't make it out, that's your map."
Kabir looked at him.
"You're not dying tonight."
Zayen stared back.
"But someone wants me to."
Twenty minutes later – the outskirts
A stolen motorbike cut through the morning fog.
On it: Kabir and Zayen, bloodied, breathless.
Behind them: three dead operators, a destroyed surveillance van, and a burning rooftop.
They didn't speak.
There was no need.
The war had started.
Two Hours Later – Unlisted Government Morgue
The final twist of silence.
A body was wheeled in.
Male. Young. Shot in the chest. ID unknown.
Kabir stood outside, watching the doctors examine the face.
A match to Zayen Mehra.
Kabir didn't correct them.
Instead, he turned away and vanished into the rain.
Because Zayen was gone.
Alive.
But vanished
SOMEWHERE...
A dark room.
One desk. One camera.
A gloved hand places a new photo on the table.
A face. Clean-shaven. Sharp-eyed.
Agent Kabir Sharma.
A checkmark is drawn across the corner.
And behind the camera, someone smiles.
Not cruelly.
But with precision.