They say mass shooters snap. That something breaks. That it happens in a moment.
That's not how it happened for me.
It didn't take a moment. It took decades. Every day, one cut deeper than the last. And none of them bled—until I started cutting back.
I was born in a mid-tier Brahmin family. Don't smile. That word means nothing now. My parents were schoolteachers in Bihar—middle-class nobodies barely holding onto their pension dreams while the caste matrix ate them from both sides.
I got told I was privileged before I learned to spell my surname. We weren't landowners. We weren't rich. But our ancestors had books instead of buffaloes, and that alone made me a target in modern India.
My first failure wasn't a failure.
I scored 98.2% in 10th board exams and missed the merit cutoff because the seat went to someone with 61%. I was told it was justice.
Then came NEET. AIR rank: 5000. Rejected in Round 2. The guy ranked 92,000 with ST reservation got the same MBBS seat I was waitlisted for. When I questioned it, the counselor didn't look up. Stamped the file. Next.
When I applied for a bank job, I was told my caste slot was full. The interview panel had already been briefed—focus on diversity. So they took a girl with a psychology BA and 71% in graduation. I had 91% in economics, double her internships, better language scores. Didn't matter. Wrong birth. Wrong body.
The HR officer told me—off record—"You boys are overrepresented. You'll understand later."
What I understood was that qualification had been replaced by quota, and my role in this country was not to rise but to make others look like they did.
My friends weren't lucky either. Rajat tried UPSC four times. Highest rank: 187. Lost his seat to a candidate who had two caste certificates from two states. Hung himself at 27. Nobody cared.
Aniket cleared JEE, got denied hostel due to 'diversity policy.' Later falsely accused by a female classmate who thought he was "creepy." She later admitted it was revenge for being ignored. He fought it in court. Lost five years. Became diabetic. Died before 30.
I kept notes. I collected data. I built spreadsheets. Frauds. Mass dowry lies. Section 498A extortions. Rape law abuse. Domestic violence rackets. Every woman who ruined three men and became an HR head. Every SC/ST quota baby who cried trauma while investing in a second flat.
I showed it to journalists. They blocked me.
I showed it to my parents. They told me to stay silent."You'll get targeted," my mother said. "Let it go."
Same mother who forced me to do havans for college results while my ST classmate paid ₹0 for admission and ₹0 for accommodation.
That's when I realized.
It's not the politicians. It's not the media. It's not even the feminists. It's all of them.The Indian public doesn't want a fix. It wants someone else to suffer. If not the British, then the Brahmins. If not Brahmins, then upper-caste boys. If not them, then "toxic males." Every generation picks its dog to kick.
And this time, I was the dog.
So I stopped being one.
The transformation wasn't cinematic. It wasn't a single breaking point. It was a replacement. I killed the part of me that believed in reform, and I replaced it with a process.
I started slow. One NGO director in Hyderabad. Found out he fabricated data on Dalit female suicides. Showed stats from tribal villages where there were none. Got ₹14 crore in foreign grants over 4 years. I slit his throat in a stairwell. No screams.
Then a caste-based recruiter in Noida. Posted daily about merit being "violence." Her company had 67% hiring quota for women and lower castes. I burned her alive in her hybrid car while her LinkedIn post hit 10K likes.
I didn't target one caste. I targeted anyone who enabled the rot.
I didn't target women. I targeted those who weaponized their gender to file false cases, block job offers, and destroy families for Instagram clout.
I didn't even target the corrupt. I targeted the believers. The ones who knew the system was fraud and said "adjust, bro."
By the end, I had 42 confirmed kills.Another 200 attributed to Ashkalin Order.And yes, it was an order. I wasn't alone.
I built it slowly. Men who'd been erased. Survivors of false accusations. UPSC rejects. NEET merit scorers. Bank aspirants turned delivery boys. Tech workers fired for caste-based HR policy. Every single one of them was a living case study.
They weren't angry. They were finished. That made them perfect.
We didn't kill for revenge.We corrected. Like a virus that sees a failing cell and destroys it before it spreads.
When the final wave launched, I didn't watch the news. We had cut the lines. Delhi, Hyderabad, Mumbai, Lucknow, Nagpur—five cities with visible smoke. But that was just the surface. The real collapse was institutional. The fear was internal. No one knew who would be next. That was the point.
And when my part was done, I left.
Bunker. Capsule. Disappearance. Not martyrdom.
I didn't die thinking I would reincarnate. That's fantasy. I just wanted to die on my terms.
But the world isn't built for people like me. Even death didn't work.
Because I opened my eyes again.
Not to judgement. Not to fire.But to something cleaner.
A new world.New names.New rot.
But they'll rot too. And I'll be there to start the cleansing again.