Captain Rakesh Verma, callsign 'Rook', was a man who understood fear. He'd felt it in the freezing heights of Siachen, in the close-quarters hell of urban counter-insurgency. Fear was a tool, a signal to be analyzed and controlled. What he felt now, pinned by the gaze of the pale, breathing-heavy young man in front of him, was something else entirely. It was a primal, universe-upending terror. He had been defeated by a ghost, his identity stripped bare by a voice from the ceiling, and now he was trapped in a dimly lit hallway that felt less like a house and more like an alien dissection lab.
Arjun said nothing. He just watched, his newly enhanced Perception missing nothing: the rapid flutter of Rook's carotid artery, the minute tremble in his injured hand, the way his eyes darted around, looking for an explanation that wouldn't come. The silence was a heavier weapon than any threat.
"You are not what I was sent to find," Rook finally said, his voice rough, trying to reassert some professional footing.
"What were you sent to find?" Arjun's voice was calm, flat. It wasn't a question; it was a probe.
"An energy signature. Anomalous. Classified." Rook's training took over, giving the bare minimum.
"His biometrics indicate a 82% probability of deception by omission," Gyan's voice echoed smoothly in the room, making Rook flinch. "Elevated skin conductivity, micro-expressions of contempt. He is assessing you as an asset, not a threat."
Rook's eyes widened. The AI wasn't just analyzing; it was reading him like an open book.
"He thinks I'm an asset?" Arjun asked, a cold smile touching his lips. "Gyan, show him why he's wrong."
"Acknowledged."
The holographic display above the obsidian slate shifted. The live satellite feed of the OmniCorp facility reappeared. Then, it zoomed in, overlaying thermal imaging. A specific heat-signature blob, labeled 'TARGET: VERMA, R.', was highlighted, standing motionless in the hallway where they were.
"That's you," Arjun said. "That's your body heat. And that…" The view changed, pulling back to show the entire city. A complex algorithm traced a path—Rook's path—from the OmniCorp facility to this very house. "That's your entire evening commute. I own every satellite that passes over this hemisphere. I see everything."
It was a bluff of cosmic proportions, but Rook didn't know that. To him, it was a display of god-like omnipotence. The last of his resistance crumbled.
The display changed again. This time, it showed personnel files. Rook's service record. His medical history. His bank accounts, including the hefty, off-book payments from an OmniCorp subsidiary. Then, it showed a woman in her late thirties, smiling in a garden. Leela Verma. His wife.
Rook's breath hitched. "Leave her out of this."
"Why?" Arjun's voice was merciless. "OmniCorp hasn't. Their standard protocol for operatives who go silent is to send a 'Welfare & Assets' team. They'll be at her door within the hour to 'secure' her. Which is a polite way of saying they'll use her as leverage or eliminate a loose end."
The color drained from Rook's face. He knew the protocol. He'd enforced it himself.
"You work for monsters, Captain," Arjun continued, his tone shifting from cold to almost conversational. "They're playing with forces that turn living things into… meat. You saw the briefing for Project Prometheus. You know what they're doing in that hole."
"I follow orders," Rook muttered, but it sounded hollow, even to him.
"And now your orders have put your wife in a cage. Or a grave." Arjun let that hang in the air for a long moment. "I'm not a monster. I'm just a man who wants to be left alone. But they won't allow that. And now, neither will I."
He walked over to the molecular assembler—the obsidian slate—and picked up the perfect multi-tool knife Gyan had created hours before. He tossed it onto the floor in front of Rook.
"I'm going to give you a choice. A real one. You can try to pick that up and fight me. You'll lose. And then I'll disappear, and OmniCorp will own your wife. Or…"
Arjun paused, letting the alternative form in the air.
"Or you can pick up that knife and cut the subdermal tracker out of your own arm. It's the only link they have left to you. You sever it, and I will make your wife disappear. Not into a hole. Into safety. I will create a new identity for her so perfect not even OmniCorp will ever find her. And then you and I are going to talk about how we save her, and how we burn that fucking laboratory to the ground."
It was an insane offer. A gamble based on a single, core human desire that Arjun, the lonely orphan, understood better than anyone: the need to protect the one you love.
Rook stared at the knife on the floor. It was the most beautiful, deadly thing he'd ever seen. He looked at the hologram, at his wife's smiling face. He thought of the rabbit, beating itself to death. He thought of the ghost who could vanish and command satellites.
He made his choice.
With a grimace of pain, he picked up the knife. His hands were steady now. The fear was gone, replaced by a grim purpose. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a small, barely visible lump under the skin of his forearm. Without a word, without flinching, he pressed the monomolecular blade into his own flesh.
Arjun watched, his stomach churning but his face impassive. He had to be hard now. He had to be a king.
A minute later, with blood dripping down his arm, Rook held up a tiny, bloody microchip between his thumb and forefinger. He dropped it to the floor and crushed it under his heel.
"It's done," he rasped.
"The tracker's signal has terminated," Gyan confirmed.
"Good," Arjun said. He walked to the kitchen and came back with a clean cloth and a bowl of water—the same water he had upgraded to perfection hours before. He tossed them to Rook. "Clean yourself up. Gyan, how long until the 'Welfare' team moves on his wife?"
"Based on standard protocol and current comms traffic, they will mobilize in approximately forty-three minutes."
"Plenty of time," Arjun said, a strange light in his eyes. He was no longer just defending. He was orchestrating. "We need a new identity for Leela Verma. Flawless. Birth records, school records, bank history, digital footprint. Everything. And we need a way to extract her. Non-violently."
"The creation of a comprehensive digital identity requires access to national databases. The risk of detection is—"
"Do it," Arjun interrupted. "Use the offshore funds. Hire the best digital forger on the dark web. No, don't hire them. Become them. Use the system. Create the identity yourself."
"Acknowledged. Function Creation Request: Digital Identity Generation. Parameters: Female, approx. 40 years old, name 'Lina Mehta', history of remote work, minimal social footprint. Calculating cost…"
["Cost: 35 SP. Proceed? Y/N"]
A much smaller cost. A simple, digital function. Y.
Arjun felt a slight drain, a gentle tug on his energy. It was nothing compared to the Cloak.
"Identity 'Lina Mehta' created. Documentation is generating. Driver's license, passport, Aadhaar card, ten years of bank statements, and social media ghost profiles will be complete in six minutes. The persona is now live in all relevant government and financial databases."
Rook stared, clutching the bloody cloth to his arm, his mind unable to keep up. This wasn't hacking. This was creation. This was writing a person into existence.
"Extraction," Arjun said, pacing again, his Stamina slowly returning. "We need to get to her before they do. I can't go; I'm too weak. You can't go; they'll be watching for you." He snapped his fingers. "The assembler. Can it make a non-lethal deterrent? Something to disable a team without killing them?"
"Specify."
"A gas. Fast-acting, non-lethal knockout gas. In a discreet dispersal unit."
"Designing aerosolized compound based on advanced sedative formulas. Fabricating miniaturized dispersal drone. Cost: 8 SP."
Y.
Another slot opened on the slate. A small, matte-black disk, no larger than a rupee coin, hummed softly. It was a tiny, terrifying piece of tech.
"Rook," Arjun said, turning to the operative. "You're going to call your wife. Right now. You're going to tell her to pack a single bag, to leave her phone, and to wait in her backyard. You're going to tell her a friend named Lina is sending a… a gardener to help her with a pest problem. Tell her to do exactly what the gardener says. Do you understand?"
Rook nodded, his face a mask of stunned obedience. He took the satellite phone Arjun handed him—a device Gyan had fabricated moments before—and made the call. His voice was tight, but calm, reassuring his confused wife.
As he spoke, Arjun gave the final command. "Gyan, pilot the drone to her coordinates. Monitor OmniCorp comms. The moment their team moves in, deploy the gas. Then, guide her to the pre-booked taxi that will take her to the safehouse. Use the 'Lina Mehta' ID for the booking."
"All commands acknowledged. Drone is away. ETA: seven minutes."
The next fifteen minutes were the longest of Rook's life. The hologram split into multiple feeds: the drone's visual, a live view of a modest backyard from ten meters up; the wife's vital signs from her fitness tracker, showing a elevated but steady heart rate; and the OmniCorp comms channel, which was silent.
Then, a black van turned onto the street.
"OmniCorp team is on site. Two operatives exiting the vehicle. Approaching the front door."
Rook's knuckles were white.
"Operatives are bypassing the lock. They are inside the house." Gyan's voice was a serene counterpoint to the tension. "They are moving to the backyard. They have located the wife."
On the drone feed, two large men in casual clothes stepped into the backyard. One was speaking into a wrist mic. The other approached Leela, who stood frozen by a rose bush.
"Deploying aerosol."
The tiny drone dropped silently from its perch, zipping between the two men. There was a nearly inaudible pffft sound. A fine, invisible mist enveloped them.
The men took two stumbling steps, their expressions shifting from professional determination to confusion, then to nothing at all. They collapsed to the grass like marionettes with their strings cut, out cold.
Leela Verma stared, her hand over her mouth.
The drone hovered in front of her face, and Gyan's calm, synthesized voice emanated from it. "Leela. Your ride is waiting on the next street. Please come with me. You are safe."
She hesitated for only a second before grabbing her bag and following the floating black disk out of the yard, not looking back at the two sleeping giants.
Rook sank to his knees, a sob of sheer, overwhelming relief escaping his lips. He looked up at Arjun, his eyes shining with tears. "Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you."
Arjun didn't smile. He looked at the man on his knees, then at the hologram showing the woman being guided to safety. He had done it. He had moved his first pieces on the board against a global titan. And he had won the first round.
"Don't thank me yet," Arjun said, his voice quiet but firm. "Your wife is safe. Now, you have to earn her freedom. We have work to do. It's time you told me everything you know about OmniCorp's plans. Starting with what they're really building underneath that warehouse."
The ghost had his first soldier. The war for Lucknow had just begun.