Sunday, 8:56 p.m.
Kolkata
The rain had stopped, but the city hadn't dried.
Streetlights shimmered on the wet asphalt like broken glass. A café sat at the end of the lane, half its signboard flickering, the smell of stale coffee and cigarette smoke clinging to the air.
The whole city felt heavier now, quieter in the wrong places. Police vans crawled through the streets like ghosts, their red lights spinning across empty intersections. At every corner, men with rifles stood under dripping tarpaulins, their eyes scanning every car that passed. Checkpoints had become part of the scenery. The usual chatter of the markets was gone; shutters closed early, buses were half empty, and people spoke in whispers as if the air itself was listening.
Kolkata was breathing but not living. The airport blast had burnt more than glass and concrete; it had scorched the rhythm out of the city.
Arnab sat in a corner booth, staring at the empty cup in front of him. His reflection in the window looked older, colder.
Across from him sat Gaurav.
A plain black hoodie. No expression. Just those calm, unreadable eyes that seemed to watch everything at once.
They hadn't spoken for almost a minute.
Then Gaurav said softly, "You look worse than last time."
Arnab gave a dry laugh. "Thanks for the observation."
Gaurav leaned back. " The airport, you were close?"
Arnab nodded slowly. "Close enough to feel it."
A pause. The silence between them wasn't awkward, it was heavy, like two men sitting beside a truth they couldn't say aloud.
Arnab finally muttered, "You… took care of it?"
Gaurav's jaw flexed slightly. "Yeah. She won't be a problem anymore."
Arnab's eyes flickered with pain, anger, and relief, all at once. "She had it coming."
"Everyone does," Gaurav said. His tone didn't change, but something dark lingered in his voice.
Arnab met his gaze. "Shubhendu Banerjee."
Gaurav's eyes hardened instantly, a flicker of rage buried beneath restraint. "He's gone."
"I know," Arnab said. "I read about the 'accident'."
A faint smile crossed Gaurav's face.
Arnab's gaze drifted to the window, watching the blurred lights. "You're sure they aren't connected to… the airport thing? Or Paris?"
Gaurav looked at him for a long moment. "No. That wasn't us. Too messy. Too loud."
Arnab turned back, searching his face. "Then who?"
Gaurav gave a faint, humorless smile. "If you find out, let me know."
Another moment of silence. Then Arnab asked, almost casually,
"The delivery?"
Gaurav nodded once. "Handled. You'll get it tonight. It's clean, untraceable."
They both fell silent again. The air smelt faintly of rain and old coffee.
After a while, Gaurav spoke again, this time quieter.
"I have something for you." He reached into his jacket and slid a thin envelope across the table. It was unmarked, heavy with folded paper. "Names. Places. Not much more. This is local."
Arnab's fingers hovered before he took it. On the first sheet, written in a precise hand, were three short columns; names, roles, places.
Arnab read once, twice. The names landed, like stones.
Arnab looked at him. "This… you trust it?"
Gaurav's eyes never left his. "Trust isn't the point. Survival is."
Outside, the streetlights blurred through the mist, a reflection of uncertainty.
"Two things," Gaurav said, his voice cutting the café's quiet. "They're sloppy. That's your advantage. And… watch the shadows that watch you. The night devours what the day pretends to protect."
Arnab nodded. His hand closed around the envelope. A pulse in his chest quickened.
After a while, Gaurav spoke again, this time quieter.
"I've got a new job. Two days. Out of town."
Arnab looked up. "Where? "
Gaurav stood, sliding his hands into his pockets. "You don't want to know."
Arnab exhaled, nodded. "Just come back in one piece."
Gaurav smirked, a rare, almost human expression. "Always do."
Sunday, 11:42 p.m.
Outskirts of Kolkata
The highway was empty, swallowed in mist.
Gaurav's bike roared through the dark, its headlight slicing through the fog like a blade. He wore a black tactical jacket now, his face half hidden behind a mask.
He pulled off near an abandoned airfield, the grass overgrown, the buildings long forgotten.
But the ground trembled.
From the far end of the field, lights flared, white, cold, and blinding.
Something massive descended through the mist: a hovering carrier, sleek, angular, its engines whispering like thunder muffled by clouds. The hull shimmered with faint blue lights, armoured panels shifting with mechanical precision.
A ramp extended, touching down softly on the ground.
Gaurav revved his bike once, then sped forward and rode straight into the open bay.
The ramp folded up behind him. The engines deepened their hum, the field below shrinking into darkness.
Within seconds, the craft rose, vanishing into the night sky, leaving behind only a trail of disturbed wind and bending grass.
Destination: Tokyo.
Monday, 9:03 p.m.
Tokyo, Japan
The Imperial Palace stood quiet under a cold autumn sky.
Cherry blossoms drifted over the pond, the water rippling with the faint hum of patrol drones above the walls.
Inside, Emperor Akihiro sat in his study, alone. The room was simple, with a wooden desk, a calligraphy set, and a single lamp casting pale light across stacks of documents.
He lifted a porcelain cup of matcha, steam rising in thin, steady curls. His hand shook once before he steadied it. He took a slow sip.
Seconds passed.
Then his pen slipped from his fingers.
He frowned, confused, and tried to reach for it, but his hand didn't obey. A sharp pain cut through his chest.
The cup fell, shattering on the tatami.
The sound carried down the corridor.
A guard outside turned, hesitated, then knocked once.
"Heika? (Your Majesty)"
No response.
He knocked again, louder.
Still nothing.
He slid the door open. "Heik–"
The word froze in his throat.
The Emperor was slumped over the desk, eyes open, body still. The spilt tea pooled beneath his arm.
"Medical team!" the guard shouted into his comm.
Boots echoed across the hall. Within seconds, half a dozen men stormed in, the Imperial physician among them. He checked the pulse, the eyes, and the colour of the lips.
Then he looked up.
"He's gone," he said quietly.
By 9:11 p.m., the Emperor of Japan was reported dead.
Monday, 9:44 p.m.
Tokyo, Japan
The rain had started again, thin and cold, like mist drifting down from the neon sky.
A small café stood tucked between two narrow streets near Chiyoda, its windows fogged, its warmth dim and quiet.
Gaurav sat alone at the corner table, his gloves still damp, his jacket zipped up to the neck. The faint reflection of the Imperial Palace shimmered in the puddle outside the window.
He stirred the untouched coffee before him. The spoon clinked once, twice, then stilled.
His mind replayed the night in fragments...
the quiet corridors, the scent of cedar and ink, the perfect silence before the fall.
Everything had gone as planned. No alarms, no witnesses, no hesitation.
He had been inside the palace for less than seven minutes.
A hidden access point, a shift change, a cup of tea that would never be remembered.
The plan was flawless. It always was.
He glanced at the television above the counter. The news was already breaking.
"The Emperor of Japan was found unresponsive in his private study just after nine p.m.… Authorities have not released an official statement, but sources inside the palace confirm his death…"
The anchor's voice trembled under the weight of the words.
Gaurav's eyes didn't move from the screen. His expression didn't change.
Across the café, a waiter adjusted the volume, murmuring in Japanese,
"Impossible… he was fine this morning!"
Gaurav slid a small coin onto the saucer, stood up, and pulled his hood over his head.
Outside, the rain had grown heavier, turning the streets into mirrors.
He walked calmly, blending with the crowd, just another shadow in the Tokyo night.
As he crossed the bridge overlooking the moat, his phone vibrated once in his pocket. No name, just a code.
"Objective complete. Extraction window: 01:00 hours."
He typed a single reply:
"Understood."
Then slipped the phone back into his jacket and kept walking.
Behind him, sirens began to echo faintly toward the palace.
Tokyo's heart had just stopped, and the world was about to notice.