The common room was barren, the concrete walls unbroken by windows, the floor unadorned by anything but dust. It felt less like an assigned space and more like a holding cell. We were locked in, the heavy steel door a permanent barrier against the outside world. Five marked bodies, sitting like prisoners waiting for a verdict that had already been delivered.
The atmosphere was suffocating, a toxic blend of panic tangled with bitter, boiling resentment.
Pranav couldn't sit still. He paced the tight confines, the restlessness of his trapped ambition gnawing at him. He needed to find a solution, a sliver of leverage, a way to re-frame this servitude as a calculated risk.
"We need structure," Pranav muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Asrit said we're assets. Assets are deployed strategically. We need to analyze their internal flow, who reports to who, who holds the real operational power. If we can target the weakest link in their logistics, we position ourselves as necessary, irreplaceable cogs. Long-game influence. It's the only way we pivot from property to partner."
"Stop talking, Pranav." Sanvi's voice was low, strained, the raw fury of her humiliation barely contained.
She sat hunched on the edge of a bench, her eyes fixed on the door. "That's fantasy football for dictators. They don't have weak links; they have Vikram. The moment a crack appears, we don't look for influence. We look for the throat. Violence is the only language they respect. Your influence is just getting us a clean shirt before they drag us to the basement."
Arpika watched the argument like a detached scientist, her eyes flickering between Pranav's futile optimism and Sanvi's brutal realism. She was weighing the merit of both, already calculating who she could manipulate first to secure her own position. She wasn't loyal to either argument; she was loyal only to the best odds.
Gautham, meanwhile, clung to the edges of the room, near a non-existent corner, his body language screaming flight. He was scanning the walls, the ceiling, the junction boxes anything that resembled an exit he knew didn't matter. He was a trapped animal, his mind cycling through useless hypotheticals.
Sathwik stood silent in a corner, shadow-still. He was waiting. Whatever the next order was, he would execute it.
The sudden, soft hiss of the door sliding open made them all jump. They expected a guard, or perhaps Asrit again.
Instead, Asuma entered.
She was ethereal, impossibly polished in the grime of the concrete room. Her silver hair cascaded down her back like a blade made of moonlight, her movements graceful, her expression serene. Her beauty felt less like an aesthetic pleasure and more like a deliberate trap, a high-end mechanism of intimidation.
She didn't acknowledge their pain, their presence, or their recent branding.
She held a sleek tablet, walking to the center of the room. Her voice, when she spoke, was pure, high-pitched arithmetic cruelty.
"The financial fallout of your small venture, what Pranav here termed a 'necessary initial expense' has been logged."
She tapped the tablet. The action was sharper than any gunshot. She broke down the numbers with meticulous, merciless precision.
"Lost product: replacement cost, 45,000 units, expedited delivery fee. Three bodies: cleanup crews, specialized disposal, location scrubbing, 300,000. Bribes: precinct captains and dock oversight, 85,000. Operational delays: revenue lost from stalled Western transport routes, 120,000."
Every number hit harder than a punch, because it wasn't a threat; it was an undisputed fact. She was holding up the ledger of their failure.
"The total expense incurred by the Corvini family due to your incompetence is currently $550,000."
She looked up from the tablet, her eyes icy, seeing them not as people, but as errors.
"You are not men. You are red ink in my ledger."
She then assigned them their precise monetary debt, dividing the half-million evenly. She spoke without anger, without a raised voice, merely relaying the devastating result of her calculation.
"That is one hundred and ten thousand dollars per asset. You will service this debt. Until it is cleared, every unit of currency you generate belongs to this family. You are currently worthless, but we expect you to change that."
Sanvi visibly seethed, her hands clenching into fists, but she didn't dare move. The cold, detached financial ruin was a deeper humiliation than the physical branding.
Pranav's jaw locked, his initial rage freezing into a deeper, colder resentment. His grand plans had resulted in half a million dollars of immediate, personal debt.
Gautham looked ready to pass out, his eyes rolling back in his head as the number, $110,000, registered as an insurmountable mountain.
Arpika absorbed the humiliation quietly, eyes downcast, the defeat settling deep. Her manipulation had been exposed as a cheap trick, her life was now defined by a number she couldn't charm her way out of.
Sathwik stared, his obedience extending even to abstract concepts. This was simply another order: You are $110,000 in debt.
Asuma closed the tablet with a soft, final click. The sound was the loudest thing in the room.
She offered a mild, almost bored warning, her metaphoric voice chilling Pranav to the bone.
"I balance every account eventually. Enjoy your work."
She turned with the same languid grace and walked out, the steel door hissing shut behind her. She had assigned them to financial ruin without raising her voice, without needing a single threat from Vikram.
The five recruits were left sitting in the dust, feeling smaller than dust. They were not partners, not assets, not even criminals. They were merely debtors, owned by a mathematical, merciless ledger.