The city was alive with panic.
Aarav Kane never thought he'd see Mumbai like this—sirens screaming, streets jammed, neon lights flickering through sheets of relentless rain. But Phase Three wasn't subtle. Cipher Dawn didn't test anymore; they struck. Hard. Everywhere.
From the safehouse, Aarav watched multiple live feeds hacked from Bureau cameras. Explosions at transport hubs. Communications disrupted. Satellite feeds jammed. And in every frame, shadows moved—masked, coordinated, deadly.
Soren muttered, voice low, "They're everywhere. No pattern. This isn't containment. It's war."
Aarav rubbed his shoulder, muscles tense. "Exactly. Which means we control nothing… except our moves."
Nisha, still shaken from the Docklands, clutched his arm. "They've escalated faster than I imagined. How do we fight this?"
Aarav's eyes were sharp, calculating. "We don't. Not directly. Phase Three isn't about fighting. It's about surviving and exposing."
Soren's brow furrowed. "Exposure alone won't stop citywide chaos."
Aarav smirked faintly. "Then we combine it. Precision and chaos. One point of weakness. One exposed handler. That's all it takes."
Across the city, Malhotra watched from his command van. Calm, collected, like a general surveying a battlefield. His phone buzzed—reports of Sentinel cadets and Bureau agents failing to maintain order. He didn't panic. He never did. He had already predicted every move. Except one.
Aarav Kane.
The first strike came at the old textile mill—cipher hubs for the city's Bureau networks. Aarav and Soren arrived just as the building erupted in flames. Operatives streamed out in panic. Masked agents fanned out, searching for survivors.
Aarav didn't hesitate. He ran straight in. Soren followed.
Inside, heat and smoke clawed at their lungs. Sparks rained from wiring, and the sound of groaning metal echoed like a chorus of broken bones.
"Split!" Aarav shouted, "Find the hub!"
Nisha hesitated. Aarav grabbed her wrist. "No questions. Move!"
They navigated a maze of corridors. Shadowed figures lunged—Cipher Dawn's elite. Metal met metal. Aarav fought with calculated brutality, striking quickly, leaving no hesitation.
Then Malhotra appeared.
Not masked. Not hidden. Calm. Pistol leveled.
"You persist, Kane," he said softly, stepping forward as if walking through a rainstorm of bullets and fire. "Do you think exposure saves anyone?"
Aarav raised his blade. "No. But it changes the game."
Malhotra smirked. "You've learned well. Too well."
The first gunshot cracked the air. Aarav rolled, slashing an attacker, while Nisha scrambled to hack the local terminals. Soren neutralized another operative, covering their flank.
Malhotra advanced. He didn't fire. He didn't dodge. He calculated. Every step measured.
"You could join me," he said quietly. "Phase Three doesn't need heroes. It needs control. You have a choice: align… or be erased."
Aarav's eyes burned. "I don't align. And I'm not afraid of erasure."
Steel met steel as Aarav lunged. Malhotra blocked, parried, countered—a deadly dance of skill, precision, and years of experience. Sparks flew as blades clashed.
Soren shouted, "Kane, move!"
Aarav twisted, using Malhotra's momentary imbalance to strike a terminal. Sparks exploded, the system went down, and the building's hub went dark—an instant blow to Cipher Dawn's citywide surveillance.
Malhotra stepped back, eyes narrowing. "Clever. But Phase Three isn't over. You've won a skirmish, Kane. Not the war."
Aarav didn't reply. He pulled Nisha away, sprinting toward the exit as alarms blared. Outside, the city's chaos continued.
He glanced at Soren, sweat and blood streaking their faces. "Phase Three just started," Aarav muttered. "And they'll hit harder next."
Nisha looked at him, pale but determined. "Then we need to be faster."
Aarav smiled faintly, grim and sharp. "Faster, smarter… and lethal. Phase Three is their move. Phase Four will be ours."
Rain soaked them, but the fire in Aarav's eyes outshone the storm.
Somewhere, Malhotra watched, calculating, unyielding.
But for the first time, Aarav Kane felt the battlefield tilt—not in favor of the city, not in favor of Cipher Dawn—but in favor of himself.
Phase Three was chaos. Phase Four would be vengeance.
And in the shadows, every move was being recorded. Every choice noted.
The game had entered its deadliest stage yet.