In the early morning, on an empty road, a bike lay slashed in two. A woman lay injured on the ground, screaming, "Please find and save my husband...." .
She was surrounded by two armored guards and another woman holding a gun and trying to calm her, but the screams only grew louder.
"What mistake did my husband make? Did he report the wrong things happening in this society? What mistake did he make did he write a report against the current president? What did my Sekhar do...?"
The second woman tried again to calm her down, but then her eyes caught something wrong in the surroundings. She finger-flicked the forehead of the crying woman, causing her to become unconscious.
A greenish mist began to spread across the area.
The guards went on alert. Without hesitation, one of them drew her gun.
Then came the mocking laughter of a malicious young man's voice.
"Haa, haa, haa. I pity that woman. I never thought her husband would be such a great asset to us..."
The woman with the gun fired at the target, but he was too fast. The guards drew their weapons and fired as well, but he outran them all.
She dropped her gun and pulled a bow out of nowhere, loosing an arrow—but the target only moved faster.
With every step he took, the green mist thickened.
Then the target slashed down a guard and turned toward the woman holding the bow. With knives in his hands and malicious laughter on his lips, he moved to cut her down.
A blazing dagger intercepted him.
"Finally, finally—I get to see your face. The president's trump card. Let me taste your belly," the man sneered, still laughing.
A chubby man holding the blazing dagger charged toward him."Do you think I'll stay calm while you bastards keep messing with the loopholes in the contract of truce?"
The attacker laughed again as he lunged.Then, with a sound like shattering glass, the malicious man vanished. The green mist dissolved along with him as sunlight broke over the scene.
The dagger-wielder sheathed his blade, glancing at the unconscious woman on the road. The other woman picked up her gun.
"I never thought you'd actually come to save me. Another missing reporter case. This time, the bastard really showed up."
One of the guards handed him a report. He took it.
"No. He's just a diversion." . That woman brought out a water bottle to wake the unconscious woman."Then, any clue?"
He looked toward the rising sun, his fist tightening.
"No. But I have a theory, and I hope it doesn't turn into a lead. Because if it does, I'll have to restart my hunt."
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The sound of footsteps echoed softly in the hallway, pulling Ayaan from his deep, restless sleep. His eyes opened slowly, the familiar weight of exhaustion still hanging heavy over him. It was the last day of training—everything was supposed to feel sharp, clear—but instead, a lingering unease clung to him.
The dream. The mansion. The crowd. His mother's voice, urgent and filled with fear, calling out to him, "Let's go, we have to move now!" Alongside her, his brothers and the others were there, their faces blurred in his memory. That night, they had all hurried away, leaving the mansion behind. The memory flickered briefly in his mind, but it was already slipping away like sand through his fingers.
A sudden knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Hey, Ayaan, wake up! You don't want to miss this."
Ayaan blinked as the voice cut through the haze. It was his colleague, Dev, standing at the doorway, smirking.
"Last day, man. You can't sleep through this."
Ayaan groaned, pushing himself up with a stretch. The weight of the dream still pressed down on him, but there was no time to dwell on it. He forced the thoughts aside. Today wasn't the day for memories or distractions.
"I'm up," he muttered, dragging himself out of bed and pulling on his training gear. Dev's grin widened as Ayaan rubbed his eyes and yawned.
"Everyone's already waiting. You'll regret it if you don't hurry up."
As Ayaan adjusted his gear, his mother's worried expression flashed through his mind again her eyes filled with an emotion he couldn't place. "Let's go," she had said back then. That sense of urgency had never left him. It felt like something had been lost that day, something important that still lingered in his mind, like a puzzle missing a crucial piece.
But today, there was no room for those thoughts. Today was about pushing forward. The final training exercises. The culmination of everything he'd worked for.
Ayaan and Dev arrived at the training grounds, the sound of their boots crunching on the gravel underfoot. The air was crisp, a fresh breeze cutting through the early morning stillness. The training grounds were vast, designed for various combat exercises, but today, the focus was on sniper training. The others had already gathered, lined up on one side of the range. Ayaan's instructor, a gruff, experienced sniper named Captain Rathore, stood waiting by a sleek, black sniper rifle positioned on a sturdy platform.
"Listen up," Captain Rathore barked as the trainees assembled. "This isn't just about hitting a target. This is about discipline. Patience. And most importantly, accuracy under pressure. Today, you'll need to prove you've got all of it. Everyone will take their turn. And you'd better make it count."
Ayaan stood quietly, scanning the setup. In front of him, the targets were set up at varying distances. Some were stationary, others moving. The challenge was about more than just shooting; it was about adjusting to the wind, reading the range, and maintaining composure under time constraints.
He was next. Stepping up to the platform, Ayaan felt the weight of the sniper settle into his arms. His breathing slowed as he lined up the scope with the target. His heart beat steadily—calm, like it always did when he was focused.
But this time, the weight felt different. The sniper's grip in his hands seemed heavier, a tangible reminder of the responsibility that came with precision. His thoughts momentarily flickered back to his mother's voice, urging them to leave. But he quickly pushed it aside. He couldn't afford distractions now.
He inhaled deeply, adjusted the scope, and began to calculate the trajectory of the shot. The wind was slight but present, pushing gently to the left. Ayaan adjusted his aim, considering the variablesdistance, wind speed, and the slight incline of the ground beneath him.
The moment felt suspended in time. His finger hovered over the trigger, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He steadied his breath, lined up his shot, and squeezed.
Bang.
The shot rang out, echoing across the range. Ayaan watched as the target shifted. He had hit it, dead center.
A sense of accomplishment washed over him, but it was fleeting. He stepped back from the platform, his expression unreadable, as he passed the sniper to the next trainee. But in the back of his mind, the unease lingered, like a shadow that wouldn't let go.
Ayaan exhaled slowly. It had been 1.5 years since that day. Since the night his mother had urged them to leave, since everything had changed. Back then, he had thought he understood what fear was. But time had shown him otherwise.
Today wasn't just another exercise.
It was the day that would mark the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.
Something bigger, something more dangerous, was out there.