Special Chapter: The Death of Democracy
The dense, overgrown foliage of the forest violently rustled as a figure sprinted through the underbrush. He was completely out of breath, his clothes snagged on thorns, aggressively pushing his way through the treeline until he finally stumbled out into a vast, open grassy plain.
It was the Author. He came to a dead halt, aggressively panting, resting his hands on his knees as he looked around the empty expanse.
"Hey! Narrator!" the Author screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing across the empty field. "Hey, you fucking asshole, where are you?! Hey, Narrator!"
For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind. Then, the air completely fractured with a sharp, static hiss.
The Narrator materialized a few feet away, holding a glowing clipboard, looking profoundly annoyed.
"Yes, sir. What the fuck do you want right now?" the Narrator deadpanned, aggressively adjusting his glasses. "I am not always free. I have to write the story. So don't call me in between when you don't have any actual work to do."
The Author immediately stood up straight, letting out a sharp, highly sarcastic laugh. "Oh? You have to write the story? Do you mean that you are writing the story now?"
"Ah, sir, I know that you are technically there," the Narrator sighed, rolling his eyes. "But still, I am the one writing and editing the main story. You are just writing the basic, raw plot, which I then have to painstakingly convert into the finished, polished chapters."
"Ohhhhhhhh!!" the Author mocked aggressively, throwing his hands in the air. "So I am not writing anything! I am just a guy sitting at a desk doing absolutely nothing!"
The Narrator aggressively rubbed his temples, already exhausted by the meta-confrontation. "Okay, okay. I get it. I accept the fact that you are writing the story. But the thing is like that, why have you called me here? Can you tell me the actual reason for this interruption?"
The Author's sarcastic grin completely vanished, instantly replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated frustration.
"You know, Narrator, why I started this story in the first place?" the Author asked, his voice dropping into a dead serious tone. "I hid the story's core motive for so long because I didn't want to directly spoon-feed it to the people. I wanted the readers to feel it. But today... the situation in the real world is so completely fucked that I want to directly cover this topic in our novel. I know that authors don't usually drag real-world crises into their fantasy novels. Sometimes fiction is just based upon it, but this is a real, active situation. It is the absolute death of democracy. And basically, I am the writer of a novel which has 'Democratic' right in its name. So, I have to cover it. It is my duty."
The Narrator simply crossed his arms, waiting. "Proceed."
"There was a massive paper leak in India this year for the NEET examinations," the Author began, his voice dripping with absolute disgust. "And it wasn't just NEET. Various other crucial examinations had paper leaks too. It has been leaked several times before. It has resulted in the total compromise of millions of futures, and literally led to the deaths of many students who couldn't handle the crushing pressure of a rigged system!"
The Author pointed an accusatory finger at the sky.
"And you know what the government did when people finally started protesting for accountability? What was the Education Minister, Dharmendra Pradhan, doing when so many paper leaks were happening in reality? Absolutely nothing! Sonam Wangchuk—a guy who literally just wants to peacefully sit and demand basic environmental protections and systemic accountability—started an indefinite hunger strike at Jantar Mantar. And do you know what the government did in response? For nearly three weeks, the protest unfolded in the shadows, almost entirely ignored by the mainstream media, until the police finally intervened on the 21st day. They didn't want to talk; they used 'health concerns' as a mask to forcibly drag him away from the public eye and break the protest's spine!"
The Author took a deep, angry breath.
"They deployed a massive police force to forcefully remove him, but when a massive, nationwide exam mafia leaks eighty papers and ruins millions of lives, the police and the authorities are suddenly absolutely clueless? Give me a fucking break! The entire system is a cartel! They are literally worse villains than the ones I am writing in this novel!"
"A classic display of authoritarian panic," the Narrator noted coldly. "And the media?"
"The government is literally controlling the mainstream media in its hands!" the Author yelled. "No mainstream media channel covered this topic for three weeks! And when they finally covered it, they were still supporting the government, trying to justify the government's highly oppressive actions by saying they detained him for his own health! Are you fucking kidding me?! If the government was so caring about his health, why didn't their ministers just resign and fix the actual system?!"
The Author let out a long, deeply saddened sigh, the sheer weight of reality crushing his spirit.
"I was deeply saddened by this situation," the Author whispered. "The government literally feels like a literal dictatorship now. They are just making arbitrary rules and ruthlessly suppressing the people's voice and their right to protest. I only want to say one thing: I am in total support of CJP and the protests they are doing right now. The government has to be responsible. This is not the way a democratic government does things!"
The Author looked at the Narrator, his eyes burning with absolute conviction.
"Do you know what they are doing right now? They have literally installed internet jammers at the protest sites so that the people cannot upload their videos directly to the internet! It is a really dangerous situation. This is what I call the absolute truth: power corrupts people. I don't think suppressing a peaceful protest with brute force is a good idea for any regime."
The Narrator slowly lowered his clipboard, looking at the Author with his usual, entirely emotionless expression.
"Well," the Narrator stated flatly, "we can't do anything about this thing in reality, Mr. Author."
The Corporate Perspective
The grassy plain suddenly glitched, the environment aggressively shifting and dissolving until the scene transitioned entirely.
The bright blue sky was instantly replaced by the towering, smog-choked, industrial architecture of Seistain.
Kniya and Malesh were standing on a highly elevated, reinforced glass balcony.
Kniya casually popped a piece of mint gum into his mouth, leaning over the heavy iron railing. He looked completely unbothered, as always.
"See, Malesh?" Kniya casually pointed out, gesturing to the heavily armed corporate enforcers patrolling the streets below. "We really have to learn the importance of how great it is that we live in DI. Because, you know, in India, when people do peaceful protests, they are forcefully detained, their internet is jammed, and they face a massive amount of systemic challenges."
Kniya smirked, his chaotic energy flaring up.
"But you know if you do the same thing in DI? If a police officer or a corporate guard misbehaves with you in this world, you know what the people do? They kill that officer. They literally beat the absolute shit out of him in the middle of the street."
Malesh, standing perfectly still with his hands in his tailored pockets, completely agreed. He didn't even blink.
"Yeah, Kniya," Malesh replied, his voice dropping into a tone of pure, uncompromising violence. "In DI, it is not like India where people are non-violent and just take the abuse. The people here actively choose the path of violence. And you know they will literally do anything in order to make the government listen to them... even if it requires absolute, overwhelming force."
The Narrator:
A final note to the readers: Why did Kniya and Malesh make these statements regarding the use of force in protests? Please understand that they do not mean this as a direct call for real-world violence. They simply wanted to have their expressions felt, to illustrate exactly how deep the anger is suppressed among the people when their voices are crushed by a rigged system. That is it for this part.,