Trivandrum The next day
Albert and Bhalla stepped out of the SUV, the heat of the midday sun heavy over the open field. A politician's speech blared from a stage erected right where the helicopter had supposedly landed, cameras flashing and reporters bustling about. The place was alive with civilians, completely unaware of the secret they were hunting.
Albert adjusted his sunglasses, scanning the crowd. Entrepreneur… nothing more, he reminded himself. Any sign of him here would raise questions. He slipped quietly behind a small cluster of trees, blending into the spectators. Bhalla followed, their eyes darting across the field.
Hours passed as they moved cautiously, separating to cover more ground. They checked the grass, flattened earth, and small mounds that might indicate the helicopter's landing. They asked local vendors casually, trying to sound like tourists:
"Did you notice anything unusual a few weeks ago? Big machines, loud noise, helicopters?"
Most shook their heads, distracted by the politician's speech. A few shrugged. Not a single soul admitted to seeing anything. Cameras clicked, speeches carried on, and still, no trace of Aryan's landing remained.
Albert stepped aside, watching Bhalla inspect a patch of disturbed soil. "It's like he vanished," he murmured.
They searched the area for hours, drove to every nearby house, talked to every person—but no one remembered any helicopter landing… or perhaps they didn't want to.
Bhalla muttered, shaking his head, "So weird that nobody saw the helicopter landing."
Albert arched an eyebrow. "You sure this was the place?"
Bhalla nodded firmly. "Yes, sir. We saw it with our own eyes. The place… the coordinates… this is it."
Bhalla muttered under his breath, "I should've asked for a metal detector instead of coffee this morning…"
Fatigue crept in. Their eyes strained against the glaring sun, their shoulders heavy with frustration. After combing every corner, checking the area multiple times, and talking to anyone willing to listen, they realized the hunt today was fruitless.
Albert exhaled, straightening his tie as he moved toward the SUV. "We return. For now."
The wind carried the echoes of the politician's speech, indifferent to the storm of secrets lingering above that very spot.
Two days after the Trivandrum search, the air was thick with tension in AGNI's headquarters. Albert hadn't been seen for two days, and Bhalla was also absent. Though only a few knew the details of the Trivandrum mission, everyone sensed something was terribly off.
Just then, a tall man, six-foot-three, clad in black, stepped in, moving with deliberate grace, almost predatory in his calm. His presence seemed to bend the air around him, and the coldness in his posture felt uneasy. His eyes flicked over every agent, assessing, intimidating, yet controlled. The agents instinctively straightened, feeling the weight of his presence without a word spoken.
He stopped at the center, eyes scanning the room like a predator assessing prey, and his voice cut through the silence:
"I need ten minutes with Albert. And no one else should be in my way."
Every agent instinctively froze, sensing that nothing about this visit was ordinary.
The phone rang sharply, slicing through the quiet of Albert's study.
"Sir, Prashant speaking… someone wants to meet you. It's urgent," came the voice on the other end.
Albert didn't look up, eyes glued to the flickering footages. "I don't have time for this. Ask him to come later."
There was a pause. "Sir… he's waiting. We don't know how he entered. He's not one of us… doesn't have any weapons on him, and he says it's urgent."
Albert's voice dropped, low and controlled. "Who is it?"
"Sir… he tells his name… Aryan."
The name hit Albert like ice water. His hand froze on the mouse. His jaw tightened. His pulse spiked. Without a word, he slammed the phone down. He bolted from the mansion, grabbing his coat on the way. Every step toward AGNI HQ felt like the calm before a storm. He realised then—Aryan didn't need a weapon. He was the weapon.
Albert stepped into the quiet hall. Every hum of machinery seemed amplified.
Aryan was there — tall, still, his presence filling the room without a word. He didn't move toward Albert, yet the air tightened around them both, as if the space itself were bracing for impact. Aryan's eyes lingered on Albert a fraction too long, sharp and unreadable. Albert's jaw clenched.
"I've been patient," Aryan said, voice calm, almost serene, threaded with steel. "I know you came looking. I know you saw what you shouldn't have."
"What I'm doing is for the betterment of the nation," Aryan continued, flat and certain. "And after what you and your AGNI did to me… you should be grateful you're standing here alive."
"Aryan," Albert replied, voice taut, "whoever did this to you — it wasn't me. And besides, killing forty people is a far greater sin than whatever AGNI might have done to you, if it's true."
"We came to Trivandrum to stop you," Albert said, the words harder now. "And we will keep on doing it until we succeed. The nation has to get rid of a monster."
"Monster?" Aryan said, calm but emphasizing the word until it cut. "You call me a monster? Look around you — this place, these beautiful walls… can't you see the blood on them, Albert?"
A long silence. The fluorescent lights hummed. Aryan's voice changed, lower, rawer. "You were the only person I trusted. You betrayed me, Albert."
Albert's face went still. "I never asked anyone to trust me," he said finally. "And I'm done convincing you that it wasn't me who—"
"Don't take their names with your sinful mouth, Albert." Aryan's interruption was a blade. "Even if it wasn't you, this organization is yours. The blood is on your hands."
"But that's not the reason I'm here," added Aryan.
"Stay out of my way." Aryan's voice softened, every word precise. "That is all I want. You don't want to lose one more family member, Albert, do you?"
Albert's laugh was a dry sound. "I have no family. And whatever it takes to stop you, I will do."
A slight smile — almost unreadable — flickered on Aryan's lips. "Good. Your secrets are with me, Albert. You know what I'm talking about. I don't want more deaths. Life is precious. Only of those who are with me."
"And how are you planning to escape?" Albert asked, steady but searching.
Aryan's reply was calm, almost conversational. "Do I even need to explain? Nobody wants bloodshed. Does someone?"
He turned toward the door. The room felt colder as he moved. Guards' hands twitched toward rifles, reflex and training in the same motion.
Albert tapped the metal at his belt — a quiet, practiced signal. Weapons dropped, muzzle points settling back to safe. The gesture said more than words: restraint, protocol, and the fragile control of men who could unmake the room in an instant.
Aryan paused in the doorway, looked back once, and for a moment something like pity softened his features. Then it hardened again.
"Next time," he said quietly, "it won't be a conversation."
He walked out. The door clicked shut. The hall stayed silent a long beat longer, the machines' hum returning as if nothing had happened — but the chill remained.
The evening light slanted through the curtains, painting long gold stripes across the living room.
Aarvansh lay sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling fan's slow spin. The hum of the blades seemed to echo his thoughts — circling, never stopping. His mother sat nearby, rhythmically chopping tomatoes, the sound of the knife soft but steady.
His mind kept wandering back to that day in the desert — the faces, the chaos, Aryan's rage, AGNI's silence. Nothing about it made sense anymore. Who was right? Who deserved blame?
His mother looked up, sensing the distance in his eyes.
"What is it, Aaru?" she asked gently.
"Nothing, Mom. Just… exam pressure," he murmured, not meeting her gaze.
She stopped chopping. The blade rested still on the board. Her voice came again, firmer this time.
"Aaru, what's the problem?"
He hesitated, then sat up slowly. The words came out before he could stop them.
"Mom… how do you tell the difference between right and wrong? Sometimes the right people do the wrong thing. And sometimes… it just feels impossible to know whose side to be on."
For a moment, she just looked at him — the kind of look only a mother gives, somewhere between pride and worry.
"Beta—" she began softly.
But before she could finish, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," she said, wiping her hands and standing.
As she disappeared down the hallway, Aarvansh leaned back on the couch, her unfinished answer hanging in the air like a question that didn't want to be answered.
The fan kept spinning. The knife on the board gleamed in the light.
And the silence felt heavier than before. The screams of villagers still echoed in his head along with an unanswered question. - "who is right"