The air inside the infirmary still smelled faintly of antiseptic and scorched metal — the lingering ghosts of blood and battle. Om stepped through the sliding glass doors, each step deliberate, his body moving with the stiffness of recent recovery. His bandages had been removed, but beneath his loose tunic, pale lines still traced his arms and torso where the wounds had sealed.
Waiting for him just outside was Narad. He wasn't smiling. In fact, there was something unusual in the set of his jaw — as if every muscle was locked into place.
"Good to see you on your feet again," Narad said, but the tone carried no warmth, only formality.
Om gave a small nod. "I suppose it's better than lying there like a corpse."
They began walking side by side, leaving the sterile corridor of the infirmary for the main hallway of the facility. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly, but the sound only seemed to emphasize the silence between them.
Om broke it first.
"Why didn't Mr. Raj come with you?"
Narad's eyes flicked to him, then forward again. He didn't answer immediately. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture impeccable. When he did speak, his voice was measured — too measured.
"To tell the truth, Om… I don't know where Raj is."
Om slowed his pace. "You don't know?"
Narad inhaled through his nose, as if steadying himself.
"After the assassination attempt on you, the family heads convened. It was a closed meeting — all of us present, discussing the implications of the attack. During that meeting… Raj almost lost control."
The faint echo of their footsteps filled the pause that followed.
Narad continued. "He revealed strength comparable to an Ati Maharathi."
Om stopped entirely. "That's impossible. That's—"
A single thought came to his mind.
"Means I had no chance against him."
"I saw it with my own eyes," Narad said flatly.
"We all did. The sheer pressure he emitted… it was enough to make seasoned warriors break into a cold sweat. After witnessing it, a decision was made — to show the world our newly discovered weapon."
The words hung in the air like a bad stench.
Om's jaw tightened. "Mr. Raj is not a weapon."
The sentence was sharp, a sudden blade in the quiet.
Narad stopped walking, turning to face him. For a moment, their gazes locked — one filled with quiet determination, the other with guarded authority.
"I know," Narad said at last, the admission almost reluctant. "But it wasn't just about you or Raj."
His voice dropped lower, as though walls could grow ears. "You've probably realized by now — the assassin's target wasn't you. It was Zero."
A muscle twitched in Om's cheek. He exhaled slowly. "I guessed as much."
They resumed walking, reaching the glass double doors that marked the entrance to the main building.
Narad's voice followed them into the open courtyard.
"Apart from a handful of us, only one outsider knew about the artifact — Arnold. And the assassins… they weren't some gutter thieves. They belonged to the League of Evil."
The name stirred something cold in Om's gut.
Then, without warning, a familiar presence stirred in his mind.
[Master,] Zero's voice whispered, its tone steady but edged with something darker.
[There is a probability that Arnold and the League are working together.]
Om didn't react outwardly. His eyes stayed on the path ahead. "I suspected that the moment they went for my earring first."
[It was a calculated move,] Zero replied. [Not many even know I exist.]
"I doubt Narad, Raj, Sara, Bhanu, or Vasu would betray me," Om murmured under his breath, the words hidden in the scrape of his shoes on gravel. "Which means… if there's a leak, it's deliberate."
Zero was silent for a moment. Then: [A single crack in the wall is all it takes for the flood to get in.]
Om's mind was already working. There's a spy among us. I need to find them before they find a way to separate me from Zero.
"Hey." Narad's voice snapped him back. "Are you even listening?"
Om looked at him. "Yes. I'm listening."
Narad studied him for a second longer before asking, "Then answer me this — what do you think are the chances of the League gaining control over Zero?"
There wasn't even a pause. "None."
Narad blinked. "That's a bold answer. Why so certain?"
"Because Zero isn't an ordinary artifact."
Narad tilted his head slightly. "That's not exactly a comforting explanation."
Om didn't elaborate. His lips pressed into a thin line. He had no intention of telling Narad that Zero was still with him — still bonded, still loyal.
But Narad's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It was the kind of look that suggested he already knew Om wasn't telling him everything.
He's hiding something, Narad thought. Question is… what, and why?
They walked on in silence, but it wasn't the comfortable kind. Every step seemed to grind against an unspoken tension between them.
Om's thoughts shifted inward again. Mr. Narad, I know you know I'm hiding something. If you're not the spy, then nothing will happen. But if you are… you'll try something eventually. And I'll be ready.
The main building's massive glass façade loomed ahead, reflecting the grey sky like a still lake. The facility's security cameras tracked their approach with quiet precision, small mechanical whirs marking their passage.
Narad's voice broke the stillness one last time. "Stakes are high, Om. Too high for half-truths."
Om's gaze didn't waver. "I agree. Which is why I won't let the League win."
For a heartbeat, neither of them looked away.
The rain began to fall — soft, steady, each drop hissing against the concrete.
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Unknown Location
A dimly lit room. Screens glowed faint blue, casting fractured light across a desk littered with open data chips and old tea cups.
A hooded figure leaned back in a chair, fingers drumming against the armrest. On the largest screen, grainy footage of Om and Narad walking together played from a distant surveillance angle.
Their voices were faint through the static, but still clear enough to follow.
"Mr. Raj is not a weapon…" Om's voice carried conviction.
The hooded figure smiled faintly, tilting their head. "Ah… the boy's temper is still intact. Good."
They tapped a few keys, zooming in on Om's expression. Every flicker of emotion was logged, every pause between words time-stamped.
When Om said, "None," in response to Narad's question about Zero's capture, the figure chuckled. "So sure of himself. Confidence is useful… right until it becomes overconfidence."
His hand moved to another console. Data began scrolling rapidly.— lists of facility staff.
The hooded figure muttered, "The crack is already there, Om. You just haven't noticed the water seeping in yet."
A blinking light on the console drew their attention. They pressed it, and a distorted voice filled the room.
"Phase Two is ready. The seed has been planted."
"Good," the figure replied, gaze never leaving Om's face on the monitor. "Let it grow. By the time he notices, it will be too late."
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Back at the Facility
Om and Narad entered the lobby. Guards at either end straightened, watching them closely — too closely, Om thought.
"Do you ever feel like every wall here is listening?" Om asked quietly.
Narad's eyes flicked toward a camera mounted high in the corner. "They are. Always have been."
Om's gaze followed the lens until it seemed to stare right back at him. Somewhere behind it, someone was watching.
Let them, Om thought. I'll watch back.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, but as they stepped inside, Om felt it — a presence, subtle but distinct, the way the air shifted when someone's eyes were on you.
Only he and Narad were inside. Yet the feeling persisted.
Zero's voice hummed low in his mind. [Master… we are not alone in this elevator.]
Om's reflection in the elevator's mirrored wall smiled faintly. "I know."