Jan 11–Jan 20, 2016
"The Convoy of Shadows"
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Prelude – Orders in the Dark
On the night of January 11th, the mansion's underground control chamber glowed with maps and logistical charts.
The MC stood before a projection of India, highways and mountain routes illuminated in faint blue. Aarya's voice was precise, like the ticking of an unseen clock:
> Aarya: "Convoy one: thirty-two trucks. Departure staggered by twenty minutes. Destination: Arunachal Pradesh, sector four base camp. Arrival window: January 18th."
> MC: "And visibility?"
> Aarya: "Minimal. Marked as hydropower turbine components. Paperwork routed through shell contractor firms in Assam. Border Roads Organisation has been informed to expect 'equipment of unusual scale.'"
He nodded. It was the first real gamble — moving something that could not exist in the public imagination. Each section of the TBM was covered under tarpaulins, disguised as industrial machinery, but even so, one curious photo on social media could spiral beyond control.
Yet without transport, there could be no tunnels. Without tunnels, there could be no empire.
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POV: Ramesh, the Truck Driver
Ramesh Yadav had been driving long-haul trucks for fifteen years. He had carried everything — onions, iron girders, cement bags, even elephants once, years ago when a circus paid him off the books.
But never anything like this.
On the morning of January 12th, he reported to a private yard outside Siliguri, where rows of unfamiliar, matte-black containers were being loaded onto trailers. The company men gave them strict instructions:
No stopping except at approved refueling points.
No photographs, not even on their own phones.
Convoy must stay together; if one truck broke down, two others would halt to block traffic while mechanics rushed in.
Ramesh grumbled quietly, but when he saw the pay — nearly three months' salary for one journey — he swallowed his questions.
Still, as the crane lowered a massive cylindrical piece onto his trailer, he muttered to the driver beside him:
> "Bhai, what kind of turbine looks like this? It's like hauling alien bones."
The other driver only shrugged nervously.
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The First Night on the Road
The convoy moved out under a shroud of dusk. Thirty-two trucks, each carrying strange, tarpaulin-covered cargo, engines growling low as they rolled onto the national highway.
Police escorts rode ahead and behind, but unmarked SUVs also shadowed the convoy. Inside them, Aarya-controlled androids monitored comms, ready to act if anything went wrong.
Ramesh kept his eyes on the dark ribbon of road, headlights catching occasional silhouettes of tea gardens and roadside dhabas. The winter fog rolled thick, making the convoy look spectral, a procession of giants hidden in mist.
Around midnight, he broke the silence over the driver comm radio.
> "Kisi ne dekha? These parts — they're not turbines. Too smooth, too… strange."
No one answered. Orders were orders. But unease spread silently through the convoy.
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The Watcher in the Shadows
Unbeknownst to the drivers, the MC himself was watching.
From the estate's control room, a full holographic feed tracked every truck, every heartbeat of every driver. Drones flew high above, invisible against the night sky, streaming live footage of the convoy as it wound its way through valleys and forest roads.
His gaze lingered on truck #17 — Ramesh's truck — when the man muttered again to himself.
> "If this is really turbines, may God strike me down."
The MC almost smiled. Humans sensed more than they admitted, but money kept their mouths shut.
> "Keep going, Ramesh," he whispered into the silence of the control room, though the man could never hear.
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Villagers on the Highway
By January 14th, the convoy reached a cluster of villages near the Assam border. Children stood barefoot at the roadside, staring wide-eyed at the endless procession of trucks. To them, it looked like a military operation.
An old man leaned on his cane and muttered:
> "This is not turbines. This is war machines."
His grandson asked, "Will there be fighting here, Dadaji?"
The old man shook his head slowly.
> "No. But mark my words. Something big is moving through these hills. The kind of thing that changes a country."
The villagers would speak of it for weeks — the night the highway thundered with strange cargo, guarded like treasure.
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Setback on the Road
On January 16th, as the convoy crossed a narrow stretch of mountain road, one truck's engine sputtered and died.
It was Ramesh's.
He cursed, slamming the wheel, as the convoy leader barked orders over the comm. Within minutes, two other trucks blocked the road, forming a wall of steel. Mechanics rushed forward, working by the cold light of handheld lamps.
Ramesh climbed down, kicking at the frost-bitten dirt. As he paced, his eyes strayed to the tarp covering his cargo. For a moment, a gust of mountain wind lifted a corner.
He froze.
Beneath the tarp was a gleam of metal — smooth, curved, etched with patterns that looked nothing like turbines. It was like a slice of spacecraft, gleaming faintly in the starlight.
Ramesh's throat went dry. He pulled the tarp back down, trembling.
When the convoy moved again, he drove in silence, the weight of secrets heavier than the machine behind him.
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Arrival at Base Camp
By January 18th, the convoy wound into a hidden valley in Arunachal Pradesh.
There, under camouflage nets and temporary hangars, a small army of workers waited. Cranes, scaffolding, and prefabricated shelters stood ready to receive the cargo.
Ramesh parked his truck, engine sighing as it shut down. He climbed down stiffly, staring as men in heavy jackets rushed to unload the parts with impossible precision.
He whispered to himself:
> "This is not ours. This is not of this world."
No one heard him. No one cared. Within hours, his truck was empty, and he was handed an envelope thick with cash. The convoy would leave at dawn, but his part was done.
As he drove away, he made himself a silent promise: he would never speak of what he had seen. Not to his wife, not to his children. Some secrets were too heavy to carry in words.
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Closing Scene – The Architect's Vigil
Back at the mansion, the MC watched the feed as the last container was unloaded. Aarya's voice was calm, almost triumphant.
> Aarya: "Phase one complete. All components secured at base camp."
The MC exhaled slowly.
> "Good. Now the mountain will open."
He turned off the holographic map, plunging the control room into darkness.
Above him, his parents slept peacefully, unaware that the first steps of reshaping India's geography had just begun.
And in a village hundreds of miles away, a truck driver lay awake, haunted by the memory of a machine gleaming like an alien skeleton in the starlight.