In the British Raj, the Indian police wore khaki but answered to white uniforms.
They marched in files. Saluted on command. Filed reports in English. Beat their own people with dutiful rhythm.
But they were still men.
And all men had memories.
Vikramaditya didn't need them to betray their officers.
He just needed them to forget what didn't matter — and remember what he needed them to notice.
It began in Lahori Gate Police Station, the largest in Old Delhi.
The building stood like a scar. Stone façade, rusted window grilles, and a courtyard where confessions were beaten out with lathis.
Vikram stood across the road one evening, pretending to sip sweet lime water from a street cart.
Inside the threadspace, he already felt them.
Seventeen police constables.
Five havaldars.
Two clerks.
One Inspector — a Christian convert from Tamil Nadu named Abraham Das.
Six of them had weak mental resistance.
Three had orbs of routine obedience.
Two had clear signs of internal guilt.
Perfect entry points.
His first insertion was Bhagwat Singh, a havaldar who handled desk duty and street patrol logs.
Vikram followed him to his barracks.
Three seconds of touch in the evening crowd.
Thread connected.
That night, Vikram walked through Bhagwat's memories.
He hated writing reports.
He feared being transferred to Assam.
He drank too much bhang on Wednesdays.
And he once saved a temple boy during a protest but never told anyone.
Vikram placed three fused orbs into him:
Intermediate Observational Recall
Beginner Document Filtering
Emotional Resistance to Orders
When Bhagwat awoke, he filed his morning beat report.
And for the first time, he excluded three names from the list of "suspicious loiterers" outside the press.
Those names were Vikram's men.
The next insertion came through Taufiq, now a trusted Magicnet shadow agent.
He posed as a chaiwala for the constables.
Over twelve days, he touched six of them through coin handoffs.
Vikram didn't push ideology.
He pushed pattern disruption:
When you see the same street rickshaw every day and it's never stopped, stop it once.
When the thana clerk skips a file three times, ask why.
When a protestor yells slogans with perfect accent, don't hit first — look at his shoes.
These weren't commands.
They were thought habits.
Within weeks, the Lahori Gate Police Station stopped tracking Vikram's factory shipments.
Stopped arresting his leaflet boys.
Stopped noticing his people entirely.
But he wanted more.
He wanted someone inside the intelligence flow.
Someone who read the CID reports.
That man was Constable Daya Shankar — a wiry, near-silent officer who handled British inquiry registers. Too junior to question the English. Too senior to be ignored.
Vikram had never met him.
But his threadspace signature was stable — clean orbit, rigid thought lines, and three fusion-ready orbs already active.
Vikram instructed Renu, the teacher-turned-network handler, to stage an accident.
A young boy fell in front of Daya's bicycle.
Vikram caught the boy.
Touched Daya's wrist.
Three seconds.
Thread connected.
That night, inside Daya's mind, Vikram saw exact copies of every British inspection memo sent from the District Commissioner's Office.
They didn't just discuss crime.
They talked about press licenses. Suspected radicals. Missionary expenditures. Internal dissent among princes.
Daya had photographic filing memory.
Vikram gave him:
Advanced Mental Indexing
Emotional Disassociation from Command Tone
Targeted Selective Reporting
Daya didn't betray.
He didn't leak.
He simply stopped reporting names that mattered to Vikram.
And flagged irrelevant leads that diverted British attention elsewhere.
He became an internal fog machine.
Within a month, Vikram had eleven active nodes inside the Delhi police system.
None of them knew each other.
None of them acted outside protocol.
But all of them had one thing in common:They saw what Vikram wanted them to see.
They ignored what he needed hidden.
They recorded what he chose.
Magicnet's true power wasn't in violence.
It was in attention control.
And now, the eyes of the colonial state were being trained to look away.
In parallel, Vikram created orb packets for future embeds:
Silent Obedience Filtering – filters loud orders into irrelevant memory
Corruption Rationalization – allows small bribes with no emotional conflict
Protective Tribalism – creates bias toward locals over outsiders
Mental Shorthand Filing – allows high-speed filing without conscious review
Visual Distortion on Target Recognition – slight delay in identifying certain faces
Each orb was tested in simulations through Magicnet training rooms — controlled dream environments where user reactions could be observed without real-world risk.
Results?
Arrest records dropped in zones where orbs were active.
Patrol redirection happened before Vikram issued commands.
Slogans at protests began to focus on anti-British policies, not random outrage.
The police didn't change sides.
They simply lost clarity.
Vikram called this tactic Prachhanna Netra — The Hidden Eye.
It wasn't about blinding the enemy.
It was about turning their gaze elsewhere.
And it worked.
In the threadspace, the police minds began to glow differently.
Duller.
Slower.
Predictable.
Their thoughts moved in loops — safe, structured, controlled.
And Vikram could walk among them unseen, unthreatened, untouched.