---
Underground Shelter – Pre-Dawn
The air was still. Too still.
Aarav lay on the cot, eyes open in the dark, the springs beneath him creaking with every shallow breath. He hadn't slept. Not really.
The dreams came fast now—his mother's voice mid-sentence, then cut off by fire. Her silhouette in the mall doorway. That last word from her: "Honey…"
Then the silence.
He sat up, throat tight, body sore. His new leg ached like a phantom limb and a real one at the same time.
He needed air.
He climbed the ladder slowly, fingers cold on the rungs, and emerged onto the rooftop. The city was still asleep. The sky above—dark blue fading to bruised purple. Smoke drifted over the ruins. Ash floated like gray snow.
He sat on the ledge, pulled his knees to his chest, and let the silence hold him.
Footsteps behind.
"You're up early."
Shubham.
Aarav didn't turn. "Couldn't sleep."
His brother stepped beside him, eyes scanning the horizon.
"We've got movement in the sector. Enemy scouts. Elite units."
Aarav frowned. "Scouts? Like... planned insertion?"
"Not random." Shubham's tone shifted—lower, colder. "These aren't raiders. They're placed. Purposeful. Coordinated."
A pause.
"You think someone's helping them?"
A deeper silence followed.
Shubham didn't answer. He just turned and walked away.
---
Intel Room – Minutes Later
The small room was cluttered with paper and paranoia. Maps covered the walls. Threads stretched between pins. Tactical reports, intercepted communications, satellite images.
Aarav stepped in, breath catching in his throat.
"This is…"
Shubham didn't look at him. "You said it earlier. Scouts don't show up like this unless they're sent. Someone on our side opened the gate."
He pulled down a map of airstrike paths. "See this? Our cities should've been protected. The S-400 defense grid was active. On paper. But nothing launched. Nothing intercepted."
Aarav's heart sank. "Sabotage."
Shubham nodded. "Someone turned off our defenses. From the inside."
He let the words hang.
"They didn't just let missiles fall," he added quietly. "They let her die."
Aarav's jaw tightened.
This wasn't just war anymore. This was betrayal.
Personal. Deliberate.
"What do we do?" he asked.
"We find the cracks," Shubham said. "We track them. Expose them. And if needed—end them."
He rolled up the map and walked to the door.
"Training starts now."
---
Rooftops – Sunrise
The sky was bleeding orange over the ruined skyline. Ash drifted in the wind, and the streets below were silent but tense.
They stood on a low rooftop. Ahead of them—rows of other buildings, each fractured by the war. Gaps. Collapsed corners. Rubble.
Shubham pointed ahead.
"First lesson. Movement. You can't fight if you can't move."
Aarav eyed the distance to the next rooftop. "You're kidding."
"No. Jump."
"It's like eight feet!"
Shubham didn't respond.
So Aarav ran.
Jumped.
Landed hard on his side, gritting his teeth. Wind knocked out of him.
He rolled over, groaned. "Are you insane—"
"Get up."
Another jump. Then another. Bruises bloomed across his ribs and arms. His palms bled.
He kept going.
Midway through a fourth jump, he stumbled. Crashed. Lay still.
Shubham stood over him.
"You freeze in the field, you die."
"I'm trying," Aarav panted.
"Trying doesn't matter if you're dead."
He knelt, pressed something behind Aarav's knee. A small click.
"What did you just—"
"Boost function. Limited bursts."
Aarav backed up. Looked ahead. The gap now was huge—ten feet easy. Death below.
He hesitated.
"No way."
Shubham didn't speak. Just waited.
Aarav swallowed. Gritted his teeth. Ran.
The metal leg hissed. Compressed air released. He launched—flew through the air, hit the other side, rolled, landed.
Hard.
But alive.
He gasped. "That… was insane."
Shubham landed beside him. "That leg belonged to someone I served with. She didn't make it back. I salvaged it off his body. He used it to carry others out. Now it carries you."
Aarav's voice dropped. "I won't waste it."
"Don't. Because the next jump won't be practice."
---
Back at the Shelter – Afternoon
Bandages wrapped Aarav's arms and ribs. His muscles shook.
He dropped onto the cot, exhausted.
Then—
Thud.
A stack of books hit his chest.
"What the hell?"
Shubham stood over him. "Combat theory. Strategy. Decision-making. Study."
"I just jumped across death like five times."
"And one day, you'll have to do it without me. The leg won't save you if your mind doesn't keep up."
Aarav muttered, "Still a dick."
Shubham didn't smile. "You'll thank me later."
---
To Be Continued →