2 Years Ago (2023). Dr. Nawaz's Office.
The air conditioner hummed, but the room felt suffocatingly hot.
"We have been keenly observing him for the last three months," Dr. Nawaz said, tapping his pen on a thick file. "His ideology is unique. Pure. In a world of 'survival of the fittest,' your son is an anomaly. I have never witnessed a human more kind, more forgiving than him."
Mr. Mughel sat across the desk, his face twisted in disgust. "We don't have time for your psychological babble, Doctor."
He leaned forward, his voice low and threatening. "Just give us a direct answer. Why does his body black out? Is he weak? Is he broken?"
In the corner of the room, a younger Hirey sat silently. She watched the parents. Do they even care about him? she thought. Or do they only care about his utility?
"I don't think he is weak," Dr. Nawaz corrected, his eyes gleaming with fascination. "I think he is physically gifted. But his biology... it is fighting itself. During these blackouts, there is immense pressure on his bones and mind. His hormones are shifting. It is as if his body is preparing for a completely different identity. As if he is evolving."
"Evolving?" Mr. Mughel scoffed. He stood up, buttoning his expensive suit jacket. "If he cannot function, he is useless to the Party. A dead son is better than a failure."
Hirey flinched. The cruelty of the words hung in the air like smoke.
Ping.
A notification chimed on Hirey's phone. She looked down.
"CONGRATULATIONS MS. HIREY. You have been selected for the Yellow State Exclusive Program. Full Scholarship. A life-changing opportunity."
She looked at the phone, then at Z's parents. She realized in that moment that she couldn't save Z. If she stayed, she would drown with him.
She gripped the phone tight. She made her choice.
Present Day. The Hospital Room.
"Clear!"
Zap.
Dr. Abd pressed the defibrillator paddles against Z's chest. Z's body arched off the bed, then slammed back down.
"Again! Charge to 200!"
Dr. Abd was sweating. In his mind, he was screaming. I have never seen a condition like this. Minutes ago, his heart was racing like a cheetah. Now? It's dropping to zero. It's not cardiac arrest... it's a reboot.
The monitor whined. A flatline.
Breeeeeeeeeeep.
"Come on!" Dr. Abd shouted, panic rising in his throat. "Don't give up yet! You have people waiting for you!"
Or should I let him die? A dark thought crossed the doctor's mind. If he wakes up, he will know his family is butchered. Will he survive that trauma? Is death a mercy?
"No," Dr. Abd shook his head. "Focus. Save the patient."
Zap.
Suddenly, Z gasped.
It was a deep, violent intake of air, as if a diver had just broken the surface of the ocean.
The monitor beeped. Beep... Beep... Beep.
Normal rhythm. Instant stability.
Dr. Abd slumped against the wall, exhaling. "He's back."
The Hallway.
The door opened. Hirey was waiting, pacing back and forth. Huzaifa sat on the bench, his head in his hands.
"Doctor?" Hirey rushed forward. "Is he awake?"
"Good news," Dr. Abd wiped his forehead. "He is stable. He has regained consciousness."
Hirey's face lit up with a genuine, beautiful smile. But the smile didn't reach Huzaifa. He remained seated, staring at his shoes. His mind was racing.
Dr. Nawaz is dead. Z is awake. This isn't a recovery... it's the next phase.
Hirey noticed his mood. She sat next to him, her voice soft. "Huzaifa. Doctors say he will be normal again. Come on, smile. He's going to be among us again."
"Yeah," Huzaifa mumbled, forcing a nod. "I am glad. But... what happened to Dr. Nawaz?"
Hirey's expression turned professional. "I analyzed the scene. It looks like a freak accident. There was a wet spot on the floor near the door—probably from the janitor. He slipped, lost his balance, and his temple hit the door handle. Instant death."
Huzaifa looked at her. He knew it was a lie. He knew Z had done it. But he nodded anyway.
"Yeah. Okay. An accident."
Two Days Later. Z's Room.
Z was back in his bed at home. The police tape had been removed, but the smell of cleaning bleach lingered in the air.
He lay with an IV drip attached to his hand. He looked small. Fragile.
"So," Huzaifa said, sitting in the chair beside him. He kept his voice calm, playing his part. "Did you find any clue about the killer?"
Hirey stood by the window. "No. We haven't. I am still working on a theory. But... maybe we should talk about this somewhere else." She glanced at Z. "He doesn't need to hear this."
Z turned his head slowly. His eyes were wide and confused.
"Where am I?" Z whispered. His voice was soft, trembling. "What happened to me?"
Hirey bit her lip. Dr. Abd had warned them—Z might have forgotten his whole past. He might not remember his loved ones.
"Z," Huzaifa squeezed his hand. "Don't worry. I am here. We will tell you everything later. Just rest."
Z looked at Huzaifa. Then, he raised two fingers.
He gently touched Huzaifa's forehead.
It was the old gesture. The gesture of brotherhood.
Z smiled. It wasn't the predator's smile from the ambulance. It was the innocent, kind smile of the boy he used to be. His eyes were warm, filled with mercy and hope.
"As long as you are with me, my brother," Z whispered, "I am not worried about anything."
Huzaifa felt a chill run down his spine. It wasn't a performance. It wasn't a mask. The eyes staring back at him were truly innocent. The monster from the ambulance was gone, leaving this gentle, confused boy in its wake. The shift was absolute, and that was more terrifying than any lie.
"Can I talk to you for a moment, Huzaifa?" Hirey said. Her voice was sharp. Suspecting.
"Yeah. Sure."
The Roof. Sunset.
The sun was hiding behind gray clouds, casting a gloomy orange light over the Brown State.
Huzaifa lit a cigarette. His hands were shaking slightly. He took a long drag, blowing the smoke into the wind.
"Okay," Huzaifa said. "You wanted to talk?"
Hirey didn't look at him. She looked at the city below. "You said you were on a regular visit that morning, right?"
"Yeah."
"And the main door was unlocked?"
"Yeah."
"And then you found the bodies."
"Yes, Hirey. We've been over this."
Hirey turned to face him. Her eyes were cold. Calculation replaced emotion.
"We found no trace of forced entry, Huzaifa. No broken locks. No smashed windows. Nothing was stolen. It wasn't a thief."
She stepped closer.
"It was someone who had access. Someone with a key."
Huzaifa's expression darkened. "Just say what you want to say."
"Do you have a spare key to the main gate?" Hirey asked.
"Yes. I do."
"Do you know anyone else who has one?"
Silence.
"It wasn't an outsider," Hirey said, her voice dropping to an accusation. "It was an insider". Huzaifa,"Are you suspecting me?"
"The fingerprint reports on the knife will be out soon," Hirey said, ignoring his question. "If you want to confess, do it now. I promise, I will try to help you. Did you do it? Did you slaughter them for revenge? We both know how they treated Z. They were monsters. Maybe you thought they deserved it."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Huzaifa shouted, throwing his cigarette down. "If I did this, why would I hurt Z?"
"Because the wound wasn't lethal!" Hirey shouted back. "That knife in Z's chest was calculated. It missed every vital organ. It was theater, Huzaifa! It was meant to make him look like a victim so no one would suspect the person who 'saved' him!"
"Enough, Hirey!" Huzaifa stepped forward, his fists clenched. "You are pathetic. First you left us, and now you are blaming me? I have had enough. I'm done talking to you."
He turned to leave.
"Mark my words, Huzaifa," Hirey's voice stopped him. It was low, dangerous, and filled with a terrifying promise.
"If the evidence points to you... I will butcher you with my own hands. Not because you killed his family. But because you hurt him."
Huzaifa stopped at the stairwell door. He didn't look back.
"I couldn't care less," he said, and spat on the floor.
He slammed the door behind him, leaving the detective alone with her suspicions and the dying sun.
Later That Night.
Darkness fell over the Brown State like a heavy shroud.
In a quiet, upscale neighborhood, Farda—Mr. Mughel's sister-in-law—stepped out of her car. She adjusted her expensive shawl, speaking loudly into her phone.
"Can you believe it?" Farda scoffed, her voice dripping with irritation. "My brother-in-law and his wife are dead, and the vegetable son survives. What a waste. If he had died too, the entire property would have come to us."
She laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. "I visited him today. He just lay there, looking like a corpse. Useless boy. He should have done us all a favor and died with them."
She hung up the phone and fumbled for her house keys, the smile still plastered on her face.
Farda stopped.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The street was silent. Too silent.
"Hello?" she called out. Her voice trembled.
She turned around. The street behind her was empty. Just shadows and streetlights.
She didn't see the figure standing on the rooftop directly above her garage. She didn't see the pair of hollow, ruthless eyes tracking her every movement in the dark.
In the cold night air, the Master was awake.
And the hunt had just begun.