The stale scent of alcohol mixed with midnight sweat lingered in the room. Ajay Choudhary lay sprawled on a leather couch, a half-empty beer bottle still loosely gripped in one hand. His chest rose and fell with every drowsy breath—until a voice, deep and unfamiliar, echoed chillingly in his ears:
"Ajay Choudhary, son of Bhanupratap Choudhary... if you dare touch my family, I will personally kill you."
His eyes snapped open, pupils dilating with a jolt. For the first time in his life, a threat felt real. Not political… not performative. Real.
Before he could catch his breath, a loud shout followed from downstairs.
"Ajay! Immediately come down!"
Still rattled, Ajay took one last swig from the beer bottle and made his way down the polished stairs. As he descended, he noticed something strange—his father's face. Bhanupratap Choudhary didn't just look angry. He looked… panicked.
Ajay tried to brush it off. He walked over to the fridge, reached out for another bottle—but just as he gripped the handle, BANG—his father kicked the fridge door shut with force, then grabbed Ajay by the collar.
The moment froze—Bhanupratap's hand trembled, as if holding back a slap that even he didn't want to deliver. Instead, he hurled a rolled-up newspaper into Ajay's chest.
"Look what you've done."
Startled by the intensity, Ajay unrolled the paper and saw the headline:
"Two breaking updates from President Aditya Rajan..."
But Bhanupratap snapped:
"Ignore that coward's PR campaign. Turn to page three."
Confused but curious, Ajay flipped through. His eyes widened.
A third-page article detailed the brutal killing of two unnamed operatives in a restricted zone. Below the grainy photo of scorched earth and bloodstained grass… a close-up of a dart. And on that dart, barely visible—but unmistakable—was the faded crest of a shield.
Bhanupratap's voice cracked with fury:
"I gave you two well-trained assets—shadow operatives, trained under them. Their mission was to prepare chaos, not die like pigs."
Ajay scoffed, brushing his hair back arrogantly.
"Father, you're overreacting. Those two were useless. Couldn't even take down a brandless bastard. What chaos do you expect from them?"
But Bhanupratap slammed his fist on the armrest.
"Because those two weren't just trained in our ranks. They were trained under a council faction. And that dart... that shield symbol..."
He leaned back into his chair slowly, like a man who just remembered the weight of his sins.
"That symbol is not just ink or nostalgia, Ajay. It's a declaration. Whoever left that behind wasn't making a kill—they were making a statement."
Ajay, for once, was quiet.
Suddenly Bhanupratap got a phone call.
Ajay saw the slight shaking of his father's hands as he lifted the phone.
On the other side—a modern office desk. A suit draped across a high-back chair. And a man, looking like he's in his 30s, spoke with a malice-tinged voice:
"You saw the news, Bhanupratap?"
Bhanupratap, trying to hold his composure, replied,
"Mr. V, I am sorry for the death of those two people of Council of Six…"
The voice cut him off sharply.
"Shhh. If you fear about the death of that useless shit, then you're a coward—just like that shitty president. But the main matter is that symbol... And those two decisions from that shitty president—both will trouble not only our upcoming plan, but it will trouble our far future…"
Bhanupratap responded cautiously,
"Mr. V, since Hollow Pact is leading this plan, we need not worry…"
But the man on the other side snapped.
"You don't know about the mass hunt on Hollow Pact members for the past one month by Spear. Then from few sources, Sword is proactively involved to counter us. And now Shield symbol. So I will assign my personal squad. We must remove those unknown variables… no, the remaining survivors of NUMN University, before the full war that's going to happen in 2.3 years."
The call ended.
Bhanupratap slowly collapsed onto the couch, the weight of the conversation settling into his bones.
Ajay, still confused and curious, asked,
"Who the hell was he? And Father… why are you so worried about a symbol?"
Bhanupratap, without looking up, replied slowly,
"Ajay, since you need to kill one person by using that plan, then I'll allow your involvement. But I don't want you to see the other side—where only life and death matters. That's why… except for this time, I don't want to involve you in this war."
Ajay, sitting alone, gripped the neck of a half-empty bottle and murmured with frustration,
"Does a symbol really matter…?"
---
On the other side—
Ayaan sat calmly on a foldable chair, his fingers gently tracing the shield symbol engraved into the polished body of his new sniper.
Dev, seated beside him and stretching his fingers in the new gauntlets, remarked,
"Ayaan, look at my gauntlets. I don't know the meaning of these symbols, but why the hell do mine have a bow symbol and your sniper has a shield? It feels like some printing mistake. Bow and sniper both fall under long-range combat—yet you got the shield symbol. And why are you touching it like it's yours or something?"
Ayaan, still focused on the emblem, replied,
"I don't know. I just feel like I've seen this shield symbol somewhere before. I think… on two crescent blades. I barely remember when or where. But when I touch it… just like Captain Rathore said, 'The weapon chooses its owner.' It's not just a quote—it feels like this symbol chose me… and waited for me."
Dev smirked.
"Ohhh… I guess this shield symbol likes you more than your Anaya does."
Ayaan gave him a sideways glare.
"What…"
Just then, Captain Rathore walked up onto the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen…"
Ayaan leaned over and whispered to Dev,
"Dev, look, your mother is sitting in the front row."
Dev, excited, began raising his hand to wave.
BONG
Ayaan knocked him on the head.
"Don't create any nuisance."
Rathore continued, his voice turning serious.
"We all know why I've invited you all here. Based on information from a valuable source, there is a high possibility of a bomb blast on the final day of the Singing Competition."
A hush fell over the room.
"That's why I'm naming this counter-mission… 'Operation S.B.S'."