The air by the Yamuna was thick with secrets and silt. The bridge above hummed with afternoon traffic, oblivious to what slept beneath its concrete bones.
Riya stood by the riverbank, her boots squelching into mud. In her hand, the card Operator G had given her. When she held it near her phone, it pulsed once—then displayed coordinates and one word in glowing green text:
"SUBMERGE."
Her eyes narrowed. Submerge? What was she—supposed to dive?
Not exactly.
She followed the path down beneath the eastern pillar. Moss-covered steps revealed themselves with each push of brush and broken brick. A rusted gate waited at the bottom. Its lock clicked open when she held the card to it.
A gust of cold air hit her face.
Inside: a tunnel lined with old cables and blinking security lenses—each one dormant… for now. She moved quietly, laptop secured in her backpack, hand gripping the USB like it could shield her from ghosts.
Halfway down the corridor, the overhead lights snapped on.
One by one.
]Click.
Click.
Click.
She wasn't alone down here. Not anymore.
The main room looked like it hadn't seen sunlight since the '90s—walls of modular servers, thick-tubed monitors, and humming backup power units powered by an internal turbine flowing directly from the river above.
And at the center: an interface node. Old-school. Analog. A port shaped exactly like her USB's engraving. She slid it in.
The system chirped.
"Welcome back, Aarav."
"Restoration Protocol: 67% Complete."
"Warning: Signal Detected. Foundation Inbound."
Before she could react, a speaker crackled.
A voice—grainy, but unmistakable.
"Riya? If you're hearing this… I'm still alive."
She gasped. The screen blinked, showing a live feed. It wasn't old footage. His face was gaunt, bruised—but blinking.
"They trapped me in Protocol Nine. Memory layering. I'm not where I think I am."
"Finish restoring The Root. But listen—whatever you do, don't trust the original operator. He lied."
The screen scrambled just as the facility lights beg