The past reveals the moment Advait transformed from city planner to ruthless leader—and the bloody choice that forged Sanctuary into what it is today.
THEN (Hours After Major Left)
The generators hummed. The lights stayed on. The guards rotated shifts like clockwork.
Advait's system was working.
One hundred and twenty-three people now. The original group plus new arrivals every day. Word was spreading. Vaishali District. Sanctuary. Safety.
People came. They were vetted. Checked for bites. Given jobs. Integrated into the structure.
It worked because Advait made it work.
He'd set up supply teams. Guard rotations. Kitchen duty. Medical shifts. Everyone had a role. Everyone contributed. No exceptions.
The soldiers who'd stayed—the twenty-three who'd sided with him over Major Rathore—they'd fallen into line. Some reluctantly. Some willingly. But they followed orders. His orders.
Nisha helped. She understood authority. Understood how to maintain it without brutality. Firm but fair. People respected her. Some feared her. Both worked.
For some hours or maybe a day, it was almost peaceful.
Then the convoy arrived.
Advait was in his office reviewing supply manifests.
A guard's voice crackled back in the radio. Tense. "Sir, we have military vehicles approaching. Multiple trucks. Armed personnel. They're not stopping at the perimeter."
Advait's stomach dropped. "How many?"
"Six trucks. Maybe... maybe fifty soldiers? Could be more. They're still unloading."
Fifty. Against one hundred and twenty-three. But only twenty-three had real military training. The rest were civilians with hunting rifles and kitchen knives.
"I'm on my way. Nobody opens that gate without my authorization."
He moved fast. Through corridors. Up stairs. To the main wall where guards stood with weapons ready.
Below, six military trucks sat idling. Soldiers poured out. Armed. Organized. Combat-ready.
And leading them was Major Rathore.
He looked older somehow. Hell had aged him. His uniform was torn. Blood-stained. But his eyes were hard. Determined.
He looked up at the wall. Saw Advait.
"Open the gate," Rathore called out. His voice carried. Commanding. "By order of the Indian Army, I'm resuming command of this facility. Open the gate. Now."
Advait leaned over the railing. "No."
"That wasn't a request."
"Neither was my answer." Advait kept his voice calm. Conversational. "This facility is under civilian control. You left. You abandoned your post. You have no authority here anymore."
"I had orders to evacuate. Those orders have been rescinded. I'm back. And I'm taking command."
"On whose authority?"
"The government's. The military's. The same authority that established this safe zone in the first place." Rathore gestured at his soldiers. "I have fifty armed men. Trained soldiers. You have civilians with hunting rifles. Don't make this difficult."
"You're the one making it difficult." Advait looked at the soldiers. "Some of you stood where I'm standing. You chose to stay. You chose to build something better. Are you really going to tear that down now?"
The twenty-three soldiers on the wall shifted uncomfortably. Recognizing faces below. Former comrades. Friends.
"They're following orders," Rathore said. "Like soldiers should. Like this facility should have been run from the start."
"Your way failed," Advait countered. "Your rigid hierarchy. Your lack of flexibility. Your inability to adapt. That's why people sided with me."
"My way kept people alive!"
"My way is keeping around one hundred and twenty-three people alive right now. How many are you protecting, Major? How many civilians did you take when you evacuated? How many did you save?"
Rathore's jaw tightened. "That's not relevant."
"It's completely relevant. You left them to die. I kept them alive. And now you want to come back and take credit?"
"I want to restore order!"
"Order?" Advait smiled. Thin. Cold. "We have order. Guard rotations. Supply runs. Medical care. Everyone has a job. Everyone eats. Everyone sleeps safe. That's order. What you want is control."
"Same thing."
"Not even close." Advait straightened up. "Here's how this works, Major. You and your men can enter as civilians. You check your weapons. You follow our rules. You integrate into our system. Or you turn around and leave."
"I'm not asking for permission—"
"And I'm not giving you a choice." Advait's voice hardened. "This facility belongs to the people inside. Not to you. Not to the military. Not to anyone who abandoned them when things got hard."
Rathore stared up at him. "You're making a mistake."
"I've made plenty. This isn't one of them."
For a long moment, nobody moved. The soldiers watched their commander. Waiting for orders.
Rathore's hand moved to his sidearm.
Every guard on the wall raised their weapon.
"Don't," Advait said quietly. "You draw that weapon, this goes bad...for everyone."
"You think you can stop us? Fifty trained soldiers against your civilians?"
"I think we have the high ground. The fortifications. The numbers inside who'll fight to protect what we've built." Advait paused. "And I think your soldiers are tired. They've been running for hours. They're hungry. They're scared. Some of them are probably wondering why they're pointing guns at a safe zone instead of just asking to come inside."
He was right. Advait could see it in their faces. The exhaustion. The doubt.
"Last chance," Rathore said. "Open the gate. Stand down. Or I will open it myself."
"No, you won't."
Rathore pulled his sidearm. Pointed it at one of his own men. The one standing closest to him.
"BREACH THE GATE!" Rathore ordered. "NOW!"
The soldier stared at the gun pointed at his chest. "Sir—"
"I said NOW!"
"Sir, we can just talk to them. We can—"
Rathore shot him.
One shot. Center mass. The soldier dropped. Gasping. Blood spreading across his uniform.
Everyone froze.
The other soldiers stared at Rathore. At their dying comrade. At the man who'd just killed one of his own.
"Anyone else want to question orders?" Rathore asked. His voice was cold. Dead.
Nobody moved.
"GET THAT RAM!" Rathore pointed at one of the trucks. "MOVE!"
Four soldiers ran. Pulled out a makeshift battering ram from the truck bed. Heavy beam. Reinforced with metal.
They moved to the gate.
"FIRE WARNING SHOTS!" Advait ordered.
The guards opened fire. Over the soldiers' heads. Into the ground.
The soldiers with the ram hesitated.
"KEEP MOVING!" Rathore screamed. "THAT'S AN ORDER!"
They kept moving.
Reached the gate.
"Stop them!" someone on the wall shouted.
"Don't hit the ram bearers!" Advait countermanded. "Aim for the others! Suppress them!"
Gunfire erupted. Real gunfire now. Aimed shots.
Rathore's soldiers took cover behind trucks. Returned fire.
Bullets sparked off the concrete walls. People on the wall ducked. Screamed.
The ram hit the gate.
BOOM.
The gate shook but held.
BOOM.
Again.
BOOM.
A third time.
The gate's hinges groaned.
"EVERYONE ARM UP!" Advait was running now. Down the stairs. Toward the main hall. "THEY'RE BREAKING THROUGH! DEFENSIVE POSITIONS! PROTECT THE CIVILIANS!"
People scrambled. Grabbing weapons. Makeshift barricades. Anything.
BOOM.
The fourth impact split the gate. It buckled. Bent inward.
BOOM.
The fifth impact tore it off its hinges.
The gate crashed down.
Rathore's soldiers poured through.
The battle was chaos.
Gunfire. Screaming. People running. Bodies dropping.
Rathore's soldiers were trained. Disciplined. They moved in formation. Cleared rooms. Advanced methodically.
But Sanctuary's defenders had numbers. Desperation. And knowledge of the facility.
They fought from cover. Used choke points. Ambushed from side corridors.
The soldiers on the wall who'd stayed with Advait—the original twenty-three—they fought the hardest. Against their former comrades. Against people they'd served with for years.
It was brutal.
In the main hall, ten of Rathore's soldiers cornered twenty civilians. Demanded surrender.
The civilians fought back with kitchen knives and crowbars. Died. But took three soldiers with them.
In the medical bay, Dr. Sinha tried to save wounded from both sides. A soldier shot him anyway. Then someone shot the soldier.
In the eastern corridor, Nisha led a group of defenders. Ambushed a squad of soldiers. Killed five. Lost three.
The fighting raged for over an hour.
Bodies piled up. Blood slicked the floors. The smell of gunpowder and death filled every room.
Then Advait found Rathore.
In the command center. Trying to access the systems. The communications. The power controls.
"It's over," Advait said. He had a rifle. Aimed at Rathore's back.
Rathore turned slowly. He had his sidearm. Both men aimed at each other.
"Your men are dying," Advait said. "All of them. They're outnumbered. Surrounded. It's done."
"Not yet." Rathore's hands were steady despite everything. "I can still take you. Still win."
"Killing me doesn't win anything. Nisha takes over. Then someone else. The facility keeps running. Your men still die."
"Then we die together." Rathore's finger moved to the trigger.
The shot came from the side.
Nisha. She'd flanked him. Put three rounds in his chest.
Rathore dropped. Gasped. Blood bubbling from his mouth.
"You... you think you're better..." he choked out. "But you're not... you're just... another killer..."
"I know," Advait said quietly.
Rathore died.
The word spread fast. The Major was dead. The attack was broken.
The remaining soldiers tried to flee. Some made it to the trucks. Most didn't.
By the time the sun set, it was over.
All of Rathore's soldiers. Dead. Every single one.
And Sanctuary had paid the price.
Forty-eight people dead. Civilians. Defenders. Men. Women. Someone's father. Someone's sister. Someone's friend.
The facility that had sheltered one hundred and twenty-three people now held seventy-five survivors.
And the walls were painted red.
That night, they gathered in the main hall.
The survivors. Seventy-five terrified, exhausted, traumatized people.
Bodies were still being moved. Blood was still being cleaned. The smell of death hung in the air.
People were crying. Shaking. Some were silent. In shock.
Advait stood before them. Covered in blood that wasn't his. Rifle still in his hands.
"We won," he said.
Nobody cheered. Nobody celebrated. They just stared.
"We won," he repeated. "We defended our home. We protected each other. We survived."
"At what cost?" someone asked. Voice hollow. "Half of us are dead."
"Less than half. Forty-eight out of one hundred and twenty-three." Advait's voice was flat. "That's not half. That's a price. A terrible price. But we're still here. Still alive. Still standing."
"They were soldiers!" another voice called out. Angry now. "Trained killers! We had no chance!"
"We had every chance. And we took it." Advait looked around. "They came here to take our home. To take our freedom. To force us back under military rule. To take away everything we built. We said no. We fought back. And we won."
"We should have surrendered!" a woman shouted. "Let them take over! Nobody had to die!"
"Everyone had to die," Advait countered. His voice was hard now. Cold. "Because Rathore wasn't coming back to lead. He was coming back to punish. To make examples. To show everyone what happens when you defy military authority. You think surrender would've saved lives? He shot his own soldier for hesitating. What do you think he'd do to us?"
Silence.
"We had a choice," Advait continued. "Submit or fight. Die slow under his boot or die fighting for what we believe in. We chose to fight. And yes, people died. Good people. Brave people. People who deserved better than this world gave them." He paused. "But we're alive. And as long as we're alive, their deaths meant something. They died protecting this place. Protecting each other. Protecting you."
"What if more come?" someone asked. "More military? More attacks?"
"Then we fight again." Advait's voice didn't waver. "We defend what we've built. Every time. No matter the cost. Because the alternative is living on our knees. And I'd rather die on my feet."
Some people nodded. Others looked uncertain.
"I know you're scared," Advait said. His voice softened slightly. "I'm scared too. But fear is useful. Fear keeps us alert. Keeps us prepared. Keeps us alive. So we use it. We remember what happened today. We remember the price we paid. And we make sure we never have to pay it again."
"How?" the woman asked. "How do we make sure?"
"We get stronger. We train harder. We build better defenses. We never let our guard down." Advait looked at each of them. "And we stick together. No matter what. Because united, we survived today. Divided, we'd all be dead."
He set down his rifle. "I'm not perfect. I've made mistakes. I'll make more. But I swear to you—every decision I make, every order I give, it's to keep you alive. To keep this place running. To give us all a chance."
"Even if it costs lives?" someone challenged.
"Especially if it costs lives," Advait said. "Because sometimes the only way to save many is to sacrifice few. That's the truth. That's survival. And I won't lie to you about it."
The hall was quiet. People processing. Deciding.
Then someone stood. One of the original defenders. A woman who'd fought in the eastern corridor. Lost her husband in the battle.
"I trust you," she said. Voice thick with grief. "My husband died today. Protecting this place. Protecting me. If he believed in what we're doing, then so do I."
Others stood. One by one. Not everyone. But enough.
"We're with you," they said.
Advait nodded. "Thank you. All of you. Now rest. We'll bury our dead tomorrow. Tonight, we survive."
They dispersed. Slowly. Back to bunks. To corners. To whatever space felt safe.
Advait watched them go.
Nisha approached. "You handled that well."
"I manipulated them," Advait said quietly. "I used their fear. Their grief. Their need to believe today meant something. That's not handling it well. That's using people."
"You gave them purpose. Direction. That's leadership."
"That's control." Advait rubbed his face. "And it's not done yet."
"What do you mean?"
He looked at her. "The soldiers. The twenty-three who stayed with us. Who fought for us today."
"What about them?"
"They can't stay."
Nisha went still. "What?"
"You saw how they hesitated. When they recognized faces in Rathore's force. How some of them couldn't pull the trigger." Advait's voice was low. Urgent. "They have loyalty to the military. To their old comrades. To the system that trained them. That doesn't go away just because they chose us once."
"They fought today—"
"Today. But what about tomorrow? What about next week when guilt sets in? When they start thinking about the friends they killed?" Advait met her eyes. "Military breeds loyalty. Brotherhood. That's how it works. And sooner or later, that loyalty will turn against us."
"You want to exile them?" Nisha looked shocked. "After everything they did for us?"
"I want to eliminate the threat before it becomes one." Advait's voice was cold. Certain. "They know our defenses. Our numbers. Our weaknesses. If they turn, they become the most dangerous enemies we could face."
"They won't turn—"
"You don't know that. Neither do I. And I can't risk it." Advait looked toward where the soldiers were billeted. "Twenty-three people. Or fifty-two. That's the math. I protect the many by eliminating the few."
Nisha stared at him. "You're talking about murder."
"I'm talking about survival."
"They're on our side!"
"For now. But loyalty is conditional. Temporary. Eventually they'll question. Doubt. Resent what we made them do today." Advait's jaw tightened. "I won't wait for that to happen. I can't."
"This is wrong—"
"This is necessary." Advait grabbed her shoulders. "Listen to me. I know how this sounds. I know what I'm asking. But think about it. Really think. Can you guarantee they won't turn? Can you promise they won't become a threat?"
Nisha couldn't answer.
"Neither can I," Advait said. "And I won't bet fifty-two lives on hope."
"How?" Nisha asked quietly. "How would you even—"
"Poison. In their rations. Tonight. Quick. Painless. They'll die in their sleep. No suffering. No fear." Advait's voice was gentle. Almost kind. "It's mercy compared to what could happen if they turn."
"Who else knows about this?"
"No one. Just you. And Ahmed."
"Ahmed?" Nisha pulled back. "You told him before me?"
"I need him to prepare the poison. He has the knowledge. The access to chemicals." Advait paused. "But I need you to approve it. To stand with me on this. Because if we do this, there's no going back."
Nisha turned away. Paced. Her hands were shaking.
"They saved lives today," she said. "Fought beside us. Bled beside us."
"I know."
"And you want to murder them for it."
"I want to protect everyone else from what they might become." Advait moved closer. "I don't like this. It makes me sick. But I'm thinking about tomorrow. About next month. About the moment one of them decides revenge for their fallen comrades is worth betraying us."
"You're paranoid—"
"I'm careful. There's a difference." Advait put his hands on her shoulders again. "Nisha. I trust you. I need you. But I need to know you're with me on this. All the way. No matter how dark it gets."
She looked at him. At the man she'd chosen. The man she'd built this place with. The man she'd killed for.
"If we do this," she said slowly, "we become monsters."
"We become survivors. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Has to be. Otherwise what's the point?" Advait's voice cracked slightly. "I don't want to do this. But I will. Because protecting this place means making choices nobody else can stomach. That's my job. That's what I signed up for."
Nisha was quiet for a long time.
Then she nodded. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'm with you. All the way." She met his eyes. "But if we're doing this, we do it together. You don't carry this alone."
"Thank you."
They found Ahmed in the lab. He was treating wounded. Exhausted. Covered in blood.
Advait explained what he needed.
Ahmed went pale. "You want me to poison twenty-three people."
"I want you to help protect fifty-two people." Advait's voice was firm. "Those soldiers are a threat. Not today. But eventually. And when they turn, they'll kill everyone in this facility."
"You don't know that—"
"I can't risk finding out." Advait looked at him. "I know what I'm asking. I know how it sounds. But you've seen what military loyalty does. How it blinds people. Makes them choose sides. Those soldiers will always be military first. Us second. That's the truth."
Ahmed wanted to argue. Wanted to refuse.
But he looked at the wounded. At the bodies waiting to be buried. At the price they'd already paid.
"How?" he asked quietly.
"Something fast. Painless. Something they won't taste or notice." Advait paused. "Can you do that?"
Ahmed closed his eyes. "Yes. There's a compound. Colorless. Tasteless. Shuts down the nervous system within minutes. They'll just... go to sleep."
"How long do you need?"
"An hour. Maybe less."
"Do it." Advait turned to leave. Stopped. "And Ahmed? No one can know. Ever. If anyone finds out, we tell them it was contaminated food. Bad water. Anything but the truth."
Ahmed nodded numbly.
They left him to his work.
That night, the soldiers ate their rations. Rice. Canned vegetables. Water.
They talked quietly. About the battle. About the friends they'd lost. Both sides. Their faces were haunted.
Within an hour, they started feeling tired. Drowsy.
One by one, they lay down. Closed their eyes.
And didn't wake up.
By morning, all twenty-three were dead.
People found them. Raised the alarm.
Advait came quickly. Inspected the bodies. Looked grave.
"Contaminated food," he announced. "Something in the supply we scavenged. Bacteria. Poison. I don't know. But it killed them."
"All of them?" someone asked. "Just the soldiers?"
"They ate from the same batch. Same supply crate." Advait looked around. "We need to check everything. Make sure nothing else is contaminated. Dr. Sinha—" he stopped. Remembered. Dr. Sinha was dead. "Dr. Aggarwal. Check all our food supplies. Everything. If there's anything questionable, we burn it."
Dr. Aggarwal nodded. "Yes sir."
They buried the soldiers that afternoon. With the others. The forty-eight civilians who'd died in battle.
Seventy-one bodies total.
The cemetery outside the facility was getting crowded.
Words were said. Tears were shed. People mourned.
And Advait, Nisha, and Ahmed stood there. Knowing the truth. Carrying it.
That night, the three of them met in Advait's office.
"Fifty-two people left," Advait said. "From one hundred and twenty-three. That's what it cost."
"Was it worth it?" Ahmed asked. His voice was hollow.
"Ask me in a year. If we're still alive. If this place is still standing. If those fifty-two became a hundred. Then maybe yes." Advait looked at them both. "But right now? Right now I just feel sick."
"Good," Nisha said. "The day you stop feeling sick is the day you become what you're trying to prevent."
"What if I already am?"
"You're not. Not yet." She took his hand. "But you're close. We all are."
"The people can never know."
"No. They can't."
Advait looked at ahmed. "Can you live with that? Carrying this secret?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Everyone has a choice."
Ahmed thought about it. About the compound he'd made. About the bodies buried outside. About the weight settling onto his shoulders.
"I'll carry it," he said finally. "But I won't forget it. And neither should you."
"I won't." Advait stood. "We did what we had to. Whether it was right or wrong, I don't know. But we did it. And we live with it. That's the price."
They sat in silence for a long time. Three people who'd made a choice. A terrible, necessary, unforgivable choice.
And outside, fifty-two people slept. Safe. Protected. Unaware of what had been done in their name.
NOW
Karan sat in his bunk. Couldn't sleep.
But he doesn't know about all of it. Nobody does.
Only three people knew what really happened to those twenty-three soldiers.
And they'd taken that secret and built Sanctuary on top of it.
Karan thought about Rohan. About promises broken. About children killed because they didn't fit into someone's plan.
About how survival turned good people into monsters.
And wondered how much longer before it turned him into one too.
Outside, the night was quiet. The generators hummed. The guards walked their patrols.
Sixty-three people. That's what was left. After the battle. After the poisoning. After everything.
Sixty-three people living in a place built on mass graves and dark secrets.
This was Sanctuary.
This was survival.
And they were all complicit now.
Whether they knew it or not.