warm hand rested on his shoulder.
It shook him gently.
A soft voice drifted into his half-dead consciousness.
"Hey, Amitesh… wake up. It's time to close my clinic. Get up."
His eyelids felt heavier than iron gates.
Slowly, painfully, he forced them open.
The first thing he saw was Priyanka leaning beside him, her face close, her expression half-amused, half-concerned.
He rubbed his eyes they yawned.
A long, shameless, jaw-cracking yawn.
Priyanka blinked.
"Ohh… that's a huge yawn. Are you still feeling sleepy?"
"Yes," he muttered, voice thick and lazy. "A little more."
"A little more?" she raised a brow.
"You've been sleeping on that chair for four hours forty minutes."
He tried to sit straighter but failed halfway and slumped again.
"Well… you can sleep more after you go home. Now get up and wash your face."
He frowned slightly, still not fully awake.
"If I wash my face… I won't be able to sleep again."
She crossed her arms.
"Hmmm. Still go wash your face."
Her tone was sweet.
But it carried the authority of a clinic owner who had tolerated enough nonsense for one evening.
Amitesh sighed dramatically, as if she had asked him to climb a mountain instead of walk to a sink.
"Life is cruel…"
Priyanka chuckled.
"Yes. Especially to lazy assistants who fall asleep during closing hours."
He finally stood up, stretching like an exhausted cat.
And for a brief second—
He wondered.
Why don't they eat me?
In a world filled with monsters, gods, and beings who devour the weak…
How was he still alive—
When the most dangerous creature he knew…
Was a woman with a gentle voice telling him to wash his face?
He dragged his feet toward the wash basin.
The tap squeaked as he turned it.
Cold water hit his face in sharp splashes.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He inhaled sharply and wiped his face with his handkerchief, pressing the fabric against his eyes as if trying to push sleep back into the darkness.
Then he turned toward Priyanka.
"Now I am awake."
She looked at him for a full second.
"Yes," she said dryly. "I can see that."
She began arranging files on the desk.
"So what are you going to do next? Did you have dinner?"
He shook his head.
Slowly.
Guiltily.
Priyanka stopped moving.
A sigh escaped her lips.
"Why do I always have to take care of kids?"
"Hey," he straightened immediately, offended. "I am not a kid."
She gave him a flat look.
"You are. You act like a kid. And if someone doesn't keep an eye on your movements, you will create chaos."
"Ouch."
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest.
"That hurts."
"It should."
She picked up her bag.
"You skip dinner, you fall asleep anywhere, and you argue like a twelve-year-old. What else am I supposed to call you?"
He opened his mouth to argue.
Then paused.
"…That's character assassination."
"It's observation."
He stared at her.
She stared back.
For a second, the clinic was silent except for the faint buzzing of the ceiling fan.
Then—
Amitesh muttered quietly,
"At least I don't bully innocent people."
"I am not bullying you," she replied smoothly. "I am supervising you."
"Same thing."
Her lips curved slightly.
"No. Supervision implies responsibility."
She walked past him toward the door.
"Come. We're getting you dinner."
He blinked.
"Wait… what?"
She didn't turn around.
"I am not letting you go home on an empty stomach."
For a moment, he just stood there.
Then a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Maybe being supervised… wasn't that bad.
He followed behind her as she locked the clinic door.
The evening air was cooler now.
His body felt lighter after washing his face.
But his mind…still heavy,still fogged.
Priyanka glanced at him while adjusting her bag on her shoulder.
"So, how are you feeling now?"
"A bit better than before."
She hummed softly.
"You think you're an energy ball," she said. "But even an energy ball is useless if the brain inside it is exhausted."
He blinked.
"...How do you know that? Are you psychic or something?"
She gave him a sideways look.
"I'm a doctor."
She paused deliberately.
"And I've studied psychology. In my
career, I've seen enough cases to read people just by looking at them."
His eyes lit up immediately.
"Really?"
He stepped in front of her, walking backward now, pointing a finger dramatically at his own face.
"Then look at me. Tell me something about me."
There was genuine excitement in his voice.
Like a child waiting to hear a fortune.
Priyanka stopped walking.
Studied him.
Her gaze was calm. Analytical.
Clinical.
Then—
"No."
He froze mid-step.
"Huh? Why?"
She resumed walking, brushing past him.
"Because your personality changes every day."
She added calmly,
"And in every situation."
He turned and caught up with her.
"That's not true."
"It is."
"When I'm serious, you joke. When you should be tired, you act energetic. When things get difficult, you become strangely calm."
She looked straight ahead.
"You adapt too quickly."
He frowned slightly.
"That sounds like a compliment."
"It's not entirely one."
He felt something shift in her tone.
"You don't stay in one emotional state long enough," she continued. "That usually means one of two things."
He swallowed.
"And what are those?"
"Either someone is very emotionally flexible…"
She glanced at him briefly.
"Or they're very good at hiding what they actually feel."
The street felt quieter.
For a moment, he didn't reply.
Then he laughed lightly.
"Wow. Now you're making me sound mysterious."
"I didn't say mysterious."
She looked forward again.
"I said complicated."
He walked beside her silently for a few seconds.
Complicated, huh…
For some reason—
That word stayed with him longer than he expected.
They reached Priyanka's house a little after sunset, and the porch light was already glowing warmly against the evening sky. Before she could even unlock the door, it suddenly burst open.
"Ma!"
Rohan ran out first, nearly colliding with her, and Riya followed close behind him. Amitesh barely had time to react before Rohan grabbed onto his arm tightly.
"You came!" Riya said with a bright smile that made the whole day feel lighter.
"Of course I came," Amitesh replied dramatically. "Your favorite hero has arrived."
Priyanka rolled her eyes as she stepped inside. "Hero, hmm? Go wash your hands first, hero."
The house felt warm the moment they entered — lived-in and safe, with the faint scent of spices lingering in the air.
Priyanka headed straight to the kitchen, tying her hair up as she moved with practiced ease.
"I'll make dinner. Don't let them destroy the house," she called out.
"No promises," Amitesh replied confidently.
"Amiiiii! Come see my drawing!" Rohan tugged at his hand.
"And mine!" Riya insisted.
For the next half hour, the living room turned into cheerful chaos. Crayons rolled across the floor, toy cars crashed into imaginary buildings, and exaggerated stories filled the air. Rohan climbed onto Amitesh's back as if conquering a mountain, while Riya forced him to sit cross-legged so she could "fix" his hair using invisible salon tools.
He played along wholeheartedly, laughing loudly, arguing dramatically, and even pretending to lose when they demanded it.
From the kitchen doorway, Priyanka paused for a brief moment and watched them quietly. The corners of her lips softened as she took in the sight.
Dinner was simple — rice, dal, and vegetables — but it felt complete. They all sat together on the floor to eat.
Rohan talked the most, narrating every minor event of his day as if it were a grand adventure, while Riya corrected him every two minutes with absolute seriousness. Amitesh exaggerated his reactions to both of them, and Priyanka simply listened with a faint, tired smile.
After brushing teeth, bedtime stories, and two full rounds of "I'm not sleepy," the house finally fell silent. Rohan and Riya were asleep in their room, the door left slightly open.
The living room felt strangely quiet now, as if the energy had been gently folded away for the night.
Priyanka sat on the sofa and exhaled deeply, the sound heavier than she intended.
Amitesh noticed the shift immediately. The playful doctor who managed everything with calm sarcasm was gone; now she just looked tired in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion.
He sat across from her. "You okay?"
She leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, as if gathering the courage to speak honestly instead of brushing it off.
"I'm scared sometimes," she admitted quietly.
He didn't interrupt.
"I'm scared of losing them… or of them growing up feeling like they've already lost their father."
Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap as she continued. "I try to be strong in front of them. I manage the clinic, the house, everything. I tell myself I can handle it."
She looked down, her voice lowering.
"But some days I feel like I'm failing at all of it."
"You're not," he said gently.
She gave him a small, tired smile. "You see me only in parts. You don't see the days I'm too exhausted to sit and play with them. I'm afraid they'll grow up remembering that their mother was always busy."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable; it was honest.
"I want to give them time — real time, not leftover time," she continued, her eyes glistening faintly. "But I'm so tired most days."
For once, Amitesh didn't joke, exaggerate, or deflect. His voice softened in a way it rarely did.
"They don't see a tired mother," he said carefully. "They see a strong one."
She looked at him, unsure.
"They see someone who comes home every day. Someone who cooks for them, listens to their stories, remembers their drawings, and loves them without conditions. They don't measure you in hours, miss Priyanka. They measure you in moments."
He leaned back slightly and added, "And for the record… they talk about you like you're their entire world."
Her composure cracked just a little, and a small tear slipped down before she wiped it away quickly.
"I don't want to fail them."
"You won't," he replied steadily. "You're scared because you care. That already makes you a good mother."
A long silence followed, but this one felt lighter than before.
Priyanka inhaled slowly and nodded. "Thank you."
He shrugged, a faint smile returning. "Don't get used to it. I'm still a chaotic kid."
A soft laugh escaped her, and in that quiet house — between exhaustion and responsibility — something unspoken grew a little stronger.
After saying goodbye to Priyanka, Amitesh began walking toward his apartment. The streets were quieter now, the night air cooler, and the playful energy he had maintained at her house slowly drained away with each step.
As he walked, his thoughts shifted from laughter and children's voices to plans and possibilities. His mind no longer wandered; it calculated.
By the time he reached his apartment building, his expression had already changed.
He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him with a soft click. The room was silent and dim, untouched since morning. He dropped his keys on the table and sat down on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.
"So if I really have to destroy the gang," he muttered quietly to himself, "I have to destroy them from the inside."
A direct attack would be foolish. They were organized, cautious, and deeply rooted. Breaking them from the outside would only make them defensive. But from within? From trust, access, and information? That was different.
The real obstacle, however, stood clearly in front of him.
The next meeting with Kayaa was possible only after six days.
Six days.
He leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
"I have to wait for her," he said under his breath, frustration barely concealed.
"And I have to do something else in those next six days."
Waiting without action was not his style. Time was either used or wasted, and he refused to waste it.
He began thinking strategically.
What could he gather without raising suspicion? Who could he observe? Which weak link could he identify before the next meeting?
If Kayaa was the door, then those six days would decide how prepared he was when it finally opened.
His playful mask was gone now.
Only focus remained.
And somewhere in the quiet of his small apartment, the first real outline of a dangerous plan began to take shape.
---
Morning had just begun, and a pale grey light filtered through the cracked blinds of the office.
Amitesh stood in front of the desk, keeping his posture straight while waiting for her to acknowledge him.
Veronica Van sat with her legs crossed, black-purple stockings perfectly smooth, her attention fixed on the stack of files in her hands as if he were nothing more than background noise.
Varonca (29) , brown hair, black eyes and glasses.
A calm authority of someone who managed the records that decided who lived and who didn't.
For a full minute, she continued turning pages, deliberately making him wait.
Only after finishing the document did she finally lift her gaze toward him.
"So, you want to go outside and come back with resources," she said in a neutral tone.
"Yes," Amitesh replied without
hesitation. "I have experience."
One of her eyebrows rose slightly as she leaned back in her chair.
"Oh, you have experience," she repeated. "Can you drive properly, change a tire under pressure, handle a gun without freezing, and operate a radio without panicking?"
"Yes," he answered steadily.
She studied him for a few silent seconds, as if weighing whether his confidence was real or just another young man trying to prove himself.
Finally, Veronica sighed and closed the file in front of her.
"Fine," she said. "You can go outside and search for anything useful — food, medical supplies, mechanical parts, or even survivors, if there are any left."
Her eyes hardened slightly as she added, "If you find people, make sure they're not infected before bringing them back."
The unspoken meaning of what he should do otherwise lingered heavily between them.
"You leave in ten minutes," she concluded calmly. "And try not to die."
Amitesh did not move immediately.
He could tell there was something else she wanted to say, something she was carefully choosing not to put on record.
Veronica adjusted her glasses and glanced toward the frosted window behind him, where distant voices echoed faintly from the corridor.
"The council is already divided," she said quietly, lowering her voice just enough to make it clear this part was not official. "Half of them think we should seal the gates permanently and stop sending teams out."
Amitesh frowned slightly. "And the other half?"
"They think expansion is the only way we survive winter," she replied. "More fuel. More supplies. More territory."
Her fingers tightened subtly around the edge of the file.
"If this mission fails, the isolation faction will gain leverage, and they will use it to remove Commander Iqbal from authority."
The base was not just fighting the infected outside.
It was rotting from disagreement within.
"And you?" Amitesh asked carefully.
Veronica hesitated — just for a second.
"I believe calculated risk is necessary," she said, but her tone lacked its earlier firmness. "But the last two teams didn't return."
That was new information.
She hadn't mentioned that before.
Her eyes shifted to him again, sharper now, but beneath that sharpness was something restrained.
Not fear.
Concern.
"If you go out there and something happens," she continued, "it won't just be your death. It will become political ammunition."
Silence stretched between them.
Footsteps passed outside the door.
Someone paused briefly, as if listening.
Veronica noticed it too.
Her posture straightened instantly, the mask of professionalism sliding back into place.
"That is why," she said more formally, raising her voice slightly, "you will follow protocol exactly. No heroics. No improvisation beyond necessity."
Amitesh understood the shift.
Walls had ears.
"And if I succeed?" he asked.
A faint breath escaped her, almost a laugh but not quite.
"If you succeed," she said, "you strengthen my position."
Not mine.
Not ours.
My position.
The honesty of that admission was dangerous.
For a brief moment, her composure cracked.
"You're skilled," she added more softly.
"But don't overestimate yourself."
Her gaze lingered a second longer than necessary.
"Come back," she said, and this time it wasn't an order.
It sounded personal.
Then she looked down at the files again, reclaiming distance.
"Ten minutes," Veronica concluded. "Report to the front gate."
Outside the office, the political storm was already gathering.
And Amitesh was about to walk straight into it
Before Amitesh could turn toward the door, Veronica spoke again.
"There is a rule," she said, folding her hands neatly on the desk. "No one goes outside alone. Minimum three people per unit."
He stopped.
She continued, her tone returning to administrative precision.
"There are three operational categories approved by the council — Gatherers, Explorers, and Expanders."
"The Gatherers focus on recovery," she explained. "They collect food, fuel, medicine, mechanical parts — anything that keeps this base functioning for another week."
Her eyes shifted briefly to the supply charts pinned on the wall.
"We are running low on antibiotics and generator oil. That makes them essential."
She tapped the table once.
"Explorers move slower. They scout unexplored zones, map safe paths, observe infected movement patterns, and mark potential hazards."
"They are not meant to engage unless absolutely necessary."
Amitesh nodded slightly.
"And Expanders?" he asked.
For the first time, her jaw tightened.
"The Expanders clear territory," she said quietly. "They eliminate the mushroom-humans and secure ground so it can be reclaimed."
She didn't elaborate, but the word eliminate carried weight.
"They are the most dangerous unit," she added. "Highest casualty rate."
There was a faint pause before she continued.
"The expansion faction in the council keeps pushing for more Expander teams. They believe aggressive clearing is the only long-term solution."
"And you disagree?" Amitesh asked.
"I believe," she replied carefully, "that throwing bodies at infected zones without stable supply lines is reckless."
Her fingers pressed slightly harder against the desk.
"But if we don't expand, the isolationists will seal the outer gates and ration everything to the point of starvation."
It was not a war against monsters alone.
It was strategy versus fear.
"You will not be assigned as an Expander," she said firmly, almost too quickly. "Not on your first mission."
That was where the worry slipped through.
Small. Subtle.But real.
"You will join a mixed unit," she clarified.
"Two Gatherers and one Explorer. You will operate on the outskirts of Sector Nine."
Sector Nine.
One of the zones near where the last team vanished.
Her gaze lingered on him again.
"Do not volunteer for heroics," she said. "The council already has enough martyrs."
Outside, a distant argument echoed faintly down the corridor — raised voices, sharp and tense.
Veronica glanced toward the sound, and for a moment her composed expression wavered.
"They're voting again today," she murmured. "If the expansion proposal passes, things will change."
Her eyes returned to him, steady but no longer cold.
"So come back," she said quietly.
"Because I need results — not another name added to the board."
And that time, she didn't look away immediately.
"So where are the rest of your team members?" Veronica asked, her tone already carrying suspicion.
Amitesh adjusted the strap of his bag casually.
"Well," he said, "I'll go alone."
Silence fell over the room.
Her glasses slid slightly down her nose as she stared at him, trying to determine whether he was serious.
"You're joking, right?" she asked slowly.
Amitesh smiled.
Not wide.
Just enough.
"You're joking, right?" she repeated, but this time there was no patience left in her voice.
He turned around and began walking toward the door as if the discussion had already ended.
The chair scraped sharply against the floor as Veronica stood up.
"Idiot," she snapped. "I am talking to you. Bring your ass back here right now."
Her voice echoed louder than she intended.
Footsteps in the corridor paused.
Someone outside definitely heard that.
Amitesh stopped but didn't turn immediately.
"There's a rule for a reason," she continued, lowering her voice but not her intensity. "Three people minimum. If the council finds out I approved a solo departure, they will suspend my authority on external operations."
He finally glanced over his shoulder.
"I won't get caught," he said calmly.
"That's not the point."
Her composure was cracking now, frustration mixing with something more personal.
"The last two teams disappeared in Sector Nine," she said, stepping around the desk. "Do you think you're stronger than six armed personnel combined?"
He didn't answer.
That irritated her more.
"You going alone will not prove courage," she continued, her tone sharp but uneven. "It will prove that I am incompetent for letting you walk out unsupervised."
There it was.
Not just anger.
Fear of consequences.
Fear of losing control of a fragile system already splitting apart.
Outside, distant arguing grew louder again — the council meeting escalating.
"If the expansion faction hears about this," she said, her voice tightening, "they will use your death as justification to push more Expanders into active zones."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"You think you're acting independently," she said, stepping closer. "You're not. Every action outside those gates becomes political currency inside them."
He turned fully now, facing her.
For a brief moment, the anger in her eyes flickered into something else.
Worry.
Raw and unfiltered.
"Don't do this recklessly," she said more quietly. "I am already balancing on a knife's edge."
A pause.
"And I don't want to sign your name on the casualty board."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
Tighter.
"Come back here," she said again, but this time it wasn't a command.
It sounded almost like a plea.
But Amitesh had never planned to listen.
The moment her voice softened, he moved.
He spun around and ran.
"Amitesh!" Veronica shouted, her composure finally shattering.
He didn't look back.
Boots slammed against the concrete corridor as he rushed toward the main building, ignoring the startled faces of staff members who turned at the noise.
Within seconds, he reached the captain's office and shoved the door open so hard it crashed against the wall.
Captain Singh, who had been half-asleep in his chair, jerked upright in shock and promptly fell sideways to the floor.
"What the—!"
Amitesh stood at attention, breathing fast but forcing formality giving him a salute.
"Honorable Captain Singh, I am here to request something important."
On the floor, Singh blinked up at him.
Honorable? This brat is trying to butter me up.
He pushed himself back into his chair, adjusting his uniform.
"What do you want," he growled, "and do you understand the punishment for bursting into my office like this?"
"I do," Amitesh replied immediately. "I just need your bike."
Singh froze.
Slowly, very slowly, his eyes shifted toward the wall.
The keys.
Hanging exactly where they should not have been.
Amitesh followed his gaze.
That was all the confirmation he needed.
Before Singh could stand fully, Amitesh lunged forward, snatched the keys from the hook, and bolted toward the door.
"Wait!" Singh roared. "Come back! Those don't belong to you!"
But Amitesh was already gone.
Singh rushed into the hallway — and collided directly with Veronica.
Their heads knocked together with a dull thud.
"Ahh— Veronica?" Singh winced, rubbing his forehead. "What are you doing here?"
"Mr. Singh," she snapped, slightly breathless from running, "stop him. He's planning to go outside alone."
Singh blinked.
"What?!"
The hallway suddenly filled with tension.
Staff members whispered.
Doors opened.
If a solo departure happened without authorization, it would not just be a disciplinary issue.
It would be a council scandal.
From outside, the distant roar of an engine igniting echoed through the compound.
Veronica's face went pale for a fraction of a second before she forced control back into her expression.
"If he crosses the outer gate," she said tightly, "the expansion faction will claim we've lost command discipline."
Singh swore under his breath.
"That idiot is going to start a political war before lunch."
The engine revved louder.
And the gate guards were not yet aware of what was coming toward them at full speed.
The gate guards sat in a loose circle.
The night was thick with fog.
Cold air crawled into their bones.
"Fouu… it's getting colder day by day."
"True, brother. I don't know if these old bones can handle this winter."
"I wish I had cultivation power like my son. The brat's already as strong as me."
They laughed.
A tired, ordinary laugh.
Then—
Something passed.
Fast.
Too fast.
The fog shifted for half a second.
"...Did you see that?"
"See what?"
"I don't know. Something just moved."
Before they could stand—
The walkie-talkie crackled violently.
Static screamed.
Then a voice exploded through it.
"This is Captain Singh. Is anyone there?"
The guards stiffened.
"Yes, sir! We're here!"
"One person is heading out without permission. Stop him immediately."
Silence fell.
The guards looked at each other.
Their faces slowly drained of color.
"Si–sir…" one of them swallowed. "I think… he already left."
A pause.
Heavy breathing on the other end.
"What?"
The roar came like thunder.
"What the hell were you doing? Sitting there watching him leave?!"
The guards froze because now they finally understood that the blur in the fog, that strange shift in the air, wasn't the wind at all.
It was Amitesh.
And by the time the realization truly settled into their minds, he was already gone beyond the gates.
The chaos maker had left quietly, unseen and untouched — but what he left behind was something far more dangerous than his presence.
The silence after him felt heavier than any alarm.
Because when a storm walks away smiling…
It means it has already chosen where to strike next.