As he moved closer, the intensity of the light increased.
"So someone is really alive."
He turned his bike away from the building.
Why are you moving away? If someone is alive there, Raktbeej asked.
"Because the mushroom heads are chasing me."
He accelerated, creating distance, making sure the creatures were fully locked onto him.
Only when the abandoned building shrank into darkness behind him—
He raised his arm.
"Swaha."
Flames erupted from his palm like a tidal wave.
Fire rolled across the road.
The mushroom heads screeched.
In seconds, they were nothing but collapsing ash.
"Killing them is really easy stuff."
"For now," Raktbeej replied calmly.
Amitesh narrowed his eyes.
"Soon it will be difficult."
"And why so?"
A faint laugh echoed inside his skull.
"Why would I tell you? I just want you to get killed quickly."
Silence.
Then Amitesh exhaled.
"Great. Something living inside me wants me dead."
He kicked the ashes aside.
"Even a virus is better than you. At least it doesn't announce that it wants to kill its host."
Raktbeej chuckled.
"Oh, I'm far worse than a virus."
The wind shifted.
And somewhere behind him—
The light blinked again.
Amitesh walked toward the building.
The stairwell smelled of dust and burnt wiring.
Floor by floor, the blinking light grew stronger.
He stopped in front of the room.
The light was leaking from beneath the door.
Locked.
From the inside.
He reached for the handle—
The door swung open.
A hand grabbed his collar and yanked him inside.
The door slammed shut in a second.
Amitesh's back hit the wall.
"Are you okay? What were you doing alone out there?"
The man in front of him was tall, broad-shouldered.
Military posture.
Hard eyes.
"Park Song. (35). Army officer."
His voice was sharp. Controlled. Used to command.
"Let him breathe at least."
Another voice.
Calmer.
A man adjusting his glasses stepped forward.
"Lin Chun.(32). Hardware engineer."
He studied Amitesh like a machine he was trying to understand.
Amitesh glanced around the room.
Barricaded windows.
Wires running across the floor.
A makeshift battery stack powering the blinking light.
Smart.Very smart.
Raktbeej whispered.
Amitesh's eyes flickered.
Park Song.
Lin Chun.
Those names—
He had seen them before.On the board at the base.
The missing team list.
He looked at them carefully.
"Are you guys the team that left the base and never came back?"
Both men stiffened.
Park's hand subtly shifted closer to the rifle leaning against the wall.
"You know the base?" His voice lowered.
Lin Chun's expression sharpened.
"Yes," Park answered after a pause. "That's us."
Silence filled the room.
"We're stuck here."
Lin exhaled slowly.
"A mutant dog ambushed us near the eastern sector."
Park's jaw tightened.
"One of our teammates is injured."
Amitesh's gaze shifted.
To the corner of the room.
A figure was lying on a mattress made of torn blankets.Bandaged leg.
Blood seeping through.The smell hit him.
Infection.
Raktbeej whispered inside his mind.
Mutant dog? No… that's not what wounded him.
Amitesh didn't react outwardly.
"Where is it now?" he asked calmly.
Park's eyes darkened.
"Still hunting."
The light flickered again.
And something scratched faintly…
From the floor below.
Amitesh's gaze didn't leave the injured man.
"Why didn't you try to escape?"
Park looked at him like the question itself was offensive.
"We did."
His voice was flat.
"We failed."
Lin stepped in quietly.
"That thing tracks movement. Sound. Heat. We lost two rifles trying to push through."
Park's jaw tightened.
"And we don't leave our people behind."
The words weren't dramatic,they were absolute.
A rule carved into bone.
Silence stretched between them.
Raktbeej murmured inside Amitesh's mind.
"How noble. How predictable."
Amitesh ignored him.
He crouched beside the injured teammate.
The wound was deep.
Not a clean bite.Torn and ripped.
Almost deliberate.
"This wasn't just a random attack," Amitesh said quietly.
Park's eyes sharpened.
"What are you implying?"
The light flickered again.
And this time—
The scratching below became heavier.
Slow.
Measured.
Like something circling.
Raktbeej's tone dropped to a whisper.
It's not hunting blindly.
It knows you're here.
Amitesh stood up.
"How about we try to escape tomorrow morning? I have a bike."
Silence.
Park stared at him as if measuring his sanity.
"A bike," he repeated.
"Yes."
Lin frowned. "That thing tracks heat and movement. An engine is both."
"It's faster than running," Amitesh replied calmly.
Park crossed his arms.
"How many can it carry?"
"Two. Maybe three if we push it."
"And there are four of us."
Amitesh didn't blink.
"I can make noise. Draw it away. You move with the injured first."
The room went quiet again.
Park's gaze hardened.
"You're suggesting you act as bait."
"I'm suggesting we don't sit here waiting to die."
Raktbeej's voice curled inside his skull.
Bold. Reckless. I approve.
Park looked toward the injured soldier.
Then back at Amitesh.
"Morning gives us visibility," he said slowly. "But it gives it visibility too."
Lin adjusted his glasses.
"If we modify the battery stack, we can rig a timed flare distraction."
Now they were thinking.
Planning.
Outside—
Something heavy brushed against the outer wall.
A low growl vibrated through the concrete.
Not loud just close.
Park picked up his rifle.
"Morning," he said quietly, eyes on the door.
"If we survive the night."
Night deepened.
The building went silent.
Park stayed near the door, rifle resting across his knees.
Lin leaned against the wall, half-asleep but alert.
The injured soldier breathed unevenly.
Amitesh sat in the corner.
His eyelids grew heavy.
Muscles loosening.
For the first time in hours—
His body allowed itself to relax.
'Take a proper rest', Raktbeej said.
Amitesh didn't open his eyes.
"When did you start caring about me?"
A soft chuckle echoed inside his skull.
"I care for myself. Not you."
Silence.
Then—
"As long as we share one body, your survival is my survival."
Amitesh's breathing slowed.
"You've done something," he muttered.
A pause.
"Yes."
His eyes opened halfway.
"What did you do?"
"When you were unconscious. Injured."
Raktbeej's tone became clinical.
"I adjusted you."
Amitesh's fingers twitched.
"Adjusted how?"
"I reduced your perception of fear."
A beat.
"Dampened pain receptors."
Another beat.
"And lowered fatigue thresholds."
The room suddenly felt colder.
"What?"
"You no longer experience fear the way normal humans do," Raktbeej continued calmly.
"You feel it. But it does not control you."
Amitesh's heartbeat remained steady.
Too steady.
"You altered my brain?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"While you were asleep. While your body was repairing."
Amitesh clenched his jaw.
"And you didn't think to ask?"
"I did not require permission."
The darkness pressed closer.
"And this is only the beginning," Raktbeej added quietly.
---
Morning light slipped through the cracks in the boarded windows.
Park was already awake, checking the corridor through a narrow gap.
Lin stretched quietly, careful not to disturb the injured man.
Amitesh stood near the center of the room and raised his hand.
Moisture gathered from the air, condensing into droplets before flowing downward in a steady stream. Clear water filled the metal container placed beneath his palm.
Lin watched with visible amazement.
"It's really nice to be a cultivator."
Park glanced at the water, then at Amitesh.
"Useful," he said, practical as ever.
Amitesh lowered his hand.
He expected to feel something — maybe satisfaction, maybe the thrill he used to get when discovering something new about his ability.
But there was only calm calculation.
The water was needed. He produced it. That was all.
Raktbeej's voice brushed against his thoughts.
"You are adjusting."
Amitesh didn't respond.
Outside, the silence of the street remained undisturbed.
And that silence felt intentional.
"The bike can only carry three people," Lin said, frowning as he looked toward the stairwell.
"We'll make it work," Amitesh replied.
Park crossed his arms. "Explain."
Amitesh pointed toward the injured soldier.
"I'll drive."
He shifted his gaze to Park.
"The injured one sits in the middle. Someone holds him steady from behind."
Lin blinked. "That's already three."
"One more can sit forward. On the tank. Give me directions and watch the road."
Park stared at him for a long moment.
"That's unstable," he said.
"Yes."
"Dangerous."
"Yes."
"And loud."
Amitesh met his eyes calmly.
"Staying here is louder. Just slower."
Lin adjusted his glasses, clearly calculating balance and weight distribution in his head.
"If we shift body weight properly during turns, it might hold for short distance."
Park finally nodded once.
"Route?"
"Main road is suicide," Lin said immediately. "Too open."
"Back alleys," Amitesh replied. "Narrow. Fewer angles of attack."
Park picked up his rifle.
"If that thing appears, we don't stop."
Amitesh's expression didn't change.
"We won't need to."
Raktbeej chuckled softly in his mind.
Confidence without fear. I like what I've done to you.
Outside—
Somewhere below—
Claws scraped lightly against concrete.
It was awake.
And it was listening.
They mounted the bike exactly as planned. It looked unstable and poorly balanced, but after a few tense adjustments of weight and grip, they managed to hold position.
Amitesh kicked the starter and the engine came alive, its noise echoing sharply through the narrow alley. The sound carried farther than he liked, but there was no alternative now.
They began moving, carefully at first, the added weight forcing him to control the throttle with precision. Once they cleared the tightest part of the alley, he increased speed and the bike responded with a strained but steady pull forward.
"Lin, keep calling distance. I can't see past you," Amitesh said.
"I know," Lin replied, leaning slightly to compensate for balance. "Move left… no, right. Right."
The bike wobbled briefly before stabilizing again.
"Focus," Park said from behind, tightening his grip around the injured soldier to keep him upright.
"Just do your job," Amitesh answered calmly.
Wind rushed past them as they turned into a slightly wider lane.
Amitesh glanced back at the unconscious soldier. His head hung at an unnatural angle, breathing shallow and uneven.
"How long has he been out?" Amitesh asked.
"Almost six hours," Park replied.
Too long for someone who had only lost blood.
Raktbeej's voice surfaced quietly in his mind.
"That wound is not behaving like a simple bite."
In the distance, a low growl echoed between the buildings. It wasn't loud, but it was close enough to confirm what they already feared.
Park looked over his shoulder.
"It's behind us."
Amitesh didn't hesitate. He increased the throttle and guided the bike deeper into the maze of back alleys.
As they pushed closer to the camp perimeter, the bike began to lose power. At first it was subtle—a slight drop in pull when Amitesh twisted the throttle—but within seconds the engine's vibration turned uneven.
The acceleration weakened, the machine coughing beneath them before giving a final strained shudder and going completely silent.
The sudden quiet felt heavier than the engine noise ever had.
Lin turned his head sharply. "What happened? Why did you stop?"
Amitesh checked the fuel gauge even though he already knew. "Petrol's over."
Park looked toward the distant watchtower of the camp, barely visible past the broken buildings. "How far?"
"Less than a kilometer," Lin replied.
Close enough to feel hope.
Far enough to be exposed.
Amitesh stepped off the bike and steadied it while Park adjusted the injured soldier's weight over his shoulder.
"We walk," Amitesh said simply.
Without the engine masking their presence, the surrounding streets felt unnaturally open. Every footstep echoed more than it should.
Then, from somewhere ahead of them, a low growl rolled through the empty road.
Park's grip tightened on his rifle.
"It's in front."
Raktbeej's voice slipped into Amitesh's mind, calm and analytical.
"It did not retreat."
"It anticipated."
As they continued walking, the morning sun rose higher, its heat spreading across the broken streets. The cool edge of dawn disappeared quickly, replaced by the sharp glare of summer.
Amitesh narrowed his eyes against the light.
"I hate summer," he muttered under his breath. "It makes my head run hot."
Lin gave a tired laugh, though it lacked energy.
Step by step, they moved forward, Park supporting most of the injured soldier's weight now. The camp barricades came into clearer view with every meter.
Sandbags. Rusted metal sheets. Watchtower silhouette.
Close enough to smell safety.
A guard spotted them first.
Then another.
Within seconds, two armed men rushed out from the barricade.
"Open the gate!"
The metal barrier shifted, just wide enough.
Park and Lin handed the injured soldier over carefully as medics hurried him inside. Questions were thrown at them immediately, but Park responded with short, controlled answers.
Amitesh stepped through last.
The gate shut behind them with a heavy clang.
For the first time since the night before, he allowed his shoulders to loosen slightly.
Well, he thought, that was a long journey.
Next time, I prepare properly.
Raktbeej's voice drifted through his mind.
"There will be a next time. And it will not be this simple."
Amitesh looked back once toward the empty road beyond the barricade.
The street was quiet.
Too quiet.
He couldn't see it anymore.
But he was certain—
It had watched them enter.
A heavy hand landed on Amitesh's shoulder.Solid.
Unavoidable.
He closed his eyes for half a second.
"Oh no… how did I forget about this one."
He turned slowly.
Captain Singh stood behind him, jaw tight, eyes twitching with restrained irritation. Dust clung to his uniform, but his posture was as rigid as ever.
"So," Captain Singh said, voice dangerously calm, "you finally decided to come back."
Amitesh forced a small, polite smile.
"I think we have many things to discuss."
The way he said it made it sound less like a conversation and more like a trial.
Inside Amitesh's mind, calculations began running rapidly.
Explanation?
Blame the emergency?
Mention the mutant dog?
Claim official rescue intent?
All options carried consequences.
Raktbeej hummed softly.
"Cowardice detected."
Strategic withdrawal, Amitesh corrected internally.
In the next second, he let his knees give out.
His body tilted forward.
And he collapsed straight onto Captain Singh.
The captain staggered back under the sudden weight.
"Amitesh!"
Several guards rushed forward.
"He's unconscious!" Lin shouted immediately, catching on faster than expected.
Park hid his expression.
Captain Singh struggled to keep balance while half-holding, half-supporting Amitesh's limp body.
"Get him to the medical unit," the captain ordered through clenched teeth.
As they carried him away—
Amitesh kept his breathing slow and even.
Perfectly convincing.
Inside his head, Raktbeej laughed.
"You are shameless."
Effective, Amitesh replied calmly.
Captain Singh watched as they carried Amitesh toward the medical unit. His expression remained controlled, but his grip had tightened just a little too much before letting go.
"Get the doctor," he said evenly.
No accusation.
No comment.
Just a long look that lingered half a second longer than necessary.
Then he turned away.
They placed Amitesh on a narrow metal-framed bed inside the infirmary. The room smelled of antiseptic and heat.
A medic checked his pulse.
"Stable. Probably exhaustion."
Park nodded. "He pushed the bike hard."
That was technically true.
The medic stepped away to attend to the injured soldier.
Silence settled.
A few minutes later, the room grew quieter as people dispersed.
Soft footsteps approached.
Amitesh didn't open his eyes.
He didn't need to.
He could recognize that presence.
Priyanka stopped beside the bed.
She crossed her arms.
"Amitesh," she said calmly, "I already know you're faking it."
He remained still.Breathing slow.
"I saw your fingers adjust when they laid you down," she continued.
"Unconscious people don't balance their fall."
A small pause.
"You're not as smooth as you think."
Inside his head, Raktbeej chuckled.
"Exposed."
Amitesh let out a quiet sigh and opened one eye.
"Can't even rest peacefully."
Priyanka raised an eyebrow.
"You call this resting?"
He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as if embarrassed.
"I needed time to think."
"Or time to avoid Captain Singh?"
Amitesh didn't answer directly.
Instead, he looked toward the next room where the injured soldier was being treated.
"How is he?"
Priyanka's expression shifted slightly.
"Not good."
That wiped the humor away.
Amitesh leaned back against the thin pillow and closed his eyes again, pretending he still needed rest.
After a few seconds, he spoke softly.
"I'm thirsty."
Priyanka glanced toward the nurse standing near the supply table.
Mary,( 22), long black hair tied neatly behind her head, understood the look without words. She nodded and disappeared briefly into the adjoining room.
She returned with a glass and handed it to Amitesh.
The liquid inside wasn't completely clear. It had a faint cloudy tint.
Amitesh raised himself slightly and took the glass. As he brought it closer, a mild sweetness reached his nose.
He frowned. "What is this?"
"Water mixed with ORS," Mary replied calmly. "You're dehydrated."
Priyanka added, "You collapsed, remember?"
Amitesh gave her a brief look but didn't argue.
He took a cautious sip.
The sweetness was artificial, slightly salty underneath.
His body responded immediately, absorbing the fluid faster than usual.
Raktbeej's voice stirred faintly.
"Electrolyte balance correction. Acceptable."
Amitesh ignored him.
He lowered the glass and glanced toward the adjacent bed where the injured soldier lay surrounded by equipment.
The atmosphere in the room felt heavier than it should.
"What's happening with him?" Amitesh asked quietly.
Priyanka's expression shifted.
"He hasn't woken up."
There was something unusual in Priyanka's tone. It wasn't fear exactly, but a kind of restrained concern, the sort that comes when the situation doesn't match medical expectations. She wasn't panicking, which made it worse. She was confused.
Amitesh studied her face carefully. Even with his emotions muted, he could detect irregularities in people's expressions with sharp clarity. Her eyes kept drifting toward the adjacent bed. Toward the injured soldier.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a faint unease surfaced. It wasn't the sharp spike of anxiety he might have felt before Raktbeej altered him. Instead, it was more like a quiet internal signal—an alert that something in the environment was out of alignment.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Priyanka hesitated for a second before answering. "His vitals are stable, but they shouldn't be."
"That doesn't make sense," Amitesh replied.
"Exactly," she said. "With that level of blood loss and trauma, he should either be improving or deteriorating. He's doing neither. It's like his body is... waiting."
The word lingered in the air.
Raktbeej spoke softly inside Amitesh's mind. "The wound was not natural. I told you."
Amitesh's gaze shifted toward the injured soldier. From where he sat, the man's chest rose and fell at a steady rhythm, almost too steady. There was no visible struggle, no fever, no tremors. Just unnatural consistency.
Mary adjusted the IV line and frowned slightly at the monitor.
Priyanka noticed it immediately. "What?"
Mary looked up. "His body temperature just increased by half a degree."
Amitesh placed the glass of ORS on the table beside him and slowly stood up.
The atmosphere in the room felt different now. Not tense in an obvious way, but compressed, like something building pressure beneath the surface.
And this time, the instinctive warning in his mind did not fade.
Amitesh stepped closer to the adjacent bed, his eyes fixed on the injured soldier's unnaturally steady breathing.
Inside his mind, he spoke quietly.
Raktbeej… what is happening to him?
There was a brief silence, as if something was observing rather than answering.
Then Raktbeej responded, his tone analytical rather than amused.
"The creature that attacked him was not merely a mutated animal. It is a carrier."
Amitesh's gaze sharpened.
"Carrier of what?"
"A biological catalyst," Raktbeej replied. "Its saliva contains adaptive cells. Not a virus. Not bacteria. Something more primitive and more aggressive."
Amitesh glanced at the wound again. The tissue around the bite looked darker than before, the edges no longer inflamed but tightening unnaturally.
"What does it do?"
"It rewrites," Raktbeej said calmly.
"Slowly at first. It studies the host's physiology. Then it integrates."
Amitesh felt that quiet internal alert intensify.
"Integration into what?"
"A more efficient organism."
Across the bed, the monitor gave a soft irregular beep before stabilizing again.
Priyanka frowned at the screen.
Mary checked the temperature reading again. "It's rising steadily now."
Raktbeej continued, his voice almost clinical. "The creature you call a 'mutant dog' is not hunting randomly. It spreads through selective infection. Some die. Some transform. This one…" He
paused briefly. "This one is compatible."
Amitesh's jaw tightened slightly.
"How long?"
"Minutes," Raktbeej answered.
As if on cue, the injured soldier's fingers twitched.
Not a reflex.
Controlled movement.
His breathing pattern changed, deeper now, almost synchronized with something unseen.
Priyanka leaned closer. "He's regaining consciousness."
Raktbeej corrected quietly, "No. He is completing the first phase."
The soldier's eyes opened.
They were no longer the same shade.
The soldier's eyes snapped fully open.
They were no longer human.
The pupils had narrowed vertically, and the sclera carried a faint gray tint that spread like ink in water.
Before anyone could react, his body jerked upright with unnatural speed. The IV line tore free. The metal bedframe screeched as it shifted under sudden force.
Mary stumbled back.
Priyanka froze for half a second.
The soldier lunged.
Not toward the exit.
Toward the nearest throat.
Amitesh moved before the others even processed what was happening.
He stepped in from the side and caught the man mid-motion, his hand locking around the infected soldier's neck. Using the forward momentum, he drove him back down onto the bed with controlled force.
The mattress cracked against the frame.
The infected soldier thrashed violently, far stronger than his previous condition should have allowed. His injured leg, which had been immobile minutes ago, now kicked with brutal coordination.
Park burst through the door at the sound of chaos, rifle raised.
"What the hell—"
"Don't shoot!" Priyanka shouted instinctively.
Amitesh tightened his grip. The man's skin felt hot, almost feverish, and beneath it something pulsed irregularly, as if the muscle fibers were reorganizing.
The infected soldier snapped his jaws toward Amitesh's arm, teeth scraping dangerously close.
Raktbeej's voice remained calm inside his mind.
"The integration has advanced. His nervous system is no longer dominant."
The soldier let out a guttural sound that was neither scream nor growl.
Park aimed carefully. "Move, Amitesh!"
"I've got him," Amitesh replied, his voice steady.
The infected man's strength surged again, forcing the bedframe to bend slightly under the strain. The transformation was accelerating in real time.
Mary pressed herself against the wall, trembling.
Priyanka stared at the wound, horror slowly replacing confusion. The bite mark was no longer torn flesh. It was spreading, dark veins branching outward like roots.
Amitesh pressed harder, forcing the infected soldier's head back against the metal frame.
"Tell me what stops it," he demanded internally.
Raktbeej answered without hesitation.
"Total neural disruption."
In simple terms—
Destroy the brain.
The infected soldier's eyes locked onto Amitesh's.
And for a split second—
There was recognition.
Then it vanished.
"Step back. I have to shoot him," Park said, already aiming.
His voice carried no hesitation.
Only procedure.
Amitesh looked at him for a brief second and gave a small nod.
He released his grip instantly and stepped away without argument.
The infected soldier tried to rise again, muscles jerking in violent spasms.
Park adjusted his aim.
One breath.
Steady hands.
Bang.!!!
The gunshot tore through the room, the sound compressing the air in a sharp, violent crack.
The soldier's head snapped backward as the bullet struck cleanly. His body collapsed against the bent frame of the bed, limbs twitching once before going still.
Silence followed.
Not the calm kind.
The heavy kind.
Smoke drifted faintly from the barrel of Park's rifle.
Mary stood frozen, hands over her mouth.
Priyanka stared at the body, her face pale but controlled.
Amitesh watched carefully.
The dark veins around the wound stopped spreading.
The unnatural tension in the muscles faded.
Raktbeej spoke quietly inside his mind.
"Neural disruption successful.
Integration terminated."
Park lowered the rifle slowly.
"For the record," he said, voice tight but steady, "that was not a rescue mission anymore."
No one disagreed.
Amitesh looked at the corpse one last time.
The recognition he thought he saw in those eyes before the shot replayed faintly in his mind.
Muted emotions or not—
Something about it felt wrong.
Outside the infirmary, footsteps began gathering.
The sound of a gunshot inside a secured camp did not go unnoticed.
And this time, there would be questions.
Priyanka looked at Amitesh, her expression firm despite the shock still lingering in her eyes.
"Help me pick up the body."
Her tone wasn't trembling anymore. It was clinical. Focused.
Amitesh stepped forward without replying.
Park had already lowered his rifle and moved aside, giving them space but not turning his back on the corpse.
Together, Amitesh and Priyanka lifted the body carefully. It was heavier than expected, the muscles still slightly rigid from the violent spasms moments earlier. A faint metallic smell lingered in the air.
"Take him to isolation," Park instructed. "No standard ward."
Mary quickly opened the reinforced side room normally used for quarantine cases.
As they moved the body inside, Amitesh felt the residual heat still trapped beneath the skin.
It was still changing, he thought.
Raktbeej responded quietly, "The process was incomplete. Had you waited another two minutes, termination would have required far more force."
They placed the body on a steel table.
Priyanka adjusted the sheet over the soldier's face but didn't fully cover it. Her hands were steady, but her breathing wasn't.
"Lock this room," Park said. "No one enters without my clearance."
A guard moved to seal the door.
The infirmary slowly filled with controlled murmurs as word spread.
A gunshot inside camp meant threat.
Amitesh stepped back, watching the sealed room through the small glass panel.
The veins around the bite mark had stopped spreading.
But they had not disappeared.
Raktbeej's voice lowered slightly.
"This is not the end of it."
Amitesh didn't argue.
Because somewhere beyond the barricades—
The original carrier was still alive.
Amitesh returned to the narrow bed and sat down slowly. The noise in the infirmary had faded into distant murmurs, but the echo of the gunshot still lingered in his ears. He leaned back against the wall and stared at nothing in particular, as if trying to push the last few minutes out of his head.
Across the room, Priyanka stood at the sink longer than necessary. She washed her hands carefully, methodically, scrubbing even though there was no visible blood on them. The running water masked the silence between them.
When she finished, she dried her hands and walked over, stopping beside his bed before sitting down.
"Are you feeling sad?" she asked quietly. "It wasn't really your mistake."
Amitesh kept his gaze forward.
"I'm not sad," he replied.
Priyanka studied him, searching his face for something—shock, guilt, distress. There should have been at least one of them.
"You reacted fast," she said. "If you hadn't held him down, he would have hurt someone."
"I did what was necessary," Amitesh answered.
There was no strain in his voice. No visible conflict.
That unsettled her more than if he had shouted.
"You don't feel anything?" she asked more softly.
He paused before responding, not because he was overwhelmed—but because he was evaluating the truth.
"I remember what happened," he said. "I understand it. But it doesn't feel heavy."
Priyanka frowned slightly.
"That's not normal."
Inside his mind, Raktbeej observed with faint amusement.
"Emotional dampening functioning within projected parameters."
Amitesh ignored him.
Priyanka's voice lowered. "Amitesh… you're not supposed to process something like that this calmly."
He finally looked at her.
"Maybe that's why I was the only one fast enough to stop him."
The answer was logical.
But it did not comfort her.
"Doc, it's not my first time seeing someone dying," Amitesh said quietly. "I know how it looks. I'm not that calm either. Don't worry, I'm not going to lose my mind or start crying."
His tone wasn't defensive. Just matter-of-fact.
Priyanka watched him for a few seconds, trying to read the spaces between his words.
Then she reached out and lightly patted his head.
"Okay," she said gently. "Then don't overthink it. It wasn't your mistake. And on top of that, you saved two people today."
Amitesh didn't react much to the gesture, but he didn't pull away either.
Priyanka interpreted his restraint differently. In her mind, he was carrying guilt. He had brought the injured soldier back. He had tried to help. And in the end, that same soldier had to be shot inside the camp.
She assumed he was blaming himself for not being able to save him.
"You did what anyone capable would have done," she continued softly. "You can't save everyone."
Amitesh looked down at his hands.
That wasn't what was bothering him.
It wasn't guilt.
It wasn't regret.
It was the absence of both.
Inside his mind, Raktbeej spoke with quiet precision.
"You are observing the difference, aren't you?"
Amitesh didn't respond.
Because for the first time since the modification—
He wasn't sure whether this version of himself was stronger.
Or simply less human.
"Move your legs. I need to clean," Mary said, holding a mop.
Amitesh lifted his feet slightly while she worked around the dried blood on the floor. She moved slowly and carefully, as if scrubbing harder would somehow erase what had happened.
The room had finally begun to settle into an uneasy quiet.
Then the door slammed open.
Amitesh glanced toward it and sighed faintly.
For some reason, doors in this camp never opened normally. They were either kicked, slammed, or attacked like personal enemies. At this rate, he considered naming the phenomenon the "hurry slamming effect."
Before he could think further, Veronica rushed in.
She didn't even look at anyone else.
She went straight to Park and wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face against his chest.
"I… I thought I lost you," she said, her voice shaking, tears forming in her eyes.
Park stiffened for half a second, then slowly placed a hand on her back.
"I'm fine," he said quietly. "I'm right here."
Amitesh immediately pulled the blanket up to cover most of his face, pretending to rest again. He had no intention of being visually present during what was clearly a private moment and show his face to Veronica.
After a few seconds, he peeked slightly from under the blanket.
"Mary," he whispered, "can you explain?"
Mary gave him a brief look.
"Park is her husband."
Amitesh blinked.
For once, his emotional dampening failed to suppress pure surprise.
His ears felt like they might actually rise.
He lowered the blanket just a little more to observe properly.
The dynamic suddenly made sense.
The urgency,fear and intensity.
He glanced back at Mary.
"That explains the door," he muttered.