The video was only thirty-four seconds long.
That was enough.
It appeared on three platforms within an hour, shared by accounts with no history and usernames that vanished minutes later. No commentary. No captions.
Just footage.
A crowd near the river junction.
A man collapsing.
Arav stepping forward — calm, deliberate, unmistakable.
No shadows visible.
No distortion captured.
Just presence.
By noon, it was gone.
But the damage had already spread.
Ira watched the analytics drop to zero in real time.
"They didn't flag it," she said slowly. "They didn't counter-post. They didn't even deny it."
Arav stood beside her, arms folded.
"They don't need to," he said. "They'll change the frame."
As if summoned, a notification lit her screen.
OFFICIAL STATEMENT RELEASED
Authorities confirm that a bystander attempted to intervene during a medical emergency, complicating response protocols. Public cooperation with trainedpersonnel is advised.
Ira let out a sharp breath. "They turned you into the problem."
"Yes."
"And they didn't erase you," Tiku added quietly. "They rebranded you."
That was worse.
By evening, the comments had shifted.
Not accusations.
Concerns.
Who was that guy?
Why did he interfere?
What if someone got hurt?
The narrative wasn't hostile.
It was cautious.
Reasonable.
And completely manufactured.
"They're not attacking you," Ira said. "They're isolating you."
Arav nodded. "They're testing how much discomfort I can generate before people want me gone."
The summons came an hour later.
This one was official.
Stamped.
Documented.
Impossible to ignore.
You are requested to cease unsanctioned involvement in public incidents. Continued deviation will result in corrective action.
No signature.
No threats.
Just inevitability.
Inside his head, the system acknowledged the escalation.
Public Narrative Influence Detected
Containment Level: Escalated
Variable Classification: Disruptive
Arav exhaled slowly.
So this was the next layer.
Not force.
Reputation.
Ira closed her laptop. "They're going to make people afraid of you."
"Yes," Arav said. "Because fear is easier to manage than truth."
"And if you keep appearing?" she asked.
"They'll tighten the frame until I disappear," he replied.
Tiku frowned. "That feels… illegal."
Arav almost smiled. "It's procedural."
That night, Arav walked alone.
Not to intervene.
Not to observe.
Just to exist — openly, deliberately.
People glanced at him longer than usual.
Some whispered.
Some stepped aside.
The narrative was working.
Inside him, something hardened.
This wasn't about saving individuals anymore.
It was about who controlled the story of reality.
And if the system owned that…
Then truth itself was a containment risk.
Far above the city, Rudra Dhawan read the updated classification and laughed softly.
"Good," he said. "They've finally admitted he's dangerous."
And in the quiet space where memory bent and perception blurred, something else stirred — closer now, more attentive.
Because the moment the system chose to fight with stories instead of force…
It exposed the one weakness it could never fully contain.