Location: Bangalore | Time: 12:00 PM
Arjun's eyes snapped open. The familiar, faint scent of incense and floor cleaner—his home—hit him, but the silence was suffocating. It wasn't the peaceful silence of a lazy Sunday; it was the heavy, pressurized silence of an empty tomb. He scrambled out of bed, his feet hitting the cold floor as he tore through the house.
"Ma? Ma!"
He checked the kitchen. The tea set was dry. He checked her bedroom. The bed was made with military precision. Panicked, he grabbed his phone, his fingers trembling so hard he almost dropped it. He dialed Aaradhya. When the call connected, it wasn't his friend's voice that answered.
"Arjun? Beta(Son), I'm with Aaradhya," his mother's voice crackled through. It sounded grounded, yet there was a distance in it that chilled him. "We're at the market getting vegetables. You haven't been home for four months, Arjun... who else was I supposed to go with? Life didn't stop because you weren't here."
The guilt hit him like a physical blow. He could hear the exhaustion behind her words—the sound of a woman who had spent 120 nights wondering if her son was dead or alive. "Ma, listen, it's a long story. I can explain everything. I was... I wasn't myself. Please, just come home quickly. I need to see you."
"I can't come back just yet, beta. I have errands to finish. The house needs supplies, and I have to stop by the bank. It'll be evening by the time we're done," she replied, her tone softening just a fraction. "If you're hungry, I've already left food in the fridge. Rajma and rice. Eat, okay? Don't make me worry more than I already have."
"Fine," Arjun whispered, his throat tight with unspoken apologies. "But please... hurry."
He collapsed back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Four months. To him, it felt like he had closed his eyes for a heartbeat in that strange, metallic facility, but to his mother, it was a season of mourning. He just needed to see her, to hold her hand and prove to himself that he was actually back in reality.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated with a sharp, aggressive chirp. His heart stopped as he read the sender: W.S.O. SOCIETY.
"Do not speak of our Society to anyone. Do not forget—we are watching you from every angle. Every word you utter reaches us. Do not fear; we will not harm you or your family as long as you cooperate. Play your part, Arjun. The world depends on your silence."
Arjun's breath hitched. He felt a sudden, prickly sensation on the back of his neck. How? who were these "leaders"? The High Priest with the head of a swaying cobra... Lizzy, with her predatory grace... Bulli, a mountain of a man with the literal face of a bull. It felt like a fever dream, yet the threat was visceral.
If I go back to them, I'll be nothing but a lab rat, he thought, his jaw tightening. I have to take Ma and leave Bangalore. Tonight.
But then, the message echoed in his head: We are watching.
He began to scan the room. He didn't look at the furniture; he looked at the shadows. His eyes landed on a tiny, obsidian-colored speck tucked into the corner of the ceiling molding. It was no larger than a grain of pepper. He moved to the other wall, near the window. Another dot. He checked the living room, the kitchen, even the bathroom mirror frame—they were everywhere.
With a pocketknife, he prying one loose. It was a microscopic lens—a high-definition mini camera with a built-in microphone. He followed a faint, nearly invisible fiber-optic thread through the wall, tracing it back to the main power switch of the house. They hadn't just invaded his life; they had turned his sanctuary into a glass box. Every private moment, every tear he shed for his mother, was being recorded and analyzed by monsters.
Sickened, he replaced the camera exactly as it was. He had to be an actor now. He couldn't let them know he had found their eyes.
An hour later, the doorbell rang. Arjun greeted his three best friends—Rahul, Vivek, and Sameer. They looked exactly the same, yet they felt like strangers.
"Where the hell were you, man?" Rahul asked, shoving him playfully. "After the accident, you just vanished. Your phone was dead. Didn't you miss us? Didn't you even think about your mother?"
Arjun forced a smile, though it felt like his skin was cracking. "Bro... I don't even know where I was. It's like I went to sleep the day of the accident and only woke up today. My head is still spinning."
Vivek laughed, patting his shoulder. "We are just messing with you. Your Ma told us everything—that you had complications from the accident, went back to the hospital, and slipped into a coma. We wanted to visit, but she said the doctors wanted you in total isolation. Anyway, you're back now. Don't overthink it. Just rest."
Arjun nodded, but his mind was screaming. A coma? Total isolation? The W.S.O. had already rewritten his history. They had fed his mother a lie, and she had fed it to his friends. The world he knew was being overwritten by a shadow script.
The evening arrived, and with it, the second doorbell.
This time, when Arjun opened the door, a sea of faces rushed in. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
Confetti exploded, and the small living room was suddenly packed with ten people—cousins, neighbors, and his friends from earlier. Arjun stood frozen. He checked his phone. December 11th. He had lost his birthday to the Void.
Then, the crowd parted.
His mother stood there, holding a cake with flickering candles. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the lines around her mouth were deeper than he remembered. She looked fragile, like a piece of glass that had been shattered and glued back together. She set the cake on the table and simply wrapped her arms around him.
The hug lasted an eternity. She smelled of sandalwood and the kitchen—the smell of safety. She kissed his forehead, her tears wetting his cheek.
"Thank God," she sobbed into his chest. "Thank God you came home today, Arjun. I spent every morning at the temple, begging. I thought... I thought I wouldn't get to celebrate you this year. I thought I'd lost my boy forever."
Arjun buried his face in her hair, his own tears falling freely. In that moment, the hidden cameras didn't matter. The snake-headed men didn't matter. Only this woman, who had waited for him in the dark, mattered. "I'm here, Ma. I'm not going anywhere."
Aaradhya stepped forward, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "You're terrible, Arjun. You went into a coma just to avoid spending money on me!. You're the cheapest guy in Bangalore, Arjun! I want a 5-star dinner tomorrow. No excuses, or I'm calling the hospital and sending you back to that coma!"
The room erupted in laughter. For the next hour, it felt like a normal life. They played music and Arjun blew out the candles on a chocolate cake.
"Why didn't you guys wish me when you came by this morning?" Arjun asked his friends, through a mouthful of cake.
"Your Ma's orders," Sameer grinned. "She said if we spoiled the surprise, she'd never cook for us again. We weren't taking that risk."
The party eventually wound down. The guests left, and the house grew quiet as the city of Bangalore drifted into the humid midnight air. His mother, exhausted but happy, went to her room. Arjun lay in bed, staring at the black dots on his wall, wondering if the people on the other side were laughing at his "happy" family.
Then, a thunderous boom shook the house. It wasn't an explosion; it was the sound of something immense displacing the air.
Arjun bolted upright. The sound had come from the terrace. He heard heavy, rhythmic footsteps. Then, the sound of low, guttural voices speaking a language that sounded.
"Chor (Thieves)?" his mother whispered, appearing at his doorway, clutching her shawl.
Arjun grabbed a heavy cricket bat from the corner of his room. "Stay behind me, Ma. Don't make a sound."
They crept up the stairs, the air growing colder with every step. When they pushed open the terrace door, the sight nearly stopped Arjun's heart.
Floating silently approx eighty feet above their roof was a massive, diamond-shaped aircraft. It had no engines, no rotors—just a shimmering, iridescent hull that seemed to swallow the moonlight.
Arjun ran to the edge of the roof to look at the street below. He gasped. The streetlights were gone. The neighboring houses, the barking dogs, the distant hum of the city—everything was gone. There was no Bangalore. There was only a limitless, terrifying, pitch-black Void stretching out in every direction from the edges of their property.
His mother gripped his arm, her knuckles white, her breath hitching in a silent scream.
"Arjun..." she whispered, her voice trembling with a cosmic terror. "Where is the world?"
The diamond craft began to descend, a beam of violet light hitting the center of the terrace. The nightmare hadn't just followed him home—it had brought the Void with it.