The desert air in Rajasthan still carried the acrid scent of scorched metal. The Arc Reactor site, once a gleaming beacon of progress, had turned into a somber reminder of how fragile even the grandest of dreams could be. The attack had been swift—mercenaries striking under the cover of night, armed with advanced equipment, ruthless precision, and a singular goal: to halt India's leap into clean, limitless energy.
By dawn, the smoke had lifted, but lives had been lost. Engineers, guards, and even a few villagers who had worked part-time at the site now lay among the honored dead.
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The Mourning Ceremony
Three days later, a solemn gathering was held on the very grounds where the Arc Reactor stood. Rows of white tents shielded mourners from the desert sun. Families of the deceased sat quietly, many clutching photographs, their eyes red from sleepless nights.
At the center of the stage stood K. Shiva Shankar, the 45-year-old CEO of Prithvi Energy Corporation—a humanoid robot in appearance but, to the world, a seasoned technocrat with decades of service. His calm yet authoritative presence commanded respect.
He stepped forward, his voice steady:
> "Those who laid down their lives here were not merely employees or guards. They were guardians of India's future. Their sacrifice ensures that our children will inherit clean skies, flowing rivers, and energy that does not poison the earth."
His words echoed across the assembly. Behind him, large digital screens projected the faces of the martyrs one by one, along with their names, occupations, and hometowns.
As the Indian tricolor fluttered at half-mast, the families received compensation cheques, scholarships for their children, and a personal promise of lifetime medical and housing support from Prithvi Energy. The widows were handed brass urns with soil taken from the foundation of the Arc Reactor itself, symbolizing that their loved ones would forever remain part of India's march forward.
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The Discovery
While the ceremony played out above ground, beneath layers of security and encrypted channels, another story was unfolding. Aarya, Deepak's AI sentinel, had already pieced together fragments of data from drones, satellite feeds, and digital footprints left behind by the attackers.
Shiva Shankar was briefed in private before the event:
The weapons used were NATO-grade.
The encrypted communication logs linked back to proxies operating out of Pakistan.
Several of the mercenaries were confirmed to be former Pakistani Army operatives, funneled into the mission through front organizations.
Shiva Shankar's expression had darkened at the revelation, though outwardly he betrayed no emotion. He carried the weight of representing not only the company but also the silent will of its enigmatic founder, Deepak.
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The Closed-Door Meeting
That evening, after the mourning ceremony, a confidential meeting was convened in Delhi. Seated around the oval table were India's National Security Advisor, senior army generals, and select intelligence chiefs. At the far end sat Shiva Shankar, representing Prithvi Energy.
A general leaned forward, his voice low and firm:
> "We cannot allow this to stand. This was not just terrorism. This was an act of war through mercenaries."
The NSA tapped the table. "The Prime Minister agrees. Evidence collected by your systems"—he gestured toward Shiva—"will be critical in justifying a response."
Shiva Shankar slid a sleek tablet forward. It displayed high-resolution satellite images, intercepted comms, and movement trails leading directly to safehouses across the border.
> "Prithvi Energy will not dictate policy," he said with practiced humility. "But if the Government of India decides to act, we will ensure your forces have the tools they need."
The generals exchanged glances. They knew what that meant—access to cutting-edge battlefield technology, courtesy of a company whose capabilities were still shrouded in mystery to the public.
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The Vow
Back in Rajasthan, under the faint starlight, Shiva Shankar stood alone by the half-repaired Arc Reactor dome. He looked upward, where the structure's lights flickered back to life one by one, as though the reactor itself refused to die.
A single vow left his lips, captured by no camera and heard by no one except the desert wind:
> "For every life lost here, the light of Prithvi will shine brighter. And for every hand raised against us, there will be justice."
What he didn't say aloud—but what everyone who truly knew the shadows behind Prithvi Energy understood—was that justice would not come slowly. It would be swift, precise, and unforgettable.
The desert night grew colder. Preparations were already beginning—not just for security, but for a response that would echo across borders.
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