Mayapuri.
A city carved in illusion. Floating 300 meters above the fractured land, it roared like a god of neon fire once the sun dipped below the horizon. The streets didn't sleep. They throbbed with life — holographic billboards screamed drink offers, music pounded from glass-paneled clubs, and everywhere, laughter mixed with the glitter of credits exchanging hands.
It was a paradise for the rich.
And a fortress for the Dominion.
Nobles strutted down polished skywalks in coats sewn with threads of gold, masks like crystal beasts on their faces. Their words were smooth, their gestures rehearsed. They owned this sky. Or at least believed they did.
Above them hovered the Dominion's eyes — rotating billboards of military might, each one flashing the same face: the Commander. His gaze followed from every screen. People glanced. And quickly looked away. No one said his name aloud.
Across the floating city's eastern edge lay something different: the Air Force Base.
Massive. Clean. Deadly.
Its runways shimmered like chrome, stretching into the sky. Aircraft — shaped like falcons, burning blue and silver — pierced the clouds with every takeoff. They didn't fly. They screamed. Each vessel was sleek, futuristic, a marvel of design. Rumor said they could tear through cities if the Commander gave the word.
Anchal Rathod took it all in from the balcony of their modest quarters. A gift from Robin Rayudu, their reluctant ally. The building overlooked a low-traffic sector, not too rich, not too poor — just enough to blend in.
Inside, her team adjusted to this strange paradise.
"This city's insane," Mansi muttered, dragging her feet across the tiled floor. Her breath was shallow. Her fingers trembled as she pulled off her boots. "Seriously, I think the air has glitter in it."
"You should sit," Suchitra said softly, watching her friend's shoulders slump.
"I should win us dinner."
Mansi winced as she leaned over, placing one hand on her lower back. The muscles pulled. Every movement was stiff.
"I'm fine," she said. "I'm just... tired."
"You've been tired for three years," Suchitra replied, a small, worried crease forming above her brow.
Before Mansi could shoot back, Anchal entered.
"We need a plan."
Everyone looked up.
She gestured at the window, at the glimmering city outside.
"This place is a battlefield wrapped in silk. Opportunities everywhere. But every step we take, someone is watching."
She turned to Mansi and Suchitra.
"You two. Hit the outer casinos. Nothing big. Win enough to eat. Blend in. No alcohol. No showing off."
Mansi raised an eyebrow.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom."
Suchitra just nodded. "Understood."
"I'll stay nearby," Anchal added. "Eyes on you. Always."
Sumit strolled in next, stretching his arms like he just won a wrestling match. Pawan followed, looking more reserved, holding a data slate and ration bar.
"What about us?" Sumit asked. "Surely we're not just backup dancers?"
"You," Anchal said, pointing at them both, "are going to try and infiltrate the Dominion Air Force."
Pawan choked on his water.
Sumit blinked.
"You're serious?" he asked.
"They're recruiting," Anchal said. "I saw it on a local screen. They need pilots. Low training levels required. They assume the nobles are too lazy to fly themselves."
Sumit grinned. "They're not wrong."
"I marked two open entrance points. Minimal checks. You'll look for opportunities, talk to locals, and if they're holding an exam, register."
"You think I can pass a pilot's test?" Sumit asked.
Anchal shrugged. "With enough luck and enough Pawan? Maybe."
"I'm standing right here," Pawan muttered.
"Together," she continued, "you might make a decent Dominion officer impersonation."
Sumit mock-saluted.
"Time to be space soldiers, then."
The plan kicked off the next morning.
Mansi and Suchitra hit two mid-tier casinos just outside the noble zones. Mansi, fragile but sharp, played the part of overconfident adolescent gambler. She never stayed too long. Never drew too much attention. She made them just enough for food and utilities — sometimes winning, sometimes deliberately losing.
She coughed more than once.
One evening, she barely made it back to the room before collapsing onto the floor, wheezing into a mask.
"I'm fine," she gasped.
"You're a skeleton wrapped in sarcasm," Sumit muttered, handing her a glass of water.
Suchitra helped her sit up, silently holding the inhaler ready.
Meanwhile, Sumit and Pawan roamed the outer service sectors of the air base.
They charmed cooks, delivery drivers, and one sleepy mechanic who let them glimpse a simulator log. By the third day, they learned that the Dominion was conducting a small-scale aptitude test — one week from now — looking to recruit young pilots from lesser sectors.
"We're in," Pawan declared as they entered the room that night.
Sumit raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Question."
"Yes?" Anchal asked.
"Will they let me fly if I call the planes 'sky swords'?"
"No," Mansi said flatly, wrapped in a blanket on the floor. "They'll toss you off the platform."
"I'd survive," Sumit said with a grin. "I've got strong legs."
Anchal chuckled. A rare sound.
"We'll prepare," she said.
And so, they did.
For the next few days, the team moved like gears in a perfect machine.
Mansi and Suchitra continued their cautious gambling run. Mansi's health faltered, but her focus never did. One night, she stared down a drunken noble with a perfect bluff, her hands trembling the whole time.
Sumit studied reluctantly, groaning every time a theory popped up.
"This is pilot school, not physics class!" he cried.
"You need both," Pawan replied, flipping pages calmly.
Sumit narrowed his eyes. "You scare me sometimes."
"I scare myself," Pawan whispered dramatically.
Every night, Anchal stood alone on the rooftop.
She watched the aircraft fly overhead. Watched the towers pulse with synthetic light. Watched the Commander's face hover over them all like a curse.
They were inside the belly of the beast now.
And if they played it right, they'd cut their way through it.
Soon, she thought. Soon we reach out to Shivam. Soon the real mission begins.