Amar spent the day blending into the mundane, his office in Pune a cover for his nocturnal war. By day, he was a quiet consultant, sifting through data, shaking hands, and trading smiles with colleagues who knew nothing of his shadowed crusade. His desk was cluttered with reports, but his mind was elsewhere—on The Man, the proxy of Sound, and the mysterious Messenger who'd slipped into his life like a riddle. Shadows lingered at the edges of his vision, ready to act, as he answered emails and nodded through meetings. Routine keeps me grounded, he thought, his golden eyes scanning a spreadsheet. But the real work begins tonight.
Throughout the day, Ria's voice flickered through his mind, their telepathic bond a constant thread since her contract. Her questions were light, playful, a tether to normalcy. Hey, Chaos King, what's for lunch? she'd teased earlier, her mental tone warm. Don't tell me you're surviving on chai again.
Guilty, Amar had replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. What about you? NGO keeping you busy?
Swamped, she'd said, her excitement palpable. It's growing fast—new volunteers, new projects. We're making a difference.
Now, as evening settled over Koregaon Park, Amar returned to his apartment, the monsoon's drizzle painting the windows. He sank onto the charpoy, shadows curling around him like old friends. He reached out to Ria, his telepathic voice steady. Ria, you there?
Her response was instant, vibrant. Right here, Amar! Just wrapping up at the NGO. You okay? Sound… serious.
Amar leaned back, staring at the ceiling. I've got news. About The Man—the one pulling the strings. He's a proxy of Sound. Uses vibrations, whispers, to control people. Ministers, soldiers, even Malhotra's assistant—they danced to his tune.
Ria's mental voice sharpened. Sound? That's how he's been controlling everyone? Creepy. How'd you find out?
Met someone last night, Amar said, his tone cautious. Calls himself the Messenger. A proxy, or so he claims. Playful, mischievous, like a trickster from old stories. He knew my name, my moves, even about you. Lured me to Shaniwar Wada's gardens, said he's been watching me for months. Wants to be… friends.
Ria's laugh echoed in his mind. Friends? With a creep? Sounds like trouble, Chaos King. You trust him?
Not yet, Amar admitted. But he gave me the truth about The Man's power. I'm meeting him again tonight, same place. Need to know more—where The Man hides, what the committee plans. If anything weird happens with you—strange voices, odd feelings—contact me immediately. His Sound could target you.
Don't worry about me, Ria said, her tone fierce. I'm fine. The NGO's booming—expanding faster than I expected. You vetted the members yourself, remember? All the good ones stayed, the shady ones got weeded out. We're solid, Amar. Focus on your trickster friend.
Amar's chaotic heart warmed, a rare smile crossing his face. Good to hear, Chaos Queen. Keep that fire. I'll check in after the meeting.
You better, she teased. And don't let that Messenger pull one over on you. Stay sharp.
The link faded, leaving Amar alone with his thoughts. He rose, pacing, shadows swirling as he prepared for the night. The NGO's growth was a bright spot—his shadows had probed its members weeks ago, ensuring only the honest remained. Ria's building something real, he thought. A shield against The Man's corruption. But his focus returned to the Messenger. "What do you know, trickster?" he muttered. "And what do you want?"
As midnight approached, Amar donned his dark jacket, shadows gathering like a cloak. The gardens of Shaniwar Wada awaited, and with them, the Messenger's next move. His golden eyes gleamed with resolve, his chaotic heart steady. Time to unravel your riddles. He stepped into the darkness, ready to face the night.