The morning kicked off like any other, honestly—sticky air fogging up the busted windows, rickshaws blaring a symphony outside that'd wake the dead. Arjun got up as quiet as a mouse, not wanting to disturb his mom. She needed her rest way more than he did. He moved through his routine on autopilot, already dreading whatever nonsense the day might throw at him at the delivery hub.
But the second he set foot inside? Oof. The place felt totally wrong. It wasn't the usual circus of shouts and slammed boxes. Instead, the depot was dead silent. You could practically taste the tension hanging in the air. The guys—his so-called colleagues—couldn't meet his eyes, whispering like they were scared someone might overhear. And then there was Khanna, planted at the far end like some angry Buddha, arms crossed, scowl deep enough to get lost in.
"Mehra!" Khanna's voice boomed out, sharp enough to slice through glass. "Get over here."
Arjun made his way over, trying to play it cool, but his gut was already doing somersaults. His System interface—always lurking somewhere in his vision—started pulsing red, practically yelling "DANGER!" at him.
Khanna jabbed a clipboard into Arjun's chest, not gently either. "Three late deliveries yesterday. You wanna explain that?"
Arjun blinked. "No way, that's gotta be wrong. I logged everything on time, check for yourself."
Khanna's glare could have burned a hole right through him. "Records say different. Customers are mad. Packages missing. You think I'm not watching?"
From the corner of his eye, Arjun spotted Rohit—Vikram's favorite lapdog—smirking like he just pulled off the prank of the century. And yeah, it clicked real quick. This wasn't just bad luck. Someone was setting him up, plain as day.
"I—" Arjun started, but Khanna waved him off, all dramatic with his pudgy fingers.
"Save it. One more slip and you're out. Understood?"
Nobody said a word. The air in there was so thick you could chew it. Every guy in that room knew exactly what was up, but nobody was about to stick their neck out for Arjun. Not when Khanna could turn on you just as fast.
Arjun bit back everything he wanted to say. He knew better than to mouth off—it'd only make things worse. So he just nodded, the clipboard suddenly feeling like an anchor, and walked away.
By lunchtime, the "missing packages" drama was depot-wide gossip. Couldn't go anywhere without someone whispering behind their hand or shooting him a look—some were sympathetic, others just took the chance to sneer. That's just how it goes, right? Some people just live for the drama.
Javed found him while he was grabbing a drink, all low-key like they were in a spy movie. "Bro, this isn't your fault. They set you up, man."
Arjun gritted his teeth. "Who?"
Javed shot him a look that basically screamed, "You already know." "Singhania's crew. You embarrassed Vikram yesterday, right? You really think he'd let that slide?"
So, that was it. Vikram's payback, but he wasn't throwing fists or starting public beef—no, this was sneakier. Paperwork, rumors, and slow poison. The kind that eats away at you from the inside.
Later, when he stopped by the pharmacy, Riya picked up on his mood in about two seconds flat.
"You're late," she said, handing over a tiny packet of medicine. She kept her voice gentle, but her eyes weren't buying his "everything's fine" act. "What happened?"
Arjun hesitated, but he wasn't about to lie to her. "They're trying to force me out. Fake complaints, missing records—the works."
Riya's jaw tightened. "But you need that job... for your mom's medicine."
He nodded, voice barely a whisper. "That's exactly why they're doing it."
For a second, she just stood there, silent, hand squeezing the counter like she was holding back a storm. There was so much she wanted to say, you could see it written all over her face. Instead, she just said, "Be careful. They don't fight fair."
That night, Arjun was back in his cramped room, and the System flickered awake, all business.
Alert: Employment Stability – Critical risk detected.
Cause: External interference. Probability of termination: 68%.
Arjun let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. "Awesome," he muttered, sarcasm on full blast.
Query: Do you seek mitigation strategies?
"Yeah," he said, not expecting any miracles.
The options lit up in front of him, like he was on some reality show with the world's worst prizes.
Option A: Confront Khanna.
Success: 12%. Basically, "Please, sir, can I have some more trouble?"
Option B: Go straight to the customers.
Success: 41%. Eh. Maybe buy some time, but probably just paint a bigger target on his back.
Option C: Do your own thing.
Success: 67%. Hard as hell, but maybe the only real way out.
He stared at that third option. Independence. No more Khanna, no more depot politics. But seriously, how was he supposed to pull that off?
Like it could hear his doubts, the System's market module kicked in, spinning up charts and graphs. Turns out, the local medicine supply was a mess—shady deals, shortages, and desperate people. If he could plug that gap, maybe he had a shot. It was risky as hell, but what wasn't?
Money? None. Allies? Pretty much just Riya. Safety net? LOL.
But then, from the next room, his mom started coughing. That settled it. Playing safe wasn't an option anymore.
Meanwhile, up in the Singhania penthouse—whole different world—Vikram was living it up, smug as ever. Rohit came in, all eager.
"Khanna's on our side. By next week, Mehra's done for. No job, no cash. He'll get the message," Rohit crowed.
Vikram swirled his drink, eyes glinting like some cartoon villain. "Don't rush. I want him to feel it every single day. By the end, he'll wish he'd just vanished."
Everyone else laughed, but Vikram just leaned back, soaking it all in, probably picturing himself as the star of his own crime show.
So yeah—Arjun's world was falling apart, but the guy wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.