The morning began with noise.
Not the chants of the streets, not the frustration of broken phones or dark homes — this noise came from screens, radios, and newspapers. A tidal wave of headlines, synchronized in their venom.
"Aequalis Destabilizing the Nation!""One Man's Hubris — Millions Pay the Price.""The False Messiah: Arjun Malhotra's Failed Utopia."
Television anchors thundered in righteous tones, their voices sharp with manufactured outrage.
"He claimed to free the people," one anchor said, jabbing his finger at the camera, "but look at the reality — higher bills, chaos in utilities, collapsing trust! This is the cost of blind faith in a dreamer who plays god."
On social media, slickly edited videos spread like wildfire: Arjun in mid-speech, his calm face framed with ominous music, words twisted to sound arrogant, uncaring.
"The suffering is good. Let it climb." — taken out of context, stripped of his meaning.
Within hours, hashtags filled feeds: #EndTheExperiment, #MalhotraMadness, #WeWereDeceived.
For ordinary citizens already choking under telecom hikes, the message was simple: this was his fault.
By midday, the second strike landed.
Banks quietly, almost invisibly, froze accounts tied to Aequalis initiatives. Orphanages discovered their weekly stipends suspended. Rural clinics received notices that payrolls had bounced. Farmers waiting for subsidies saw only blank screens.
In a children's home in Pune, the caretaker Priya Singh panicked. "How will we feed them?" she whispered, staring at the frozen account notification. The children tugged at her sari, asking about lunch.
In Jharkhand, a clinic nurse screamed into her phone, "We cannot pay staff! The babies need formula! Release the funds!"
The bank officer sighed, his script rehearsed. "Irregularities flagged. Investigation ongoing. Please be patient."
Panic spread. Rumors flourished: "Aequalis is bankrupt.""The Trust is collapsing."
The Shadow Council smiled.
By nightfall, supply chains buckled.
Trucks carrying wheat were stopped at checkpoints, their drivers bribed or threatened into silence. Shipments of medicine destined for Aequalis clinics were "misrouted." Warehouses storing Aequalis equipment erupted in suspicious fires.
In Uttar Pradesh, farmers sat beside empty crates, staring at withering seedlings. "They promised fertilizer," one muttered. "Where is it?"
In Rajasthan, mothers queued for vaccines that never arrived, watching their children cough in the heat.
The suffering was no longer just digital. It was in bellies and lungs, in dust and sweat.
But the Council was not finished.
In hidden basements and sterile offices across the world, hackers leaned over glowing screens. Their mission: breach Aequalis.
Lines of malicious code snaked into the web like vipers. They targeted dashboards, payment systems, communication nodes. Thousands of assaults launched in synchronized waves, a cyber-tsunami designed to break firewalls and drown servers.
And yet—
Equalizer held.
"Breach attempts: 417. Successful intrusions: 0."
The hackers cursed. They slammed keyboards. They traced firewalls and found themselves staring into endless mirrors. Aequalis' digital fortress didn't just resist — it mocked them.
One hacker whispered to his commander, "It's like… the system is alive."
The Shadow Council's operatives grimaced. "If we can't break the machine, then we break the man."
Courts lit up with noise.
Dozens of lawsuits filed overnight accused Aequalis of monopolistic practices, tax fraud, foreign collusion, violations of trade law. Summonses arrived demanding Arjun's presence in hearings across multiple states.
Politicians called for inquiries. "Who gave him the authority to move markets? Who controls his funds? We demand answers!"
The legal noise was not meant to be won. It was meant to drown, to exhaust, to paint a picture: a man under siege, an empire rotting.
Equalizer displayed the pattern in Arjun's vision:
"Legal harassment intensity: Level 9. Estimated time drain if engaged: 72% operational capacity."
Arjun closed the alert with a blink. He would not play their game.
The attacks turned personal.
Priya received a letter slipped beneath her apartment door: "Stay silent, or your family won't be safe."
Bridge Fellows reported being followed by unmarked cars. Some received calls with nothing but breathing on the other end.
Anil's bank account was hacked — briefly — before Equalizer restored every rupee with surgical precision. Still, the message was clear: we can reach you.
Fear gnawed at his circle. Whispers spread: "Is it worth it? Can he protect us?"
But in the center of it all, Arjun remained calm.
Inside the lodge, the air was heavy. Advisors paced. Priya slammed papers on the table.
"You cannot sit still, Arjun!" she cried. "They are tearing us apart piece by piece. The people are losing hope. We are losing hope."
Anil's voice cracked with fury. "Our name is filth in the press. Our accounts are frozen. Our supplies burned. Even our allies are scared to stand with us. Do you understand? Silence is killing us."
The Bridge Fellows murmured agreement, their faces drawn with exhaustion.
Arjun listened. His expression was stone, his breathing even.
Finally, he spoke. His words were quiet, but they cut the room into silence.
"Not yet."
Priya's voice trembled. "Not yet? They are at the gates, Arjun. They are strangling us."
Arjun's eyes burned, steady and unflinching. "The storm hasn't peaked. Let it. The higher they build the wall, the harder it will fall."
Equalizer pulsed:
"Suppression Index: 92%. Public trust at breaking point."
Arjun whispered: "Good. When they break it, I'll make sure it never reforms."
Across the nation, despair grew.
The Student: In Bhopal, a girl sobbed as her exam portal crashed. She had sold her bicycle for data, and now the servers failed. Her future felt stolen.
The Farmer: In Punjab, a farmer screamed into the dust, his crops drowned by a rain he hadn't been warned of. "I trusted you, Aequalis!" he cried, though in truth it was the cartel's blockade that betrayed him.
The Grandmother: In Kolkata, an old woman clutched her phone, whispering prayers. Each failed call to her son was another cut to her heart. She lit a candle in the dark, hoping he would somehow feel it.
The Worker: In Bangalore, a construction worker raged as his wages vanished in frozen accounts. He smashed his phone, shouting, "False messiah!" before collapsing in tears.
The pain was real. The people blamed what they could see — and what they saw was Aequalis.
In the compound of DALL·E, the Shadow Council toasted with crystal glasses.
"The people curse his name," one tycoon laughed. "His funds are frozen. His supplies sabotaged. His reputation shredded. Soon, he will fold."
A minister smirked. "The experiment is over. Order is restored."
A foreign operative lit a cigar. "We told you. Starve them, and they will strangle their savior with their own hands."
Laughter filled the hall.
But far away, in his lodge, Arjun sat cross-legged in silence.
The noise of lawsuits, the venom of headlines, the cries of the streets — all swirled outside like a storm. Inside, he was still.
Equalizer glowed softly:
"Suppression at maximum. Allies destabilized. Trust eroding. Countermeasures ready."
Arjun opened his eyes. Calm. Steady.
"No," he whispered. "Not yet."
He closed his eyes again, sinking into silence.
The world suffocated. The noose tightened.
And Arjun waited.