The silence that followed Suresh's collapse was a dense, suffocating blanket, heavy with the stench of irreversible loss. Rajeev didn't scream again. He simply cradled his dead friend's head, rocking back and forth on the cold marble floor. The trauma of Anjali and Anaya's death had been a shockwave; this was the final implosion, leaving behind a vacuum of feeling.
The sheer audacity of the attack—a single, precise puncture wound on the forehead—defied all known logic. It wasn't messy like the accident; it was clinical, a message delivered with chilling efficiency. It spoke to a level of surveillance and execution far beyond a simple hacker or local cult.
Rajeev's eyes, blurred with unshed tears, finally focused on Suresh's cell phone, which lay half-hidden beneath his limp hand. The new notification remained on the screen, now clearly visible to both the living and the dead.
Sender: Anonymous DeathSubject: TRANSFER COMPLETE.
Rajeev slowly reached out and picked up the phone. His fingers, still trembling, unlocked the screen (he knew Suresh's simple PIN). He opened the new message. It was addressed to Suresh.
Mr. Suresh Sharma.
Congratulations. You are now the recipient of the 'Agony Inheritance.'
Your friend, Rajeev Agnihotri, failed to protect you, thus completing his final and most significant loss. The consequence of his failure to prevent the 'already-scheduled event' was fatal.
The game does not end. It simply transfers the burden of survival.
Rajeev is now a Spectator. He is exempt from all future choices and consequences, but he must remain present. His suffering is your backdrop.
Your first choice will be delivered shortly. We look forward to seeing if friendship can succeed where grief failed.
The game is now yours. Welcome to the nightmare.
Rajeev felt a cold, furious surge of adrenaline. They had left him alive—not out of mercy, but as a final, cruel punishment. He was condemned to watch the game unfold, powerless, a ghost in his own life, a living testament to the entity's mastery of despair.
The Unthinkable Call
Rajeev knew the drill now. He had to call Inspector Patil, but this time, he couldn't afford to sound like a lunatic. Suresh's death was real, and it needed to be investigated, but the truth of how he died was lethal.
He called 100, the emergency line. His voice, when it came, was terrifyingly calm, the result of two years spent constructing a mask of composure over an abyss of pain.
"I need an ambulance and the police at my address. Rajeev Agnihotri. My friend, Suresh Sharma, is dead."
"Sir, what is the cause of death? Was it an accident?" the operator asked.
"I… I don't know. He collapsed. There is a small wound on his forehead. I think he was attacked, or maybe a targeted strike from a weapon I don't recognize. Just send them. Immediately."
He hung up. He then looked at the laptop screen still displaying the terrifying text about Mrs. Sharma's scooter. He immediately called her number. It rang several times before her familiar, worried voice answered.
"Rajeev? Beta, what is it? You sound strange."
"Aunty, are you home? Are you safe?"
"Yes, dear, I just got home from the temple. The most terrible thing happened. I was coming back and the engine on my scooter just cut out on the main road at the junction. I had to push it to the side. I'm fine, just shaken."
Rajeev's head swam. The engine cut out. The entity had stopped the scooter, neutralizing the victim, not the truck. The collision was scheduled for the intersection. If Mrs. Sharma had been delayed by even thirty seconds, the truck would have found an empty spot. The entity didn't need a bomb; it only needed to stop the target from being in the right place at the wrong time. His decision to call the hotline was meaningless because the entity was working on two parallel tracks. The loss was always meant to be Suresh.
The Evidence Game
Rajeev wiped his face, then acted swiftly. He knew the police would treat this as a suspicious death and he would be the primary suspect. He had minutes before the sirens arrived.
First, he erased the email from Suresh's phone. He was now the only one who could see the true motive. He then grabbed the laptop, detached the thumb drive, and smashed the hard drive repeatedly with the ceramic lamp, grinding the chips into powder. The digital blueprint of the game was destroyed.
He bagged the blue teddy bear thread, the anonymous envelope, and the threat card. These were physical evidence that could compromise Mrs. Sharma if the police found them.
The front door suddenly rattled. A pounding echoed through the hall. "Police! Open the door, Mr. Agnihotri!"
Rajeev took one last look at his friend. "I'm sorry, Suresh," he whispered. "You saved your mother. I failed you. Now, I will end this."
He opened the door.
The Spectator and the Suspect
Inspector Chandra Patil—the same officer who had delivered the news of Anjali and Anaya's accident two years prior—stood in the doorway, his face etched with weary recognition.
"Rajeev? Not again. What happened here?"
Rajeev gestured calmly toward the dining room. "He's in there. Suresh Sharma. My best friend. He collapsed. I think he was attacked."
The apartment was instantly flooded with uniforms and flashing lights. As Patil's team cordoned off the scene, a forensics officer knelt beside Suresh.
"Cause of death, Inspector? Small puncture wound to the cranium. Very precise. Looks like a high-velocity projectile, possibly from a very small, silent weapon. No weapon found," the officer reported.
Patil turned to Rajeev, his gaze heavy with suspicion. "Rajeev, you were the only person here. You've had a difficult past. We need you to come down to the station for questioning."
Rajeev walked past the Inspector, his composure unnerving. "I'll cooperate, Inspector. But let me tell you this: My friend was playing a game. A deadly one. And I was the one who set him up to lose. You won't find the killer here. They're digital, they're everywhere, and they're laughing right now."
Patil watched him go, noting the chilling, absolute certainty in the man's vacant eyes. He knew Rajeev was telling a truth, but it was a truth no police report could ever document.
The New Player
Hours later, after the medical examiner had taken Suresh's body and the police had processed the crime scene, Rajeev was released, exhausted and emotionally ravaged. He walked straight to the apartment, which now felt enormous and terrifyingly empty.
He was a spectator now. He had no control, no choices, but he had a promise: he would dismantle this entity from the outside, even if it meant risking his own sanity and freedom.
As he sank onto his couch, the phone Suresh had used lay on the coffee table. Rajeev glanced at it. The screen, which he had scrubbed minutes ago, now displayed a fresh, glowing notification. It was a new email, addressed to Suresh.
Rajeev knew he couldn't touch it; he was merely the spectator. The game now required a new action from the new player.
Suddenly, the phone began to vibrate violently. It wasn't a notification—it was a call. An incoming call from an unsaved, private number.
The phone, the game's conduit, lay waiting. Rajeev, the condemned spectator, could only watch.
The call rang twice, then stopped. A text message immediately popped up on Suresh's screen.
Rajeev slowly picked up the phone, holding it at arm's length. The message was crisp, final, and chillingly direct.
To: Suresh Sharma
Your first choice is delivered.
A new life begins now. Answer the next call, or the game ends immediately for both the player and the spectator.
Rajeev gasped, a wave of despair washing over him. The "game" wasn't over just because Suresh was dead; it had become an infectious, parasitic entity, waiting for a host.
He looked around the empty apartment, his focus falling on the only other inhabitant of the flat—the silent, digital witness to all the tragedy.
The phone began to ring again. Rajeev stood up, staring at the cold device, his hands tied by the rules of the monster.
He was the spectator. But who was the player?
He heard a slow, measured creak from the corner of the room, near the shadows of the disconnected smart speaker. A slight, almost imperceptible shift in the air pressure.
And then, he saw it: a small, distorted shadow—the shadow of a child—hovering beside the ringing phone.
Rajeev stared, speechless. The entity had possessed the very object meant to be his friend's final connection to the world.
He watched, horrified, as a tiny, synthetic thread—dark blue, like the fur of Mr. Snuggles—slowly crawled across the surface of the coffee table, settling beside the ringing phone.
The phone rang a final time. And then, the voice. A high-pitched, childish voice, synthesized but clear, whispered from the corner of the room, right next to the phone.
"Answer me, Daddy."
The player was still Rajeev. The entity was merely using Suresh's corpse and the phone as a new interface for the same, devastating trauma. The game hadn't transferred to Suresh; it had simply forced Rajeev to continue playing a new, even more terrifying round as the man who was already dead inside.