Night descended over Karachi like a curtain of smoke.
A convoy of unmarked police jeeps rolled into the desolate industrial zone where the sign Safir Exports (Pvt) Ltd hung crooked on rusted bolts.
The factory looked abandoned — its windows cracked, its silence unnatural.
Inside the lead jeep, Inspector Jamshed adjusted his coat collar against the salt wind.
Sub-Inspector Ahmed gripped his rifle nervously.
Behind them, Major Rehman and Professor Dawood exchanged glances that said everything words couldn't: They'd been here before.
---
The Return to the Ghost
"Last time we came here," Rehman murmured, "there were twenty men. Only three walked out."
Dawood nodded grimly. "That's why whoever revived Safir Exports isn't random. They know the site's history."
Jamshed motioned the team forward.
They breached the main gate silently — Ahmed's flashlight slicing through the dark.
Old machinery stood like corpses under dust.
A faint mechanical hum vibrated from beneath the floor.
"Generator," Farooq's voice crackled over the earpiece from headquarters. "Power source's still active. Hidden basement probable."
Jamshed's gaze sharpened. "Find the access."
---
Descent into the Unknown
Farooq guided them via drone feed, the small quadcopter hovering between beams.
When the camera zoomed in on a hatch disguised under oil drums, Jamshed smiled faintly.
"Good work, son."
They pried open the hatch. A steel ladder descended into blackness.
The air was colder, damp — smelling of oil and something metallic.
Emergency lights flickered on automatically as they reached the bottom.
Rows of crates were stacked with military precision.
Each was stamped: "Project Safir — Confidential Archive".
Dawood whispered, "Impossible… I destroyed these years ago."
---
The Revelation
Jamshed unsealed a crate. Inside were files, surveillance drives, and preserved evidence bags labeled with operation dates—2005, 2006, 2008.
But at the bottom of one box lay something stranger: a mirror shard, mounted in a steel frame, engraved with the Triad Seal.
Rehman stepped back instantly. "The Mirror Arrow Protocol…"
Ahmed frowned. "Mirror Arrow?"
Rehman explained: "An off-record experiment. We tested symbolic messaging through hidden patterns in crime scenes. Someone's now using that method to predict murders."
Dawood added, voice tense: "No — to recreate them."
---
The Message
Farzana's voice came over the comm:
"Abbu, you need to see this. The drone feed caught movement upstairs."
Jamshed raised his weapon.
They hurried up the ladder just in time to see a projector flicker on, casting light on the far wall.
A video played — static first, then an image of a masked figure holding another arrow.
The voice was distorted but chillingly calm:
> "The sins of Project Safir will resurface, one by one.
For every secret buried, an arrow will fly."
The screen went black.
Silence.
Then — a beeping noise from the corner.
Rehman turned. "Trip signal—MOVE!"
---
The Blast
The explosion tore through the warehouse, sending metal and dust spiraling into the night.
Jamshed's team dove for cover as the structure crumbled.
When the smoke cleared, the crates were gone—stolen in the chaos.
Only one thing remained, pinned to a broken beam:
A steel arrowhead, engraved with their old operation number — S-13.
---
End of Chapter 3 — "The Past Strikes Back"
Back at HQ, Mehmood enhanced the final frame of the video.
The masked figure's reflection was visible — faintly distorted in the mirror shard.
Farzana whispered, "He's not just copying the past… he was part of it."
And for the first time, Inspector Jamshed's steady hands trembled ever so slightly.