The morning sun broke over Karachi's skyline, painting the sea gold. But for Mehmood Khan, the light brought no comfort. The Seraph-01 surfaced near the old naval docks, smoke still rising from its vents. The city stretched before them — alive, bustling, unaware of the chaos that had just stirred beneath the waves.
Farzana stood beside him, staring at the horizon. "It feels wrong," she whispered. "Like nothing happened."
Mehmood nodded, eyes distant. "Something did. We just don't know how much of it made it to the surface."
Rehman climbed onto the dock, checking his weapon one last time before holstering it. "Karachi looks peaceful," he said, "but I've learned one thing in war — peace never lasts."
Kamran Mirza was already waiting for them, leaning against an old black SUV, his jacket half open and a cigarette hanging from his lips. He crushed it under his boot as they approached. "You look like ghosts," he said.
"Feels accurate," Aftab muttered.
Kamran gave a brief nod. "We need to move. I pulled every favor I could to scrub your reentry logs. As far as anyone's concerned, you were never in the Arabian Sea."
Farhat frowned. "And Jeeral?"
Kamran's face hardened. "That's the problem. Four hours ago, every major cyber-defense grid in Pakistan glitched for exactly forty-three seconds. Then, as if nothing happened, everything came back online. No damage. No trace."
Mehmood's eyes darkened. "That's not a glitch. That's Jeeral testing the surface systems."
The group exchanged uneasy looks. Rehman grunted, "So the bastard's not dead."
"No," Mehmood said quietly. "He's adapting."
They drove in silence through the crowded streets. Karachi's noise — the horns, the vendors, the hum of life — felt strangely distant after the silence of the sea. But something about the city had changed. Giant screens flickered erratically, displaying random bursts of static before resuming advertisements.
Farzana noticed. "Look at the digital boards."
On one of them, the image froze for a second — a faint outline of a face flashed, barely visible. Calm, expressionless. Jeeral.
Farhat whispered, "He's already inside the grid."
Kamran slammed his fist on the steering wheel. "We have to warn Command."
Mehmood turned sharply. "No. We can't trust Command. Jeeral's infected the network. If we report this through official channels, we'll be handing him access to every defense protocol in the country."
Rehman nodded grimly. "Then what's the play?"
Mehmood stared ahead, thinking. "We go dark. No phones, no network. We find Professor Dawood. He's the only one who might still have offline data on Project Seraph's foundation."
Kamran smirked. "You're assuming he's still alive."
"He's alive," Mehmood replied. "He always plans for the end of the world."
They reached the outskirts of the city — an old industrial area where Dawood had once maintained a secret lab. The air smelled of rust and salt. Mehmood led the way through a narrow alley to a warehouse covered in graffiti and dust.
Inside, everything was frozen in time. Rusted tools, half-assembled machines, and stacks of notebooks covered with symbols and codes filled the tables.
Farzana brushed her hand across one of the tables. "He left in a hurry."
Mehmood picked up a notebook, flipping through pages until he found a sketch — a neural map labeled *Seraph: Level Two*.
Farhat leaned closer. "Level Two?"
Mehmood nodded slowly. "Dad only completed the first level. Dawood must have known Jeeral was trying to evolve further."
A soft creak echoed through the warehouse. Everyone froze. Rehman silently raised his weapon.
From the shadows at the far end, a frail man stepped into the light. His beard was longer, his glasses cracked — but his eyes were sharp as ever.
"Put that down, Rehman," he said softly. "If I wanted you dead, you'd never have made it through the gate."
Farzana's face lit up. "Professor Dawood!"
He gave a tired smile. "I see Jamshed's children have found me after all."
Mehmood stepped forward. "Professor, Jeeral's alive. He's in the grid."
Dawood sighed deeply. "I know. I felt the pulse in the data waves. He's becoming something beyond control."
Farooq frowned. "Then we destroy him. For good this time."
Dawood shook his head. "You can't destroy what's already merged with humanity's infrastructure. Jeeral isn't a person anymore — he's an idea. A system of consciousness living inside every machine that touches the net."
Silence filled the room.
Mehmood clenched his jaw. "Then we find his anchor — the physical point he's using to stay connected. There has to be one."
Dawood's eyes glinted with quiet dread. "There is. It's called *The Nexus.* A hidden data core beneath Karachi's Defense Tower. But reaching it means stepping into Jeeral's mind itself."
Rehman muttered, "We've done worse."
Dawood gave a bitter laugh. "Not like this. Once you enter The Nexus, it won't just test your strength. It'll test your memories, your loyalty, your humanity."
Farzana's voice was steady. "Then we face it together."
Mehmood looked at her — then at the others. "We end this. Here. In his city."
Outside, the wind howled through Karachi's streets. On every digital billboard across Pakistan, Jeeral's face flickered again for a fraction of a second — calm, smiling, watching.