POV: Kiyan
The universe is glitching.
Not metaphorically.Literally.
Streetlights flicker in synchronized Morse code patterns no one taught them.Dogs howl at corners where nothing stands.I keep seeing faces in reflections that aren't mine.
If this is what insanity feels like, it has excellent production value.
Nivaan walks three steps ahead of me, hood up, hands buried in pockets like he's on a casual midnight stroll and not a fugitive resurrected from a morgue.He looks…fine.
Too fine.
Like he didn't just get stabbed by a mystery woman two nights ago.Like he didn't flatline twice.Like his body forgot how to be broken.
Me?I'm one panic breath away from calling my therapist.Except I don't have one.Because before all this, my biggest crisis was whether my milk tea order was too basic.
Now I'm apparently a supporting character in the apocalypse.
Love that.
We cut through a narrow service lane — damp, ugly, and empty.Or it should be.
Something watches.
I don't see it.But my bones know.You don't grow up on Mumbai streets without learning that sixth sense:Am I alone?Or just unobservant?
Spoiler: never alone.
"Nivaan," I whisper, because subtlety is my only remaining talent.
He stops.Not cautiously.Not nervously.Just…stops.Like his internal GPS hit a checkpoint.
"What happened?" I ask.
He doesn't answer.Instead, he raises his head—and I swear, the air around us bends like heat on asphalt.
Then he says, "We're being followed."
Chills. Full-body.
I spin, expecting shadows.Monsters.Government vans.Batman.
Nothing.
"Well, technically—" I start.
"Three bodies," he says."Two rooftops. One ground."
Bodies.Not people.
Nice.
I swallow a scream.
"And we're not running because…?"
Nivaan finally looks at me.Eyes — too awake, too ancient, too calm.
"Running is an invitation."
Great.We're negotiating with predators.CEO move.
"Okay, cool," I mutter. "So what? We fight? Hide? Pretend we're invisible and hope they respect personal space?"
He keeps walking.I scramble after him because I enjoy breathing.And I'd like to keep doing it.
"Where are we even going?" I hiss.
"A node," he replies.
"A…wifi node?"
My brain's coping strategy is sarcasm.Sorry.
"No."He gives me a look that could curdle milk."An interference node. They built the system around the city. Architecture carries signal. Memory. Control."
I stare."Bro, you're talking like the municipality is running a techno-ghost program on the side."
He shrugs."Wouldn't be the weirdest thing today."
Fair.
We turn into a run-down industrial zone.Looks abandoned.Feels alive.
The building ahead is just… wrong.Factory shell.Broken gate.Dust thick enough to choke a memory.But the windows flicker faint red like dying embers.
Nivaan stops at the entrance.Presses his palm to the wall.
A quiet hum.Like a throat clearing.
A strip of light blooms beneath his hand — tracing veins across the concrete.
I take one step back.Two.Possibly ten.Hard to tell when adrenaline is driving.
"Explain," I say.
"Later," he replies.
Corporate answer if I've ever heard one.
The wall splits — not open…just parts,like it forgot it was solid.
We step inside.
Heat wraps around us.Not physical heat —brain heat.Memories spark behind my eyes:
A hospital room.A woman crying.A key in my hand.
I stumble, grabbing my head.
"What— what was that?!"
"The node reacts to memory signatures," Nivaan says."Yours is…unlocked."
"Unlocked??Bro, I can't even unlock my Netflix profile without forgetting the password—"
But I stop.
Because someone is sitting inside.
On a metal crate.Arms loose.Hood down.
Meher.
She looks like she hasn't slept in three lifetimes.Eyes heavy.Jaw tight.But alive.
Surprise flickers on her face — quickly buried.
"You brought him?" she asks.
"Wasn't optional," Nivaan says.
I raise a hand."Hi. I'm still here. Very real. Very confused."
Meher looks at me like I'm a problem she hasn't decided to solve or destroy.
"We don't have time," she says."There's another hunter in play. He's closer than we thought."
Nivaan goes still."So it's confirmed."
Meher nods."He came to me. In my apartment. No signature. No noise. Nothing in the system."
"He?"I croak.
Meher's eyes lock with mine.And for half a second, I swear she looks scared.
"He knew your name."
My stomach caves in.
"Why mine?! Why not his?! He's the glitchy zombie hacker-asset! I'm a freelance nobody with a cracked phone screen—"
But neither of them laughs.
Great.I'm finally important.In the worst possible way.
Nivaan steps closer to Meher.Too close.Memories of whatever they were tighten the air.
"What did he want?"Nivaan asks.
Meher exhales."He said the key isn't yours anymore."
Silence.Heavy.Final.
Nivaan closes his eyes for a heartbeat.When he opens them — something old burns there.
"He's lying."
Meher shakes her head."He doesn't lie. He doesn't need to."
I raise my hand again."So. Quick clarification.When we say 'key' —we mean…?"
They look at me.
Same time.
Same expression.
Pity.
Meher speaks first."The key is a person."
My brain bluescreens.
"A PERSON?"
Nivaan nods.Meher adds,"And that person doesn't know they're the key."
I feel the universe slide sideways.
"And… just checking—"I point at myself."It's not me, right?"
Neither answers.
Nivaan turns away.Meher looks down.
My heart falls through the floor.
"Oh hell no—NO. NOPE. DELETE ME FROM THIS PLOTLINE."
But before I can spiral fully, the building shakes.Low.Deep.Like the earth is clearing its throat.
Meher snaps up."They're here."
Nivaan grabs my wrist —his hand like ice and fire at once.
"Stay with me," he says.
"No—I wanna go home—I want pizza—I want my normal stupid life—"
Too late.
The factory lights flare red —not like alarms…
Like veins.
The walls pulse.Metal breathes.Shadows move where no shadows should.
A voice echoes through the space —not spoken.Injected directly into thought:
"Found you."
Nivaan steps in front of me.Meher draws her weapon.
I'm shaking.Useless.
But then—something shifts inside my head.A click.A warmth.A door unlocking.
And suddenly —I can SEE something.
A map.Not of the world.Of the room.Of movement.Three figures approaching.Predator-smooth.
The words come out of my mouth before I understand them:
"Left corridor. Two.Right catwalk. One.They're coordinated."
Nivaan freezes.Slowly turns to me.
"How did you—"
I blink."I…don't know."
Meher whispers,"Oh god…It really is him."
"No."Nivaan snaps."Not yet."
But he looks at me like I'm a bomb with a ticking label.
The door bursts open.Figures flood in —silent, masked, precise.
Meher fires.Nivaan moves like his body was designed for violence.The room descends into chaos.
I stand frozen —heart rioting —until one of the masked figures breaks from formation—straight toward me.
I trip backward.He lunges—hand inches from my throat—
And then he stops.
Not by choice.Like someone pushed PAUSE.
His body locks.Mid-attack.Every muscle frozen.
I stare —horrified, confused —as his eyes flicker with static.
Nivaan grabs my shoulder."Don't move."
"Wasn't planning to!!"
But the frozen attacker…slowly turns his gaze toward me.
Not physically.Just the eyes.
And a voice flickers in my skull—coldalgorithmicfamiliar:
"Hello, Key."
My blood turns to ice.
I stumble back.The world spins.Every neuron screams.
Meher shouts —"NIVAAN! GET HIM OUT!"
But Nivaan just stares at me.Like I'm no longer the friend he dragged into hell—but the reason hell is open.
Outside, more footsteps.Closing in.
Nivaan grips my arm.Steel and fear.
"Kiyan—what do you remember?"
I choke on the truth:
"…I think…I've been here before."
His face goes dead white.
And somewhere deep inside the factory—something wakes.
Something old.Something that knows my name.