The sensation of dying was colder than Vikram expected.
It wasn't the heat of the bullet that had torn through his gut in the back alley of Deira, Dubai. It was the creeping frost of blood loss, the fading noise of the gold souk nearby, and the retreating footsteps of the man he had called 'brother' for ten years.
"Nothing personal, Vikram. The Rathore family just… ties up its loose ends."
Those were the last words he heard before the darkness swallowed him whole.
Vikram Rathore, mercenary, ghost, and the illegitimate son of Mumbai's underworld king, died at 11:42 PM.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION...]
The text didn't appear in his eyes. It seared itself directly into his mind. A brilliant, electric blue against the void of death.
[HOST VITALITY: 0%] [DETECTING SOUL RESONANCE...] [COMPATIBILITY CONFIRMED.] [ACTIVATING PROTOCOL: CONQUEST.]
"What is this?" Vikram tried to speak, but he had no mouth, no lungs. Just consciousness floating in a digital abyss.
[WELCOME, HOST. DEATH IS MERELY A FAILURE OF MANAGEMENT. REBOOTING...]
"Sir? Sir, please fasten your seatbelt. We are beginning our descent into Mumbai."
Vikram gasped, his eyes snapping open. The air rushing into his lungs didn't smell of blood and ozone. It smelled of recycled air conditioning and stale coffee.
He wasn't in an alleyway. He was squeezed into seat 34B of an Indigo flight, surrounded by the hum of engines and the chatter of passengers.
His hand flew to his stomach. The silk shirt he wore was cheap, synthetic, and completely intact. No bullet hole. No blood. He looked at his hands—calloused, scarred, but trembling with a vitality he hadn't felt in years.
A dream? No. The pain was too real.
He looked at the reflection in the darkened window. He looked younger. Perhaps twenty-four, not the thirty-year-old corpse he was supposed to be. But the eyes... the eyes were old. They were the eyes of a wolf that had chewed off its own leg to escape a trap.
[SYSTEM ONLINE.]
A translucent blue screen flickered into existence in the upper right corner of his vision, hovering over the head of a sleeping auntie in the aisle seat.
[NAME: Vikram Rathore] [CLASS: Villain / Sovereign (Locked)] [STATUS: Disowned / Poverty] [ASSETS: ₹4,500 INR] [CURRENT OBJECTIVE: Land in Mumbai. Begin the Ascension.]
Vikram stared at the screen, his heartbeat slowing down to a rhythmic, predatory thud. He wasn't hallucinating. He had seen tech like this in the experimental warfare divisions, but this... this was supernatural.
"A System," he whispered, a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So, the universe has a sense of humor after all."
He leaned back, closing his eyes as the plane banked left. Below them, the sprawling, chaotic, magnificent beast that was Mumbai stretched out into the Arabian Sea. The City of Dreams. The city that had chewed him up and spat him out because he was born to a mistress instead of a wife.
The Rathore family ruled that city. His father, Harshvardhan Rathore, sat on a throne of blood and real estate. His half-brother, the legitimate heir, was likely snorting cocaine off a model's back in Bandra right now.
They thought Vikram was gone. A forgotten mistake living in exile.
[NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: THE GAZE OF DESIRE (LVL 1)] [DESCRIPTION: The eyes are the windows to the soul, but the desire is the key to the leash. Allows the Host to see the primary Desire and Weakness of a target.]
Vikram opened his eyes. The plane's wheels screeched against the tarmac of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport. The cabin erupted into the usual chaos—people unbuckling before the light turned off, rushing to grab bags, the frantic energy of India.
Vikram stood up. As he did, his gaze fell on the flight attendant standing near the exit row. She was tall, maintaining a professional smile that didn't reach her tired eyes.
A small text box popped up over her head.
[Target: Neha Sharma] [Desire: Financial Security / To pay off her brother's debt.] [Weakness: Desperation.] [Conquest Value: 5 CP.]
Vikram paused in the aisle. The world had shifted. It was no longer made of people, emotions, and connections. It was made of data. Levers to be pulled. Buttons to be pressed.
He realized instantly what this meant. He didn't just have a second chance at life; he had a cheat code for human nature.
He walked past the attendant. He didn't speak to her. Not yet. He was a shark that had just entered the water, and 5 CP was too small a meal to start with.
He stepped out of the aircraft and onto the jet bridge. The heat of Mumbai hit him instantly—thick, humid, and heavy. It felt like a suffocating blanket to most. To Vikram, it felt like a warm embrace.
He walked through immigration with the practiced ease of a man who didn't exist, ignoring the customs officers whose heads were floating with tags like [Desire: Bribe] or [Desire: Shift End].
He exited the terminal and stepped onto the curb of the arrivals pickup zone. The cacophony of horns was deafening. "Taxi! Taxi, sir! Andheri? Colaba?"
Vikram ignored the touts. He reached into his pocket, fingering the few crumpled notes he had. Enough for a cab to the slums, maybe a meal.
"System," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the roar of a passing bus. "Show me the path to the top."
[QUEST GENERATED: FIRST BLOOD] [DESCRIPTION: A Sovereign needs a territory. Your old home in the Dharavi slums is currently occupied by the 'Red Scorpio' gang.] [OBJECTIVE: Reclaim your childhood home. Subjugate or Eliminate the localized threat.] [REWARD: 100 Conquest Points, Starter Pack, Unlocking 'Shop' Feature.] [FAILURE PENALTY: Death.]
Vikram lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating the jagged scar that ran down his jawline. He took a deep drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs, mixing with the pollution of the city he intended to burn to the ground.
"Failure penalty: Death," he chuckled darkly, blowing smoke into the humid night air. "I've already done that once. It wasn't that impressive."
He flagged down a black-and-yellow taxi. The driver, an older man with a weary face, rolled down the window.
"Dharavi," Vikram said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a weight that made the driver flinch instinctively.
"It's late, sahib. Dangerous area," the driver muttered.
Vikram leaned in, his eyes locking onto the driver's. [Weakness: Fear of Authority].
"Drive," Vikram commanded softly. "Or I'll find a driver who values money more than his safety."
The driver gulped and unlocked the door.
Vikram slid into the backseat, the leather cracked and smelling of incense. As the taxi merged into the chaotic traffic of the Western Express Highway, Vikram watched the city blur past. High-rise luxury apartments stood next to crumbling shanties. The duality of India.
The Rathores lived in the light. Vikram had been born in the dark.
But darkness was where the predators hunted.
"I'm home, Father," Vikram whispered to the reflection in the glass. "And I'm hungry."