The college gates loomed ahead like the entrance to a fortress Veer no longer felt he belonged to. The atmosphere on campus was different today; there was a peculiar tension in the air, a vibration that went beyond the usual pre-exam jitters. Groups of students were huddled together, their voices lowered, casting furtive glances at the massive black SUVs parked near the administration block.
"Did you see them?" a freshman whispered as Veer passed. "The recruiters from the 'Project.' They say the physical exams started this morning in the closed gymnasium."
"My brother says they're looking for 'expendables,'" another replied, his voice trembling. "High risk, high reward. But nobody comes back the same. If they come back at all."
Veer kept his pace steady, his face a mask of bored indifference, though his mind was racing. The "Project" was no longer just a flickering hologram in his bedroom; it was here, manifesting in the real world through polished chrome and men in dark suits who looked like they were carved from granite. He felt the thousand rupees in his pocket—his mother's sacrifice—and felt a wave of nausea.
He found himself wandering away from the lecture halls, drawn toward the older, more secluded wing of the campus where Dr. Khurana's laboratory was hidden. This part of the college was a graveyard of abandoned experiments and rusted equipment, a place where the "Lanths" of the world usually hung out to skip class.
As he approached the heavy oak doors of the lab, a shadow detached itself from the wall. It was Vyom Bakshi, a guy whose reputation for cruelty was only matched by his loyalty to the local student-gang leader, the self-proclaimed "Grand Master." Vyom was a head taller than Veer, with a jagged scar running through his eyebrow and a smile that never reached his eyes.
"Well, well. If it isn't the romantic lead," Vyom drawled, blocking the path. Behind him, two other cronies chuckled, the sound echoing unpleasantly in the narrow corridor. "I heard about your little performance yesterday, Veer. Quite a show. Priya hasn't stopped laughing. She says you looked like a dying fish holding that rose."
Veer felt the heat rise in his neck, the "I am the best" ego inside him screaming to lash out. But he looked at Vyom's heavy boots and the way the gang held themselves—they weren't just bullies; they were the local enforcement for the business rivals who had likely played a part in his father's downfall.
"Step aside, Vyom," Veer said, his voice surprisingly calm. "I have an appointment."
Vyom leaned in closer, the smell of cheap cigarettes and malice rolling off him. "An appointment? With the crazy doctor? You think playing with beakers is going to make you a man? Or maybe you're looking for a way to buy back your family's dignity with a lab technician's salary?"
He reached out, shoving Veer's shoulder. It wasn't a hard hit, but it was enough to make Veer stumble. The cronies laughed harder. "The Grand Master wants this wing clear, Raheja. Whatever Khurana is cooking, it belongs to the big players now. Not to failures like you."
Veer straightened his shirt, his eyes locking onto Vyom's for a fraction of a second too long. In that moment, something shifted. He wasn't looking at a bully; he was looking at an obstacle. A minor bug in the system he was about to override.
"You're right, Vyom," Veer said, a cold, dry smile touching his lips. "I'm a failure. And the best thing about being at the bottom is that I don't have to worry about the fall. Can you say the same?"
Before Vyom could process the remark, Veer side-stepped him and pushed through the lab doors, leaving the confused gang in the hallway.
The interior of the lab was a sensory overload. The smell of ozone was thick enough to taste, and the air hummed with a low-frequency vibration that made the marrow in Veer's bones ache. Dr. Khurana was hunched over a console, his face illuminated by a violet light that didn't look like it belonged on Earth.
"You're late," Khurana said without turning around.
"The bus was slow, and the local wildlife was acting up," Veer replied, walking toward the center of the room where a large, black metallic cylinder stood.
"Did you bring the money for the 'workbook'?" Khurana asked, finally turning. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with a frantic kind of brilliance.
Veer pulled the two 500-rupee notes from his pocket and laid them on the table. "I brought the money. But I'm not buying the book. I'm buying a ticket to Titan."
Khurana looked at the money, then at Veer. A slow, grim nod followed. "It's not enough for a ticket, Veer. But it's enough for the first injection. Once the serum is in your blood, there's no turning back. You won't be a 'Lanth' anymore. You'll be a candidate."
Veer looked at the black cylinder, then at the door where Vyom and the "Grand Master's" shadow loomed. He thought of his mother's tired eyes and the golden hair of a girl who laughed at his heart.
"Do it," Veer said. "I've had enough of Earth anyway."