Location: Kolkata, India
Time: 06:15 AM | The Morning After the RAW Attack
The streets of Kolkata were waking up. The scent of fresh chai and fried luchis filled the air as hawkers shouted, selling their morning goods. The city, once the heart of India's freedom struggle, was now Aryan's only hope for answers.
A black SUV moved quietly through the narrow lanes of North Kolkata. Inside, Major Aryan Sen gritted his teeth as his injured shoulder throbbed. His mind was a whirlwind of questions.
"Bose never died. And if this leaks, India as we know it… will collapse."
Those words refused to leave his mind. What did it mean? Who else knew? And why were people ready to kill for it?
His phone buzzed. A new message.
Unknown Number:
"Welcome to Kolkata. Your past and your future collide here. Seek the Phoenix. 12 PM. Sovabazar Rajbari."
Sovabazar Rajbari. The 300-year-old mansion of the Sovabazar royal family—once visited by Bose himself.
Coincidence? No chance.
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Location: Sovabazar Rajbari, Kolkata
Time: 12:00 PM
Aryan stepped inside the grand old mansion. The air smelled of old books, incense, and hidden history. The walls were lined with portraits of revolutionaries—Raja Nabakrishna Deb, Rani Rashmoni, and others.
But Aryan's eyes locked onto one particular painting—a portrait of Netaji Bose, painted in 1951.
Six years after he supposedly died.
A woman's voice echoed behind him.
"You're late, Major Sen."
Aryan turned sharply, his hand instinctively moving toward his pistol.
A woman stood in the dim light, dressed in a simple cotton saree. Sharp eyes, confident stance. Not an ordinary civilian.
"Who are you?" Aryan demanded.
She smiled faintly. "Dr. Ananya Basu. Historian. And the last living member of Azad Hind's secret council."
Aryan's grip on his gun tightened. "Secret council?"
Ananya stepped closer. "You don't know the truth yet, do you?"
Aryan's patience snapped. "Then tell me."
Ananya's eyes darkened. "The files you carry… they're only a part of the truth. The real secret isn't in papers, Major. It's in bloodlines."
Aryan's breath hitched. "Bloodlines?"
Ananya leaned in and whispered one sentence that sent shivers down Aryan's spine.
"Netaji Bose had a son. And he is alive."
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Location: Kolkata Underground Safehouse
Time: 3:30 PM
Aryan sat in a dimly lit room, staring at the files Ananya had handed him. Hidden government documents, old photographs, DNA reports.
A blurry black-and-white photograph showed Bose with a woman in Russia—dated 1953. Another document contained a redacted birth certificate, with a single visible name:
"A. Bose"
Aryan clenched his jaw. If Bose had a son, where was he now?
Suddenly— BANG!
The door exploded.
A flash grenade rolled in. Aryan barely had time to react before armed men stormed inside!
Gunshots filled the room!
Aryan flipped the table for cover, grabbing his pistol. Ananya pulled a hidden revolver from under her saree and fired back.
Two attackers fell.
Aryan walked forward, striking a third man with a broken chair leg. But there were too many of them.
Ananya shouted: "Run, Major! Save the files!"
Aryan hesitated. "What about you?"
She shouted. "I survived 30 years of secret wars. I'll manage."
More gunmen stormed in.
Aryan had no choice. He grabbed the files and leaped out of the window, crashing into a narrow alley. He hit the ground, rolled, and sprinted into the chaos of Kolkata's crowded streets.
Behind him, the safehouse burned.
And Aryan had just one thought:
"Who the hell is A. Bose?"