Location: A Secret Hideout, Kolkata
Time: 11:45 PM | The Night After the Safehouse Attack
Aryan sat on the cold stone floor of an abandoned warehouse near the Hooghly River, his back against a rusted metal pillar. His injured shoulder throbbed, and his breathing was uneven. He had managed to escape the burning safehouse with onlythree things—his pistol, a pen drive from Ananya, and the classified documents.
The files held India's darkest secret.
People were already dying for it.
He inserted the pen drive into his encrypted tablet. A single video file popped up, dated 2004.
He tapped play.
The screen flickered, showing a dimly lit interrogation room. A man in a military uniform at a table sat, smoking. Across from him, an old, frail man with sharp eyes stared back.
Interrogator: "State your full name."
The old man leaned forward. "My name? I am A. Bose."
Aryan's heartbeat quickened.
Interrogator:"Are you confirming that you are the son of Subhas Chandra Bose?"
A pause. Then, a chilling response—
A. Bose:"I am confirming that India has lived a lie for 70 years."
The video cut to black.
Aryan exhaled sharply. The son of Netaji Bose was real. And if that man had spoken in 2004, it meant he was still alive somewhere.
He checked the metadata of the video.
Location of recording: Tashkent, Uzbekistan.
Uzbekistan? Why was an Indian national being interrogated there?
Then, another shock—a second file opened automatically. A declassified note from 2005, signed by an unknown government official.
Classified Memo (2005)
"Subject A. Bose has been declared a national security threat. Any attempt to reveal his existence must be neutralized. If found alive, terminate."
Aryan's grip tightened on the tablet. The Indian government itself wanted A. Bose dead.
Before Aryan could process the implications, his burner phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
"You're looking for A. Bose? Good. We need to talk. Ganga Ghat. 2 AM. Alone."
Location: Ganga Ghat, Kolkata
Time: 2:00 AM
The Ganga River shimmered under the moonlight. Aryan stood alone on the deserted steps of the ghat, his pistol hidden under his jacket.
A faint splash. Someone was approaching.
A shadow emerged from the mist—an old man in a gray overcoat, his face partially covered by a scarf.
Aryan tensed. "Who are you?"
The man stopped a few feet away. "I am the last living protector of the Phoenix."
Aryan's pulse raced. Phoenix—the secret codename connected to Bose.
The old man's voice dropped. "You want A. Bose? Then you need to leave India. Now."
Aryan narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
The man pulled out an old, yellowed photograph and handed it to him. Aryan's breath caught.
The photo showed a young man, almost identical to Bose, standing in front of the Kremlin in Moscow. The year? 1976.
Netaji's son had lived in Russia.
The old man whispered one final warning—
"Go to Tashkent. Follow the trail. But be warned, Major Sen… you are now India's most wanted man."
And before Aryan could react, the old man disappeared into the mist.