The moon hung low over the sprawling cityscape, casting pale silver streaks across the towering glass buildings that shimmered with ambition and deceit. It was past midnight. The roads, once roaring with the echoes of relentless life, now lay in a lull, disturbed only by the occasional hum of a distant car or the soft shuffle of a midnight wanderer. Yet somewhere in the underbelly of the city, a silent storm was brewing—one that would change the fate of a trillion-dollar empire.
Dushiant Rajput stood still beneath the flickering light of an alleyway, dressed in shadows and silence. A man of many talents, trained in the finest institutions, tempered by betrayal and loss, he was now back in the country he once left behind. His heart bore the burden of his best friend's death, and now he had only one mission: to unearth the truth and punish the ones who played god with Saksham's life.
To do that, he needed to vanish—and reappear as someone else.
The man he had his eyes on was named Parth Sinha. A young, promising candidate who was set to join Saksham Industries as a systems analyst the very next week. A man from a small town, Parth had no connections in the city. No one had met him personally, and his job had come through an external recruitment process. The perfect ghost. The perfect mask.
Dushiant had tracked him for a week. He had learned his habits, his tone, his choice of words, even the tiny scar behind his left ear that he got during a bike accident two years ago. And tonight, it was time.
Parth had just left a small internet café in Lajpat Nagar, humming to himself as he looked at the acceptance email from Saksham Industries on his phone. His eyes gleamed with hope, with dreams of a better future.
He didn't see the two men following him. He didn't notice the van that slowed to a crawl beside him. The last thing he remembered was the sting of a cloth pressed against his face and the sweet, dizzying smell of chloroform.
When Parth awoke, he found himself bound to a chair in a dimly lit room, a single bulb swinging slowly above his head. Panic surged through his veins. "Wh–Who are you? What do you want?"
Dushiant stepped out from the shadows, his face calm but his eyes stormy.
"I'm sorry, Parth," he said quietly. "This isn't personal. You'll be safe. But I need your name."
Parth struggled. "W-What are you talking about? Please… let me go."
Dushiant sighed, placing a bottle of water and a sandwich in front of him. "Eat. You'll need your strength. You're going to be here for a while, but you'll be treated well. You have my word."
"But why?" Parth pleaded. "I haven't done anything."
"You're right," Dushiant nodded. "That's exactly why you're perfect."
The next few hours were clinical. Dushiant had prepared everything. Fingerprint molds, identity cards, forged background data—he had hacked into Saksham Industries' hiring database and replaced Parth's photograph with his own. Every trace of Parth's employment trail was now digitally tied to Dushiant.
In a matter of hours, Parth Sinha ceased to exist in the real world—and Dushiant Rajput was reborn with his face.
He wore Parth's clothes, adjusted his posture, even mimicked the slight hesitation in his voice. It wasn't just about the data. It was about performance. Deception. Psychology.
In a room nearby, Parth remained alive, though under heavy sedation. Two of Dushiant's trusted associates—former intelligence officers—watched over him. They weren't cruel, but they were professionals. Parth wouldn't be harmed. Once Dushiant's mission ended, he would be released, relocated, and compensated heavily.
But for now, the stage was set.
As dawn crept over the horizon, Dushiant looked at himself in the mirror. The reflection staring back was unfamiliar, yet familiar. It wore a mask of innocence, of new beginnings. But beneath it, the soul burned with revenge.
He picked up Parth's ID badge, brushed invisible dust from his blazer, and whispered to the reflection, "Time to return home."
The first day of infiltration had begun.
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