ASTRA RESEARCH DIVISION — 0500 Hours IST
The capsule chamber was ready.
Beneath the main floors of the Astra Research Division, the heart of the underground laboratory glowed with an eerie blue hue. Massive hydraulic arms locked the capsule in place—its surface metallic, seamless, almost alien in design. Dozens of cables spiraled into it from the ceiling and floor like mechanical vines.
Behind a reinforced glass wall, a group of scientists observed in absolute silence. Holograms flickered, detailing temperature regulation, kinetic stress thresholds, neural sync patterns—data none of them fully understood. Only one line blinked red on the master terminal: "Subject Not Yet Assigned."
Dr. Meera Kapoor folded her arms.
"Once the final candidates are cleared," she said, "we begin. No second chances."
Above them, security cameras rotated silently. Every move was being watched.
THE PRESIDENTIAL COMPOUND — SAME TIME
In a quiet, high-security room lit only by the glow of a desk lamp, the President of India signed the final page of the Astra Elite Candidate Deployment Agreement. His signature dried as the ink settled into history.
On his table, an encrypted tablet screen displayed satellite footage of a classified training ground. Coordinates redacted. Weather hostile. Location unknown.
He exhaled, leaning back in his chair.
"God help them," he murmured.
BLACK TRAINING FACILITY — CLASSIFIED LOCATION
The sun was a curse here.
It beat down without mercy, turning the sand to blades and the wind to fire. Somewhere in the middle of a dead, forgotten desert—where no roads led, and no satellites dared to linger—stood a heavily guarded compound, camouflaged in the color of scorched rock.
There were no fences here—just isolation. The facility was buried beneath the surface, deep under layers of heat-baked earth. From above, it looked like nothing. But beneath the sand, the monster waited.
Steel doors hissed open into narrow tunnels, every surface sweating heat. The air was dry, but thick. Vents released hot gusts instead of relief. It felt like the mountain itself had been flipped upside down and hell had been planted in its belly.
This was where soldiers were broken.
A place where heat peeled skin like bark, where your sweat evaporated before it touched the ground. The walls didn't echo—they absorbed screams.
This was no training camp.
This was Black Training.
Inside the facility, the air smelled of iron and exhaustion. Concrete walls bore bloodless scars—bullet dents, scratch marks, cracks where fists had broken against them.
Here, the soldiers were no longer cadets. They were numbers.
No names. No past. No future unless they earned it.
These were the Phase One survivors—dozens had entered, only a few had endured.
Where Phase One had focused on brutal physical endurance—20,000-calorie diets, constant exhaustion, days without sleep, and exercises that pushed them past their breaking points—Phase Two was something else entirely.
Now, it wasn't just about building soldiers.
It was about unmaking humans.
A heavy door creaked open at the end of the hallway.
Black boots struck the floor in perfect rhythm. A tall man stepped into the observation deck—black trench coat dusted with snow, eyes cold as carved obsidian. His jawline was cracked at one side from an old, untreated injury, but he carried it like a badge.
Abhishek Ahlawat.
A man the military had once expelled.
A mind the government could never replace.
He stood at the railing above the chamber where the Phase Two soldiers waited—shivering, drenched in sweat, some barely conscious. His lips curled into a smile that didn't touch his eyes.
"These are the candidates?" he asked, voice low, edged with venom.
A junior officer nodded. "Yes, sir. They passed every threshold."
Abhishek didn't even glance at him. He raised his hand—and pointed down.
"Then let's see how many are real."
BLACK CHAMBER — PHASE TWO BEGINS
The chamber beneath him roared to life.
Soldiers were pushed one by one into five isolated zones:
Zone 1 — Graviton Room
A sudden shift in pressure. The floor tilted. Gravity multiplied like a hammer from the sky. Knees buckled, bones screamed. Every movement became war against invisible weights.
Zone 2 — Gas Hall
A pale mist entered the vents. Within minutes, hallucinations began. Voices from childhood. Screams of lost family. The smell of burning homes. One soldier dropped to his knees, covering his ears, begging for silence that wouldn't come.
Zone 3 — Trauma Replay Simulation
A room with no walls. Only memories. Somehow, the system read their minds, projecting each soldier's greatest fear in vivid, disorienting loops. One man saw his own funeral. Another relived a betrayal that shattered his soul.
Zone 4 — The Storm Cell
Artificial lightning danced across a flooded floor. Temperature dropped below freezing. The walls became mirrors, showing twisted reflections that whispered doubts. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one within.
Zone 5 — Isolation Silence Chamber
No sound. Not even breath. Soldiers sat alone in dark cubicles. Time stretched. Minutes felt like days. Some clawed at the walls. Others spoke to people who weren't there.
Above it all, Abhishek Ahlawat watched silently.
No orders. No empathy. Only calculation.
"These are my puppets," he muttered. "And when I pull their strings, the world will burn without knowing who lit the match."
Back in Astra Division, a red light blinked on the capsule terminal.
"Subject Allocation: Pending... Pending... Initializing Neural Sync Calibration."
The machine had started choosing.
And far away, still asleep, Rivet stirred in his bed—cold sweat soaking his pillow.
To Be Continued...