Purge

Till Sanjay was trying to find the best defense lawyer for his case, an unseen storm was brewing elsewhere.

A heavy storm was gathering over New Delhi, the capital city. The sky, dark and menacing, rumbled with distant thunder, mirroring the tension building within the walls of the Prime Minister's office.

Bhavya Reddy, the Prime Minister of India, sat at her large mahogany desk, her sharp eyes scanning the documents before her. The nameplate on the table bore her name in bold letters: Bhavya Reddy, Prime Minister of India. Despite her composed appearance, the weight of her position pressed heavily on her shoulders.

A sharp knock on the door disrupted the silence.

"Come in," she said, her voice firm yet curious.

Her secretary, Rajkumar, stepped in, his face unusually tense. The deep lines on his forehead and the stiffness in his posture hinted at something serious.

"Mr. Rajkumar, what is it?" she asked, setting her pen down.

Rajkumar hesitated, inhaling sharply before speaking. "Ma'am... it's something huge. Just a few minutes ago, everyone in the country received an email containing a link to a set of confidential documents."

Bhavya's brows furrowed. Releasing any kind of classified document to the public was never a good sign—especially not on a national scale. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the pen as she leaned forward.

"What do the documents contain?" she asked, her voice controlled but laced with urgency.

Rajkumar swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Ma'am... the documents expose a massive conspiracy against India involving multiple foreign intelligence agencies."

He stepped forward and placed a thick file in front of her—easily a thousand pages long. His voice remained tense as he continued, "At the center of it all is Raj Malhotra, the CEO of LunarTech. He has been involved in fraudulent bank loans amounting to nearly fifty billion rupees. The money was funneled into stock market manipulation, all orchestrated under the influence of foreign intelligence agencies."

Bhavya's eyes widened. A cold chill ran down her spine as she processed the information.

Fifty billion rupees.

She shot up from her chair so abruptly that it toppled over with a loud thud. Her breath quickened.

Raj Malhotra? The same man who had backed her during the last election campaign?

Her pulse pounded in her ears. The last major fraud case had been a mere hundred million rupees, and it had sent shockwaves through the country. But fifty billion? This was beyond catastrophic.

She clenched her fists. She couldn't let this reach the public unchecked. If this scandal spiraled out of control, it wouldn't just shake the nation—it would threaten her government, her position, her power.

"Shut it down. Stop it from spreading. No matter what!" she ordered, her voice sharp with desperation.

Rajkumar took a hesitant step back, his voice almost trembling. "Ma'am... it's too late. The documents have already been sent to every citizen. We tried everything, but we couldn't contain it. Even the Intelligence Bureau has been alerted and has already begun an investigation."

Bhavya felt a crushing weight settle in her chest. Her hands, now slightly trembling, pressed against the desk for support.

Rajkumar hesitated before adding, "Ma'am... there's more. Several members of your party have been implicated. The documents include call recordings—conversations that prove their involvement."

The room spun for a moment. The betrayal stung more than she cared to admit. She had known politics was dirty, but this? This was an avalanche threatening to bury her alive.

Rajkumar moved quickly, picking up her fallen chair and setting it upright.

Slowly, she sank back into it, pressing her fingertips to her temples. The storm outside raged louder, as if echoing the turmoil inside her mind.

Her grip on power was slipping, and if she didn't act fast, she would be swept away in the storm.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to think clearly.

"Call for an emergency cabinet meeting. Immediately."

Within minutes, chaos erupted across the country. The news had broken during the day, sending shockwaves through the stock market before anyone could react. Normally, such information trickled down to the general public only after the market had been buffered by countermeasures. But this time, the truth had spread too fast. There was no containment, no damage control—only raw, unfiltered panic.

Mumbai 

In a dimly lit corner of the city, a man sprinted through the labyrinthine alleys of Dharavi, his breath ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum. He wasn't just running—he was fleeing for his life.

Behind him, shadows moved with calculated precision. His pursuers were relentless, navigating the tangled maze with the ease of seasoned hunters. He knew he didn't stand a chance. These weren't just local enforcers—these were professionals. RWA operatives.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air, followed by the ominous click of a gun being cocked.

Bang!

A searing pain exploded in his leg, sending him crashing onto the damp ground. His scream tore through the night as he clutched at his bleeding wound, his fingers trembling with shock.

Within seconds, heavy boots surrounded him. Cold, emotionless eyes peered down as one of the operatives yanked him onto his stomach. A knee pressed against his back, pinning him to the ground, while cold steel clamped around his wrists.

"Target secured," a voice murmured into a concealed earpiece.

A small crowd had gathered, peeking from behind tin-sheeted homes and rusted metal walls. They watched in silence, their whispers blending with the distant hum of the city. But no one dared step forward. They all knew—when men like these arrived, it was best to look away.

New Delhi 

A dimly lit apartment in South Delhi trembled as black-clad BI officers kicked down the door. The foreign operative inside barely had time to react before multiple red laser dots danced across his chest.

"On the ground! Now!" a voice thundered.

For a second, hesitation flickered in the man's eyes. His hand twitched, reaching under the table.

Thud!

A gunshot rang out, the bullet ripping through his wrist. His pistol clattered uselessly to the floor.

Within moments, he was restrained, a black hood pulled over his head as he was dragged away. Another foreign intelligence officer—neutralized.

Kolkata – Port 

At the Kolkata docks, under the shadow of a towering cargo ship, a group of men moved with urgent desperation. They hurriedly loaded crates onto a waiting speedboat, their hands shaking as they worked. Inside the containers were falsified documents, encrypted hard drives, and sophisticated communication devices—the very tools used to infiltrate India's cybersecurity framework.

The plan was simple: escape unnoticed.

But the night betrayed them.

Floodlights blazed to life, flooding the port in a blinding glare.

"Drop your weapons! Hands where we can see them!"

NSG commandos and RWA operatives emerged from the darkness, rifles locked onto their targets. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Then, one of the smugglers made a desperate move.

Ratatatat!

A burst of gunfire cut through the air. The man crumpled, his weapon skidding away. The others froze, their hands slowly rising as the elite forces closed in.

There would be no escape tonight.

Chennai 

At Chennai International Airport, a well-dressed man strode toward the boarding gate, his expression calm, his movements measured. He looked every bit the seasoned American businessman returning home after a long trip. His disguise was flawless.

But as he reached immigration, the scanner beeped unnaturally loud, cutting through the usual airport noise. The officers exchanged glances. Within seconds, uniformed personnel closed in, their movements efficient, their faces unreadable.

"Sir, please come with us."

The man froze for only a fraction of a second. He knew resistance was pointless. He took a slow breath, straightened his posture, and nodded. There was no escape now.

As he was led away, a RWA agent nearby watched with a satisfied smirk. Another one caught. Another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

The operations weren't limited to Chennai. Across India—in Hyderabad, Bangalore, Pune—no city was spared. Hidden agents, spies camouflaged as diplomats, businessmen, even journalists, found themselves hunted, tracked with precision, and either captured or eliminated.

India's intelligence agencies had been patient. They had observed, gathered information, and waited for the right moment. Now, they moved with ruthless efficiency. No foreign operative would be left unchecked.

There was no way out.

While the public had received the scam documents, the classified list of hidden foreign spies was sent to only one person—the Chief of the Intelligence Bureau.

When he saw the email, his first instinct was disbelief. His system had been hacked. Again. But as he read through the details, his shock deepened. The level of infiltration, the undeniable proof—it was beyond anything he had anticipated.

There was no time to wait for bureaucratic approval.

He didn't ask for permission, not even from the Prime Minister. The country was already in turmoil from the scandal. He knew she would be too occupied trying to salvage her own position. And this operation could not afford delay.

He issued the order himself.

"Take them down. All of them. If they're innocent, they'll surrender. If not—no mercy."

What followed would be remembered as the most brutal takedown of foreign intelligence in any nation's history. It wasn't just one country's spies—they had infiltrators from multiple nations embedded deep within India's systems. And now, one by one, they were being uprooted.

They could hide from people, but they couldn't hide from AI.

Iris, the ever-watchful digital intelligence, had already decrypted even the most sophisticated encrypted transmissions sent through satellites. After hacking into global communication networks, it had traced agents, identified handlers, and mapped entire espionage networks. The information was handed over to the Chief of Intelligence, and from there, the hunt began.

As the night stretched on, India's intelligence forces worked tirelessly, ensuring that no foreign power would ever again dare to play with their country's sovereignty.

But this event would not make headlines—not immediately. It would be whispered about in secret meetings, later analyzed in confidential reports. And perhaps, decades from now, a few retired intelligence officers would recount this night on some obscure podcast, revealing the scale of the purge only when the dust had long settled.

Far away, in distant intelligence offices, high-ranking officials were beginning to realize the true weight of their mistake.

They had underestimated India.

The hunter had become the hunted.

And it would take decades before they could regain the foothold they had so easily lost.

P.S: Don't worry the real game just started, there will be more in the future.