THE HANGOUT

Arin sighed and picked up the phone 

"Hello, Arin, on this side," He said

"Oh! Hey Arin, Carter here," came the voice

SOMETIME LATER

Arin tightened the strap of his work boots, exhaling slowly.

Five days.

That was how long he had avoided the site, the routine, the weight of what had happened. 

Today, he wasn't going to work. He was going for answers.

Maya had left early for grocery shopping. Arin had heard the door click shut not long after their brief exchange that morning, the lingering scent of coffee marking her absence.

Dad was awake. Though 'awake' might've been an overstatement.

His father sat at the small dining table, with, a half-empty cup of chai beside him. The man was always like this after a night shift—awake in the technical sense, but barely present. His routine was predictable: sip his tea, maybe grunt in acknowledgment if someone spoke, and then retreat to bed for a few hours before the world demanded his attention again.

It was why Arin didn't bother saying much when he laced up his boots and grabbed his jacket. Just a glance in Rajiv's direction, a silent confirmation that his father was too tired.

And maybe that was for the best.

If Rajiv knew he was heading to confront Gaurav, there would've been an argument before breakfast—one he didn't have the patience for.

The walk to the construction site was short but felt longer, the machine growing louder with every step. Workers moved about, carrying beams, operating cranes, shouting orders. Just another day.

Petrov was nowhere to be seen.

Well that's a good thing he thought.

Gaurav's Office

The office was dimly lit, a haze of cigarette smoke in the air . The small fan overhead did little to clear it, its dull hum the only sound aside from the distant clang of machinery outside. Gaurav sat behind his cluttered desk, flipping through blueprints with the ease of a man who had seen too much to be rattled by anything.

If he was surprised to see Arin, he didn't show it.

"You're back," he said flatly, barely looking up. "Figured you'd quit."

Arin stepped inside, his boots heavy against the worn wooden floor. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I came to talk."

Gaurav sighed, finally setting the papers aside. He leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp but unreadable.

"About Petrov?" he asked.

Arin's expression darkened. "You let him off with a slap on the wrist."

Gaurav exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples like a man who didn't have time for this. "No one got seriously hurt."

Arin slammed his palm against the desk, rattling the half-empty ashtray and sending a few stray cigarette butts rolling. "That's not the point, and you know it." His voice was low but edged with fury. "He jumped me. I was on the ground, and he was still hitting me. That wasn't some drunken fight—that was an attack. that bitch tried to kill me."

Gaurav's face remained impassive. "And what do you want me to do about it? I already did what was best and resolved the issue. Rajiv was here when things were done right."

Arin let out a sharp breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You could've done something more. Fired him. Reported it. Hell, at the very least, you could've stood up for your own damn worker."

Gaurav tapped his fingers against the desk, the creases in his forehead deepening. "And what? Get a bigger mess on my hands?"

"You're already in a mess," Arin shot back. "You just don't want to clean it up."

Gaurav's expression hardened. "Listen, kid, I don't like the guy any more than you do. But he's connected. And the kind of connected that makes things messy if I push too hard."

Arin's breath came sharper now. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, but he forced himself to stay grounded. "Messy for who? You? The site?" He scoffed. "You're acting like you didn't make it worse by sweeping it under the rug."

Gaurav leaned forward now, his eyes cold and unwavering. "You think you know how things work, huh?" His voice was quieter now, but there was steel behind it. "I've been doing this for a long time. Do you think this is about fairness? About right and wrong? It's about keeping this site running, keeping these men working, and keeping me from getting buried under the weight of things I can't change."

Arin stared at him, disbelief creeping in.

"Are you even listening to yourself?" he muttered.

" I know you're scared, Arin."

Arin shot a glare.

Gaurav flinched—just barely, but Arin caught it.

Something inside him snapped.

Arin reached across the desk in a flash, grabbing the man's collar and pulling him halfway across the wooden surface. The chair groaned as it scraped against the floor.

Gaurav's hand twitched toward his desk drawer—where Arin knew he kept a rusted old revolver—but he didn't move past that.

"You let him walk," Arin hissed, his knuckles white from how hard he gripped the fabric. "After what he did. After what he could do again." His voice dropped lower, his words sharp enough to cut. "If it was you pressed against the wall and strangled , would you still be preaching about 'keeping things running'?"

For a second, just a second, something flickered in Gaurav's eyes. Guilt? Doubt? Arin couldn't tell.

Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.

Gaurav's expression hardened.

"Let. Go."

Arin held his glare for a moment longer before he finally shoved Gaurav back into his seat, his movements sharp and filled with unspent rage. The man adjusted his shirt, exhaling slowly, but didn't say a word about the outburst.

Arin shook his head, stepping back. "You know, for a guy who used to build ships to reach the stars, you sure don't aim very high anymore."

Gaurav's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

He didn't have to.

Arin had already turned and walked out.

At the site

The construction site buzzed with the usual chaos—workers hauling steel beams, welding sparks flying, the rhythmic pounding of jackhammers drilling into concrete. The air was thick with dust and sweat, but Arin barely noticed. He wasn't here to be part of the grind—he just wanted to grab his tools and get out.

He moved with purpose, navigating through the half-finished skeleton of the structure. The day had been uneventful so far, and he hoped to keep it that way. No surprises. No fights. Just another shift.

As he reached his workstation, gathering his things, he caught sight of Professor Eli Stern approaching from the other side of the site. The man stood out even among the hardened laborers—his posture slightly hunched, his hands worn from work they were never meant to do.

Stern wasn't just another worker.

Once a renowned researcher in biotechnology, a man with prestige and influence, he had been at the peak of his career—until The Shift. The catastrophic event had erased everything he had built—his home, his research, his legacy. Now, instead of shaping the future of humanity, he was here, breaking his back for a meager wage because even his job as a local university professor wasn't enough to keep him afloat. The dropout rates had skyrocketed ever since The Shift. What was the point of education when the future itself was uncertain?

Arin greeted him as the older man approached.

"Hey there, Prof."

Stern gave a small nod, adjusting the sleeves of his dirt-stained shirt. "Arin, how's it going?" There was a trace of concern in his voice, subtle but noticeable.

Arin exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, things seem to be working out for now."

Stern's gaze sharpened slightly. "I heard about what happened."

Arin's jaw clenched at the reminder. "Yeah. Gaurav handled it—for now. But I can't say I'm satisfied. He let that psycho go without much of a consequence, and that just pisses me off."

Stern sighed, shaking his head. "I see… Well, you can't help it, I guess. That Petrov guy gives me the creeps."

Arin smirked slightly, masking his frustration with a weak attempt at humor. "You should watch yourself, Prof. You look like an easy target."

Stern looked momentarily offended before letting out a small chuckle. "You!" he said, shaking his head.

They exchanged a few more words, small talk that neither of them really cared for, and then parted ways.

As Arin neared the exit, his shift almost over, he stepped out into the fading light of the evening. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the site.

That's when he saw Petrov.

The man was perched in the bulldozer, a cigarette dangling from his lips, one hand lazily gripping the steering controls. He wasn't working—just sitting there, smoking, watching.

Their eyes met.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Arin didn't flinch, but he also didn't hold the stare for long. He wasn't looking for another fight—not now. So he broke eye contact, turning his head away, pretending to ignore him.

But Petrov didn't stop watching.

Even as Arin walked past, he could feel the man's eyes on his back, drilling into him like a silent threat. There was something unsettling in his expression—not just the usual arrogance, but a hint of something darker.

Arin knew that look.

Petrov wasn't done with him.

LOCATION: Chinese National Biotechnology Research Institute (CNBRI), Beijing

The Chinese Research Center was a fortress of knowledge in a world drowning in uncertainty. Located deep within a secure facility, its vast laboratories loaded with the sound of high-tech equipment running tirelessly. Researchers in white coats moved between observation chambers, meticulously studying the samples gathered from across the globe.

Inside one of the biosecure greenhouses, scientists huddled around a cluster of mutated crops. Their leaves twisted in unnatural patterns, their stems pulsing faintly under the artificial lights. Some specimens had developed bark-like skin, others bore fruit that smelled metallic rather than sweet. The mutations were getting worse, and they didn't know why.

A group of geneticists, biochemists, and agricultural specialists observed as lead researcher Dr. Liu Feng carefully dissected a mutated corn sample under a microscope. His face remained impassive, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. Beside him, Dr. Natalia Petrova, a microbiologist from the Russian division, tapped impatiently on her tablet, analyzing the latest genetic sequencing results.

"The mutations are accelerating," Petrova muttered, eyes flicking across the data. "The genome edits we've been using to remove mutations are losing effectiveness. The plants keep adapting."

Dr. Rahul Iyer, an Indian agronomist, sighed, arms crossed. "We expected mutations after The Shift, but this… this isn't just random evolution. This is something else."

Liu Feng nodded gravely. "It's not just the crops. Microbial mutations are also increasing. So far, only benign bacteria have been affected, but…"

A heavy silence settled over the group. Everyone knew what he was about to say.

"…there's a real possibility that pathogenic microbes—disease-causing bacteria and viruses—could start mutating the same way."

Petrova exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "Another pandemic. And with the world in its current state, we won't survive this time."

Iyer leaned forward, voice tense. "What's causing it? The radiation levels post-Shift are still fluctuating, but are they high enough to trigger mutations on this scale?"

Liu Feng hesitated before responding. "We have theories. The most accepted one so far is a combination of extreme climate shifts and new forms of radiation that our instruments still struggle to detect. The Shift changed more than just our location in the universe—it altered the fundamental conditions of our planet. The very laws of biology might be changing."

Petrova's fingers tightened around her tablet. "We need immediate containment protocols. If this spreads to human pathogens—"

A voice crackled over the intercom. "The committee is ready for your report."

United Front Committee Boardroom

Inside the high-security boardroom, Zhang Wei, the Chinese diplomat and current head of the UF research committee, sat at the long conference table. His sharp gaze swept across the room, his expression unreadable as the scientists filed in. Beside him sat Arjun Mehta, India's top diplomat, along with representatives from Russia and the African Union. The weight of global responsibility rested heavily on their shoulders.

Zhang gestured for the researchers to begin.

Dr. Liu Feng cleared his throat. "Honorable members of the United Front Committee, we have gathered critical findings regarding the ongoing biological mutations affecting Earth's flora and microbiota."

He tapped a screen, projecting images of the mutated crops and microbial cultures onto the wall. "Our research confirms that mutations are occurring at an accelerating rate. Genome editing has been effective in reversing them so far, but its limitations are becoming increasingly clear. The mutations persist, adapting faster than we can counteract them."

Arjun Mehta leaned forward, fingers interlocked. "And what is the primary cause?"

Petrova took over. "We believe the drastic climate fluctuations post-Shift, coupled with an unidentified form of radiation exposure, are forcing rapid evolutionary changes. These aren't just random mutations; they suggest a kind of forced adaptation."

Zhang Wei remained impassive. "Forced by what?"

Silence. No one had an answer.

Iyer finally spoke. "If this continues, we are looking at more than just unstable food supplies. There is a strong chance that disease-causing microbes will also begin mutating in ways we cannot predict. A new pandemic could emerge—one we might not be able to contain."

The Russian diplomat, Dmitry Volkov, scowled. "You're saying we could have a second global extinction event?"

Liu Feng hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. If the wrong mutation occurs in a viral or bacterial strain, we could see casualties far beyond the 45% global population loss we've already suffered. Humanity is hanging by a thread."

A heavy silence filled the room. The weight of his words settled on every diplomat present.

Zhang Wei exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers together. "What do you propose?"

Petrova didn't hesitate. "Immediate biosecurity measures. Quarantine for any new mutations, stricter monitoring at agricultural sites, and a dedicated task force to study microbial changes before it's too late."

Arjun Mehta nodded. "India will provide manpower and research specialists."

Volkov crossed his arms. "Russia will contribute to containment efforts."

The African Union representative spoke next. "We must secure food sources before another famine breaks out. We will assist in genetic studies."

Zhang Wei listened to them all, then finally stood. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a sharpness in his tone that left no room for debate.

"The United Front will approve these measures immediately. Failure is not an option."

The meeting was over. But the real fight—the one against nature itself—had just begun.

MEANWHILE 

Arin stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his jacket as he prepared for his night out. The plan was simple—meet up with Sayor, drink a little, talk a little, and maybe figure out what to do next about the mess he'd found himself in.

As he picked up his keys, Maya leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You actually cleaned up for once," she teased.

Arin smirked, running a hand through his hair. "Figured I'd remind the world how good I can look."

Maya rolled her eyes but smiled. "Just don't remind the wrong people. You so much as glance at another girl, and I swear I'll kill you."

Arin chuckled. "What if they glance at me first?"

Maya's expression darkened immediately. "Then I kill them."

That shut him up fast.

She sighed, then softened. "Seriously, just enjoy yourself. You don't get to do that much these days."

Arin nodded. "Yeah, I'll try."

With that, he grabbed his wallet and headed out

The bar was lively, the music pulsing through the air as people swayed, laughed, and drank away their worries. Arin scanned the crowd until he spotted Sayor near the bar, already a drink in hand.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Sayor greeted, pulling him into a quick hug.

"What can I say? Gotta keep you waiting to make an entrance," Arin joked, flagging down a bartender.

For the next hour, they drank, laughed, and let loose. It had been a while since either of them had a night like this, and it felt good to forget about reality, even if just for a little while.

But there was still business to be done.

Arin gestured toward the smoking area. "Come on, we need to talk."

Sayor raised an eyebrow but nodded, following him outside. The air was thick with the scent of cigarette smoke, and a few other people stood around, lost in their own conversations. Sayor leaned against the railing, lighting a cigarette. "Alright, what's up?"

Arin exhaled, glancing around before lowering his voice. "It's about the datapad. And Petrov."

Sayor's relaxed expression vanished instantly. "Shit. What happened now?"

Arin explained everything—the incident, Gaurav letting Petrov go, the growing feeling that something wasn't right. Sayor listened carefully, brows furrowed.

"So what's your move?" he asked.

Arin sighed. "I don't know. I could just let it go, but something about this whole thing doesn't sit right. I want to dig deeper, but Maya… she's scared. And she's probably right to be."

Sayor took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Yeah, this isn't the kind of thing you wanna get too deep into without a plan."

Arin nodded. "That's why I need to talk to Yukimura."

Sayor frowned. "The journalist? Why her?"

Before Arin could answer, Sayor suddenly shoved him—hard.

Arin barely had time to register what happened before he hit the ground, Sayor landing beside him. Confused, he looked up—

A man stood over them, gripping a bat in his hand.

Sayor had pushed him just in time—if the guy had swung, it would have connected.

Arin's pulse spiked. This wasn't just a bar fight.

Someone wanted him gone.