Super Human
**Location: Mandi, Himachal Pradesh**
**Jatin's Ancestral House**
**Date: December 1941**
The dim glow of the kerosene lamp bathed Jatin's study in a warm, flickering light, casting long shadows across the worn wooden desk. He sat hunched over the Tech System's interface, its translucent blue screen hovering before him like a window into another world. The numbers stared back—150,000 points—a quiet testament to the sweat, ingenuity, and trust he'd poured into Mandi and beyond. Each digit whispered of biogas units humming in dusty villages, of the lake's reborn clarity, of hands clasping his in gratitude. Jatin's chest tightened with a mix of pride and restless hunger. This was no endpoint; it was a launchpad. His gaze drifted beyond the room, beyond the rugged hills of Himachal Pradesh, to the sprawling, fractured tapestry of India—a nation teetering on the edge of something vast, something he could shape.
*Bhartiya Vikas Morcha* pulsed strong in Himachal, its roots deep in the mountain soil, but Jatin knew the wider battlefield was daunting. India wasn't a monolith—it was a mosaic of languages, customs, and wounds, each state a puzzle demanding its own key. Himachal's triumphs—clean water, steady light—were a spark, but to ignite a nation, he needed more than rallies and promises. He needed a web of thriving communities, each a living echo of his dream: an India unbound, self-reliant, proud. "Empower them," he murmured, his voice a soft ripple in the stillness. "Give them the tools, not just the words."
He tapped the screen, navigating to the *Technology Knowledge Store*, its options unfolding like a treasure map. His fingers hesitated over the *Improved Agricultural Techniques Module*—a trove of farming wisdom, from crop rotation to drought-resistant seeds. He could see it: farmers like Ramesh tilling richer soil, their yields doubling, their families fed without bowing to middlemen. But he paused, brow furrowing. "Months," he muttered. "Crops take months—too slow. I need something now." The vision was solid, but the urgency gnawed at him. He swiped the store shut, frustration simmering.
Then his eyes caught on a new tab, pulsing faintly: *Shop*. It hadn't been there before—or had it? He'd crossed 100,000 points weeks ago, but between company expansions and BVM's swelling ranks, he'd barely glanced at the system. Curiosity tugged him forward, and he tapped it, the screen blooming with options that stopped his breath cold.
- *Super Human Serum - 100,000 Points*
*22nd-century creation. Grants peak human strength, endurance, agility, and 10x healing.*
- *Type 99 Rifles Generator - 45,000 Points*
*Produces Japanese Type 99 rifles in four variants: standard, long, paratroop, sniper.*
- *Advanced Quantum Computer - 10,000,000 Points*
Jatin's jaw slackened, the lamp's flicker dancing in his wide eyes. "What the hell?" he rasped, the words tumbling out in disbelief. He leaned closer, as if proximity could unravel the absurdity. Superhumans? Rifles from thin air? A computer beyond his wildest theories? His mind stalled, gears grinding against the impossible. For long minutes, he sat frozen, the silence thick with the weight of what he'd stumbled into.
Then, like a dam breaking, clarity surged through him. His lips parted, a shaky whisper escaping. "My problems… all of them… solved." The pieces clicked—power, speed, force. This wasn't just progress; it was revolution. His heart pounded as he tapped *Super Human Serum*, the screen flashing: *Purchase Confirmed*. A sleek, verdant tube materialized in his hand, its surface cool and humming with a strange vitality. He turned it over, the faint sheen catching the light, and a shiver ran down his spine.
He glanced at the door—open, vulnerable. "Not here," he muttered, rising with a sudden urgency. He crossed the room, the floorboards creaking under his hurried steps, and pushed the door shut, sliding the rusty bolt into place. The click echoed, a small sound that felt like a gunshot in the quiet. He returned to the bed, sinking onto the coarse blanket, the tube cradled in his palms. His breath hitched as he uncapped it, a metallic tang mingling with a subtle sweetness wafting up. "Here goes nothing," he said, tilting it back.
The serum slid down his throat, cool and electric, a tingling wave that spread fast. His vision blurred, the room's edges melting into a soft haze. Dizziness crashed over him, his hands fumbling the empty tube as it clattered to the floor. "Whoa—" he slurred, collapsing back onto the bed, the world dissolving into black.
---
Time lost meaning in the void. Minutes, hours, days—he couldn't tell. A groan scratched his throat as consciousness clawed its way back, his eyelids fluttering against the dim light seeping through the shutters. "What… happened to me?" he croaked, voice rough as gravel. He pushed himself up, slow and unsteady, and froze. His body felt *light*—not weak, but unburdened, as if the air itself buoyed him. He swung his legs off the bed, standing with a grace he didn't recognize, and drifted—almost floated—toward the cracked mirror in the corner.
The reflection stole his breath. Jatin Sharma stared back, but not the Jatin he knew. His frame had hardened, muscles carved with a precision that bordered on artistry—broad shoulders, taut arms, a chest that spoke of power. His skin glowed faintly, a radiant sheen dusting his features. His eyes, once warm but ordinary, now burned with a fierce clarity, sharp and unyielding. He flexed a hand, marveling at the ripple of strength beneath the surface. "Five hours," he said, glancing at the clock—dawn had crept in while he lay in a coma. "Five hours, and I'm… this."
He tapped the Tech System again, the screen flaring to life:
- *Host: Jatin Sharma*
- *Age: 21*
- *Lifespan: 200*
- *Technology Knowledge Store*
- *Shop: Unlocked*
- *Points: 50,000*
"Lifespan… 200?" His voice cracked, a laugh bubbling up. "Two hundred years?" Joy surged through him, wild and raw—who wouldn't revel in such a gift? He paced the room, each step a test of his new vigor, the floor barely registering beneath his feet. His mind raced, plans shifting like tectonic plates. The serum wasn't just a boost—it was a weapon, a key to rewrite India's fate. "No more waiting," he said, his tone hardening. "No more games with the Raj. I'll take independence—by force if I have to."
He scrolled the shop again, eyes locking on *Type 99 Rifles Generator*—45,000 points. With 50,000 left, it'd drop him to 5,000, a gamble that could arm an army. He pictured it: men trained in secret, rifles gleaming, a tide turning against colonial shackles. His fist clenched, resolve steeling. "This is it—the spark."
---
**Later That Morning**
Jatin stepped into the courtyard, the crisp air biting at his newly radiant skin. Raju was there, sweeping the stone path, his turban bobbing with each stroke. He glanced up, then froze, the broom clattering to the ground. "Young Master?" he stammered, squinting. "You… you look different. Taller? Stronger? What's happened?"
Jatin grinned, striding over with a fluidity that startled even himself. "Good morning, Uncle. Let's just say I've had a… breakthrough." He clapped Raju's shoulder, the old man wincing slightly at the unintended force. "Sorry—still getting used to it."
Raju rubbed his arm, eyes wide. "Breakthrough? You're glowing like a devta! Did you find some magic in that box of yours?" He nodded at the house, meaning the Tech System.
"Something like that," Jatin said, lowering his voice. "Raju, I need you to call the crew—Dev, Lila, Arjun, everyone. Meet me here at noon. We're changing course."
Raju's brow furrowed, but he nodded. "Changing how, beta? More machines?"
"More than machines," Jatin replied, his gaze distant. "A fight—a real one. You'll see."
By noon, the courtyard buzzed with familiar faces. Dev leaned against a wall, arms crossed, his blacksmith's bulk imposing as ever. "You look… bigger, Sharma-ji," he said, smirking. "What's the secret—extra dal?"
Lila arrived with her toddler, her sharp eyes narrowing. "Not just bigger—different. Like you've been reborn. What's going on, Jatin?" Her tone was half-curious, half-wary.
Arjun bounded in, grinning. "Sir! You're shining like a film star! Did you eat a sunbeam?" The new hires—Prem, Vikram, and Meena—murmured agreement, their stares a mix of awe and confusion.
Jatin raised a hand, silencing the chatter. "Listen, all of you. You've seen what we've done—water, light, hope. But it's not enough. The Raj won't hand us freedom—they'll choke it out of us, even after '47. I've found a way to take it, not beg for it." He paced, energy crackling. "I'm stronger now—faster, tougher. And I can arm us. Rifles, real ones, to match their steel with ours."
Dev straightened, frowning. "Rifles? You're talking war, Sharma-ji. That's no small thing."
"Not war yet," Jatin said, meeting his gaze. "A force—hidden, growing. We build it quiet, strike when they least expect. You've seen their arrogance—they think we're ants. I'll prove we're lions."
Lila shifted her child, her voice low. "Jatin, I've followed you because you've made life better—my girl breathes easier now. But guns? That's blood, not progress."
Jatin knelt before her, softening. "I don't want blood, Lila. I want freedom—real freedom, not their scraps. This strength—" he tapped his chest—"it's for us, to protect what we've built. Trust me, like you did with the lake."
Arjun's eyes gleamed. "I'm in, sir! Rifles sound exciting—teach me to shoot!" Prem nodded slowly. "If it's for our kids' future, I'll stand with you." Meena hesitated, then murmured, "My brother died under their boots. If you can stop that, I'm yours."
Raju stepped forward, his voice steady. "Young Master, you've never led us wrong. I'm old, but I'll carry what I can. Just tell us how."
Jatin rose, resolve hardening. "We start small—secret. I'll get the rifles, train a few of us first. Dev, you'll forge what we can't buy. Lila, spread word quiet—only those we trust. Arjun, you're my runner. We grow, we wait, then we rise."
The group nodded, a pact sealed in the courtyard's dust. Jatin turned back to the house, the *Type 99 Rifles Generator* burning in his mind. With 5,000 points left, he'd be near broke—but armed. "Time to build an army," he whispered, the serum's power coursing through him, a new India taking shape in his iron will.