Rebirth of the Devil

The cold night air hung heavy in Lahore as Surya, code name "Devil," navigated the narrow alleys with practiced stealth. The city was alive, yet he remained invisible, a shadow among shadows. His mission was clear—extract critical intelligence about a Pakistani military operation that threatened India's borders. Months of undercover work had led to this moment.

His contact, an informant within the ISI, had set the meeting point in an abandoned warehouse near the outskirts. As he approached, instincts screamed at him—something was wrong. The silence was unnatural. No distant chatter, no rustling of stray animals. His grip tightened on the silenced pistol holstered beneath his jacket.

He stepped inside. The dim light flickered overhead. A single chair sat in the middle of the vast emptiness. No informant. No files. Just a trap.

Before he could react, the doors slammed shut. Gunfire erupted from all sides. But Surya was no ordinary spy. His body moved before his mind processed the danger. He dived behind a stack of crates, pulling out his pistol and firing three quick shots. A scream. One down.

More enemies poured in. He rolled to the side, dodging bullets by mere inches, his instincts sharpened by years of experience. A soldier lunged at him with a knife—Surya twisted, grabbing the man's wrist, snapping it effortlessly before using the same knife to eliminate another attacker.

Blood painted the concrete floor. He grabbed a fallen rifle, taking out more enemies with precise headshots. His mind raced—there were too many of them. This wasn't an ambush; it was an execution.

A grenade clattered near his feet. He barely had time to react as the explosion sent him crashing into a wall. Pain seared through his ribs. His vision blurred. His hands trembled as he tried to lift his gun.

A shadow loomed over him. A man in a black mask, holding a silenced pistol.

"The Devil finally falls," the man sneered.

Surya's mind spun. He had expected betrayals in this line of work, but who had given him up? The ISI informant? Someone from RAW? He had no answers, only the cold realization that his mission was doomed from the start.

He tried to fight, but his body wouldn't listen. The gunshot rang out. Pain blossomed in his chest. His breath hitched. Darkness swallowed him.

---

Then—light. Surya gasped for air, his body jerking upright. The room was sterile, unfamiliar yet eerily recognizable. A classroom. He blinked, his mind scrambling to understand what was happening. The calendar on the wall read a date from ten years ago.

His heart pounded as memories flooded in. He was back—back at RAW's recruitment facility, the very place where his journey had begun.

"Candidate 47, your turn!" a voice called.

Surya turned toward the voice, his instincts sharper than ever. He was reliving his past, but this time, he had knowledge no one else did. The betrayals, the failures, the enemies hiding in plain sight—except, he didn't know exactly who had betrayed him. Only that someone had. And this time, he would find out.

This time, he would change his fate.

This time, the Devil would rise again.

---

Surya took a deep breath and stepped forward. The recruitment process was rigorous, designed to break even the toughest of candidates. A polygraph test, psychological evaluations, and intense physical endurance trials—he remembered them all too well. But this time, he had an advantage.

As he sat for the polygraph test, the officer eyed him carefully. "State your full name."

"Surya."

"Why do you want to join RAW?"

Surya hesitated. The last time he answered this question, he had spoken about patriotism, duty, and honor. All of it was true, but now he knew the deeper game being played. He smirked. "To serve my country and eliminate threats before they reach our borders."

The officer didn't react, but Surya knew he had just left an impression.

The tests continued. Surya aced them effortlessly. The combat trials were laughably easy compared to the life-or-death battles he had faced in his previous life. Every strike, every counter, every move felt second nature to him. His fellow recruits stared in awe as he dismantled opponent after opponent with surgical precision.

Then came the intelligence test. A coded message was placed before him, one that recruits were expected to decipher within an hour. Surya looked at it for less than five minutes before cracking the code. The instructors exchanged glances. This was unheard of.

"Where did you learn that?" one of them asked, masking his surprise.

Surya simply shrugged. "Just a hunch."

As the days went on, he observed everyone closely, looking for familiar faces—those who would later betray RAW, those who would conspire against him. But he didn't have clear answers. Someone had set him up, but he had no idea who.

For now, he kept quiet, gathering information, preparing. He was playing the long game. He had been given a second chance, and he would make sure that this time, no enemy, no traitor, would stand in his way.

The Devil had returned, and he was ready to rewrite his destiny.