Continuing from the previous chapter
3 hours later
All the members of the Blizzard gather at a mess hall at the Blizzard headquarters for lunch. The mess hall contains cold metallic interiors a strict silence is observed. A few Blizzard enforcers sit in groups, eating greedily. Vikram, disguised as a housekeeper with an incognito name as “Praveen“, quietly picks a corner table. A plate with chunks of meat, egg yolk, and blood sausages is dropped on his tray with a loud clank.
Loki smirks as he stares at Vikram.
LOKI: New guy, huh? This is your welcome plate. You better finish every bite. Or should I call it a ‘disciplinary’ meal?
Vikram keeps his calm and remains unfazed.
VIKRAM: Thank you, sir. But I have a discipline—eggs and meat only on Sundays and Wednesdays. Today is Tuesday.
Loki leans forward with a mocking smile.
LOKI: This isn’t some yoga camp in the hills. You’re in Blizzard. We chew what’s served. Or we chew you for questioning it.
VIKRAM: I clean the halls, I don’t challenge your rules. But I still follow mine. Let me be useful on an empty stomach if I must. My work won’t suffer.
A silent pause. Other members watch, surprised by Vikram’s composure. Loki slams the table and walks away. Vikram gently pushes the tray aside and sips veg clear soup instead.
VIKRAM: (mind voice only) One wrong bite, one wrong word—and I’m done. I’m here for a mission. Not for a meal.
The next day
Interior corridor outside the punishment chambers. Vikram is pushing a mop cart when he hears a woman’s cries echo faintly. He pauses, looks around, and slowly approaches an open door. Inside, he sees a woman forced to kneel, her saree barely covering her midriff.
Loki snarls at the woman.
LOKI: You think this is a dance hall? Cover yourself. The Thoppul is the gate to moral decay. And you’ve left it wide open!
He grabs a cloth and throws it at her violently. Alongside Loki, Sekar watches, arms folded, coldly amused.
The woman trembles.
THE WOMAN: It slipped… I didn’t mean to—please…
Loki stares at the woman with a cold gaze.
LOKI: You didn’t mean to invite sin? That’s what all seductresses say before the storm. One more slip, and your body will sleep in ice.
Vikram’s jaw tightens. His grip on the mop stick hardens. He nearly steps forward—but stops himself.
VIKRAM: This isn’t the time. Not yet. Rage is fire—use it too early, and you’ll burn everything… including your cover.
The woman is dragged away. Vikram lowers his head, hides his fury, and resumes cleaning the floor as if nothing happened.
The next day
Vikram is now in the residential quarters of the Blizzard where he is sweeping the floors. He walks through the hallway with a soft broom. A door slightly ajar reveals a modest room: a woman in a pink T-shirt and black sweatpants, and her little son who’s not more than 7 years old.
As the woman stands in front of a mirror to take a selfie, her little son approaches her, and lifts her T-shirt up and wiggles his little finger in her navel which causes her to giggle.
Vikram’s heart warms on watching such a wonderful scene.
VIKRAM: (mind voice only) No sermons. No shame. Just comfort. How can they call this sin?
The boy murmurs something and cuddles closer. The mother stirs slightly but smiles and rests her arm around him.
Vikram, with his eyes soft on watching such a wonderful scene, whispers faintly under his breath.
VIKRAM: Don’t move, little one. Don’t let them see. Don’t let them punish what they don’t understand.
He quietly closes the door a little to give them privacy, then walks away without looking back. The air is still, but his heart pounds with quiet fury.
VIKRAM: (mind voice only) I can’t help them now. But I’ll fight for their right to stay this way… when the time comes.
Blizzard’s central incineration zone — a massive furnace where waste, unwanted items, and even evidence are destroyed daily. Vikram, disguised as a housekeeper, pushes a bin of trash. It looks routine. But inside the bin, buried beneath scraps, is a folded piece of parchment, sealed in wax.
He glances around — two guards patrol lazily at the far end. A camera blinks red above the door. He keeps his head down, acting normal. The furnace door is open, a slow hum of fire glowing within.
VIKRAM: (mind voice only) A message doesn’t always fly. Sometimes, it burns — and rises with smoke.
He reaches under the trash, pulls out a tightly rolled parchment wrapped in oiled cloth. Then, from his shirt cuff, he takes a pebble-sized device — a tiny capsule made by Lux, the Flower Storm’s logistician. It’s a smoke beacon that briefly emits a distinct colored ash visible only through filtered scopes.
He shoves both — the note and the capsule — deep into the furnace, pretending to toss trash. He keeps his motion smooth, unsuspicious.
The capsule hisses, then ignites. A barely noticeable swirl of deep green-gray ash floats up the vent — the Flower Storm’s scouts in the outer forest will spot it through special lenses. They’ll know Vikram is alive, alert, and resisting.
Just then, Udhayagiri walks in. Vikram quickly closes the furnace door and nods.
Udhayagiri speaks in a gruffly tone.
UDHYAGIRI: Burn something personal today, new guy?
Vikram smiles politely.
VIKRAM: Just the filth that didn’t belong.
The enforcer chuckles and walks away. Vikram picks up the empty bin and rolls it out, face unreadable but heart steady.
Nice beginning of the mission!
Vikram has to control his thoughts and emotions otherwise he could get exposed as he is in an enemy base. It’s not easy. It’s difficult and dangerous.
I get that!