"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal."                                                                                                                                                                                     -Unknown

"I don't think it's over yet." Rishi murmured, riffling through his wardrobe, searching for something appropriate for the cold day dawning upon him. His hands stumbled upon a black coat, shirt and pants, he pulled them out from the wardrobe in a hurry.

"This should be fine, I guess." He thought.

His hands shook in fear, realization crawled upon him. A mind bustling with thoughts, his life ravaged strip by strip. "How am I supposed to face her?" Wrestling fiercely with the buttons of his shirt, he keeps the top buttons open feeling suffocated. Emotions welling up inside Rishi nearing him to puke, but he gathered some strength and tightened his belt, He found solace in that suppression. He geared himself up by quickly wearing his coat but he stopped for a second, looking at the mirror. Watching himself carefully, straightening his pant, looking for any inconsistency in his clothes. He stares at the coat, brushing it slightly. "I never thought I'll wear the coat you gifted... like this... How am I looking?" He looked up at the ceiling, eyes yearning for something.

"But... there is no running away from it, is there?" Rishi murmured, preparing himself for the inevitable. As he opened the door, a brisk autumn breeze hit his face. The creak of the wooden floorboards marked his first steps outside. The chilly air and weak sunlight , the rust-colored leaves crunching beneath his feet, the distant noise of the fleeting cars, the barren branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, and the crisp air biting through his coat, everything seemed to mock him. The once-vibrant fields were now a dull brown, the roofs littered with fallen leaves. A sudden gust of wind sent a shiver down his spine. "Oh God, is this your way of mocking me? Or are you just reminding me how unlucky I've been... from the start," Rishi said in a defeated tone, brushing the leaves off his shoulders. A petal from a withering Cherry blossom tree drifted down, landing on his face. He grasped it firmly, feeling its fragility.

"I should get going..." Reluctantly, Rishi started walking towards the street but soon he put aside his emotions clouding his judgment. He started running along the street, clenching his fist tightly.

He stopped at the gate of a graveyard. A wave of cries filled with helplessness and desperation fixed him to the ground. The place had no lighting, the dim sunlight being the only source that brought some visibility to this murky, dampened place. He stood still at the gate unable to move, watching his family from a distance wailing and weeping near a grave, his heart aching at this sorrowful sight. It was a funeral, funeral of Rishi's wife, Priya. His father and in laws, standing near the grave helplessly. This was the first time Rishi saw his father crying. "Why did you have to leave me, Priya...." Priya's mother was heartbroken at her loss. Priya was her only child whom she loved with all her heart and her sudden death shook her mother to the very core. "Oh come back to me, my dear Priya.. Please.. God.. help me!" Priya's mother sat their helplessly, cursing her unfortunate fate, begging god for some kind of miracle. The cry of a mother who had just lost her child shook everyone to core, even the people nearby couldn't help but shed tears at this saddening sight.

Rishi's mother, Suparna saw him standing under the tree, her heart torn into pieces seeing her child in pain as well. She asked Mira, Rishi's sister to bring Rishi. Mira could barely stand on her own, she reached out for her mother's shoulder, holding on to it as she slowly stood up. She walked over to Rishi, wiping off her tears. "Come Rishi, mother is calling you." She whispered. "I'm fine here.." He replied. "Come Rishi.... She is waiting for you. She deserves a goodbye." She whispered, clutching on to Rishi's coat. This single sentence shattered his soul. Tears would do no justice as to how he felt in that moment, a million needles piercing through his heart.

With every step he took his shoulders stiffened, wallowing into the sea of sorrow, breath cut short. Struggling to move forward, his feet shaking helplessly while his body turned cold. His mind filled with Priya's memories as he reminisced his time with her. On her grave, he stood still "You.... you lied to me." He clenched his fists, holding his chest tight. He couldn't stand any further, he sat down on the ground gently caressing her grave. "You said.. you won't leave me." His soiled hands embraced his face. His father, Rishabh urged everyone to leave Rishi alone. Mira held her mother and Priya's mother gently, as they cried on her shoulder. They paid there respects and left Rishi alone at the grave. Rishabh, while walking back, patted Rishi's shoulder "Rishi... sometimes it's okay for a man to cry. Now is one of those times.." Wiping off his own tears he joined his family who were leaving the graveyard.

Rishi sat near Priya's grave, he was broken enough before but his father's words surfaced his suppressed emotions.

"I'm sorry... If only I knew.. this could happen..." He lied beside her grave when the rain hit the ground. "I.. If only I was there with you.. I might've saved you..." Rishi covered his face with his arms as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Thank you God.. I can cry now" That was the first time Rishi had cried since his middle school days. "Priya... come back to me... please, we promised... we were going to buy our house right? Priya... stay with me." He let out a desperate cry. Strong winds accompanied the rain and quickly the weather changed, it became much more violent. "Look Priya.. even the Earth is mourning your loss." He whispered in a broken voice.

After half an hour of helpless screams, desperate begging and crying Rishi finally strengthened his heart. He wiped off his tears and swore never to cry again on Priya's loss. He was still holding onto the cherry blossom petal, which, as a way to pay his respect, Rishi buried alongside Priya's grave. He couldn't stand the sight of her grave any further. Every minute that passed by in that place weakened his will, so he decided to walk back home despite the violent winds and downpour.

The weather soon turned into a thunderstorm but Rishi, who was on the street now, was least bothered about himself, all he thought was Priya. "Oh.. look Priya.. the house we promised we would buy..." He pointed out towards a barren land, no house in sight whatsoever. "So like us" He said with a low laugh, after walking a little he heard a couple arguing in some nearby house and sighed "and then I would cook your favourite meal.. Rajma.. to make up to you." Priya was all that was on Rishi's mind.. He was reliving the memories he made with Priya and it was hard for him to come at terms with her demise.

All of a sudden, a blinding light pierced through the street, wrenching Rishi from his memories. He shielded his eyes, squinting against the sudden glare. The world seemed to blur around him as the screeching of tires filled the air, mingling with the gasps and shouts of onlookers.

Rishi stumbled forward, lost in his thoughts, barely noticing the speeding car hurtling towards him. The piercing sound of a car horn yanked him back to reality, but it was too late. The car swerved, trying to avoid him, but the icy pavement betrayed both their intentions.

The impact was brutal. Rishi felt himself lifted off his feet, the force of the collision sending him crashing onto the cold, hard ground. Pain erupted through his body, sharp and immediate. He tried to scream, but the air was knocked out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath.

The world spun around him, the cold seeping into his bones. He lay on the ground, disoriented, his vision blurred. The car that hit him skidded to a halt a few meters away, its front bumper crumpled and steaming. People rushed over, their faces masks of horror and concern.

"Someone call an ambulance!" a woman shouted, her voice trembling. "He's hurt badly!"

Rishi's mind raced, a chaotic mix of pain and confusion. He could hear the distant wail of sirens, growing louder with each passing second. The icy rain continued to fall, mingling with the blood trickling down his face, washing away any warmth he had left.

Through the haze of pain, he saw a pair of shoes come into view. A man knelt beside him, his hands trembling as he reached out. "Hang in there, buddy. Help is on the way," the man said, his voice strained. Rishi tried to respond, but his body refused to obey. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, a small comfort in the midst of his agony. As the sirens grew closer, the world around him started to fade, the sounds and sights blurring together. The last thing he saw before everything went dark was a small crowd gathering around him, their faces etched with fear and concern. And then, nothing.

In the previous chapter, we saw....

Rishi, devastated by Priya's death, struggles through her funeral, his heartache palpable as he breaks down at her grave, wrestling with the profound loss and memories. Consumed by grief and inner turmoil, he questions how to move forward without her. Leaving the graveyard, he is struck by a car, brutally injured and left disoriented on the cold, wet ground. Strangers rush to help, their faces filled with concern. As darkness overtakes him, Rishi's fate hangs in the balance, leaving us to wonder: Will he survive this tragedy, and how will it change him if he does?

The chapter starts from here....

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."

                                                                                                    - Albert Camus

"Huh? Where am I?" Rishi whispered, his voice barely audible in the painful silence. He lay motionless, shrouded in a white sheet, surrounded by the sterile gleam of medical equipment in a sparse, hospital-like room. The air was heavy with the overpowering scent of antiseptics. A slender tube snaked from his hand to a bag of glucose, its contents dripping steadily, while the soft hum of machinery provided a constant, eerie background whisper. Rishi tried to sit up but found his legs unresponsive. Panic surged through him. "Why can't I move my legs?" His voice trembled. He struggled against the sheet, trying to get up from the bed. In his haste, his hand slipped off the side of the bed, slamming into a nearby table.

The metal flask on the table toppled over, falling on the floor with a loud, jarring sound that shattered the quietness surrounding the room. The noise echoed down the hallway upon hearing which someone started approaching the room. Rishi's heart raced as he heard footsteps nearing. He tried to get up again, his arms straining to lift his body, but his legs refused to cooperate. "Come on, come on!" he muttered through gritted teeth in frustration.

Sweat dripped down his face as the footsteps drew near, their firm footsteps signaling an imminent arrival. Rishi grabbed a syringe from the table and held it in his hand, hiding it behind himself. The door slowly opened and a middle aged man in a black beard wearing a maroon shirt and a cream coloured pant entered the room. He saw the mess Rishi had made of the room and sighed "What are you doing, Mister?" he entered the room and closed the gate.

"Who" Rishi stuttered "Who are you?" Rishi continued. The man replied "Me? I'm just an old man troubled with the world.. but that's not you want to know right, young man?" He sat down on the ground, picking up the flask. "My name is Ravi, 45 years old, and I live here.... alone." He continued, putting the flask on the table. "My turn now young man, who may you be?" Ravi asked Rishi noticing the syringe Rishi was holding in his hand. He walked back slightly, maintaining a safe distance before he looked at him again waiting for his response. "I'm Rishi.. 25 year old" Rishi replied hesitantly.

"I see.. young men these days are pretty violent, aren't they?" Ravi gazed at Rishi's hands holding the syringe tight. "I would be pleased, if you put that syringe on the table, mister." Ravi continued in a surprisingly calm tone. Rishi felt embarrassed on being caught by Ravi. He reluctantly moved his hand towards the table. "Don't worry, I'm no threat to you" Ravi said in an assuring tone but continued further taking an intimidating stance. "unless... you are a threat to me" Rishi felt fear seeping through his veins. He immediately dropped the pencil on the table and sat quietly.

"Good... stay obedient like this." Ravi responded affirmatively, picking up the pencil and throwing it away in the dustbin. "I have a few questions for you, mister. If you'll be generous enough to answer, I'll be glad." Ravi's tone was serious and stern, despite his polite phrasing. Rishi nodded silently, not daring to speak.

"So, why were you lying at my doorstep, all wounded?" Ravi asked, his gaze piercing.

"At your doorstep... I don't remember, Mr. Ravi," Rishi stammered, his voice trembling. He didn't want to say anything that might anger Ravi. Hearing his response, Ravi sighed and posed another question. "What do you remember last?"

"I-I..." A wave of sudden desperation and sadness washed Rishi's face. He gritted his teeth, summoning the strength to move his jaw and reply to Ravi. "The last thing I remember is attending my wife Priya's funeral. I was heading home in a thunderstorm, and then there was a heavy downpour, and I got caught up in an accident," Rishi replied, slowly gathering himself. "I remember lying on the road, hearing people calling for an ambulance. That's all I can recall." He finished speaking, his hands trembling as he recollected the memories of the traumatic events.

"Life is unpredictable young man, and losing people is inevitable. Infact, one can argue that life is nothing but an act of letting go. Though sorrow is natural, it is temporary. One must always strive to keep the mind and heart looking forward." Ravi walked over to Rishi, sitting beside him on the bed as he patted his back. He couldn't help but feel sorry for Rishi. Rishi looked at Ravi with eyes filled with admiration. "I suppose so.. but letting someone so dear go. It's hard." Rishi whispered in a breaking voice.

"True, letting go is painful. But you know what's more painful, mister? Reliving the same pain, again and again. When you wake up and look for them beside you, when you cook breakfast for two people out of habit, when you rush back home only to realize nobody is waiting for you anymore. And what's worse? When this dumb brain of ours purposely show their memories." Ravi replied to Rishi while getting up from the bed. He opened the window to let the sunlight venture into the dark room. The warmth of the sun invading the cold room, the gentle breeze and chirping birds lifted the dampened mood of the room. "Be an open window kid.. there are plenty of closed ones out there." Ravi said, his tone was no more intimidating rather it became soothing.

But a sudden question aroused his attention that left him perplexed. "Did you say, it was raining?" Ravi shifted his gaze towards Rishi, his tone became grave and serious. "Yes, It was raining.. why?" Rishi was confused as to why this little detail mattered.

Suddenly, Ravi lunged toward the bed, gripping Rishi's shoulders tightly and shaking him. "Tell me the truth. Was it really raining?" Ravi's voice turned sharp with aggression. "Yes, yes, it was raining, I'm not lying Mr. Ravi." Rishi replied, startled by the abrupt change in Ravi's behavior, Rishi responded immediately.

"How can that be? There hasn't been rain for years.... nowhere in the country," Ravi murmured, bewildered by Rishi's reply. "What year is this, Rishi?" he pressed, his tone full of concern.

"Year?" Rishi chuckled, momentarily amused by the absurdity of the question. But worry etched on Ravi's face held him back from laughing. A sense of unease crept over him, stemming from a series of inexplicable events.

"It's 2024, right?" Rishi replied, looking for a confirmation.

"2024!?" Ravi stepped away from the bed in fear, he rushed out from the room leaving a perplexed Rishi all by himself in the room. Ravi reached the basement, unlocking the door with a swift motion. The dim light of a single bulb hanging by a wire cast eerie shadows in the room. A marble platform dominated the center, filled with torn pages and books, a chaotic testament to intense research. Wooden racks lined the walls, crammed with scientific instruments and jars of chemicals.

On the platform, a meticulous arrangement of scientific tools hinted at an ongoing experiment. Unfinished equations were written on the walls, suggesting complex theories in progress. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and the faint hum of electronic devices. Ravi moved quickly, scanning the racks until he grabbed an old diary, a rolled-up chart paper, and an odd-looking pill. He shuffled through the pages of the diary looking for something whilst murmuring continuously "Travel.. Travel.. Travel.. where is the goddamn page!" He shouted in an infuriating tone. After a minute of shuffling and causing ruckus in the usual empty laboratory his hands stool still, holding a yellow crinkly page in his hand. "I knew it!" His hands shook with excitement, his face screamed of curiosity and hundreds of unanswered questions unfurled in front of him. "Finally! Finally! It's just how he said, thank you.... dear god." He was amazed, it was as if the canvas of his life was just painted with a new meaning.

He collects himself quickly, theories and the thirst for answer wrapping around his head. He grabbed the items hastily locking the door to the basement, and rushes back upstairs. Upon returning to the room, Ravi found Rishi staring out of the window from his bed. "Rishi, how are you feeling?" Ravi asked, his tone laden with curiosity. "My legs? I'm starting to regain some feeling thanks to your aid, but they're not as good as before." Rishi replied, his voice steady. "Nahh, not your legs. How are you feeling overall, not just your legs y'know?" Ravi clarifies, his eyes searching Rishi's face for answers.

Rishi, puzzled by the question, furrows his brow. "I... I'm feeling a bit dizzy, as if I've traveled a long distance," he admitted.

Ravi's eyes narrowed, sharpness to his gaze. He poured a glass of water from the nearby table and offered it to Rishi. "Drink this," he said softly. Rishi takes the glass, his confusion deepening as he sipped the water. Ravi sat down beside him, his expression grave. "Listen to me carefully, and try not to be shocked," Ravi began, his voice low and cautious. "You have traveled across time... this is 1982."

Rishi's eyes widened, the glass slipping from his grasp and shattering on the floor. He stammered, "What? How... how is that possible?" His mind spun as he struggled to process Ravi's words.

"It's true. That's why you're here," Ravi replied softly, his tone unwavering.

Rishi stared at Ravi, his heart pounding. The room felt stifling, the air heavy with the weight of the revelation. He glanced around, his vision blurred by a mixture of disbelief and fear. Every object in the room which once seemed familiar now suddenly became foreign. The walls closed in, and a cold sweat broke out on Rishi's forehead. His hands trembled as he tried to steady his breathing, but his chest felt tight, constricted by the enormity of the situation. He felt a profound sense of displacement; as if the ground beneath him had shifted, leaving him unmoored.

Ravi watched him, eyes filled with empathy. "I know it's hard to believe, but you need to understand it son."

Rishi's breath quickened, a shiver running down his spine. The fear of the unknown gnawed at him, and he could barely find his voice. "Why... why me?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

Ravi hesitated, his voice trembling. "I don't know, son. You're from the future... it must be some kind of advanced technology." His eyes flickered with a fleeting spark of curiosity, quickly masked by resolve. "I know it sounds like some over-the-top sci-fi tale, but..." He took a cautious step closer to the bed, his gaze fixed on Rishi with an intensity that seemed to bore into his very soul. "But it's your reality now. It's up to you whether to reject it or face it."

Rishi sat there, feeling trapped in an inescapable vortex of the unknown. The weight of the situation settled on his shoulders, leaving him with no choice but to accept this bizarre twist of fate. "How..." His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with fear and confusion. "...can I return to my time?"

"We can try.." Ravi answered. "We can try but it will take some time." He paused for a while. "But you have to assist me." Ravi finished.

"Assist you? How can I? I don't know anything about this." Rishi's tone grew serious, his mind wrestling with denial.

"Just do as I say. I promise I'll send you back." Ravi's curiosity was replaced by determination. Rishi felt a flicker of hope but remained uneasy about trusting Ravi. Yet, he knew there was no other path. In this dire situation, Ravi's intelligence and expertise were his best chance. Reluctantly, he nodded; ready to face whatever lay ahead.

"Hmm... what should we do?" Ravi pondered, grabbing the television remote. "First, you need to gain some familiarity with the world... you might need to interact with people." He turned on the television, which was housed inside a wooden case. The screen flickered for a moment before coming to life. Ravi sat near the television, pressing buttons to change the channels. "Ah, here we go—this is the best news channel around," he said, rising slowly and glancing at Rishi.

Rishi was captivated by the old television model, something he had only seen in pictures. Despite his dire situation, he watched the screen in amazement. "So this is how it looks in reality... There are no such televisions in 2024," he murmured.

Ravi overheard Rishi's words and responded with a chuckle, "Oh, please, don't spoil the future for me." His laughter was a crude yet effective way of lightening Rishi's mood.

Rishi managed a small smile, his anxiety momentarily eased by Ravi's humor. The flickering screen cast a warm glow in the dim room, a brief respite from the chaos. "Thanks a lot, sir." Rishi said softly, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the confusion.

Ravi nodded, his expression softening. "We'll figure this out together, son. One step at a time."

A sudden voice of a female news anchor filled the room, startling Rishi, who was still fascinated by the old television set. Silence veiled the room as both Rishi and Ravi fixed their eyes on the screen. "In our continuing coverage of today's events at The City Tower... government-authorized special forces have been deployed inside the tower. Earlier this morning, the tower fell under the control of an armed terrorist group known as 'Revanche.'

"Five militants from Revanche crashed a car through the City Tower gate, breaching security and slaughtering the guards on standby. Numerous civilians are now being held hostage. This is the third terrorist attack in the same day, following earlier incidents at the City Railway Station and the City Airport. Special forces have also been deployed in these locations."

"What?" Rishi's voice trembled with panic. "Will we be fine, sir?" His anxiety was palpable.

"Calm down, newcomer. There are a few things you need to know." Ravi settled on the bed, his demeanor serious. Rishi's eyes were locked on him, awaiting the explanation.

"The City Tower, it's owned by a wicked plutocrat."

"A wicked plutocrat... who?" Rishi interrupted, his curiosity piqued.

"Frank. Frank Simon. He's a wealthy businessman who plays in billions and controls city politics. The current mayor is his son, Bill Simon. This father-son duo is despised for the oppression they bring." Ravi's explanation was cut short as he noticed Rishi lost in thought. "Rishi, it's disrespectful to drift off like that."

"No, sir, I didn't mean to. I was just trying to figure things out," Rishi quickly defended himself.

"And did you?" Ravi's curiosity was evident.

"I think..." Rishi hesitated but continued under Ravi's encouraging gaze. "I think Revanche targeted the City Tower because it's a symbol of Frank's wealth and oppression. But doesn't that make Revanche the good guys?"

"Smart thinking." Ravi nodded approvingly. "Yes, for many, Revanche are the heroes. If elections weren't rigged, Mr. Phantom would be our mayor, and we'd be on a path to glory." Ravi's eyes sparkled with admiration for Revanche, his devotion clear.

"Phantom?" Rishi's interest was piqued.

"Yes, Mr. Phantom. He's the leader of Revanche. A truly inspiring figure." Ravi's tone softened with respect. "Always call him Mr. Phantom. He deserves it."

"My bad, I'll keep that in mind next time," Rishi apologized, realizing his mistake. His heart pounded, excitement welling up inside him. "I want to meet Mr. Phantom," he murmured, barely audible.

Ravi caught his words and responded with a tone of encouragement. "Well, some day you might, son. Some day you might."

The moment shattered with an unexpected scream from the anchor. "Oh my god, what's happening?!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with fear. "Th-the...," she stammered, her face a mask of terror and desperation. "The special forces... they..." Overwhelmed, she collapsed, unable to continue. The screen swiftly switched to live footage from the City Tower, where a harrowing scene unfolded.

Outside the tower, Special Forces were lined up, their expressions grim. The cries of civilians filled the air, echoing through the streets as they pleaded for the release of their loved ones held hostage by Revanche. Anger simmered among the crowd, their desperation palpable and growing with each passing moment.

The televised scene unfolded into that of chaos and brutality. The special forces, seen as guardians of order and the hope for the demonstrating civilians to bring the hostages back, had transformed into agents of terror. Their rifles discharged with mechanical precision, each shot ripping through flesh and bone. Innocent civilians, previously gathered in protest against the Revanche's hostage-taking, now lay sprawled on the ground, their bodies contorted in pain or lying motionless in pools of their own blood.

Amidst the heavy gunfire, agonized screams pierced the air, a haunting chorus of despair and disbelief. Those who survived the initial onslaught scrambled for cover, their faces etched with horror and disbelief at the sudden turn of events. The once bustling street now resembled a battlefield, filled with crimson puddles, the wreckage of overturned barricades and discarded belongings.

The news anchor's voice cracked as she attempted to narrate the unfolding tragedy, her words faltering in the face of such senseless violence. Onlookers across the city watched in stunned silence, their hearts heavy with grief and outrage. The scene painted a stark portrait of a society teetering on the brink of collapse, where the forces meant to uphold justice had instead unleashed unfathomable cruelty.

Everyone's eyes were glued to the television screens as they saw this act of horror being committed. Suddenly, windows shattered on the tower's second floor, shards cascading to the ground. Phantom and his crew burst forth, their figures stark against the smoke-laden skyline. With lightning speed, they descended upon the chaos, their movements a whirlwind of retaliation against the armored, faceless oppressors. The air crackled with tension as gunfire ceased, replaced by the clash of steel and hand to hand combat. The Special Forces, now exposed as ruthless enforcers of a corrupt regime, fell one by one to the relentless fury of Revanche, their cries drowned in the symphony of destruction.

The fighting lasted for an hour, culminating in Revanche's brutal victory. They outclassed the special forces in every aspect, dismantling them swiftly despite being outnumbered, halting the brewing genocide.

But the losses were irreparable, the pavement awash in crimson screaming of the shattered dreams of the brutally murdered. Beneath the piles of distorted bodies, a few survivors huddled, seeking shelter from the nightmare that had unfolded.

Viewers across the city were horrified. A state of shock and mourning washed over every citizen. Seeing their fellow citizens slaughtered without remorse by the very special forces meant to protect them fueled an inferno of anger and resentment. Mothers clutched their children tighter, fathers wept openly, and families huddled together in grief. The streets echoed with cries of anguish and fury, a collective sorrow that morphed into a seething rage. Trust in authority shattered, leaving the city's heart bleeding. The betrayal by their protectors had ignited a spark, threatening to engulf the city in rebellion.

Author's note...

This part got a bit delayed due to some issues. As a way of compensating you all for the delay, this chapter was a bit long. 3k+ words i assume. If you made it this far hopefully you enjoyed the chapter. Follow me to stay updated about the next chapter, i post announcements about it often times. Next chapter will be released by the last week of July.

Thanks for your time!

See you in the next chapter, don't forget to write down your thoughts in the comment section and vote if you find the story worth it!!

In the previous chapter, we saw...

Rishi wakes up in a mysterious room, disoriented and unable to move his legs. A man named Ravi, who lives alone, finds him and reveals the shocking truth: Rishi has traveled back in time to 1982. As they watch the news, they see the brutality of the special forces under Frank Simon, who massacre civilians. Revanche, led by Phantom, intervenes, but the city's betrayal by its protectors fuels widespread anger and grief, setting the stage for rebellion. The shocking violence and the collapse of trust in authority push the city's citizens to the brink, ready for revolution. Will the revolution succeed or will Frank's tyranny come out on top yet again?

The chapter starts from here...

"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."

                                                                                                        - Albert Camus

The streets roared with outcry, roads tainted with crimson hue, and bodies piled up beneath which the survivors huddled for their lives. The fear seeped through the television screens, etching scars into the heart of every viewer.

Phantom and his Revanche had intervened to stop the massacre, but the victory felt hollow. Instead of rejoicing, their faces were grim, etched with despair and lingering regrets. The weight of the lives lost and the innocent blood spilled weighed heavily on them. They had saved those who remained, but the cost had been immeasurable. The city's heart was broken, trust shattered, and the echoes of anguish reverberated through the empty streets.

"What...What was our fault?" a cry came from the rack of bodies piled near Phantom.

As he helplessly scrounged through the torn-apart bodies, he found a young girl cowering beneath the pile, her clothes painted red. She was crying helplessly, clutching a hand—just a hand, with no body to be found.

His gentle hands embraced her swollen face. "Don't cry, dear one... What is your name?" His tone was soothing. "Amayra," the girl whispered in her frail, sobbing voice, still clinging to the hand tightly. "What a lovely name..." Phantom gently patted Amayra's head. "Such a strong girl you are, Amayra." He crouched, aligning his head with hers.

Phantom reached out, his arms open wide, and Amayra, with tear-streaked cheeks, hesitated only for a moment before rushing into his embrace. Her small body fit perfectly against his chest, and he held her tightly, his hand cradling the back of her head protectively. "It will be fine..." he said, slowly wrapping his arm around her, holding her hand gently.

"Give me that, dear," Phantom said softly, trying to ease Amayra's grip around the severed hand she was holding, the only remnant of a body.

"No... Mamma... She is Mamma!" Amayra cried, clutching the hand even tighter, her eyes wide with desperation and sorrow.

Phantom whispered through his mask, his heart breaking at the sight. "I'm sorry..." He whispered, his voice trembling. "But she wouldn't want you to hold onto this pain."

"No.. Mr. Savior, Mamma said not to let go of her.." Amayra replied, her tone reflected her innocence.

Phantom's hands trembled; feeling a pang of guilt and remorse as he gently stroked her hair. His voice choked with emotion. "But your mamma wants you to be safe now. She wants you to be brave." He paused momentarily, then gently continued, "Sweetheart... go to that lady in black clothing," He whispered, pointing towards Ren, a female Revanche member. Ren waved at Amayra with a warm smile, her arms open wide, inviting her in. "'Go on, Amayra... She'll take you to a safe place,'" he encouraged softly, giving Amayra a gentle nudge. Reluctantly, she began to walk towards Ren.

Ren's arms enveloped Amayra in a tight embrace, offering solace amidst the chaos. "You're safe now, sweetie" she murmured softly, her voice seemed like a comforting melody. Amayra clung to her, finding a sense of security in Ren's reassuring embrace. "Thank you.." Amayra murmured.

From a distance, Phantom signaled to his crew. "Start the plan B... we'll go as decided."

Ren and the Revanche hastily searched for survivors, scrambling through the piles of lifeless bodies. The stench of blood hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the violence that had unfolded.

A child's doll with missing limbs, a dented locket with a faded photo inside, a forgotten shoe - all mocked her with reminders of lives cut short. The silence, broken only by choked sobs, was worse than any scream. Finally, the grim tally: eighty-five. Only Eighty-five civilians could survive the horrendous act of killing carried out by the special forces.

Following Plan B, the City Tower bustled with grim activity. The children and the wounded adults were gathered inside the City Tower. "Eighty-five... anyone else limping in, Mist?" Ren asked Mist, another female Revanche member. Mist glanced around the gate, double checking for any remaining survivors "That's all, Ren." In a grim tone, Mist replied.

"I see, get the damn bus prepped then," Ren ordered. "We need to get these folks out of here, now."

Ren guided the survivors to the bus parked discreetly behind the tower. The dim light of dusk provided cover as they moved silently, footsteps barely audible against the pavement. Brute, a male Revanche member, gestured for everyone to stay quiet and follow his lead, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger.

One by one, they boarded the bus, moving swiftly and without hesitation. Mothers held their children close, while the elderly were gently assisted up the steps. Ren stood by the door, urging them to hurry but remain silent. Once everyone was safely inside, Brute closed the door with a soft click, giving a final glance around before joining them.

"Brute! Make sure to reach our welfare center." Ren shouted, her tone carried a sense of duty. The bus engine hummed to life, a whisper in the quiet evening, and they began to move away, leaving the chaos behind. Ren saw through her job of sending the survivors off, but she had another task on her plate.

After waving at the departing bus, she walked back to the City Tower where she found Mist waiting for her. "Took your sweet time, didn't you?" Mist scoffed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Shut up, Mist." Ren glared at her with a sharp, cold-blooded look. "Ohh... scary," Mist responded, her voice tinged with mockery. She continues on with her sarcasm "Don't always be dead serious.. you'll grow old sooner."

"Shut up, Mist... or I'll shut your mouth for you. How can you even joke right now?" Ren's voice was filled with remorse and anguish. "What a killjoy... someone has to lighten the mood, or we'll all drown in depression," Mist replied, her tone turning a bit more serious.

"We should start working. I don't want to let Phantom down." Ren's words brought Mist back to reality, and she sighed. "I guess it's time for me to focus now..." She muttered. "Let's go, Ren!" Mist said with determination, as they made their way out of the City Tower through the rear gate.

"This is who Revanche truly is," Ravi exclaimed, pointing at the television. "Look, Rishi. This is Revanche! Every move is crafted carefully by Mr. Phantom! They care about us... a lot." His eyes gleamed with admiration. Rishi nodded, his expression mirroring Ravi's awe. It wasn't just Ravi and Rishi; every citizen watching felt the same intensity of admiration and a deep sense of affinity towards Revanche.

While the revanche members were busy with the City tower massacre and helping the survivors, the city folks took to arms themselves. The streets of the city erupted with life, a commotion fueled by years of pent-up anger and frustration. Shouts and cries of freedom filled the air as people poured out of their homes, united in their shared fury against Frank and Bill Simons. Makeshift barricades were erected, and citizens armed themselves with whatever they could find—sticks, stones, and sheer determination. Windows were flung open, and banners calling for justice and liberation were draped over balconies. The sound of footsteps, the clanging of makeshift weapons, and the roar of an awakened populace created a symphony of resistance.

Ravi ran towards the window, heart pounding in his chest. The streets were a sea of determined faces, each one lit by the flickering flames of burning wooden torches. The crowd surged forward with a unified purpose, their voices a thunderous chant of defiance against the Simons.

"Your hands are stained with blood, Bloody Simons!" A man shouted, his fist raised high. Others echoed his cry, their voices merging into a powerful chorus.

"Freedom for our city!" a woman yelled, her eyes ablaze with passion.

Children clung to their parents, their wide eyes reflecting both fear and awe at the spectacle of rebellion. Elderly citizens, usually confined to the quiet corners of their homes, now stood at the forefront, their expressions hardened by years of suffering.

"Today, we take back what is ours!" an elderly man declared, gripping a torch tightly in his frail hands.

Workers who had toiled under the Simons' oppressive regime brandished their tools as weapons, ready to reclaim their dignity. "No more chains! No more fear!" one of them shouted, waving a wrench in the air.

The march was relentless, the mass of people moving as one towards the looming silhouette of the Simon mansion. The flames of the torches cast eerie shadows on the walls, symbolizing the burning desire for justice within each heart.

"Let's show them the power of unity!" a young woman cried, her voice breaking with emotion. "Get those damned murderers" a fairly aged man shouted in rage.

The masses were consumed by a frenzied taste for revenge and freedom as they neared the Simon's mansion. The opposing Special Forces were scattered and destroyed, no match for the sheer numbers in the raging crowd. With their enemies vanquished and no one left to defend the Simons, nothing could stop them from exacting their brutal retribution upon those who had wronged them.

But then, just when the victory was in sight, the unthinkable happened, sending shockwaves through everyone's minds. The skies erupted with a deafening roar as "Hellfire" helicopters descended upon the city like vengeful demons. The ruthless military squadron, had been summoned by Frank Simons himself to squash the uprising. Fear and desperation spread like wildfire as the reality set in: this was no longer just a fight for justice, but a battle for survival.

High above, the helicopters hovered menacingly over the fear stricken crowd, their guns trained on the masses below. "Hold your ground!" someone shouted, but the words were drowned out by the deafening noise of the choppers. The spirit of the rebellion, once unbreakable, wavered in the face of this new, overwhelming threat.

"They're going to raze the city!" a voice cried out, echoing the dread that gripped everyone's hearts. The Hellfire squadron began their assault, raining down bullets and missiles, indiscriminately targeting the crowd. People scattered, seeking shelter, but there was no safe haven from the onslaught. The streets, once filled with the roar of rebellion, now resounded with screams of terror and the deafening blasts of explosions.

Buildings crumbled under the relentless barrage, debris and shrapnel flying everywhere. Bodies lay strewn across the streets, lifeless and bloodied, as the air filled with the acrid smell of smoke and burning flesh. Those who were not immediately caught in the crossfire tried to drag the wounded to safety, but safe places were few and far between.

The city was being torn apart piece by piece, the rebellion's hopes shattered under the Hellfire squadron's ruthless assault. Children cried for their parents, and the wounded begged for help, their pleas often going unanswered in the madness. The streets ran red with blood, and the once bustling heart of the city was reduced to a smoldering battlefield.

The Hellfire squadron showed no mercy, their mission clear: crush the rebellion at any cost. The city's spirit was being bled dry, its people paying the ultimate price for daring to defy the Simons. Above it all, the helicopters hovered, continuing their deadly dance, ensuring that the uprising would be remembered not as a triumphant moment of liberation, but as a punishment for defying the Simons.

From his grandiose balcony, Frank Simon sipped on a glass of expensive Campari as he watched the city burn. He couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction as he saw chaos and destruction engulfing the streets below. "Look Bill... Remember these cries clearly... When your slave shows you a hint of disloyalty, sever their neck then and there." Frank laughed, he was laughing at the devilish bloodbath of the civilians.

"Rightly said Father, the tea tastes better today, probably due to all these realistic fireworks you've set up." Bill joined in on the laughter, mocking the deaths of thousands of civilians while sitting in their luxurious mansion protected by the military. The screams and cries of innocent civilians only fueled their twisted pleasure, knowing that his ruthless orders were being carried out without hesitation.

It was a clear message to all who dared challenge their authority: any resistance will be met with swift and brutal retaliation.

The military tightened the siege, their disciplined formation advancing slowly into the city. As they moved forward, civilians were herded towards the center, away from the destruction and chaos that followed in their wake. Buildings and homes outside of the formation were set ablaze, the flames licking at the night sky and filling the air with acrid smoke. Within the encirclement, Hellfire squadron rained down flames upon any remaining resistance. The sound of explosions and gunfire echoed through the streets, a symphony of destruction that left no corner untouched. The city was consumed by a fiery inferno, a hellish landscape created by the merciless actions of those in power.

The rebels were pushed to the brink, their numbers dwindling, their resolve tested. The reality of their situation was stark: they were vastly outgunned and outmatched. "What... How can we possibly win?" A man from the crowd screamed, moments later he was shot dead by the military but his words echoed in the hearts of every person on that street.

The realization seeped in every citizen, their hope succumbing to their inferiority to the forces. They needed a leader, somebody who will give them a meaning, a way to fight these monsters and liberate themselves.

"In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity." 

                                                                                   - Sun Tzu

Author's Note...

Firstly, thankyou for reading this chapter. If you liked it do consider voting the chapter and follow me to stay updated with announcements regarding the upcoming chapters. I'm open to constructive criticism.. so do leave your thoughts in the comment section.

Also, please tell if you liked the double quotes format, or did you like the old single quote format?