While Metropore City surged with AD Tech's business presentation storm, the north of Walaysia—Khadah State—was being swallowed by a storm of a different kind.
For two days straight, Dharma Foundation had unleashed a brutal wave of cleansing operations across the state. Every police station was overwhelmed. All 300 members of the Foundation moved like wild beasts through every crack of criminal activity: red-light districts, drug dens, counterfeit liquor factories, snatch thief hideouts, weapons depots, and more. They moved with military precision, operating from what looked like a war manual—systematically storming each location and shutting it down.
Serious offenders were tied up and delivered to the nearest police station, along with all illegal products, weapons, and documents in their possession. Local gang members fled in panic. Those who resisted were beaten into submission—those who surrendered were ordered to join the Foundation's reform system. Some met them with violence. Some, with fear. Some dropped to their knees and begged on sight.
Two mobile medical ambulances followed every crew—each staffed with doctors and nurses, ready to treat both attackers and criminals in case of emergency.
At first, the police pushed back. During the first raid, a few local precincts tried to intervene—until a select group of Death Troop warriors revealed official operation letters and Special Task Force badges. From that moment on, the resistance shifted to obedience.
"Do we really need gangsters now to catch other gangsters?"
That was the initial reaction from some officers.
But a few hours later, it became clear—these weren't gangsters.
They were machines.
They moved with formation. Spoke with command codes. Submitted detailed reports after every operation. They even handed over forensic evidence tagged with timestamps and suspect profiles.
By nightfall of the first day, every police station looked like a disaster relief zone. Overflowing with suspects. Stacks of confiscated materials. Phones ringing nonstop. The state had to pull in support from military units, RELA forces, and federal police just to manage the chaos.
Hundreds of cases were closed. And yet, hundreds more emerged.
Multiple crime bosses—polished men who had walked freely in suits and smiled at cameras—were exposed and surrendered quietly before the Foundation could even reach their offices. They already knew what was coming.
Crime reporters and media outlets from every network began flooding into Khadah. In just 48 hours:
Over 300 criminal cases were filed. 100+ active crime networks were shut down. More than 10,000 local gang members were forced to enlist in Dharma Foundation's rehabilitation program.
Inside the Khadah State Government Office, a high-level emergency meeting was underway.
Gajendran, President of Dharma Foundation, sat across from the Khadah State Chief Minister and the State Police Commissioner in a closed-door session.
"Mr. Gajendran," the Chief Minister began, exasperated,
"We understand your initiative to purge the city of crime. But if this continues, we won't have enough manpower to process all the paperwork. Lock-ups are at max capacity. Prisons are overflowing. We don't have enough public prosecutors or judges to handle this volume.
The entire state budget will be drained if this carries on for even another week."
Gajendran said nothing.
He simply stared.
Two full minutes passed in silence. The Chief Minister and Commissioner shifted uncomfortably. They didn't know what he was thinking—but a storm brewed behind his calm eyes.
In that moment, a thousand thoughts passed through Gajendran's mind.
Three months ago, I was a crime lord. The city feared me. Cops turned away when they saw me walk in.
I thrived on fear. I believed I was invincible. A king.
But that kind of power? It's fragile. Empty. Dangerous.
In the past two weeks… I've felt something different.
My wife serves me meals with admiration in her eyes.
My daughter doesn't flinch anymore—she smiles. She trusts me.
And here I am… sitting across from the State Chief Minister, talking about governance.
God, if this is a dream—please don't wake me up.
"Mr. Gajendran?" the Chief Minister repeated.
He stirred.
"Originally, our plan was to complete Khadah's street-level cleaning in three days. One more day to go," he said calmly.
"Yes, I understand it's putting pressure on your systems. But ask your public service departments to shift priorities. Stop holding ceremonies and press dinners—they'll survive.
This country won't."
"Besides… I'm here for another reason."
He placed two thick files on the table. On top of them—a single pen drive.
"These," Gajendran said, "contain names. Politicians. Police officers. Government staff. High-ranking individuals involved in, or protecting, illegal operations throughout the state.
This drive contains video evidence. Audio recordings. Financial trails. Everything's catalogued by case number."
He slid it across the table.
The Police Commissioner visibly paled—even in the air-conditioned room.
The Chief Minister stared at the stack. His voice dropped.
"Did… you read these files?"
"No," Gajendran replied.
"That's not my assignment. My mission was to deliver the package. That's all."
"And from whom?" the Chief Minister asked cautiously.
"You already know the answer. They said… you'll know what to do."
He pulled another folded document from his pocket—handing it over.
"This is your press statement outline. Courtesy of their department.
The operation name and positioning are listed there.
Thank you for your time."
And with that, Gajendran stood and walked out—leaving the two state heads staring at a storm bigger than they'd ever imagined.
The Chief Minister silently opened the folded outline. His eyes scanned each line—code names, scheduled phases, messaging points. It was meticulous. Brutally calculated.
He looked up, locking eyes with the Police Commissioner.
"I need to speak with someone from that department," the CM said slowly.
"You mean... them?" the Police Commissioner asked, visibly unsettled.
"Yes. The people behind this operation. Department Zero. Can you arrange a direct meeting?"
The Commissioner wiped sweat from his brow, despite the air conditioning humming overhead.
"Sir… I'll contact HQ immediately. But I don't have clearance to reach them directly. Only the top national security offices have that kind of access."
The Chief Minister didn't respond right away. He folded the press statement carefully, then placed it back on the table like it was something sacred—and radioactive.
Everyone in the room knew one truth: when Department Zero raises a Code Orange, not even the Prime Minister can stop the storm. Their role had always been to operate from the shadows—but now? Their fangs were out in the daylight.
What kind of national threat are we walking into now?
.......
Back in Metropore City, inside AD Tech's tallest tower, Athavan, Raghavan, and Suruthi stood on a terrace balcony when Athavan received a call from Matthew.
A link arrived with it.
Athavan tapped the screen.
Khadah State Chief Minister – Live Press Release: Sudden State-Wide Government Cleanse
The screen lit up with flashing cameras. Reporters barked questions from every direction.
The CM took the mic, composed.
"First of all…
This is a national initiative—part of our Central Government's long-term strategy to make Walaysia a crime-free nation.
It was designed and prepared in secrecy to ensure integrity.
We, the local government, are executing Phase Two of this initiative in coordination with national orders.
We ask for every citizen's cooperation as we remove the cancer rooted in our institutions." Athavan smiled as he lowered the phone.
"Looks like Phase Two… is proceeding smoothly."