Three weeks had passed since the AD Tech tender presentation.
In offices across the country, participating companies sat with bated breath—waiting, refreshing, obsessing over their inboxes.
At D.A Studio, Shankar was doing just that.
He hit the refresh button on his laptop—again.
And again.
Every two minutes.
Punitha had been watching the ritual quietly… until her patience snapped. She smacked the back of Shankar's head.
"Ouch! Puni—what was that for?"
Shankar rubbed his scalp, wincing.
"You really need me to spell it out?"
"You've been refreshing that inbox like your life depends on it. The result isn't even coming until after noon. It's only 10 a.m.
You keep it up, I'm confiscating your laptop."
"Fine! Fine… I'll stop."
Shankar slumped into his chair, sulking.
Sanjana looked over, amused.
"Relax, guys. Don't forget who our big boss is."
She winked.
"I'm sure something's headed our way."
Arjun added earnestly:
"Forget the connections. I believe in our effort.
We earned whatever comes."
Before another round of speculation could begin, the door opened—and in walked Dhiviya, trailed by Suruthi.
Her face was glowing.
"Hey, guys… I've got some good news!"
Instantly, the room lit up.
Everyone snapped to attention.
"You know the result?" Shankar jumped.
"Tell us—how many projects did we get?" Punitha added, practically vibrating.
Dhiviya just smiled, watching their eager faces.
"Why is it every time I say 'good news,' you all assume it's about AD Tech?"
She crossed her arms teasingly.
"Actually, I just had a meeting with three of our old Bluevalley clients.
They've signed new contracts with us.
Looks like our old projects are crawling back home."
The room fell… flat.
"Oh… cool," said Arjun, weakly.
"Damn it, Dhiviya—don't mess with us like that!" Sanjana groaned.
"You've got insider info, don't you?
Tell us how many projects we won—now!
Or give me your husband's number. I swear, I'll call him myself!"
Dhiviya raised an eyebrow—then pulled out her phone, dialed, put it on loudspeaker, and handed it to Sanjana.
"You want to ask him yourself? Be my guest."
Everyone went silent.
Sanjana's face drained of color. Before finding out Athavan was the chairman of AD Tech, she'd teased him relentlessly.
Now?
The phone was ringing.
Beep. Beep.
Then—
"Hey wifey," came Athavan's voice, playful and smooth.
"Missing me already?"
"Hey! The phone's on speaker!"
Dhiviya nearly dropped it, her cheeks flushed.
"Don't talk nonsense, please."
Everyone in the room was frozen.
No one had ever heard Athavan like this—joking. Warm. Human.
Dhiviya quickly pivoted.
"Everyone has a question for you. Be serious, okay?"
Punitha built up her courage.
"Sir… big boss… how many contracts did we win? Can you tell us?"
Silence.
A pause.
Then Athavan replied:
"Didn't I already tell Dhiviya last week?"
Every head turned toward Dhiviya.
"You knew the result a week ago?"
"Don't listen to him!" she stammered.
"He only told me the day before yesterday!"
"Day before yesterday was Saturday," Athavan said calmly.
"Today is Monday. Saturday falls in last week.
So technically… I told you last week."
The call clicked.
Disconnected.
Everyone turned on Dhiviya.
Arjun threw up his arms.
"If you don't tell us right now, I swear—I'm handing in my resignation!"
"Okay! Okay! Calm down!"
She raised both hands like a referee trying to break up a riot.
"We won all five projects.
And yes—the Main City Framework Project will use our Rig-Vedaa design."
For a moment, the room went silent.
Then—
Exploded.
Cheers. Screams. Laughter. Arjun spun in his chair. Punitha threw a cushion across the room. Shankar collapsed in dramatic relief.
They had done it.
They weren't just dreamers anymore.
While rooftops lit up with champagne corks and business execs toasted their tender wins, somewhere in the highlands of Khadah, deep beneath a mountain estate, Chanda was burning with rage.
Inside his darkened command chamber, surveillance screens glowed like angry spirits. Data streamed in from across Walaysia each update more maddening than the last.
"Entire cities… purged."
Three weeks of relentless operations had crushed the underworld like a crumbling temple. Naraka's hidden assets, once veined through society like invisible cancer, had been annihilated.
Weapon caches - exposed.
Black money vaults - emptied.
Drug factories - raided.
Human trafficking rings - dismantled.
This wasn't just police work.
It was precision warfare.
A force faster than paperwork.
Smarter than corruption.
Dirtier than the dirtiest hands.
Chanda turned toward the sprawling map on his wall, riddled with red markers Khadah, Teremban, Metropore City, glowing like open wounds.
"A full-scale surgical cleansing…" he muttered.
"And the damn people are helping."
That was the worst part.
️ The Firewall of Walaysia
At first, local governments had buckled under the pressure.
But then they adapted.
They streamlined workflows. Redirected budgets. Launched tactical response teams.
And something unexpected happened.
The people stood up.
Neighborhoods turned into intelligence hubs.
Children filmed gang activity with camera phones.
Elders whispered old secrets to field officers.
Anonymous tips flooded in from every corner.
The purge didn't slow.
It accelerated.
And now, the Dharma Foundation Task Force had launched Phase Three.
No longer street thugs.
Now it was the power elite.
Phase Three: Scorching the Skeleton
Mass arrests of....
Corrupt politicians
Police officers
Government executives
Bankers
Corporate elites
Figures once untouchable were being dragged into the light. Hidden transactions were unearthed. Secret accounts exposed. Surveillance images, signed documents, encrypted calls all flooding into government databases that had never been this awake before.
Walaysia, long paralyzed by whispered fear, was now in full-blown revolt against its own skeleton.
And Chanda's clenched fist trembled beneath the glow of a name he could not trace...
Athavan the Major General of Department Zero.
The name stitched into every encrypted briefing.
The man behind the curtain.
The whisper behind the purge.
"This isn't cleanup," Chanda growled.
"It's a war cry."
Outside, in marble towers and private clubs, the empire of darkness began to fracture.
Inside Chanda's bunker?
The storm had already arrived.
The World Turns Toward Walaysia
No one saw it coming.
Not analysts.
Not crime lords.
Not even the global press.
What started as whispered raids had become one of the largest national purges in modern history...
Corruption
Organized crime
Hidden bureaucracies
Buried deals
All dragged into daylight.
By week three, entire districts had transformed into restoration zones. Police worked alongside local governments. Community leaders rose. Ordinary citizens became unexpected heroes.
Neighborhood by neighborhood, Walaysia became a living firewall.
Crimes filmed.
Hideouts reported.
Bribes rejected.
Intel passed.
Truth delivered.
And across every social feed, the world saw the hashtags rise:
#CleanWalaysia#NeoWalaysia
Posted by students. Grandmothers. Teachers. Builders. Farmers.
This wasn't just viral.
It was a movement.
It was a reckoning.
Global Eyes on the Storm
Major media outlets swarmed in...
CNN dispatched teams to Khadah and Johor.
BBC aired rolling coverage of mass arrests.
Al Jazeera filmed a feature: Asia's Purge Nation.
Deutsche Welle, NHK, Reuters, Times Now, RT:- they all followed.
They weren't covering a country in chaos.
They were watching a resurrection.
Think tanks released statements:
"There has never been, in recorded modern history, a cleansing of political corruption, organized crime, and bureaucratic decay of this magnitude… in such a short span of time."
And then came the shockwaves.
Deputy Prime Minister — arrested
Five federal ministers — detained
Corporate CEOs — indicted
This was no longer cleanup.
It was an earthquake.
The Whisper in the Wind
In Walaysia's streets, something changed.
Children played where gangs used to rule.
Women walked safely past corners once claimed by traffickers.
People looked at police and believed.
Trust flickered.
Hope returned.
And in homes across the nation, a single question whispered from living rooms to tea stalls:
"Who started this?"
The answer—buried behind ranks, legacy, and shadow—
Was already watching from above.
High atop AD Tech Tower, where the glass met the stars, Athavan stood straight and still. His silhouette sliced through the night sky like a blade—face unshaken, eyes locked onto the horizon.
Below him, Metropore City pulsed with transformation. Buildings flickered like data streams. Streets hummed with unrest and restoration. The old world was cracking. The new one—taking shape.
Behind him, five men stood in silence.
Clad in black tactical garb, faces veiled, posture exact. They weren't ordinary bodyguards.
They were Death Trope warriors—the elite enforcers of the Devil Liberation Army. Each one trained to move like a shadow, strike like a storm, and vanish without trace.
Athavan didn't turn.
He spoke softly, yet every word struck like thunder.
"It's time. The desperate rat will begin to scurry."
"Chanda will lash out. Scrape. Claw. Struggle."
"Stay locked on him. Watch every breath he takes. Every whisper he dares."
"Understood, sir," one warrior responded.
No salutes. No theatrics.
Just quiet obedience in the language of war.
Athavan let the silence hold.
Above him, the sky was deep—moonless but vast.
Below him, a nation trembled into rebirth.
And inside him…
The storm had already begun to rise.