"Hey everyone, could you all please settle down in your respective places? I've been assigned as your new squad leader," a man said, standing near the whiteboard. He was six feet tall, wearing a tucked white shirt and black cotton trousers. His face was diamond-shaped, with hunter eyes, a sharp jawline, a Grecian nose, full lips, and long hair slicked back. He carried an air of command and confidence. "I'm Brandon."
The squad had 7 members , brandon , a senior officer and 3 male and 2 female members are selected by Brandon .
"I know everyone of u here , so we don't want to waste time by this useless introduction , let's get into this straight." Brandon said . He turned towards the board and wrote "AstraCore," underlining it. "And this is the task assigned to us," he stated plainly. "In just two days, Kavin Aroshi will be arriving in Delhi—"
"Hmm... Brandon, it's good to see young officers like you taking on big tasks," a senior member of the squad interjected. "But I've been working with the CBI for the past twelve years, from joint director to now inspector. I've personally led two squads before as JD. Both missions failed miserably, and some members even died," the senior said, delivering it like a somber narrative.
"And that's exactly why you're here, sir. Did you think I wouldn't have a reason?" Brandon replied. "This squad isn't just here to investigate AstraCore and uncover its corrupt leadership, but to honor the squads who failed and the members who died." His voice was soft yet resolute, his confident smile unwavering.
"We have no information, no evidence, or any legal basis against them. All we have are suspicions from the IT department about fake invoices," the senior responded, sounding hopeless. "Especially look at these guys—barely a year of experience—and the rest are completely new," he added, gesturing toward the younger members.
"Seems like you're more afraid than they are, sir," Brandon shot back. "They're braver than you right now."
"Experience matters. We need highly skilled, seasoned officers for this mission. I'll speak with the Director on your behalf," the senior stated firmly.
"I'm the squad leader here," Brandon responded gently. "Back to the task. Kavin Aroshi will be in Delhi after the inauguration. On that same day, we'll be observing him. He's the one who founded AstraCore and initially partnered with LIAM Industries Ltd. for its development. Later, AstraCore severed ties with both the state government and LIAM, becoming a fully private entity. It then entered a new partnership with SROI—the Space and Research Organisation of India. That partnership was legally signed off by the same officials in Parliament. Two months later, the Council of States convened. Kavin Aroshi attended, aligning himself with the central ruling party. He even held a private meeting with Prime Minister Mahad Yadav at his party office. And that's all we've known for the past eighteen years," Brandon said, smiling as if amused. Everyone looked at him strangely.
"I've heard all this from the previous squad, Bra—" the senior began, but Brandon cut him off. "I haven't finished. Isn't it absurd? The CBI—just a caged parrot. Did any of the previous squads gather any meaningful data about LIAM and their role in AstraCore's developmental years? Of course not , because life is more important than the case . And anyhow we're not going to get anything from the tamilnadu state government either," Brandon added.
"This is nonsense—believing that a private company still has relevant data. They ended that partnership years ago," the senior interrupted, recounting his experience.
"You're here as a squad member, not a judge, sir," Brandon said politely but firmly. "I know they've probably destroyed all evidence. But I'm not fixated on the past. I'm focused on the present. LIAM Industries, in order to distribute their top-tier automated cookware and utensils in local markets, partnered with several vendors and sellers across Tamil Nadu. They responded to rising demand on social media." Brandon turned back to the board and wrote, "Chennai Sellers."
"This is one of the most prominent local market exporters in Chennai. They distribute products throughout Tamil Nadu," he explained.
Everyone looked confused—even the senior, who seemed particularly lost, as though caught in a maze with no exit.
"Before I was assigned to this task, I stayed at a rental house in Electronic City Phase 2, Jigani, Bangalore. I was there to observe AstraCore headquarters. For the first two days, I saw nothing—not even a single worker. But the day before I came here, I witnessed a van arriving—an AIEA van. And here's what bothered me: Do those people need cookware or home products? Why were boxes labeled with the Chennai Sellers logo being delivered into AstraCore?"
...
He returned home later than usual.
He pushed open the small creaky gate, which let out a familiar screech—enough for the owner to look up.
The old man sat on the front step in a wooden chair, newspaper in hand. Somewhere between fifty-five and sixty. Settled.
"Hey, kid," the man said, squinting behind aged glasses as he slowly folded his newspaper.
Kasel paused at the side of the path, turned just enough to acknowledge.
"How was your day?" the old man asked.
Kasel turned fully to face him. His voice was flat. "It was fine."
The owner exhaled slowly. A knowing smirk crossed his face. "Haha. Thought so."
Kasel turned again and walked toward the stairs.
The man hesitated, then looked back at his paper. He seemed to be debating something.
He cleared his throat. "Hey… kid. What about the rent? You were supposed to pay this week. It's already overdue."
Kasel didn't break stride. No reply. He continued upstairs as if the question hadn't landed.
The old man blinked, eyebrows raised in silent surrender. He muttered with a bitter chuckle, "Hmph. These kids now… masters in silence. Know just how to kill a question with quiet."
He returned to his paper, though it seemed far less interesting now.
Kasel stood before his door, key in hand. He slid it into the lock, turned it. The door clicked open. He stepped inside and closed it behind him.
He flicked on the light. A dim tube light bathed the room.
Bare walls.
A single mattress beneath the window. One pillow. A worn-out blanket folded in the corner. The ceiling fan hung off-center, rotating lazily.
To the side: a cramped restroom. To the left: a tiny kitchen.
This wasn't home. It was just where he existed.
He walked to the mattress, pulled out his nightclothes from a small overhead cupboard, and changed in silence.
He entered the restroom and splashed cold water on his face—again and again, as though trying to erase something.
He dried his face with a towel, rehung it, returned to the mattress, and sat.
He lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling. One arm rested on his forehead, the other reached for a small tray box beside the bed.
His hand paused midway—as if it knew what it sought, but didn't want to find it.
Still… he picked it up.
A photo frame.
His parents. Smiling. Side by side. Looking directly into the camera.
His mother: graceful—defined cheekbones, soft eyes, a thin nose, long hair framing a gentle smile.
His father: rougher—sharp eyes, a broad moustache, a patchy beard. His smile looked more posed than genuine.
To Kasel, it felt as though they were watching him.
He adjusted the frame, gently placing it upright on the floor. He stared at the photo for a moment, then smiled softly and spoke—his voice childlike.
"Hi Mom… hi Dad. I'm home."
A quiet smile.
"My day went well."
A pause.
"I saw something cute on the way back. A baby was crying, like—'wah… wah…'"
He imitated the cry, puffing his cheeks with a grin.
"The baby was cute. His mom held him like…" he trailed off.
His voice caught. "You'd love to see it, wouldn't you, Mom? Just like I did?"
He looked at the floor, then back up.
"Dad… tomorrow's Friday. Last workday of the week. Then Monday again."
A quiet breath. His tone deepened slightly.
"…Dad, what did it feel like—your first time working for your family?"
A pause, filled with a faint smile.
"I'm turning nineteen in a week."
His voice shrank.
"Nineteen," he whispered.
He lay back fully, eyes on the ceiling. He lifted the photo again, stared.
"Good night, Mom. Dad. I love you both."
He flipped the frame. On the back, faint handwriting:
"Love you so much, our beloved son."
He stared at the words too long. A small smile slowly emerged—soft, hesitant. He felt the words.
He set the frame down gently.
Then ran his hands over his face, chin to forehead. A long drag. Wiping away the day.
He sighed. Eyes closed. Body still.
"Will the days like these ever change?" Kasel whispered—part question, part confession.
His voice was barely audible.
The light hummed above.
He slowly closed his eyes.
...
CBI squad discussion room :
The room meeting ends , the squad members were going out the room with the permission , while the senior standing there gazing brandon . He steps towards brandon .
"Brandon, it's great to see a good leader , you've certainly got guts and ability. Your plan—it's solid, marvin was one of the finest guy I've ever seen in his period ," the senior said. "These new guys, they're sharp and confident , yes what you've said is ryt . I hope your path finally unflolds the buried truth and brings justice to those we lost."
"Thanks, sir. I appreciate you joining us. The truth isn't buried… it's just asleep. We just have to wake it up," Brandon said, smiling.
"Energetic fellow… hmm… Brandon," the senior called again. "As a member, can I ask—how are you so sure LIAM is still involved?"
Brandon smiled, locking eyes with the senior.
"Sir... anybody can be an informer."