Morning sunlight filtered through Karachi's grey clouds, turning the city into a blur of gold and concrete. But inside Inspector Jamshed's study, the air was still thick with last night's tension.
Stacks of old files lay open across the table — dusty, yellowed pages from forgotten investigations.
Mehmooda sipped her tea quietly while Farooq adjusted his laptop cables, trying to rebuild the charred microchip.
"Abba," she asked softly, "why does this 'Operation Black Pulse' sound like something you already know?"
Jamshed didn't look up. He opened a classified folder marked 1999 – Confidential.
Inside were photos of soldiers, scientists, and one man's face circled in red.
"Because I worked on the case twenty-five years ago," he said.
"It was shut down before it ever went public."
He placed a photo on the table — a younger version of himself, standing beside a military officer and a civilian scientist. The scientist's name read Dr. Zafar Qureshi.
Farooq frowned. "Zafar… Z. Could it be the same man?"
Jamshed nodded grimly.
"Dr. Zafar vanished in 2001, after a data theft scandal involving a military encryption chip. They said he died in a lab explosion — but no body was ever found."
Mehmooda leaned forward. "And now someone calling himself Mr. Z is after us?"
Before Jamshed could answer, his phone buzzed again — this time, it was Colonel Naveed, his old friend from the intelligence bureau.
"Jamshed, I need to see you. Alone. It's about the packet."
The call ended abruptly.
---
Later – Abandoned Army Depot, Korangi
The depot smelled of rust and dust. Jamshed parked his car near the gate and entered cautiously.
Colonel Naveed stood in the shadows, hands folded behind his back. His uniform looked older, heavier — like the years had worn him down.
"You shouldn't have opened that packet," Naveed said immediately.
"Black Pulse wasn't just an operation… it was an experiment."
"An experiment?" Jamshed repeated.
"Yes. A digital weapon — capable of hijacking defense networks worldwide. We shut it down before it went online. But someone — your Dr. Zafar — stole a copy."
Jamshed's eyes narrowed. "You're saying Mr. Z is Dr. Zafar?"
Naveed hesitated.
"I can't confirm that. But if he's alive… he's not working alone. He has backers — political, international, and very dangerous."
Suddenly, a sharp metallic click echoed across the depot.
Snipers.
Red dots flickered on both men's chests.
"They found us," Naveed whispered.
"Run—"
Gunfire erupted.
Jamshed ducked behind a crate, returning fire. Naveed collapsed beside him, a dark stain spreading across his uniform.
He grabbed Jamshed's hand, gasping:
"Find the second packet… it's the key…"
Then his grip went limp.
---
Minutes Later
Jamshed staggered out of the depot, narrowly escaping through a back alley. His car was gone — burned to ashes.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
He reached for his communicator.
"Farooq, Mehmooda — get out of the house. They're coming for you next."
---
Cut To – Mr. Z's Headquarters
Mr. Z stood before his wall of screens, watching the depot burn.
He smiled faintly.
"Naveed served his purpose. Now… let's see how long the inspector can survive without his past."
He tapped a button. One of the screens zoomed in on Jamshed's children escaping through narrow Karachi streets.
"Initiate tracking," he said. "And prepare the replacement packet. Phase Three begins tonight."