Parliament was loud.
Not the usual noise—this was sharper. Angry. Intentional.
Arjun stood at his office , watching as opposition leaders took turns at the podium, voices amplified, faces carefully outraged.
"This so-called Player Task Force," one of them declared, finger stabbing the air, "is nothing more than a secret police!"
Shouts followed.
"A weapon!"
"A threat to democracy!"
"A step toward dictatorship!"
Arjun didn't react.
He'd expected this.
Another speaker rose immediately.
"Giving the state authority to deploy awakened individuals against its own citizens—without judicial oversight—is unprecedented!" she said. "Today it's players. Tomorrow it's anyone the government finds inconvenient."
The word dictatorship was repeated again. Louder this time.
Outside the chamber, protests echoed faintly. Banners. Chants. Fear dressed up as principle.
NO PLAYER POLICE
DON'T LEGALIZE HUNTERS
POWER CORRUPTS
Some faces were afraid. Others were excited. Conflict always attracted both.
Inside the chamber, another opposition leader took the podium, voice trembling just enough to sound righteous.
"You are asking this nation to trust that power will restrain itself," he said. "History tells us that never happens."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the hall.
Arjun reached for the remote and turned the TV off.
The shouting vanished instantly.
The office felt too quiet after that—thick, padded, like the walls were holding their breath. He stood there for a while, staring at the dark screen where outrage had been looping seconds ago.
Nothing had changed.
Except now it was muted.
Minutes passed.
Then his phone rang.
Arjun glanced at the caller ID and answered immediately.
"Yes, Prime Minister."
The voice on the other end sounded tired. Not angry. Not uncertain.
Careful.
"It's a hard pass," the PM said. "Not the vote. I have the numbers. That's not the problem."
Arjun leaned back against his desk. "The backlash."
"Yes," the PM admitted. "It'll be massive. States pushing back. Media framing it as authoritarian overreach. International eyes watching us like hawks."
A pause.
"I can push it through," the PM continued. "But if I do it now, it becomes the only thing people see. Not safety. Not control. Just power."
Arjun closed his eyes briefly.
"And you want to wait," he said.
"We wait," the PM confirmed. "Let the noise peak. Let people exhaust themselves shouting. Then we act when reality gives us justification."
Arjun's jaw tightened.
"How long?" he asked.
"I don't know," the PM replied honestly. "Days. Weeks. Or until something breaks."
Silence stretched between them.
Arjun finally spoke. "When it breaks, it won't be clean."
"I know," the PM said. "That's why I'm calling you. No moves. No unofficial actions. We hold."
Arjun looked toward the city beyond the window—layers of lights, lives, hidden power burning in places the law still pretended not to see.
"Understood," he said.
The call ended.
Arjun didn't stay by the window.
He grabbed his coat instead.
The car took a longer route than necessary. No lights. No escorts. No official records. By the time Arjun stepped out, the city had slipped into its quieter hours—shops half-shuttered, streets pretending nothing was wrong.
The opposition leader was already there.
A private residence. Curtains drawn. Phones left outside the room.
They sat across from each other with a low table between them. No aides. No cameras. No slogans.
Just two men who understood the cost of being wrong.
"You shouldn't be here," the leader said first. "If this leaks—"
"It won't," Arjun replied. "I didn't come as the state. I came as someone who's already seen what's coming."
The man studied him carefully. "You want my support."
"No," Arjun said. "I want your understanding."
A pause.
"You think giving players badges and authority fixes anything?" the leader asked. "Power rots. You know that."
"I do," Arjun agreed. "That's why I'm trying to cage it before it grows teeth."
The leader scoffed quietly. "By legalizing hunters?"
"By stopping vigilantes," Arjun corrected. "Right now, awakened people are acting without rules. Without oversight. Without consequence. You're afraid of a state monopoly on force."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I'm afraid of no one having one."
Silence followed.
Arjun continued, voice lower now. "We already have illegal executions. Black-market contracts. Red tasks that don't care about innocence. And when civilians start dying, the question won't be whether the Task Force is authoritarian."
He held the man's gaze.
"It'll be why the government did nothing while it had a chance."
The opposition leader leaned back, fingers steepled.
he replied. "The Prime Minister has the numbers. If this is truly urgent, he can pass it tonight."
Arjun didn't interrupt.
The man's eyes sharpened. "And I won't hand him this. Not now. Not when the country is watching."
A thin smile followed. "This backlash? This fear? It weakens him. Massively."
Arjun's jaw tightened.
"You're willing to risk lives," he said quietly, "to reduce a man."
"I'm willing to let him own the consequences," the leader shot back. "Power should hurt to use. If he believes in this so much, let him bleed for it."
A pause.
"You're asking me to sacrifice my leverage," the leader continued. "I won't. Not for hypotheticals. Not for warnings."
He gestured toward the door.
"Go," he said. "If things get worse, we'll talk again. When the public demands action—not before."
Arjun stood.
For a moment, it looked like he might argue.
He didn't.
"Then remember this," Arjun said calmly. "When it breaks, it won't ask who benefited politically."
The leader said nothing.
Arjun walked out.
The door closed softly behind him.
Arjun had just set his keys down when his phone rang again.[at home]
This time, there was no pretense.
He answered.
"What were you doing," the Prime Minister asked, voice low and sharp, "meeting the opposition leader behind my back?"
Arjun didn't sit.
"There was a reporter outside," the PM continued. "Hiding. Someone tipped them off. The location, Arjun. The timing."
A pause. Controlled anger. "It's everywhere. Headlines are already spinning it as secret collusion."
Arjun closed his eyes.
"I went to talk," he said simply. "Not to bargain. Not to promise anything."
"That doesn't matter," the PM snapped. "Perception does. And right now it looks like you're freelancing foreign policy inside my own government."
"I was trying to prevent blood," Arjun replied. "Because waiting guarantees it."
Silence on the line.
Then, quieter. Heavier.
"You just gave them ammunition," the PM said. "They'll frame this as proof we're plotting authoritarian control in back rooms."
Arjun leaned against the wall.
"He won't support it," Arjun said. "Not until things break. He's betting on chaos to weaken you."
Another pause.
"I know," the PM said. "Which means from this moment on, you're visible. No more shadows. No more private outreach."
Arjun clenched his jaw.
"We can't afford visibility right now," he said.
"We can't afford another leak," the PM replied. "Stand down. Let the storm pass."
"And when something snaps?" Arjun asked.
The PM didn't answer immediately.
"When it does," he said finally, "we move fast. And publicly."
"i am disappointed in you arjun"
The call ended.