This is not the story of a boy who feared others, but of someone who understood how to make others uneasy. And perhaps, that very trait was the reason he was chosen for something far beyond ordinary.
Rana appeared to be an entirely typical college student. If you had seen him standing casually near the college gate, you would have dismissed him as just another familiar face in the crowd. Medium height, a lean frame, perpetually messy hair, and eyes that carried a restless blend of confidence and defiance. There was a noticeable edge in the way he carried himself — a quiet arrogance woven into his stride, a sharpness embedded in his voice.
Yet Rana's most defining characteristic was not his appearance, but his behavior.
Within the college corridors, his name alone was enough to stiffen the posture of juniors. Officially, he was never labeled a troublemaker. Unofficially, everyone understood the unspoken rule — Rana was not someone one casually crossed paths with. His humor often blurred into mockery, his remarks into intimidation. He possessed a talent for turning casual interactions into subtle discomfort.
"Bro, you should seriously join a gym… you look lighter than air," Rana remarked to a junior one afternoon.
The boy responded with a strained smile, the kind born from obligation rather than amusement. Rana's friends erupted into laughter.
"Relax, don't take it personally. Think of it as motivation," Rana added, patting the junior's shoulder, though the tone carried more amusement than sincerity.
Rana genuinely believed he was entertaining. Charismatic. Impressive.
The reality, however, was far less flattering.
People did not admire him.
They endured him.
Life at home unfolded in a similarly ordinary rhythm. Rana belonged to a modest middle-class family whose simplicity was defined not by luxury, but by stability. His father held a government position, disciplined and composed. His mother dedicated herself to the household, her care expressed through quiet routines. Material extravagance was scarce, yet warmth and affection were never absent.
Still, Rana found little appeal in any of it.
"Rana, have breakfast before you leave," his mother called gently from the kitchen.
"I'm getting late, Mom. I'll grab something in the canteen," he replied hastily, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"Canteen food again? Why don't you ever eat at home?" she asked, her voice patient rather than accusatory.
Rana exhaled sharply, irritation surfacing without restraint.
"Mom, please… not another lecture."
His father, seated with a newspaper, observed the exchange in silence before finally speaking.
"Rana," he said calmly, though firmness underlined every syllable, "learn to moderate your tone."
Rana paused momentarily. Only for a second.
Then, turning with mild frustration, he responded, "Dad, I'm just in a hurry. Why does everything become a discussion?"
His father folded the newspaper, preparing to reply.
But Rana had already stepped out.
An uneasy silence settled across the room.
"He's grown up," his mother murmured softly.
"Yes," his father replied after a pause, "grown up… but not matured."
There was only one person immune to Rana's abrasive exterior — his younger sister, Riya.
Riya was Rana's vulnerability.
And Rana, despite everything, was Riya's hero.
"Bhaaiii!" Riya burst into his room, her voice overflowing with energy.
Rana lay sprawled across his bed, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone.
"What is it?" he asked without looking up.
"I have my presentation tomorrow," she announced, excitement and nervousness intertwining in her expression.
"So?"
"Help me practice!"
Rana set his phone aside, an uncommon gesture of attention.
"Alright, madam. Let's hear it."
Riya opened her file, inhaled deeply, and began, "Good morning everyone…"
Rana raised a hand.
"Stop."
She blinked. "What?"
"Where's the confidence? You sound like you're marking attendance."
Riya frowned. "Bhai…"
A faint smile crossed Rana's face — rare, but genuine.
"Relax. Take a deep breath. Imagine the entire audience is clueless."
Riya laughed.
"Now try again."
This time, her voice emerged steadier, stronger. Rana listened with surprising focus, correcting posture, refining phrasing, guiding her delivery with patience that few others ever witnessed.
An hour later, Riya stood visibly transformed.
"If I top tomorrow, the treat is on you," she declared playfully.
"My treat is already guaranteed," Rana replied.
She hugged him tightly.
In moments like these, Rana appeared almost unrecognizable — composed, encouraging, protective. A version of him the outside world rarely glimpsed. Sometimes, his mother would quietly watch from the doorway, a silent thought lingering behind her eyes.
If only this warmth extended beyond Riya.
For Rana, college life revolved around ego, amusement, and selective engagement. Academic capability was never his weakness; discipline was. Attendance mattered more than lectures. Intelligence outweighed effort.
One afternoon, a poster surfaced on the notice board:
Part-Time Work Opportunity – Evening Shift – Good Payment
His friends responded immediately.
"Easy money," Aman grinned.
"Decent experience too," Neeraj added.
Rana read it with casual interest, though the compensation caught his attention. Financial strain was never openly discussed at home, yet its presence was undeniable. His father managed expenses without complaint. Rana never acknowledged it aloud, but guilt lingered beneath his indifference.
"Let's give it a try," he decided.
Forms were submitted.
Selections were announced.
They were accepted.
The job was located within a warehouse facility operating evening shifts. Tasks were straightforward — inventory verification, box arrangement, basic system updates. Nothing glamorous, nothing intellectually demanding.
On the first day, Rana's enthusiasm faded quickly.
"Thought this would be more interesting," he muttered.
"The salary is interesting enough," Aman laughed.
Days progressed. Routine formed.
Yet something within the warehouse environment remained unsettling.
One section, positioned discreetly in a distant corner, remained permanently locked. A stark warning sign marked its presence.
Restricted Area
"Sir, what's inside?" Rana asked one day.
Without lifting his gaze, the supervisor replied, "Not your concern."
The response was curt. Unnaturally so.
Rana dismissed it outwardly.
But curiosity persisted.
One night, his shift extended later than usual. The warehouse stood nearly deserted as Rana completed final updates. An unusual stillness permeated the space. The overhead lights flickered.
"Power fluctuation?" he wondered.
Then came the vibration — faint, yet unmistakable. As though the structure itself trembled.
Everything appeared normal.
Until—
A dim blue glow seeped from beneath the Restricted Area door.
Rana froze.
The light intensified gradually. The surrounding air grew dense, heavy, oppressive. A low humming sound emerged, neither mechanical nor human — something altogether unfamiliar.
Instinct urged retreat.
Curiosity compelled movement.
Step by step, Rana advanced.
The glow brightened.
Suddenly—
Click.
The door shifted open.
Rana's breath faltered.
Inside, where darkness should have existed, a luminous mist pulsed softly. Within it, silhouettes formed — shapes unrecognizable, impossible to categorize.
The humming deepened, resonating directly within his mind.
Rana attempted to step back.
His body refused.
An unseen force anchored him in place.
One figure gradually clarified.
Tall.
Thin.
Eyes—
Radiating an unnatural brilliance.
Shock eclipsed thought.
Fear eclipsed reason.
"This… this isn't possible," Rana whispered.
Then—
A blinding flash consumed everything.
Light.
Silence.
And in the next instant—
Rana vanished.
The warehouse returned to stillness.
The door closed.
No evidence remained.
Except Rana's phone, lying abandoned on the floor, its screen still glowing faintly.
Waiting.
That night, Rana never reached home.
His mother's calls went unanswered.
His father paced relentlessly.
Riya stood motionless on the balcony, eyes fixed on the empty road.
"Bhai is late… but he'll come back, won't he?" she asked quietly.
Silence responded.
The night deepened.
Somewhere far beyond familiarity—
Rana's eyes slowly opened.
He was not in his room.
Not in the warehouse.
The ground beneath him felt foreign.
The air unfamiliar.
And before him—
Those same brilliant, unnatural eyes.
He tried to speak.
No sound emerged.
A voice echoed within his mind.
"Weapon needs to upgrade."
His heart thundered violently.
Another voice followed.
"Welcome."
But welcome to what?
And why?
This was not the conclusion of Rana's journey.
It was merely the beginning.