"3RD PERSON POV"
"TWO YEARS AFTER ARAVIND MET RAYYAN"
"LASHKAR-E-UMAR TRAINING CAMP – EASTERN PAKISTAN"
Deep within the shadowed forests of eastern Pakistan—where the trees stood tall and the sky remained a pale witness to hidden horrors—a grim sight unfolded under the sharp glare of the afternoon sun.
Children, barely older than eight, stood in rigid lines. Some wore expressions of confusion, others of numb acceptance. The oldest among them couldn't have been more than seventeen. Dirt smudged their faces, their eyes hollowed from sleepless nights and stolen childhoods.
Surrounding them were armed men, their rifles slung casually, as if violence was nothing more than routine.
A man stepped forward. In his hand was a worn rifle, and in his voice—poison disguised as purpose.
He paced slowly before the rows of children, letting the weight of silence settle like a fog.
Then, he stopped in front of a boy—no older than nine—and barked, "Who killed your father?"
The boy's voice trembled. "P-police…"
A harsh slap echoed through the trees—not from a hand, but from the man's voice. "No! It was Hindustan!" he shouted, spitting the word like venom. "They wear the uniform, but the system behind them? That's your real enemy!"
He moved to another child, a teenager with clenched fists and haunted eyes.
"And you…" the man said. "Who was it that stripped your sister of her dignity and burned her alive?"
The teen's lips quivered. "It… it was men from the next village—"
"Wrong!" the man roared, stepping forward and grabbing the boy by the collar. "It was Hindustan! Their soldiers, their government, their silence! They all let it happen."
He let the boy go, and the teen stumbled back, shaken.
The man turned to the rest of the children, raising his voice so all could hear. "Never forget! They pretend to be your neighbors, your protectors… but they are the butchers of your families, the thieves of your futures."
The man's gaze swept over the line of children once more, until it stopped—on a boy no older than ten or eleven. Unlike the others, this child wasn't trembling. He wasn't looking at the ground. He stared back, eyes cold and unwavering, with the stillness of someone who had already seen too much.
The man smirked, intrigued. "You," he said, pointing his rifle toward the boy. "Who slaughtered your family and left you an orphan?"
He expected hesitation. He expected the same fear-driven confusion the others showed. But the boy didn't flinch.
"Hindustan," the child answered, his voice calm.
The boy… was Aravind.
The man's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with twisted approval. "Yes," he said. "Yes. That's the truth, isn't it?"
Taking a step forward, he raised his voice. "Now tell me—who is the true enemy of your faith? Of your people?"
Around them, the children responded like echoes. "Hindustan!"
All… except two.
Aravind stood silent. So did the boy beside him—Rayyan.
The man ignored it, feeding off the energy of the others. "Then answer this—who truly deserves your vengeance?"
"Hindustan!" the children shouted again, louder, like a chant burned into their minds.
Satisfied, the man raised his hands and roared, "Insha'Allah, every land shall echo with this cry!"
He began to pace again, eyes gleaming with fanatic fire. "Allah Rasool Allah! From this day forward, you are no longer children. You are warriors of the Islamic Sultanate! You have one mission—the domination of the infidels and the death of Hindustan."
With that, he lifted his rifle into the air and fired.
"Allahu Akbar!" he shouted into the sky.
The other armed men followed, shouting the same and firing their weapons into the air. The sound of gunfire rang through the forest like a dark celebration, masking the terror it was meant to bury.
As the gunfire echoed through the camp and chants of "Allahu Akbar!" rang out in the forest, another man approached the one who had been shouting commands.
He was shorter—no more than 4 feet 7 inches—but walked with authority. His sharp eyes scanned the children coldly. Another man followed closely behind him, taller, bulkier, with a grim expression.
Aravind's eyes narrowed.
Suddenly, a faint chime echoed in his ears—only he could hear it. A glowing blue screen materialized in front of him, visible to no one else.
[Ding! Host have encountered two Antagonists!
Name: Umar Farooq and Umar Saif
Affiliation: Terrorist Organization
Basic Information:
Umar Farooq – A notorious terrorist captured by protagonist RAW field agent Veera Raghavan during an operation in Pakistan. His capture led to a tragic civilian massacre, which forced Veera to resign. Umar Saif – Farooq's younger brother. In the future, he will hijack the East Coast Mall in Chennai to demand Farooq's release. This event sparks the main plot of the film Beast/RAW.
Mission Objective:
Eliminate both Umar Farooq and Umar Saif preventing plot from happening.
Reward: Will be determined based on mission performance.
Penalty: None—however, there is a high risk of death for you and your companions.
"Accept" "Reject" ]
Aravind's expression remained unreadable. He looked away from the glowing screen, eyes fixed on the two men standing before the children.
He stared at the [Accept] button for a heartbeat longer, then made his choice.
'Accept.'
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
"3RD PERSON POV"
"THAT SAME NIGHT"
The camp was eerily quiet under the dark canopy of night, though the perimeter was tightly guarded by armed men. Within a large makeshift tent at the center, a single oil lamp flickered, casting shadows on the faces of the children sitting cross-legged on the ground.
Umar Farooq sat comfortably in a cushioned chair, his presence imposing and cold. Across from him stood his younger brother, Umar Saif, who had personally brought in the group of boys.
"Bhai," Umar Saif began, gesturing toward the children. "These are the ones I handpicked for our special squad. They're all from Hindustan. Young, angry, and broken—perfect for our purpose."
Farooq's cold eyes scanned the group. Most of the children avoided his gaze, trembling under the weight of fear. But two boys caught his attention—Aravind and Rayyan. They sat still, calm, their expressions unreadable.
Farooq raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
He stood up, the room falling into a tense silence as he began to speak.
"From this moment onward, you are no longer children. You are warriors of the Islamic Sultanate."
His voice was deep, filled with authority and menace.
"Your only purpose is to destroy Hindustan. To take revenge on those who have wronged you. Your lives now belong to me."
The flickering lamp cast harsh shadows across his face, making his expression look almost monstrous.
"For the next three years, you will undergo special training. You will be shaped into weapons. Prepared to infiltrate Hindustan… and tear it apart from the inside."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"And remember this—if any of you fail to meet my expectations…" he looked slowly around the room, his eyes pausing on each terrified face, "I will not hesitate to kill you myself."
Silence.
The children swallowed hard. Some shook. Others wept silently. But Aravind and Rayyan remained motionless, like stone amidst a sea of fear.
The boys sitting on the floor nodded quickly, fear tightening around their chests like a noose. The fire crackled in a steel drum nearby, casting flickering light across their anxious faces. Umar Farooq's sharp eyes scanned them again, then landed once more on the two boys who hadn't shown even a hint of fear.
"You two—stand up."
Aravind and Rayyan rose to their feet in perfect unison, calm and composed.
Farooq narrowed his eyes. "I see fire in your eyes… What are your names?"
Aravind met his gaze without flinching. "I'm Ali Hussain," he said evenly. Then he placed a firm hand on Rayyan's shoulder. "And this is my brother."
Rayyan gave a small nod. "Rayyan Hussain."
Umar Farooq stroked his beard, studying them carefully. "Brothers, huh?" He leaned forward slightly. "What happened to your family?"
Aravind lowered his gaze just slightly, adding a faint tremble to his voice—just enough to make it believable. "They were slaughtered… by Hindus."
Rayyan followed his lead, his expression hardening with fake hatred. "They killed our family. Burned our home."
Farooq's eyes glinted with satisfaction.
"And what do you want to do now?" he asked, already anticipating the answer.
Rayyan responded first this time, his voice cold and full of practiced fury. "Destroy Hindustan… and every last one of them."
A slow smile crept across Umar Farooq's face. "Good… good. That's what I like to hear."
He turned back to the rest of the children seated on the ground.
"From this moment forward, Ali Hussain is your leader. Rayyan will serve as his second-in-command. Do you all understand?"
The children nodded, some reluctantly, others out of pure fear.
Farooq turned back to the two boys and smiled, pride in his voice. "I have high expectations from both of you."
Aravind and Rayyan stood still, emotionless.
Aravind replied calmly, "Of course."
Rayyan echoed, "We won't disappoint you."
But behind those calm eyes, behind those perfectly delivered words, lay a different truth—cold, calculated, and deadly.
The wolves had taken their first step inside the Umar Farooq den.