"3RD PERSON POV"
"FEW YEARS LATER"
"THAILAND"
Thailand stretched across Southeast Asia like a masterpiece of contrast—emerald jungles blending into golden-roofed temples, ancient traditions thriving beside modern skyscrapers, and bustling markets standing just a street away from serene monasteries. The air was filled with the aroma of sizzling street food—grilled meats, sweet mango sticky rice, and the sharp tang of fish sauce. Buddhist chants flowed like wind through the alleys, and tuk-tuks zipped past luxury cars on the same worn roads.
From the electric chaos of Bangkok's nightlife to the postcard-perfect islands floating in clear turquoise waters, Thailand seemed like a dream. Tourists from every corner of the world poured in daily, chasing paradise, healing, or escape.
But hidden beneath that postcard beauty was a truth far darker.
Thailand, for all its charm and wonder, had become one of the largest child trafficking hubs in the world.
In the shadows of neon-lit streets and behind the silence of guarded doors, children—some local, many smuggled from across Asia and beyond—were bought, sold, and used like property. Victims as young as five were passed through invisible networks, lost in a system run by cold money and colder men.
The same tourism that brought life to Thailand's economy had also fed a monstrous underground market—one that catered to the sickest corners of humanity. Smiling tour guides walked the same streets as traffickers. Expensive hotels sat just blocks away from silent prisons built for children who had no names anymore.
Somewhere in the heart of Bangkok, where the evening sun dipped low and painted the sky in hues of orange and gold, the crowded market buzzed with life. Locals and tourists alike moved through the maze of street stalls, their voices mixing with the aroma of grilled meats, spices, and the sharp sting of engine fumes. Lanterns swayed gently in the warm breeze, casting soft glows over faces that had stories of their own.
In the middle of the crowd, a young man walked calmly. He wore a long black hooded coat that flowed behind him with every step. The hood draped low, casting his face in darkness, revealing only the faint line of a jaw and the glint of calm, watching eyes beneath.
Beneath the coat, he wore a fitted black turtleneck sweater, black slim-fit pants, and polished black leather shoes that clicked softly against the pavement. He moved with a quiet grace—unhurried, unreadable.
Embroidered in shimmering gold over his chest, just where the heart beats, was the symbol of a radiant Dharmachakra. It wasn't loud or flashy, but it demanded attention. The Wheel of Dharma—its eight spokes gleaming like they were forged from sunlight and time—held a silent authority. Each spoke stood for a path: right view, right resolve, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.
To the untrained eye, it might seem like a decorative emblem, but to those who understood—it was a declaration. A mark not just of belief, but of purpose. It was the symbol of balance, of justice wrapped in silence.
The young man in the black hooded coat was Aravind.
Years ago, he had spilled the blood of Umar Farooq and his brother Saif, erasing their names from the underworld with fire and steel. That night had marked the birth of something far greater—something the world wasn't ready for. From their ashes, Aravind created Dharma Chakra, a mercenary group unlike any other. It had no face, no borders, no trace. Just a name whispered like a ghost through the darkest corners of the criminal world.
In just a few years, Dharma Chakra grew like a shadow, spreading through the underworld—slowly, deliberately. First in whispers, then in fear. Its operations were precise, ruthless, and almost myth-like. No one knew how many members it had, where they operated from, or even what they looked like. But everyone knew one name:
Maheshwar.
The leader.
And now, Maheshwar stood at the edge of a busy Bangkok street, hidden in plain sight.
The crowd moved around him—tourists laughing, tuk-tuks honking, street vendors shouting their prices—but he didn't move. His eyes, sharp and unblinking beneath the shadow of his hood, were locked on a small group of children sitting at the curb.
They were barefoot and covered in dirt. Their clothes were ragged and stained, too thin for the season. Some had bruises, others bore burn marks or cuts that hadn't healed properly. Their skin hung loosely from their bones, and their eyes were hollow—far too old for their young faces.
They begged with outstretched hands and broken voices, whispering in different languages, clinging to the legs of passing tourists, who either ignored them or dropped a few coins before moving on.
They weren't Thai. You could see it in their features. They were from everywhere—Cambodia, Myanmar, India, Eastern Europe, Africa. Smuggled here. Sold here. Used here.
Aravind stood still.
His gaze burned—not with pity, but with purpose. His coat shifted slightly in the breeze, revealing once again the golden Dharmachakra over his chest. A symbol of balance. Of justice. Of retribution.
And soon, someone would pay.
For a while Aravind looked at the children with a calm, unreadable gaze. His eyes slowly scanned over their broken faces until they landed on one particular boy—an Indian child, no older than nine or ten.
The boy looked like he hadn't eaten in days. His small frame trembled from exhaustion, and his skin clung tightly to his bones. There was no light in his eyes, only a cold, blank emptiness, as if every color of life had been drained from his soul. His body was covered in bruises and burns—evidence of unspoken torture. Yet, he didn't cry or beg. He just sat there, staring into nothingness.
Suddenly, a transparent screen flickered to life before Aravind's eyes.
[Ding! Host spotted the future main antagonist
Name: Jeevan Gandhi
Basic Information: Jeevan Gandhi, the son of the protagonist from the movie G.O.A.T, M.S. Gandhi—a brave SATS officer. As a child, Jeevan is kidnapped and brainwashed by the antagonist Rajiv Menon, who raises him with hatred toward his real father. Renamed Sanjay, he grows up to become a brilliant scientist, an expert in cloning. Twisted by lies, Sanjay believes Gandhi is responsible for Menon's family's deaths and joins Menon in a revenge plot. In the climax, Gandhi kills Sanjay—but it's later revealed that it was only a clone. The real Sanjay survives and vanishes, preparing for his next move.
Mission: Rajiv Menon is currently in the town—kill him before he reaches Jeevan. Prevent Jeevan from turning into a main antagonist. Doing so will erase the original movie plot and open a chance to recruit him.
Rewards: Based on performance
Penalty: None (An innocent child turns into a ruthless antagonist)
"Accept" "Reject" ]
Seeing the screen in front of him, Aravind rolled his eyes and sighed internally.
'SYS, if you want me to save the child, just say it. Why all this drama—"an innocent child turning into a ruthless antagonist." Just give me a break.'
The system responded immediately, its tone as emotionless as ever.
[I do not understand what Host is implying. I am unable to show emotion. Also, for the record, Host has not received any mission prior that would qualify for a "break."]
Aravind chuckled under his breath, a faint smirk appearing on his lips.
'Yeah, yeah. I get it. You can't show emotion. Whatever. We're here to destroy this child trafficking ring anyway. Accept the mission, SYS.'
As the system confirmed the acceptance silently, Aravind's eyes fell once again on the boy—Jeevan—who was now walking away with the other children, his small hands held out toward tourists, begging for a coin, a crumb, anything.
Under the shadow of his hood, Aravind raised his hand. A sleek, black device appeared in his palm with a soft flicker. He glanced at it briefly, then tapped a number into the holographic screen. The line connected after a second.
"Bhaijaan," came Rayyan's voice on the other end.
"I need you to locate someone," Aravind said in a calm, firm tone. "Name's Rajiv Menon. He's in this city. I want him in an hour. I'm sending you my location—rendezvous here."
"Who is he, Bhaijaan?" Rayyan asked, curiosity laced with confusion.
Aravind's lips curled into a cold smile. "A mentally unstable man... with a habit of stealing other people's children."
There was a beat of silence.
"Wh-what?"
"Nothing," Aravind said casually. "You have one hour. Move."
"Yes, Bhaijaan," Rayyan replied quickly.
Aravind ended the call, and the device shimmered out of existence as smoothly as it appeared.
His gaze returned to Jeevan, who was now being pulled along by a slightly older child as the group of them disappeared into the crowd. Without a word, Aravind's figure flickered—and vanished into the air.
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"3RD PERSON POV"
"UNKNOWN PLACE IN BANGKOK"
A dimly lit warehouse, its walls stained with rust and rot, sat hidden on the outskirts of Bangkok. Inside, the air was thick with the stench of sweat, fear, and gasoline. Several armed European men stood in a circle, holding rifles. Their expressions were cold, detached, as if they'd long forgotten the meaning of empathy.
Behind them, dozens of children were crammed into a large iron cage. Some sat motionless, their eyes hollow with shock. Others cried softly, clutching their bruised limbs or each other, seeking comfort in a nightmare that never ended. Boys and girls of different ages and countries, all stripped of innocence far too early.
Outside the cage, a handful of the older children—including Jeevan—were being held tightly by the guards. Jeevan, no more than nine or ten, screamed and kicked as one of the men pinned his arms behind his back. His face was streaked with tears and dirt, his body trembling.
A woman stood in front of him. Her heels echoed sharply across the concrete as she moved, her eyes filled with cruel amusement. Dressed in a blood-red suit, she towered over the crying boy.
"Shut up," she hissed.
Then—crack!
Her palm connected with Jeevan's cheek, and the sound of the slap rang out like gunfire in the enclosed space. He dropped to the ground, sobbing, holding his face. The other children cried louder, the fear spreading like wildfire.
The woman turned to one of the guards and snapped, "Pick him up. Hold him tight."
The man obeyed wordlessly, stepping forward and grabbing Jeevan by the arms. He lifted the boy roughly and held him as he thrashed and screamed.
The woman smiled again, slowly pulling out a small, gleaming blade from her coat pocket. She took Jeevan's hand and gripped it firmly.
He struggled, his cries turning desperate.
She brought the blade closer to his fingers, savoring the moment.
And just as the metal touched his skin—
A calm, composed voice echoed through the warehouse, carrying a weight that silenced everything.
"Well... what can I say? This is disgusting as hell."
Hearing the voice, the woman and the armed men turned sharply toward its source.
A man stood at the entrance, his face hidden beneath the shadow of a black hood. His long coat fluttered slightly in the breeze coming from the broken windows above. The fading sunlight cast a golden edge around him, making his figure look like something out of a nightmare—or a legend.
The men quickly raised their guns, aiming at the stranger without hesitation. But the woman froze.
Her eyes locked onto the golden symbol embroidered on the stranger's chest—the Dharmachakra, gleaming like it was burning with judgment itself.
Her face went pale. Sweat poured down her forehead as her knees buckled. She collapsed to the floor, eyes wide with terror. Her lips trembled as she muttered, almost in disbelief.
"D-Dharma..."
A faint smile touched Aravind's lips beneath the hood. His voice was calm, unhurried.
"Oh? So you know me."
Instead of replying, the woman's fear exploded into panic. She screamed at her men, her voice cracking.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! SHOOT HIM! SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER OR WE'RE ALL DEAD!"
The men, rattled but obedient, immediately let go of the children and turned their guns on Aravind.
But before a single trigger could be pulled
crack! crack! crack!
The sharp sound of suppressed gunfire echoed through the warehouse.
One by one, the armed men dropped to the floor. Bullet holes marked the center of their foreheads, blood pooling beneath their lifeless bodies.
Silence followed. Cold, heavy silence.
The children trembled. The woman stared in horror.
Aravind didn't move an inch.
Suddenly, with a swift blur of movement, several figures appeared behind Aravind. Each of them was dressed in all black, their hoods drawn low over their faces, making them nearly indistinguishable in the dim light. The only thing visible on them was the symbol of the Dharma Chakra stitched in shimmering gold over their chests—radiating silent authority.
One of them, Rayyan, stood at the center, casually holding an unconscious man over his shoulder like a sack of rice. The man was none other than Rajiv Menon.
The warehouse was quiet now. The children had stopped crying. Most of them had already crawled or stumbled away from the woman, their wide, tearful eyes now fixed on Aravind and his team—not with fear alone, but with a fragile glimmer of hope.
The woman, now fully realizing who stood before her, began to crawl backward. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with dirt and blood. She sobbed, her voice breaking.
"Please… please, spare me… I-I didn't—"
Before she could finish, a loud crack rang out.
A single bullet tore through her forehead. Her body went limp and collapsed to the ground in a heap.
For a moment, silence settled over the group like a shroud.
Aravind let out a soft sigh, his shoulders dropping slightly under the weight of the moment.
One of the hooded men, Sahil, glanced at Zafar from beneath his hood and muttered, "Bro, seriously? You gave her an easy and peaceful death. Chill, man."
Zafar replied with a blank expression, his tone dry, "I didn't like her face."
Amar and a few others chuckled at the cold reply, but their laughter died quickly the moment Rayyan turned his head slightly toward them.
No words were needed.
They went silent instantly.
Aravind let out a heavy sigh and looked at Rayyan. "Wake him up."
Without hesitation, Rayyan dropped Rajiv Menon to the ground with a thud. His head hit the concrete, and he groaned as consciousness slowly returned. Before he could fully register his surroundings, Rayyan grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
Rajiv cried out in pain, gasping as his back hit the cold surface. Dazed, he looked around, trying to make sense of the hooded figures surrounding him—until his eyes landed on Aravind, standing calmly at the center.
Rayyan's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Rajiv Menon. Former Chief of the Special Anti-Terrorism Squad. Currently absconding after being charged with treason."
Rajiv's face paled. "D-Dharma… Look, we have no issues, right? It's all a misunderstanding!"
Aravind smiled, his tone light. "Of course. We have no issues."
Hearing the voice, Rajiv's heart skipped a beat. The man who spoke had authority—this had to be Maheshwar, the mysterious leader of Dharma Chakra.
Trying to choose his words carefully, Rajiv said, "Ah, Maheshwar… It's an honor to meet you. Like you said, there's no history between us, so why—"
Before he could finish, he noticed Aravind glancing toward the children, specifically at Jeevan.
Rajiv's eyes widened as he connected the dots.
"You… You know about that boy. That's why you're—"
Crack!
Rayyan's punch landed squarely on his face, the sound of bone crunching echoing in the room. Blood poured from Rajiv's nose as he fell to his knees, screaming in pain.
Rayyan looked down at him coldly. "Don't speak unless you're given permission."
Seeing this, Aravind turned his eyes toward Jeevan. The moment their gazes met, Jeevan flinched and stepped back, his body trembling with fear.
Aravind slowly removed his hood, revealing his face. Running a hand through his hair, he gave a gentle smile and said softly, "Come here, kid. Don't be scared."
Jeevan hesitated, his small hands clenched into fists, but after a few seconds, he began to walk toward Aravind with nervous, unsteady steps.
Meanwhile, Rajiv stared at Aravind in shock. He hadn't expected the leader of a group as terrifying and powerful as Dharma Chakra to be so young. The realization sent a chill down his spine—if this man was already this dangerous now, what would he become in the future?
As Jeevan finally stood in front of him, Aravind knelt to his level. He gently placed a hand on the boy's head and asked, "What's your name?"
The boy hesitated, then mumbled, "Je... Jeevan Gandhi."
Aravind smiled again. "That's a good name."
He then pointed toward Rajiv, who was kneeling on the ground, blood dripping from his face. "Do you see that man over there?"
Jeevan nodded quietly, his eyes still filled with fear.
Seeing this, Aravind said calmly, "That man over there—he's an Indian terrorist. Your father once tried to bring him down."
Jeevan's eyes widened, a flicker of hope shining through his fear. "Y-You know my father?" he asked hesitantly.
Aravind smiled softly. "Not personally, but I know of him. He's a good man… and a great soldier."
Then his expression turned serious. "But that's not what matters right now. What's important is this—Rajiv, the man you're looking at, is the one responsible for everything that happened to you. He kidnapped you, sold you to these monsters… and then faked your death in a car accident to your parents."
Jeevan froze, disbelief and rage clashing in his small face. His eyes slowly turned toward Rajiv, now filled with pure hatred.
Aravind placed a hand on his shoulder and continued, "Do you know why he did that?"
Jeevan shook his head, lips trembling.
"Because he's a bad man. A monster hiding in human skin. Just like the people who hurt you and those other kids. And out there…" Aravind looked toward the exit, his tone growing darker, "there are many more like him. Your father is one of the few warriors who fight against them. But even he is bound by law, by rules. And sometimes… the people who make those laws are the same kind of monsters as Rajiv."
Hearing this, Jeevan looked up into Aravind's eyes, searching for truth in his words.
Aravind held his gaze and continued, "But we… we are Dharma Chakra. We're not bound by those laws. We move through the shadows of the world, hunting people like Rajiv—monsters hiding behind power—and we help the ones they hurt. People like you."
He paused for a moment, his voice calm but firm. "We know we can't save everyone. We can't stop all the evil in the world. That's impossible. But what we can do is maintain the balance. We bring justice where no one else can."
Aravind slowly raised his hand toward Rayyan.
Without a word, Rayyan placed a small gun into Aravind's palm.
Taking it, Aravind turned back to Jeevan and knelt down again. He extended the gun toward him.
"Now you have two choices, Jeevan," Aravind said, his tone clear and steady. "One—I'll send you back to your family. To your friends. You'll live a peaceful life, free from this nightmare."
He held up the gun slightly. "Or two—you take this gun… kill Rajiv with your own hands, and join us. Join Dharma Chakra. I'll train you myself. I'll teach you everything I know—science, martial arts, strategy, warfare. You'll be our mind… our heart. And together, we'll protect people like you."
Aravind looked him in the eyes.
"The choice is yours, kid."
Hearing this, Jeevan nervously glanced at the other kids behind him—some watching with wide, hopeful eyes. Then he looked at the man who had destroyed his life. Finally, his gaze landed on the gun in Aravind's hand.
For a moment, he stood frozen, unsure of what to do. His mind flashed with memories—his father's warm smile, his mother's tear-filled eyes, the peaceful days with his friends, the safety of home. A tear rolled down his cheek.
He looked up at Aravind and asked in a trembling voice, "D-Do I… become a brother?"
Aravind smiled gently and replied, "Yes. You'll be the big brother of a beautiful baby girl. And I promise—you'll meet her very soon."
Jeevan's hands trembled as he reached for the gun. With a shout mixed with pain and anger, he pulled the trigger.
The shot rang through the warehouse. Rajiv slumped to the ground, lifeless. The gun slipped from Jeevan's hand as he broke into tears, the weight of everything crashing down on him.
Aravind stepped forward and gently wrapped his arms around the boy. Jeevan clung to him, sobbing into his chest.
Suddenly, a translucent screen flickered into view before Aravind's eyes:
[Ding…]
But before the system could continue, Aravind thought, 'Not now, SYS.'
[Understood, Host.] The screen faded away.
Aravind stood up slowly, still holding the crying Jeevan in his arms. He turned to his group, his expression calm but firm.
"Clear the area. Rescue the children. Get them ready to go home," he ordered.
Everyone nodded and moved without a word.
Looking down at Jeevan, Aravind smiled and said, "No more tears, kid. It's time to shine. From this moment on, to the world… you're Sanjay Raghavan—my little brother."
Jeevan looked up at him with wide eyes, then nodded slowly, still crying—but this time, with a glimmer of hope.
(A/N: I don't know why, but I felt a little emotional while writing this chapter. Anyway, the backstory is over. Starting from the next chapter, we'll dive into the main story. Also, please let me know what you think about the novel so far.)