Dushiant Rajput's eyes scanned the intricate patterns of the Saksham Industries reception floor as he waited for the elevator. The marble was polished to a gleaming perfection, each tile set like a piece in a chessboard. It felt oddly appropriate. Every detail of this infiltration had to be perfect—every move calculated, every decision deliberate.
The elevator chimed softly as the doors opened. Inside, the scent of fresh cologne mixed with the sterile chill of the air conditioning. Dushiant stood silently among a handful of new hires, his face the perfect mask of a young, slightly nervous intern. He played the part flawlessly, adjusting his glasses, nodding when others spoke, but never saying too much. His real work was only beginning.
On the 19th floor, Conference Room B buzzed with quiet tension. The morning's tests had gone exactly as planned, but now came the truly important part—embedding himself deeper into the daily workings of the company. It wasn't enough to be inside; he needed to observe, learn, and most importantly—remain invisible while doing so.
Once the panel interviews were over and the shortlist announced, the chosen interns were ushered into a smaller room where their designations and mentors were assigned. Dushiant was placed under Ravi Tripathi, the HR Manager.
The moment he met Ravi in person, something inside Dushiant bristled. The man had slicked-back hair that gleamed with too much gel, a loud laugh that drew uncomfortable glances, and an almost predatory look whenever a female employee passed by.
"Parth Bhardwaj, huh?" Ravi had said with an exaggerated grin. "Hope you're ready to fetch coffee and learn the ropes."
Dushiant offered a practiced, hesitant smile—the kind Parth might have given. "Of course, sir. I'm here to learn."
Ravi chuckled and slapped him on the back a little too hard. "Good lad."
By noon, Dushiant was assigned a cubicle near the HR department's glass-walled workspace. The layout was open, but Ravi had a separate cabin, large and full of clutter—file stacks, leftover food boxes, magazines, and a smell of stale deodorant. Dushiant noted the positioning of security cameras, the proximity of Ravi's system to the department's internal server hub, and the foot traffic patterns of staff moving in and out.
He began his day with mundane intern tasks—sorting files, organizing schedules, printing onboarding kits. But with every click, every walk to the copier, Dushiant's eyes were busy. He observed Ravi's interactions—especially with women.
By mid-afternoon, he had seen enough.
A junior associate named Neha had walked in to submit her leave request. She seemed visibly uncomfortable as Ravi leaned across his desk, his eyes scanning her top more than the document.
"Neha, you really should smile more. You're too young to be so serious," Ravi said, his tone sleazy.
"I just need your signature, sir," she muttered, not meeting his eyes.
"Of course, of course," he grinned. "But you owe me coffee next time."
She took the signed document and left quickly. Ravi's eyes lingered on her as she walked out. Dushiant clenched his jaw. He had expected bureaucracy, maybe arrogance. But not this level of open sleaze.
Later, in the hallway, Dushiant approached Neha casually. "Hey, I'm new here—Parth. Just saw you in Ravi sir's office. Everything okay?"
She hesitated. "Yeah… Just the usual. He's like that with most girls. We try to keep our distance."
Dushiant nodded thoughtfully, the information quietly logged. Ravi wasn't just annoying. He was a liability.
Back at his desk, he began probing the internal systems. Nothing too obvious, just reading through internal memos and file access logs. It was then that he discovered something interesting: multiple HR reports and confidential files, including performance reviews and access authorization records, were being stored locally on Ravi's system instead of the central HR server. And within those file paths was a folder labeled "R.Malhotra" — Ranjan's full name.
That was all the confirmation he needed.
The real data trail—the one that could tell him about Ranjan's involvement, schedules, call logs, and maybe even expense reports—was being kept by Ravi. Whether by accident or design, Ravi had made himself a keyholder. Unfortunately, he was also a cockroach that needed dealing with.
By the end of the workday, Dushiant had made his decision. Ravi was his first obstacle.
He spent the remaining office hours mapping Ravi's behavior—when he left his desk, how long he lingered at the cafeteria, who he talked to. More importantly, he checked the security protocols tied to Ravi's office computer. It was password protected, but the system was old. A keylogger and bypass patch could be installed with just a five-minute distraction.
As he packed his things for the day, Ravi sauntered over. "Hey, Parth. Early impressions—you surviving?"
"Yes, sir. Everyone's been very welcoming," Dushiant replied with a practiced mixture of respect and submission.
"Good, good. Remember—you stick with me, and you'll go far. Maybe even land a permanent role. Everything in this company is about who you know."
Dushiant smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
He watched Ravi walk off toward the parking lot, loudly humming an off-tune song. As he disappeared down the corridor, Dushiant's expression hardened.
It wasn't just about accessing the files anymore. This man didn't deserve the power he had.
As the office emptied out, Dushiant returned to his cubicle and subtly triggered a remote scan of the network traffic from Ravi's machine using a compact device he had kept in his briefcase. He'd study the packets tonight, maybe even uncover login credentials.
He exited the building just as the sun dipped behind the skyline, washing the glass façade of Saksham Industries in amber.
Back in his apartment, Dushiant poured himself a cup of tea and opened his laptop. He pulled up the scan logs and smirked. The device had worked flawlessly. Ravi's login credentials had been captured.
Phase one had begun.
He opened a new file and typed at the top:
"Operation pheonix- Phase 1: Eliminate Ravi Tripathi."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming.
Tomorrow, the chessboard would change.
And he would make the first move.