July 27, 2009 – 8:45 PM

  Aritra’s Bedroom, Dakshin Barasat, Kolkata

  Aritra sat on the edge of his bed, his mind racing as the weight of Nathaniel Bckwood’s ultimatum pressed upon him. His room, once a sanctuary of ideas and innovation, now felt suffocating. The dim yellow light of the bedside mp flickered, casting long shadows against the walls cluttered with sketches, blueprints, and old notes.

  Nathaniel studied him for a moment before exhaling softly. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek silver cigarette case. With practiced ease, he flipped it open, retrieved a cigar, and lit it with a gold-pted lighter. The fme flickered briefly, illuminating his chiseled features. "You have five minutes to think," he said, stepping toward the balcony. "Use them wisely."

  The gss door slid shut behind him as he walked outside, leaning on the railing. The ember of his cigar glowed against the darkened Kolkata skyline as wisps of smoke curled into the humid night air. Nathaniel Bckwood was giving him time—not out of mercy, but as a calcuted move. Aritra knew it.

  And he was going to use every second of it.

  LUMEN: The Silent Weapon

  Aritra’s fingers instinctively reached for his Nova 1, his greatest creation—his weapon in a battle he hadn’t even realized he was fighting until now. With a single tap, the screen came to life, the sleek interface of his custom AI assistant flickering into existence.

  "LUMEN, activate secure data retrieval protocol." Aritra’s voice was low, controlled.

  A soft chime echoed in response. "Acknowledged, Master Aritra."

  He took a deep breath. "I want everything on Nathaniel Bckwood. Every deal, every scandal, every crime, every war he’s had a hand in. Focus on financial maniputions, international conflicts, covert operations, and ties to terrorist organizations. Dig deep."

  LUMEN responded instantly, its processing power unmatched by any existing database scanner. Aritra exhaled sharply, his mind already weighing the possible outcomes. Did he expect to find something incriminating? Maybe. But what if he didn’t? What if Bckwood had buried his tracks so deep that even LUMEN couldn’t retrieve them? Would he be forced to py along, trapped with no leverage?

  His fingers hovered over the screen, doubt creeping in for the first time. But no—this was Nathaniel Bckwood. A man like that didn’t operate in clean deals and wful transactions. He built empires through control, manipution, and blood. There had to be something, and Aritra was willing to bet his own empire on it. "Compiling data… scanning global encrypted files, bck market logs, leaked intelligence reports…"

  Aritra stared at the screen, his pulse steady but his anticipation high. If Nathaniel was pying a game of power, it was time to see just how dirty his hands really were.

  Within a minute, a series of encrypted video files, cssified reports, and internal security logs began appearing on the screen. Aritra tapped on the first video file.

  Video #1: The Bckwood-Ruskov Arms Deal

  The screen flickered, revealing grainy footage from a hidden surveilnce camera. The setting was a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts of Moscow, crates of high-caliber weapons stacked against steel walls. Nathaniel Bckwood stood at the center, cd in a dark overcoat, his signature smirk visible even through the poor resolution. Opposite him stood Sergei Ruskov, a known arms dealer with direct ties to Russian militias and terrorist factions.

  The audio was slightly distorted, but the conversation was unmistakable.

  "These shipments will reach their destinations without issue?" Nathaniel’s voice was smooth, calcuted.

  Ruskov chuckled, lighting a cigar. "Of course. The insurgents in the Middle East are well-funded, thanks to your... generous investments. Your share of the profits will be transferred once the weapons reach their intended hands."

  Aritra’s breath hitched. He was selling weapons to terrorists?

  Nathaniel exhaled slowly in the footage, pulling a gold-pted pistol from a crate. "War is a market, Sergei. The stronger the conflict, the greater the demand. A stable world is a world where men like us don’t profit."

  Aritra clenched his fists. So this was the man trying to dictate his life?

  Present – Aritra’s Bedroom

  Aritra slowly exhaled as he closed the video files, his mind reeling. This wasn’t just corruption. This was calcuted evil.

  His chest tightened, a mix of shock and rage building inside him. He had anticipated skeletons in Nathaniel Bckwood’s closet, but this? This was something else entirely. He wasn’t just dealing with a ruthless businessman; he was staring into the abyss of a man who had pyed chess with human lives, orchestrating wars and economic colpses like they were minor inconveniences in his empire-building game.

  His breath slowed, his fingers tapping against the screen of his Nova 1. Nathaniel had made a mistake—he had underestimated the boy who built an empire from nothing.

  Nathaniel Bckwood was not just a businessman. He was a puppeteer of war, finance, and destruction.

  The five minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the faint rustle of the curtains as a warm Kolkata breeze drifted through the slightly open balcony door. Nathaniel stood outside, taking a slow drag of his cigar, the ember glowing briefly in the darkness. He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night sky, as if he were a god surveying a battlefield he had already won.

  Inside, Aritra sat on the edge of his bed, his mind razor-sharp, focused. The rage that had initially threatened to consume him was now controlled, refined into something far more dangerous—strategy. He had spent his life outsmarting systems, breaking through barriers meant to keep men like him out. And tonight would be no different.

  As Nathaniel finally stepped back inside, adjusting his cufflinks as if he had already sealed the deal, Aritra turned to him, his expression unreadable. He pced his Nova 1 on the desk between them, the screen still dispying the list of crimes, transactions, and video evidence.

  "You were saying something about power?" Aritra’s voice was eerily calm, his sharp eyes locking onto Nathaniel’s.

  For the first time since their meeting, Nathaniel’s smirk faltered—if only for a fraction of a second.

  The air in the room turned thick with tension, the battle of power no longer one-sided. Aritra had just tipped the scales.