It was 10:32 Am IST, Thursday, July 10 2100, but in Hyderabad's 100 st underbelly, time was a fever dream. Neon holograms of gods flashed over cyber slums where kids dodged drones like it was a video game. The air stank of sizzling vada pav and monsoon muck, a wild heart beat in a city drowning in tech. Raghu crouched on a rooftop, his tactical vest bristling with pulse grenades, figures twitching over a sleek karambit blade. At 32 , he was a war - scarred statue - jagged jaw , eyes like storm clouds - his soul scarred deeper by his brother's death five years ago, bleeding out over a relic that , whispered Secrets. Captain Raghu, weapons wizard, didn't flinch at danger, but laughter? That died with his brother.
"Yo, Captain Gloom! You napping up there or plotting a sulk- fest?" Myra vedanth's voice zapped his earpiece, dripping with sarcasm so think it could choke a drone. 28, with wild hair and eyes that sparked like Diwali crackers, she was vedanth's firebrand daughter an archaeologist who'd rather crack a vedic code than crack a smile. Her billionaire dad had roped Raghu into escorting her to Amaravathi, hunting the Amrit, a mythic nectar to resurrect India's faith. Raghu didn't care for gods just the mission abd ghosts it quieted.
"Shut it, Vedanth," Raghu growled, dodging the Telugu pop she blasted into his comms. "Focus, or I'm trying to the skiff."
"ooho, kinky, captain! But I'd break free and dance on your grumpy face!" Myra's laugh was a firework, her hologram popping up - khaki jackets smeared with slum grime, data lens goggles glinting." Dock, now. Chitti's about to through a tantrum that'd wake Shiva!"
Chitti 3.0, Myra's AI Buddy, was a print sized chaos machine 2.5 feet of round metal, whirring limb, and a mouth full of Godavari sass.Self-evolving with weapons nobody could predict, it was Myra's shadow, loyal as a dog but twice as mouthy. Raghu still chuckled at its debut. Captain aa? he is looking like Cycle pump ra! He'd almost blasted it for laughs.
The dock was a rickety mess over a canal, Its neon
waters rippling with danger. Myra lounged on a crate, data-pad alive with glowing runes, while Chitti buzzed, whining, "Myra, this place smells like a donkey's lunch ra! Naa nose circuits frying!"
"Deal with it, you tin whiner," Myra shot back, grinning. "You're my genius, not my nose."
"Genius aa? Naa spice-spray's the real VIP ra—beats your brain any day!" Chitti spun, nearly smacking Vishnu, who was strumming an air-guitar by the skiff, belting, "Oh, the canal's my stage, yo!"
"Watch it, metal mouth!" Vishnu cackled, his Jack Sparrow vibe in full swing—mismatched boots, cocky grin. The navigator knew every backwater in India, but his off-key tunes were a weapon of their own.
Pinkki stormed up, nineteen and fierce, a spice crate in her arms like a shield. "Vishnu, touch my masala and I'll cook you into chutney!" Her stubborn glare could melt steel, but her eyes darted to Hanush, sitting silently by the water, his muscular frame hiding a mutant strength from a cult's twisted experiment. She liked him—quietly, fiercely.
"Your chutney's love, chef!" Vishnu dodged her swipe, winking. "Feed me more!"
"Feed you my foot, pirate!" Pinkki lunged, but Mythili, the Mithila herbologist, stepped in, her pack rattling. "Oi, lovebirds, save it for the mission!" Her sharp tongue matched her healing skills, her gaze flicking to Hanush. "You alive, Silent Hulk?"
Hanush nodded, a ghost of a smile, his past locked tight.
Raghu cut through the madness. "Noon departure. No clowning."
Myra smirked. "Clowning's my cardio, Captain."
A shriek split the air. A black drone, all fangs and menace, swooped from the canal, its stun-net lashing out. Chitti yelped, "Naa booty caught ra!" and blasted a glowing spice-cloud, melting the net. Myra dove as Raghu hurled a grenade—BOOM—the drone exploded, raining sparks. But two more drones buzzed in, lasers charging. Edge-of-the-seat panic gripped him—not again, not like his brother.
"Ghoongroo Gang!" Myra shouted, scrambling up. "Devmani's here!"
Raghu's heart pounded. Daku Devmani, the mujra-mad don queen, was after Vedanth's relics. "Skiff! Move!" he roared, karambit flashing as he slashed a drone's wing. It crashed, but the second fired—straight at Myra. Time slowed, his brother's blood flashing in his mind. He lunged, shoving her aside, the laser scorching his vest. Pain seared, but she was safe.
Hanush materialized, ripping the drone apart with a grunt, his strength a quiet thunder. Vishnu ducked, singing, "Oh, the fight's a riot!" Pinkki threw a spice jar, blinding a goon who'd leapt from the shadows, while Mythili lobbed a smoke-vial, choking another.
Chitti buzzed to Myra, laughing, "Captain's your bodyguard now ra! Naa spray saved his butt too!"
Myra grinned, breathless, helping Raghu up. "Not bad for a grump, Captain. You okay?"
Raghu winced, masking the ache. "Fine. Get to the skiff."
The crew piled in, Vishnu at the helm, humming louder. Myra's hand lingered on Raghu's arm, her touch a spark. "Thanks," she whispered, her sarcasm melting into something real. His chest tightened—his brother's voice echoed, "Protect the relics, Raghu." Vedanth's mission was his now, but Myra's warmth stirred a hope he'd forgotten.
Chitti buzzed, "Myra, Captain's blushing ra! Naa comedy better than this drama!"
Myra laughed, patting the bot. "You're the star, Chitti."
The skiff roared to life, speeding toward Amaravathi. Myra's data-pad pinged—Vedanth's holo-face, urgent. "Myra, the scroll's cursed. It summons gods or demons. Stay alive."
"Got it, Dad," she said, cutting the call, her grin faltering. Raghu caught it. "What's he hiding?"
"Just Dad's godly theatrics," she lied, eyes darting.
Raghu gripped his karambit, pulse racing. Secrets, drones, Devmani the mission was a powder keg. And as the canal faded, a shadow lingered Zerum, Dr. Shadow's AI-monk, whispering, "Amrit burns…" The stupa ahead glowed, a beacon or a trap. Raghu's gut screamed: this was just the start.