NOVEL NEXT Chapter 1: Life
First person POV:
The control room on Abdul Kalam Island was alive with chatter, the conversations in both Hindi and Russian filling the air.
Engineers and scientists from India's DRDO and Russia's NPOM stood shoulder to shoulder, their eyes fixed on the monitors displaying real-time telemetry of the BrahMos-II.
This project had been a long and arduous collaboration between India and Russia—delayed by wars, stalled by an epidemic, and nearly abandoned more times than I could count.
And yet, after years of struggle, it was finally happening.
I exhaled, glancing at the familiar faces around me.
Ivan, our propulsion expert from NPOM, cracked his knuckles as he always did before a major test.
Mikhail, the head of guidance systems, stood stiff, his fingers rhythmically tapping the console—a nervous tic that never went away.
And Andrei, the most optimistic among us, leaned back in his chair with that ever-present smirk, as if he already knew the test would succeed.
The voice of the launch director cut through the tension.
"Final system checks, report."
"Navigation, normal."
"Guidance, normal."
"Propulsion, normal."
"Payload, normal."
Every confirmation was a step closer to the moment we had worked years for.
The missile stood tall on the launch pad, its sleek efficient, aerodynamic frame a result to the Indo-Russian engineering.
I ran a hand through my greying hair, my mind briefly drifting.
Three years ago, I had been pulled from the AMCA program and drafted into this project.
Now, as the countdown began, I realized this was the last project I would ever work on at DRDO.
"Ten."
I took a deep breath.
"Nine."
Ivan muttered a quiet Russian prayer under his breath.
"Eight."
Mikhail's fingers stopped tapping.
"Seven."
The fuel lines disengaged, leaving the missile self-sustaining.
"Six."
Andrei grinned, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable.
"Five."
Years of setbacks, finally coming to an end.
"Four."
Three years of my life dedicated to this moment.
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
"Launch!"
A pillar of fire erupted beneath the BrahMos-II, the roar of its engines shaking the very ground beneath us.
The screens came alive with data—speed, trajectory, guidance diagnostics.
"Mach 7… 8… 9…"
"Target range confirmed—expected ,2,400 kilometers!"
"Payload capacity—350 kilograms!"
"GPS systems locked, precision error within 1.2 meters!"
And finally—
"Mach 10 confirmed!"
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, the control room erupted in cheers.
Fists pounded consoles, hands clasped in celebration.
Ivan let out a triumphant laugh, pulling Mikhail into an embrace.
Andrei spun in his chair, grinning like a fool.
Even the normally stoic Indian chief of project Raghavendra allowed himself rare smile.
The BrahMos-II had not just met its goals—it had exceeded them.
Nuclear and conventionally capable, equipped with an indigenous high-precision GPS system, and now, officially the fastest cruise missile in the world.
The celebrations grew louder, but I simply stood there, watching.
A brief flicker of satisfaction crossed my face before I reached up and unpinned my scientist badge.
I ran my thumb over it for a moment before placing it on the console.
Without a word, I turned and walked out.
This was my last day at DRDO.
I hadn't told many people, not even my colleagues, but I had already submitted my retirement request.
My future no longer lay in military projects.
As a child, I had dreamed of becoming a physicist— challenging the very foundations of the universe.
But passion doesn't put food on the table.
It doesn't provide shelter when you have nothing.
So I had taken the only path where my intellect could be used, even if it wasn't the way I had wanted.
I had spent years designing weapons, optimizing flight paths, refining targeting algorithms.
And yet, through it all, I had never forgotten my true calling.
Now, after years of careful planning, investments, and savings, I finally had the means to walk away.
My surveillance company, built in collaboration with the government, had given me enough financial security to chase my real dream.
Behind me, the control room was still celebrating.
Ivan would open a bottle of vodka tonight.
Mikhail would grumble about the next project.
Andrei… Andrei would probably call me, asking why I had left without saying anything.
Chief Raghavendra would probably feign uncaring nature since he is a big big tsundere but would probably stalk his online activity to make sure he was okay.
I smiled faintly.
Let them celebrate.
My time here was over.
Now, it was time to finally become the physicist I was always meant to be.
Or so I thought.
(Pov switch)
The scene cut.
Ravi Kumar lay on the cold, blood-soaked ground, his vision hazy, his breaths shallow.
The floor of some abandoned factory now drowned in crimson.
If one were to look from above, they would see many corpses lying beside him, their lifeless forms contorted in unnatural stillness.
Yet, the most puzzling thing—there wasn't a single wound on him.
The overhead light flickered erratically, casting the room in unstable shadows.
The crickets being the only one's disturbing the oppressive silence of death.
But despite the carnage, a faint, almost serene smile adorned his face.
His fingers trembled as they clutched a locket, its surface smeared with dried blood.
Inside, a photograph—faded, worn, yet untouched by the devastation around him.
It showed him and a woman, their smiles frozen in time.
A memory of a life that no longer existed.
With sluggish movements, he pushed himself up from the blood-stained floor, his body barely responding.
The radiation had already begun its slow, merciless work.
His insides burned, his strength faded, and yet, he remained standing.
"I'm already a half-dead man from radiation," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse, almost amused.
"I doubt I'll live more than a few more hours, considering the amount."
His fingers curled tighter around the locket.
His smile widened, though his eyes remained hollow.
"But at least I've made sure everyone who hurt you... comes to hell with me."
Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a gun, the cold steel a final companion in this desolate place.
The first rays of the rising sun bled through shattered windows, bathing the destruction in an eerie, golden glow.
The contrast was almost poetic—death bathed in light.
Ravi lifted the gun to his head.
A breath.
A final glance at the photograph.
And then—
Bang.
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