The sharp crack of a sniper rifle echoed across the mountain valley, scattering a flock of birds into the sky. Zayan Malik lay prone, his body completely still except for the slow, deliberate squeeze of his finger on the trigger. Through the high-powered scope, he tracked the moving target—a steel plate mounted to a car rolling down a dusty trail over a kilometer away. A whisper of wind brushed against his cheek, and Zayan instinctively adjusted the angle by a hair's breadth. He exhaled slowly, centering his focus until the world narrowed to the crosshairs and the target.
Bang!
The bullet sliced through the air, striking the metal plate dead center. Zayan's instructor, Colonel Asim, watched through binoculars, his stern face betraying a flicker of approval. "One shot, one kill," the colonel muttered under his breath. But this was only the beginning.
Zayan knew better than to celebrate. In this line of work, accuracy alone wasn't enough. It was about patience, endurance, and knowing when to stay hidden. For the past 72 hours, Zayan had been lying in the same spot, in full camouflage, with nothing but a canteen of water and a protein bar to sustain him. The mission: take out a moving target without being detected. Any slip—any noise, flash, or misplaced breath—would result in instant failure.
He shifted slightly, feeling the dull ache in his muscles. There was no time for rest. His earpiece crackled, and the colonel's voice came through. "Mission complete. Now, move."
Zayan rolled onto his back, muscles burning from prolonged stillness. He dismantled the rifle with methodical precision, packing it into a black case. Within minutes, he was on his feet, sprinting through the uneven terrain. His next objective: reach the extraction point unnoticed and on time, carrying all his gear.
As he raced through the forest, Zayan thought back to the early days of his training at the ISI facility. The instructors had warned them from the start—failure is not an option. The program was brutal. Out of the fifty recruits who had joined with him, only five remained. Zayan wasn't the biggest or the fastest, but he was the most disciplined. He had learned to control his emotions, think under pressure, and improvise when everything went wrong. Now, he was on the verge of completing the final phase of training: becoming a fully operational field agent for the ISI.
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Underwater Trials
Forty minutes later, Zayan reached the base—a hidden training camp built into a cliffside. A group of instructors waited at the dock, arms folded, watching as the recruits assembled.
"Next phase. Underwater explosives," barked Lieutenant Bilal, a demolitions expert with a scar running across his cheek. He tossed Zayan a waterproof bag containing a small C4 charge. "You have three minutes to swim to that boat, plant the charge beneath the hull, and make it back. Move!"
Zayan didn't hesitate. He stripped down to a wetsuit, securing the gear against his body, and plunged into the icy water. The cold bit into his skin, but he forced himself to breathe steadily. It wasn't just a test of swimming ability—it was about controlling the body's reaction to stress. A rapid heart rate could lead to mistakes, and mistakes were fatal.
He swam with smooth, powerful strokes, his mind hyper-focused. Below him, the dark water seemed endless, with jagged rocks looming in the depths. When he reached the boat, he dove under, flipping onto his back to plant the C4 charge against the keel. His fingers moved quickly, setting the timer for exactly thirty seconds—just enough time to get clear.
Pushing off the boat, Zayan kicked hard, rising to the surface in one swift motion. The boat erupted behind him in a controlled explosion, sending a plume of water into the air. He hauled himself onto the dock just as the timer hit zero, panting but otherwise calm.
Lieutenant Bilal nodded approvingly. "Good. You'll survive another day."
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The Art of Disguise
The next test was Zayan's personal favorite: improvisation and disguise. A table covered in various props—uniforms, ID cards, fake documents—lay before him. His task was to infiltrate a mock enemy base, steal a set of encrypted files, and escape without being identified.
He ran his eyes over the items, selecting a military uniform with an officer's insignia. With a quick change of clothes and a few adjustments to his appearance—a fake scar, some dirt under his nails—he transformed into a battle-worn captain. He studied his reflection in a cracked mirror. There was no trace of Zayan Malik left—only the persona of Captain Irfan Nazir.
At the mock base, Zayan approached the gate with a confident stride, saluting the guards. "Orders from Command," he said curtly, handing over falsified documents. The guards barely glanced at him before waving him through.
Inside, Zayan located the target: a set of encrypted hard drives locked in a safe. With a set of improvised tools, he cracked the lock within minutes, slipping the drives into his bag. As he moved toward the exit, an officer stopped him.
"Hey, you! I don't recognize you. Where's your unit stationed?"
Zayan's mind raced. He smiled easily, as if the officer had asked about the weather. "They transferred me last week. What, you don't trust the paperwork?" He gave a small, conspiratorial chuckle, and the officer relaxed.
He walked out of the base without incident, disappearing into the shadows as easily as he had arrived.
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Simulated Combat: Fighter Jets and Tanks
The final part of the day's training took place in the simulator wing. Zayan slid into the cockpit of an F-16, fastening the harness. The simulator roared to life, immersing him in a high-stakes dogfight. Enemy jets swarmed around him, launching missiles in rapid succession.
His hands moved with instinctive precision, flipping switches, pulling the throttle, and rolling the jet into a series of evasive maneuvers. The radar beeped urgently, signaling a missile lock. Without hesitation, Zayan released a flare, sending the missile off-course, and looped behind the enemy fighter. With a squeeze of the trigger, he fired a burst of cannon rounds, obliterating the target.
"Enemy neutralized," a computerized voice confirmed.
After the jet simulation, Zayan moved to the tank training course, where he navigated a 50-ton battle tank through a field of obstacles. The goal was to take out bunkers hidden in the landscape while conserving ammunition. Zayan's sharp memory and quick thinking made him a natural—he destroyed four targets in record time, earning nods of approval from his instructors.
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Completion and Reflection
Hours later, exhausted but exhilarated, Zayan stood before Colonel Asim. The colonel regarded him with a rare smile, though his voice remained stern. "Congratulations, Malik. You've completed the program. As of now, you're officially a field agent. But remember—out there, the stakes are higher. One mistake, and no one will know you ever existed."
Zayan saluted, feeling a surge of pride tempered by the weight of responsibility. This wasn't just a job—it was a life lived in the shadows, where victory meant survival, and failure was death.
As he left the training facility, Zayan's thoughts were already shifting to the future. The missions ahead would be dangerous, and the enemies relentless. But he was ready. He had spent years preparing for this—for the moment when the world would need him most.
Because in the war of shadows, only the unseen survive.
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This chapter introduces Zayan's character, skills, and mindset while also setting the tone for the high-stakes missions to come. It shows his expertise in sniping, explosives, disguise, flying, and combat, making it clear that Zayan is a man capable of surviving anything thrown his way.