Abhay sat in the dim glow of his laptop screen, his fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced ease. The cramped room was silent, save for the soft hum of the computer and the occasional creak of the old wooden chair. A faint aroma of incense lingered in the air, a remnant of his mother's daily rituals. It was lthe only comfort in the room—a stark contrast to the dark web browser he had open.
Abhay wasn't a criminal. At least, that's what he told himself. What he did was exploration—a morbid curiosity about the hidden corners of the internet. Tonight, he had stumbled upon a forum, one he had never seen before. It was encrypted, secure, and teeming with discussions that made his pulse quicken: illegal transactions, hitmen for hire, and secrets that could ruin governments.
"Just one post," he murmured, his hand hovering over the keyboard. The forum rules were clear: no unnecessary noise, no taunts, and no snooping where you didn't belong. But Abhay's curiosity was insatiable. He typed out a single sentence, a sarcastic comment mocking one of the most prominent members of the forum—a user going by the alias Shadow King.
---
Post Submitted.
Abhay leaned back, a smug grin on his face. "What's the worst that could happen?" he whispered, closing the laptop and heading to bed.
---
The next morning began like any other. His mother was busy in the kitchen, humming a tune as she cooked breakfast. His father was already off to work. Abhay sat at the table, eating toast and scrolling through his phone, blissfully unaware of the storm he had unleashed.
It started with an email. The subject line was blank, but the sender's address made his stomach drop: ShadowKing@xxxxx.onion.
The message was short:
"You shouldn't have done that."
Abhay felt a chill run down his spine. It was just a joke, he thought. No one actually cared, right? But as the hours passed, paranoia began to set in. He noticed an unfamiliar car parked near his house. His phone buzzed with unknown numbers calling him, their silence on the other end more menacing than words.
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That Night
The attack came suddenly. It was past midnight when the first sound shattered the silence: glass breaking in the living room. Abhay jolted awake, his heart pounding. He could hear the heavy thuds of boots and muffled voices.
"Search the place. Kill anyone you find," a gruff voice ordered.
Abhay's mind raced. Assassins.
He scrambled out of bed, quietly locking his bedroom door. His hands trembled as he grabbed his phone and dialed the police, but the line was dead. The assassins must have cut the power and phone lines.
A loud bang echoed through the house. The assassins had started shooting. Abhay covered his mouth to stifle his breathing. He heard his mother scream, a sound that tore through him like a blade.
"No!" Abhay whispered, tears streaming down his face.
The screams stopped abruptly, replaced by deafening silence. Abhay's chest tightened as he realized the horrifying truth: his parents were gone.
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Fight or Flight
Adrenaline surged through Abhay's veins. He knew he had to escape. Using the cover of darkness, he climbed out of his bedroom window, landing in the bushes below. He crept around the house, avoiding the men who were ransacking it.
Suddenly, one of them spotted him. "There he is!"
Bullets whizzed past as Abhay sprinted into the woods behind his home. The night seemed endless as he stumbled through the trees, his lungs burning and his legs aching. By some miracle, he managed to lose them, collapsing near a stream as dawn broke.
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The Aftermath
When Abhay returned to his house hours later, it was unrecognizable. The living room was destroyed, furniture overturned, and bloodstains marked the floor where his parents had been. The police were there, but their investigation was superficial at best.
"It looks like a robbery gone wrong," one officer said, clearly eager to close the case.
Abhay knew better. This wasn't a robbery—it was a message.
As he sat in his room that night, clutching a photo of his family, his grief turned to anger. Whoever had done this would pay. He couldn't go to the police, and he couldn't trust anyone. He would have to handle this himself.
Abhay began packing his things, preparing to leave the house for good. But as he removed the family photo from the wall, something strange happened. The wall behind it clicked and shifted, revealing a hidden door.
His breath caught. "What the…?"
Pushing the door open, Abhay descended into the darkness. What he found took his breath away: a sprawling underground room filled with shelves of books, advanced tools, and strange devices. His parents had hidden this from him, but why?
One book on the desk caught his attention. Its title read: "Blueprints for Survival."
Abhay realized then that his parents weren't ordinary people. They had prepared for something like this.
"I'm not leaving," he muttered, his voice filled with resolve. "I'll fight back. And I'll make them pay."