Chapter 4: The Voice in the Void

The next day, Amar threw himself into Pune’s restless rhythm, the city’s neon-lit chaos mirroring his own. At Vantablack Technologies, he navigated the open-plan office with a predator’s ease. During a sprint review, a new analyst, Karan, a slick opportunist—tried to claim Amar’s encryption algorithm. “My refactoring boosted its speed,” Karan said, his grin too confident. Amar leaned back, eyes glinting. “Refactoring? You broke the checksum validation. Want me to show the team?” He projected his code, its clean logic glowing on the screen, exposing Karan’s errors line by line. Colleagues stifled grins as Karan stammered. “Stick to Jira tickets,” Amar quipped, voice light but razor-sharp. The room buzzed, his chaotic flair untamed, another victory notched.

Evenings belonged to Rina. At a Koregaon Park café, under strings of golden fairy lights, they shared plates of pav bhaji, the spicy tang filling the air. “You’re insufferable when you win,” she teased, flicking a napkin at him. “Only when I’m right,” he shot back, winking. Her laughter, calling him “chaos king,” warmed him as they planned a trek to Sinhagad Fort. His life pulsed with vibrancy: Rina’s spark, texts from his Ratnagiri family—Nia joking about med school, Leela demanding a Pune visit—and late-night gym sessions where he burned off energy to hip-hop beats. Yet, his rage at the world’s rot simmered beneath. A news alert about a local builder bribing officials for illegal permits flashed on his phone. He clenched his fist, pushing it down, letting Rina’s smile anchor him.

Wednesday afternoon, in his cubicle, another alert broke his focus: a private hospital in Pune caught overcharging patients, pocketing millions while turning away the poor. Amar’s blood simmered. Greed, always greed, bleeding the helpless. Why did the corrupt always skate free? Where was the will to burn it down? His mind rebelled, and everything went black—senses gone, a void swallowing him, triggered by his rage, fiercer than before. The towering humanoid outline from before loomed, its form vague but pulsing, darker than the void itself. A sound came, like a storm distorted through shattered glass—words, incomprehensible, a jumbled roar clawing at his mind. He tried to speak, to question, but the void held him weightless. The world snapped back, his monitor’s glare harsh. He gripped his desk, heart pounding, coworkers chattering unaware. “You good, Amar?” a teammate asked, noticing his sweat. “Just a migraine,” he lied, voice tight, the garbled sound echoing in his skull.

Life pressed on. Thursday night, Amar met Rina at a Baner rooftop restaurant, the city’s skyline glittering below. She rambled about a client’s logo redesign, her passion pulling him in. “You’re distracted,” she said, squeezing his hand across the table. “Work’s intense,” he lied again, the blackout’s distorted roar still gnawing at him. He couldn’t mention the outline, the sound—how could he explain what he didn’t understand? They walked through Kalyani Nagar after dinner, her warmth grounding him, but the unease clung like a shadow. Back home, he texted Nia, joking about her coffee addiction, and scrolled through gym playlists, trying to outrun the memory of that incomprehensible voice.

Friday evening, in his Koregaon Park apartment, Amar sprawled on his couch, neon lights casting shadows over his manga shelves. A news report on his phone stopped him cold: police in Pune’s old city extorting street vendors, demanding bribes to let them sell. A vendor, an old man supporting his grandkids, lost his week’s earnings. Amar’s blood boiled. Why did power crush the weak? How could such injustice stand? His mind rebelled, and the void swallowed him again—senses gone, the blackout fiercer, triggered by his anger. The humanoid outline loomed larger, its form sharper, a colossal silhouette pulsing with Dark energy. A voice, deep and resonant, like thunder across an empty plain, cut through: “Why do you come to me?” Amar, steadier this time, his thoughts tangled, managed, “I don’t know. What is this place?” The voice echoed, heavy with finality: “Darkness.” The world snapped back, Amar gasping on his couch, the news report still glowing on his phone. His heart hammered, the word Darkness searing into him, a signal of something vast stirring within.

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