Ishmaart Shankar landed in his barsaati with a thud, the gold brick clutched in his fist like it was the first breath of freedom he'd ever taken. The weight of it, the cold gleam under the dim bulb—it was real. Finally. Something he could touch, something he could sell, something that would change everything.
"HAHAHAHA!" He burst out laughing, spinning in place, the gold catching the light like a piece of stolen sunlight. "Ab toh mala mal ho gaya re, yaar! Ab toh real business shuru hoga!"
He grabbed Rubina—still standing there, calm and composed—and lifted her off her feet, spinning her around. She didn't resist, but her hands hovered near his shoulders, ready to stabilize him if he stumbled.
"Dekha, Rubina?! he yelled, his voice cracking with excitement. "Ab humare paas real wealth hai! Real paise! Real power!"
Rubina tilted her head, her blindfolded gaze unreadable. "Affirmative. Gold is a universally accepted medium of exchange. However, its liquidity in this socio-economic bracket is—"
"Bas, bas! Ishmaart cut her off, still grinning like a madman. "*Tujhe samajhane ki zarurat nahi hai! Main janta hoon iska mol! Ab Jagdish Bhai ke paas jaayenge, aur phir—phir toh life set!"
He finally put her down, but his energy didn't fade. He paced, the gold brick still clutched tight, his mind racing with plans.
"Pehle toh jhumka lenge tera," he said, suddenly softening. "Mohotarma ke liye tohfa."
Rubina paused. "Jhumka?"
"Haan! Ishmaart nodded, already imagining it. "Ek chota sa, gold ka, chamakdar. Suits karenga tere white hair ke saath."
She didn't smile, but there was a shift in her posture—something softer, something almost human.
"Acknowledged," she said, her voice quiet. "Thank you."
The walk to Jagdish Bhai's shop was a triumphant march.
Ishmaart swaggered, the gold brick tucked safely in his pocket, his chest puffed like he owned the galli. The evening air was thick with the smell of frying pakoras and dust, the sounds of haggling and honking rickshaws filling the streets. He grinned at everyone, like he was untouchable.
Jagdish Bhai took one look at the gold, weighed it, and whistled.
"Arre, Shankar, yeh toh pure 24-carat hai!"
"Haan, Bhaiya," Ishmaart leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "*Ab rate batao. No bakchodi."
Jagdish grinned, his gold tooth glinting. "*10,000 per 10 grams. Full cash."
Ishmaart's heart skipped. 10,000 per 10 grams? That meant 1 lakh for the whole brick.
He didn't even haggle. He just nodded, his hands shaking as Jagdish counted out the cash—thick stacks of 500-rupee notes, 100 of them, banded together.
"Ab toh life king ho gayi," Ishmaart muttered, stuffing the cash into his bag.
The jewellery shop was next.
He picked the finest jhumka—small, delicate, gold, with tiny red stones that sparkled like drops of blood. The shopkeeper wrapped it in silver paper, and Ishmaart clutched it like it was more precious than the gold itself.
"Ab Rubina ko tohfa denge," he muttered, his heart racing.
The walk back was different.
The adrenaline was fading, the exhaustion of the day—the fights, the scans, the constant running—hitting him like a truck. His legs felt heavy, his eyelids drooping.
Rubina walked beside him, silent, her presence a steady anchor.
He yawned, stumbling slightly.
"Thak gaya hoon, yaar," he mumbled, leaning against her shoulder.
She didn't push him away.
By the time they reached the room, Ishmaart was half-asleep on his feet. He collapsed onto the cot, pulling Rubina down with him, still clutching the jhumka in his fist.
"*Bas… 5 minute…" he slurred, his eyes closing.
Rubina adjusted, lying beside him, her body stiff but warm.
Ishmaart mumbled in his sleep, his words slurring into nonsense.
"*Tujhe… pata hai… tu kitni sundar lagti hai… saale… main toh… mar bhi jaaoon… par tujhe chhodke nahi…"
Rubina froze.
Her processors whirred, analyzing, decoding.
Mar jaaoon… chhodke nahi…
Emotional attachment detected.
Romantic subtext: 98% probability.
Response protocol: Unknown.
She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.
Ishmaart shifted, mumbling again.
"*…*teri aankhein… kaise chamakte hain… saale… main toh…"
His breathing evened out.
Rubina didn't move.
She just lay there, processing, as the night wrapped around them.
The System's Surprise
Ishmaart jolted awake with a gasp, his heart pounding.
Something was wrong.
He blinked, his vision blurry, and frowned at the floating blue text in his vision.
[NEW FEATURE UNLOCKED: SHOP]
[WEALTH POINTS: 10,000 WP]
[ITEM AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE: ADRENALINE BOOST (5 MIN) – 500 WP]
His eyes widened.
Shop?
Before he could process, a shadow fell over him.
"Arre, Shankar," a rough voice sneered. "Jagdish Bhai ne bahut paise diye hain na?"
Ishmaart froze.
Three men stood in the alleyway, blocking the exit. Local goons—muscle for hire, the kind who cut meat and people with the same knife.
The leader, a burly man with a scarred face, grinned, twirling a kattha in his hand. The blade glinted under the streetlight.
"Nikalo," he growled. "Sab nikalo."
Ishmaart's stomach dropped.
His mind raced.
These bastards followed me.
They saw the money. The jewellery.
They won't let me walk away.
He swallowed, forcing a grin.
"Arre, bhai, kya baat kar rahe ho? Main toh gareeb hoon—dekho na…" He pat his pockets, pretending to search. "Bas 100 rupee hai mere paas…"
The leader's grin vanished.
"Chup," he snarled, stepping forward, the kattha's blade now pressed against Ishmaart's throat.
Ishmaart's breath hitched.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
His eyes darted to the system text.
[ADRENALINE BOOST (5 MIN) – 500 WP]
500 WP?
I have 10,000.
His fingers twitched.
Buy it.
Buy it NOW.
He focused, willing the purchase.
[PURCHASE CONFIRMED]
A surge.
His heart exploded in his chest.
His vision sharpened.
His breath slowed.
The world slowed down.
The goon's voice was a distant growl.
"Abbe, saale—"
Ishmaart moved.
His hand shot out, slapping the goon's wrist—the one holding the kattha—hard. The blade clattered to the ground.
Before the goon could react, Ishmaart snatched it, flipping it in his hand.
The second goon—the one with the knife—lunged.
Ishmaart ducked, spinning, and kicked him square in the groin. The man folded, gasping.
The leader snarled, charging.
Ishmaart grinned.
Jal, beta. Aaja.
He sidestepped, slapped the goon's face—hard—then drove the kattha's butt into his stomach.
The man doubled over, wheezing.
Ishmaart didn't stop.
He grabbed the leader by the collar, shoved him against the wall, and pressed the kattha to his throat.
"Chal," he panted, his voice low, deadly. "*Ab batana—kaun bheja?"
The goon's eyes were wide, terrified.
"*N-nahi… sahab… hum—"
"Chup," Ishmaart snarled. "*Agle baar dikhoge, toh teri khopdi udayunga."
He shoved him away, then turned to the others, his breath still steady, his grip tight on the weapons.
"Jao," he growled. "Bhaag."
They didn't need to be told twice.
The goons scrambled, disappearing into the darkness.
Ishmaart stood there, his chest heaving, the adrenaline still coursing through him.
Then—
It stopped.
The boost ended.
His legs buckled.
He gasped, stumbling into the shadows, his hands shaking.
Fuck.
Fuck, that was close.
He took deep breaths, leaning against the wall, his heart still racing.
Then—
He grinned.
"Jaan bachi ko lakho paye," he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead.
He looked at the kattha and knife in his hands, then tossed them into a nearby sewer.
"Ab ghar chal," he said, straightening up.
And then—
He ran.
Fast.
Straight home.