Vishakhapatnam – June 20, 2025
The safehouse was tucked above an old spice warehouse near the Vizag docks—no names on the door, no records in any system. Just a rented space under a fake corporate license, guarded by a padlock that looked too ordinary to matter.
Inside, under flickering tube lights and sealed windows, the war room came alive.
Rathnadevi stood at the head of the table, her hands trembling slightly as she laid out a series of hard drives, encrypted USB keys, and sealed manila envelopes. Around her, Anushree and Naveen had mapped a whiteboard into four quadrants: Evidence. Targets. Exposure. Security.
This wasn't just about survival anymore.
It was about dismantling a machine that had consumed lives, truth, and the very soul of governance.
"They'll deny everything."
Rathnadevi's voice was low, but firm. "When this goes public, they'll say the documents are forged. That I had a mental breakdown. They'll accuse us of sedition, of espionage."
Anushree uncapped a marker. "Then we don't just leak files. We stage a precision strike."
She drew four circles: Media, Courts, Public
and Military
"We don't rely on a single system to hold. We hit all fronts, at once."
Naveen, now fully out of civilian pretense, A disavowed satellite tech team from Bengaluru. They would help scrub metadata, trace leaks, and keep their locations shifting.
Anushree contacted a High Court judge she'd once clerked for—an incorruptible man who had quietly recused himself from recent land scam trials.
Rathnadevi, for her part, reached out to an old friend at Doordarshan—once a state-controlled news anchor, now a fiercely independent voice with a podcast reaching millions.
They would time the operation with surgical precision:
First, a massive public data dump: procurement logs, diplomatic cables, and Skyrise-800 maintenance memos released to international watchdogs and public archives.
Then, a press interview with Rathnadevi, live and unfiltered, revealing her survival, the cover-up, and naming key players. Finally, a legal affidavit filed in Delhi High Court with all evidence under her oath—one that would compel judicial inquiry, and render any attempt to silence her a matter of national scandal.
"Expose the system faster than it can retaliate," Naveen said.
The opposition had begun to stir. Drones were spotted outside the forest where Rathnadevi had hidden. Anushree's diplomatic credentials had been flagged for review. And Naveen's encrypted devices received pings—silent threats encoded in old signals.
Someone knew. Someone powerful.
And then, late that night, just as they finalized the release protocol, the safehouse lights cut out. Total blackout.
Three seconds later, the backup kicked in—but Naveen already had his weapon drawn. Anushree pulled Rathnadevi behind cover.
A voice crackled through the old radio transmitter in the corner—one they'd never activated.
"You're too late," the voice said. Male. Calm. Controlled. "You've already signed your own death warrant."
Then silence.
Naveen stared at the radio. "They know where we are."
Anushree turned to her sister. "We can't wait. We launch now."
Rathnadevi didn't hesitate.
"Do it."
And just before midnight on June 20, 2025—Operation Sudarshini went live.