The Karma Code
[FILE REF: 734-B1-KARMIC_ADJUSTMENT]
[TARGET: AVINASH SINGH, MINISTER FOR URBAN DEVELOPMENT]
[LOCATION: BANDRA-WORLI SEA LINK, MUMBAI]
The leather of the backseat still smelled of money. Avinash Singh liked that. He loosened his silk tie, the city lights of Mumbai smearing past the bulletproof glass of his custom Mercedes-Maybach. On the console, his phone buzzed. It was his aide.
"It is done, sir," the simpering voice said. "The land has been rezoned. The slum clearance will begin tomorrow."
"No protests?" Avinash grunted, watching the distant lights of Worli Fort.
"None that a few new police batons can’t handle, sir."
A smirk touched Avinash’s lips. It was a good day. A profitable one. "Excellent," he said, and ended the call.
That’s when the car’s interior lights flickered from warm amber to a sterile, clinical white. The gentle classical music was replaced by a soft, electronic chime. On the main infotainment screen, the navigation map dissolved. New text, in a simple, stark white font, bloomed in its place.
KARMA AUDIT INITIATED: AVINASH SINGH.
He frowned. "Ravi," he barked at the driver. "What is this nonsense? Some new software update?"
The privacy screen between him and the driver hummed up, sealing him in the back. A chill, not from the air conditioning, snaked up his spine.
"Ravi!" he shouted, banging on the glass.
The screen remained unchanged. Then, new lines of text appeared beneath the first.
TRANSACTION ANALYSIS: ✓
COMMUNICATION LOGS: ✓
BIOMETRIC STRESS MARKERS: ✓
VERDICT: GUILTY.
CHARGES: CORRUPTION (312 COUNTS), PERJURY (89 COUNTS), BETRAYAL OF PUBLIC TRUST (1,450,982 COUNTS).
Avinash’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was a hack. A sophisticated, terrifying hack. He fumbled for the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. The electronic lock clicked, sealing him in.
The car began to accelerate smoothly, effortlessly. Far faster than his driver ever would on the busy Sea Link.
A final line of text appeared on the screen. It glowed a faint, ominous red.
PENALTY: ACCOUNT BALANCE.
"Let me out!" he screamed, his voice a pathetic, muffled thing inside the German-engineered tomb. "I'll give you anything!"
The car didn't respond. It swerved with impossible precision, slipping between two slower vehicles like a phantom. Directly ahead, the thick concrete support pillar for the bridge’s cable-stayed section grew larger, a grey monolith rushing to meet him.
The car's internal sensors noted a sudden spike in Avinash Singh's heart rate and cortisol levels. It logged the data.
Then, everything went black.
[STATUS: ACCOUNT BALANCED.]
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