Project I

The Mc's Previous life Name is Akshat i forgot to include it in the past chapter.

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As Srikanth Thakre sat in front of the girl, watching her devour the rice, his thoughts drifted back to how Project I came into existence and the events that led to his pursuit of human enhancements.

The inspiration for these enhancements had roots in his past, tied to the death of his most trusted partner, Shokouh.

He met her in Afghanistan during a mission to eliminate leaders who opposed Indian influence in the region.

Shokouh was just fifteen at the time, hungry, dying, and utterly alone.

He didn't rescue her out of pity.

Shokouh belonged to a special family line carrying gene traits that Project Abhimanyu had been monitoring.

These traits allowed individuals to excel in certain fields, showing heightened developments in specific areas.

Srikanth himself had been inducted into the project after it was discovered that he had one of the highest concentrations of these genes among the thousands of bloodlines screened he had an unnatural Increment in his mental Capabilities alongside great strength without much training.

Similarly his brother had Very high Affinity for Shooting but he had the drawback of having multiple diseases that made his body weak.

When he tested Shokouh on a whim and found that she carried these traits, he offered her a way out.

When it was time for him to leave, he asked if she wanted to come with him. She agreed, and from that point on, she became an integral part of his life—until her death changed everything.

The mission was supposed to be a simple infiltration.

The target was a terrorist cell leader across the border in Pakistan, a routine operation for Akshat and his team.

The night was cold, and the snow crunched softly under their boots as they moved silently through the trees.

"Viper, this is Echo. We've reached the perimeter," Shokouh's voice came through the intercom, steady but tinged with tension.

The team had their assigned codenames, and Viper—Akshat—was their leader.

"Copy that, Echo. Keep it quiet and proceed as planned," Akshat replied, scanning the area ahead.

They moved in, sticking to the shadows. The compound was just ahead, a small building nestled in the mountains, with faint lights glowing from inside.

Everything was going smoothly, almost too smoothly.

"Echo, what's your status?" Akshat asked as they closed in on the target.

"Clear so far. We're setting the charges now," Shokouh responded, her voice calm, masking any hint of nerves.

Then, without warning, all hell broke loose.

The sound of gunfire erupted from the surrounding hills, a hail of bullets tearing through the trees and the snow. It was an ambush.

"Shit, we're compromised! It's a trap!" Shokouh shouted, the calm in her voice shattered by panic.

"Take cover! Echo, get out of there!" Akshat ordered, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how their intel had failed them so badly.

The sound of machine guns filled the air, louder now, cutting through the night.

Over the intercom, Akshat could hear the desperate breaths and shouts of his team as they tried to regroup.

"Viper, we're pinned down! We need backup, now!" Shokouh's voice was laced with fear and urgency.

"Hold your ground, Echo. I'm on my way!" Akshat yelled, his pulse racing as he moved towards their position.

But as he approached, the ambush intensified.

The enemy seemed to be everywhere, their numbers overwhelming.

Akshat's heart sank as he heard Shokouh's scream over the intercom, followed by the sound of machine gun fire ripping through flesh and bone.

"Echo, respond! Echo!" Akshat shouted into the intercom, but there was no reply, only static and the continued sound of gunfire.

By the time he reached the compound, it was too late.

The snow was stained with blood, the bodies of his team scattered like broken dolls.

The silence that followed was deafening, the realization that they had been outmaneuvered sinking in.

Thoigh he also realized that there was a mole within their system.

Akshat stood there, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of his comrades, the weight of their loss pressing down on him like a ton of bricks.

And then, in the midst of that cold, brutal night, the bitter taste of failure settled in his mouth as he assessed thag the cost of their mission had been far too high.

After the failed infiltration mission, Akshat was rescued by special forces, though he had lost an eye during the brutal fight.

Refusing to attend Shokouh's funeral, he isolated himself in a broken temple, surrounded by snow, where the harsh cold seemed almost fitting for his grief.

While he sat there, General Hemant Rawat approached him, breaking the silence.

The general handed Akshat a file, which Akshat initially glanced at dismissively, thinking it was just more data from Project Abhimanyu.

But as he delved into the details, his demeanor changed.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?" General Rawat remarked, noting Akshat's widened eye as he absorbed the information.

The file contained data about a new viral strain discovered by researchers at DRDE in Chennai.

They had stumbled upon it while experimenting with various integrations to the human body.

The strain had the potential to mutate a person with the Abhimanyu gene strain significantly.

The previous test subject hadn't survived, but the results suggested immense possibilities.

General Rawat then proposed that Akshat lead this new research. "You're the only one who can take this forward, Akshat. With your talent ,you could guide it towards success," the general insisted.

Akshat, still processing the information, realized that this could be his new purpose, a way to honor those he lost, including Shokouh.

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Though Akshat accepted the challenge and threw himself into the research, his relentless pursuit of success quickly consumed him.

He became fixated on pushing the limits of human capability, driven by the memory of Shokouh, His brother and the others he had lost in recent years.

But in his obsession, he began to lose sight of the human cost.

He overlooked the ethical boundaries that should have guided his work, focusing only on results.

Some subjects mutated in horrifying ways, their bodies twisting and breaking under the strain of the experiments.

Others didn't survive the procedures, their lives snuffed out in the name of progress.

Those who were deemed failures were put down without hesitation.

The once-disciplined soldier became a man blinded by ambition, willing to destroy countless lives to achieve his goals.

In his mad pursuit, Akshat forgot the very reason he had started this journey—losing not only his humanity but also the sense of purpose that had once driven him.

The final test was unlike any that had come before it.

Akshat stood in the sterile lab, the air thick with tension as the orphan boy was strapped to a metal table, his thin frame dwarfed by the complex machinery surrounding him.

The boy had survived the initial rounds of testing, proving to be the most resilient subject they had ever encountered.

But now, he would face the ultimate trial—a trial that would push the limits of Akshat's research to their breaking point.

The blood-red serum, a volatile combination of the viral strain and countless other compounds, sat ominously in a syringe.

It was the culmination of years of work, a dark cocktail that had already claimed dozens of lives.

The serum shimmered unnervingly in the light.

"Ready the subject," Akshat ordered, his voice cold and detached.

The assistants, their faces pale and strained, moved to secure the boy's limbs, locking the restraints tightly around his wrists and ankles.

The boy didn't struggle; he had learned long ago that resistance was futile.

His eyes were wide with fear, but there was a quiet acceptance in them, a resignation to his fate.

Akshat approached with the syringe in hand, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread.

This was the moment he had been working toward—if the boy survived, it would validate everything, all the lives lost, all the sacrifices made.

Without a word, Akshat plunged the needle into the boy's arm and slowly pushed the serum into his veins.

Almost immediately, the effects began to take hold.

The boy's body convulsed violently, his back arching off the table as his temperature skyrocketed.

The monitors attached to him went wild, the beeping growing erratic as his heart rate spiked.

His skin began to flush, turning a deep crimson as the blood-red serum coursed through his veins.

Within moments, blisters formed on his skin, which then began to peel away, revealing raw, inflamed flesh underneath.

The boy screamed, a sound of pure agony that echoed through the lab.

His bones creaked and shifted under the strain, his entire skeleton seeming to twist and contort as the serum worked its way through him.

The assistants flinched at the sound but dared not move, their eyes fixed on Akshat, waiting for any sign of what to do next.

Sweat poured from the boy's body, his temperature continuing to rise to impossible levels.

The air around him shimmered with heat, and suddenly, tiny sparks danced along his skin.

Then, to the horror of everyone present, patches of his blood ignited, small flames licking up from his veins where the serum had interacted with the catalysts Akshat had introduced into the mixture.

The boy's screams turned to gasps as he struggled to breathe, his lungs searing with every inhalation.

Akshat watched, his mind racing.

He was torn between the exhilaration of witnessing the transformation and the sickening realization of what he had done.

The serum was reacting far more violently than he had anticipated, pushing the boy's body beyond its natural limits.

For a moment, it seemed as if the boy might succumb, that his body would break under the pressure.

But then, something changed. The convulsions began to slow, the flames dimming until they were nothing but embers on his skin.

The boy's breathing, once ragged and desperate, began to stabilize.

His skin, though still raw, began to knit itself back together, healing at a rate that defied all logic.

Akshat's eyes widened as he watched the impossible unfold before him. The boy had survived.

His body, though battered and burned, was regenerating, adapting to the serum in a way no other subject had.

The transformation was brutal, horrific even, but it was a success.

As the boy lay on the table, his body still trembling from the ordeal, Akshat felt a wave of triumph wash over him.

He had done it. The serum, the culmination of all his research, had worked.

But as he looked into the boy's eyes, now dull and empty, he couldn't shake the feeling that something precious had been lost in the process.

The boy was alive, but at what cost? The human cost of Akshat's pursuit was all too clear, written in the suffering of the child who had survived his experiments.

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Stones and Reviews Please