The team had taken shelter in an abandoned garage Vicky swore was a "low-risk" location. It smelled like grease, old tires, and someone's forgotten lunchbox from 2011.
The crate sat in the center like a boss villain in a retro RPG—taunting, heavy, and full of secrets.
"Alright," Vicky said, squatting like a frog in front of it, "Let's meet our nemesis: a rusty 6-digit mechanical lock. Should be easy."
"It looks like something my grandmother used to secure her pickle jars," Meera teased.
"Your grandma had a security system?" Raja blinked. "For... pickles?"
"You clearly haven't tasted North Indian mango pickle. Wars have been fought for less."
As Vicky worked the dial, Meera and Mercer checked the crate's underside. Etched lightly on the base were six railway station codes—partially scraped, but visible under the right light.
"DDR – CSM – SLP – BCI – MZC – DCT"
"These aren't just random," Mercer murmured. "They're station codes. Decades old. Some don't even exist anymore."
"CSM is Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus," Meera nodded. "DDR… could be Dahod?"
"MZC might be Muzaffarpur?" Vicky chimed in. "Ohhh, this is a railway puzzle! My inner nerd just did a somersault!"
Raja leaned in. "Wait, hold up. Are we seriously decoding secret railway station codes while hiding in a garage that smells like expired paneer?"
"Yes," Mercer and Meera said in unison.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud pop—the lock clicked open.
Everyone stared at Vicky.
He grinned, raising his screwdriver like a trophy. "I may not be able to fight, but I can tickle metal into telling its secrets."
Inside the crate lay:
A stack of yellowed, typewritten documents
A small brass whistle
An ancient railway inspector badge
And a metal disc, etched with a strange diagram resembling a yantra fused with a railway network layout.
"What is this?" Raja said, poking the disc. "A spiritual metro map?"
Mercer picked it up. "No… it's more than that. These lines… they represent movements. Trains that never ran. Routes that were planned but then 'accidentally' buried. Someone tried to connect something powerful."
"Okay, that's cool and all," Vicky said, standing up and stretching his back. "But can we eat now? I'm running on fear and conspiracy."
Raja grinned. "I vote for vada pav. Let's be proper Mumbai detectives."
"You're the sidekick," Meera said with mock sternness. "Sidekicks don't get voting rights."
"Hey! I contribute—comedic timing, moral support, and once I bribed a gatekeeper with samosas!"
"I remember," Vicky muttered. "He asked for ID, and you gave him chutney."
Laughter echoed in the garage—light, relieving, and much needed.
Mercer allowed himself a smile. This was good. These moments kept them sane. Even with a storm ahead, a side route of laughter could be the difference between breaking apart and surviving.
Then his phone buzzed.
A blocked number. One word text.
"Karla. Tomorrow. 4PM. Come alone."
He didn't respond. But he knew—they were being herded. The pieces were lining up, and someone was always one step ahead.
And yet, Mercer wasn't afraid.
He had his crew, a whistle from the past, a haunted metro map... and a full stomach soon.
Next Chapter Preview:
A ghost metro line that was never officially built. Locals speak of hearing phantom train horns at midnight. Mercer goes alone to Karla, where the only station built but never opened hides more than just abandoned tracks—it hides a name tied to Mercer's past.