Author's Note:
This story has many layers and it is not quite straightforward. It hope that it gives you a mind-bending reading experience. So, I request you to take your time and read it slowly. Thank you!
- RKS
Ripples of Destiny
I woke up to a ceiling that didn’t belong to my one-bedroom flat in Mahim. Too clean, too white. Not a single crack to murmur secrets to me. There was a humming in the air—low, like a power line after a storm, or a woman pretending not to cry.
My personal Sig-Sauer pistol was gone. My .45 police revolver was nowhere in the horizon, so were my cigarettes. What wasn’t gone was the dull ache in my ribs and the smell of recycled air thick with sterilized lies.
I swung my feet off the cot and hit a floor that pulsed once beneath me. Not metaphorically—it actually pulsed. The walls blinked, not lights—walls. Like they were breathing.
“Welcome", said a voice smoother than cheap whisky on a lonely night. It came from nowhere. Or everywhere. The kind of voice that wore lipstick and carried a gun. I didn’t trust it. I never trust anything without a heartbeat.
My name’s Keshav Raj, I'm 42, a single man and a cop. I have no other immediate family members living at present. So I'm a 90s kid, but a modernized orphan.
Now I'm apparently a guest in some bastard child of a lab and a prison. Who kidnapped me, what is this place? The last I remembered was getting sleep after a belly full of food and alcohol, which made me drop the case file which I was reading in hand. Even the intense screaming of a news anchor on TV couldn't get me back to my senses.
As a cop, I visited many crime scenes, kidnapping sites, dreadful warehouses, deadly forest trails, sites which serial killers used and many more. But the funny thing? I’ve been to even worse places; such as a human delicatessen, a freaky human-trafficking island which was completely abandoned, a blast site which had pieces of human flesh sticking on walls.
Add many official buildings, cities, hotels, resorts and the usual lot.
But none that knew my name, before I said it.
Sweet.
---
The door of the room in which I was kept, slid open before I could punch it.
Not out of kindness—more like the room had decided I was done marinating.
Outside was a corridor so long it looked like guilt on a Monday morning. Silver panels, no windows, and that same damn hum that told me electricity had started dreaming.
I walked with the tick-tock of my shoes, which were a new pair by the way, echoed on the weird corridor, which was eerily empty. I abruptly reached another white-filled junction.
She stood there.
Leaning on the wall like she owned it.
Jet-black hair in a short wave. Eyes that glowed faint violet, not because she was an alien—because someone designed her to be better than real.
“Call me Mira,” she said. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet.”
“Story of my life,” I muttered, stepping past her. “I usually ruin people’s plans by just showing up.”
Mira walked beside me like a cat who’d killed before.
“Do you know what year it is, Keshav?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s the year someone decided to play God and forgot to clean up after.”
She smiled like someone who had backup.
We turned a corner, reached a big hall, and saw a man being dragged by two sentries—black-suited, face-shielded, precise in that corporate sort of cruelty.
That man screamed my name.
Not “Hey!”
Not “Help!”
He screamed "Keshav Raj, please help!", like it was both a warning and a curse.
I didn’t recognize him—but my spine did.
Cold. Tight. Ancient.
I slowly looked around that big corridor. There were so many people, with their faces shielded, but looking towards my direction, and screaming my name, being taken somewhere else.
I stopped walking.
Mira didn’t. “You want the truth?” she asked over her shoulder. “Or do you want go back to your home?”
My fists clenched.
Same thing, sweetheart.
Same damn thing.
---
I didn’t say another word until the hallway spat us into a chamber the size of a cricket ground. The roof blinked like a dying sky. Transparent walls flickered with data ribbons—names, dates, faces—but none I knew. I turned to Mira.
“What is this place?”
“Transit Hold,” she said, as if that meant anything. “To where?”
“To when, mostly.” She folded her arms. “And sometimes… to who.”
My head throbbed, but the cop in me clawed up from the gut. The guy who asked questions even after the bullets stopped flying.
“What’s the date? What place am I in? Is this Earth or a simulation? And why the hell do strangers scream my name like I owe them rent?”
Mira’s smile thinned. “You’re in a 'Time Synthesis Reclamation Node'. You breached Timeline 37–Sector K— Mumbai.” I stared. She might as well have sung me a lullaby in Morse code.
“You were selected, Keshav Raj,” she continued. “Because you broke the equation. You were a constant. Until you weren’t.”
That hit me like a wet file in an old police locker.
Since I joined the police force, I'd been a honest cop. Recently I was promoted to the rank of SP. Then came the sting: a land deal. Nothing bloody, just paper and signatures. My refusal would’ve collapsed a fragile peace of another family. So I took the bribe—not for wealth, but for quiet. One compromise, One fall. Then I drank myself halfway to hell because of guilt, and now I found myself waking up here in this weird white world.
“What do you mean, ‘broke the equation’?”
“You were supposed to be incorruptible. When you weren’t… the predictive models collapsed. Someone tampered with your thread.”
“Tampered? What the hell am I, a sock?”
Mira stepped closer. Her pupils dilated like camera lenses. “You’re a vector now. A forked future. This world isn’t punishment. It’s containment.”
I laughed. Couldn’t help it.
“You built all this to trap an ex-honest Cop who took one lousy bribe?”
“No,” she said, calm as cyanide. “We built this for all the versions of you that didn’t.”
That one punched me in the lungs.
“Versions?”
She walked ahead and gestured. The wall behind her shimmered, revealing hundreds of coffins—transparent, humming. Each with a me inside. One wore a temple priest attire. One held a sniper rifle. One had a wedding ring.
“This,” Mira said, “is the Archive. You’re not just one man anymore, Keshav. You’re a ripple in causality. They all lived an entirely honest life, till their timelines came to a natural end.”
I took a shaky breath. Felt the weight of every lie I didn’t tell, every bullet I didn’t fire, every love I didn’t choose.
"Am I the only one who faltered?"
"No, there are countless who faltered, but not the ones who were sent from here into a mother's womb. Only our prototypes faltered. Before even any of our guys faltered, we have mechanisms to track them."
"What happens after you find that they may go wrong?"
"Good question. We give them a chance in their original world itself to change & realize the reason of their being. If they accept it fully, they will continue. If they fail to accept it and gets drawn towards misdeeds for a second time, we just pull their plug & their lives come to an end."
"Are they also in this archive chamber?"
"No, they are kept in another node called as "Non-reclamation" node, and they never get archived. They get destroyed after research."
"So mine is the only case which missed all your tracking systems and alarms, am I right?"
"Yes Keshav!"
“So what now?” I asked.
“Now?” Mira said, “We will go and see the prime version of you, who started it all. He is the one who manages this reclamation node. I will allow you to ask him a few hard questions.”
---
Mira led me through the Archive chamber, past those damn transparent coffins, each one carrying a version of me I never knew. I could smell the hum of machinery now. It wasn’t just the walls that were alive—it was the entire system. It breathed, recorded, lived.
We reached a door at the far end of the room, a door that felt ancient despite the tech around it. Mira opened it with a silent gesture, her fingers barely grazing the edge. Beyond the door was a room bathed in dim light, and there he was—Prime Keshav Raj—sitting like a king in a chair made of shadows.
He didn’t look like me, not exactly. He was older, sharper. The lines of his face weren’t just age; they were decisions, consequences written in a language I knew too well. His eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw the cold, calculated fire I used to fear in the mirror.
"You’re late," Prime Keshav said. "You should have been here sooner." He didn’t stand.
Didn’t move. Just… watched me. Like I was another equation to solve.
Mira stood back, arms crossed. "Ask him, Keshav," she said softly. "Ask him why you’re here."
I stepped forward, heart beating loud enough for both of us. "You know why I'm here, don’t you?" I growled at Prime Keshav. "You’re the reason I’m stuck in this twisted mess. I took a bribe only once, but I didn’t deserve to be wiped off the face of my world."
Prime Keshav didn’t blink. "You didn't take just one bribe, Keshav. You took the bribe that broke the chain. It was the moment you became expendable. The moment you stopped being a constant."
"And what does that mean?" I demanded. "Why the hell are people screaming my name? What do they want from me?"
He leaned back, a smile creeping onto his lips—one I knew too well. "It’s not just your name they scream," he said. "They scream your future. Your fate. The ones who scream your name are echoes—versions of you who didn’t compromise.
"Every time you took a step toward corruption, every time you bent the rules, they split off. They live in other timelines, other lives. And now, they call you back, trying to pull you into the one thread you abandoned."
I swallowed. I could feel the weight of all those eyes on me, all those Keshavs screaming from the past and future, reaching for me, accusing me. The noise was suffocating.
"So, what now?" I asked, trying to steady myself. "Now," Prime Keshav said, standing up, "you fix it. You fix the one thread that’s unraveling—the murder in 2080."
Mira stepped forward. "In that year, there’s a death that's going to happen. A politician, a leader, whose death will send us into an age of absolute chaos. That murder is going to happen, because of a series of chain events, which started before two days, when you took your only bribe. If you stop that murder, Keshav, the timelines will realign. You can go back to 2025, where you belong."
"Why can't we break that chain in 2025 itself?"
"No, as per our data and prediction models, we can't. From 2025 till 2080, there is no other perfect year for you to adjust the events cycle and thereby correcting the timeline.", explained Mira.
I took a deep breath. "So that’s it? I clean up this mess in 2080, and you give me my life back?"
Now Prime Keshav nodded, his smile tight. "You need to stop the murder. It’s not just a political assassination—it’s the key to the order that locks everything in place. If you fail, you stay here as a research subject, Forever. And then one day, you will be sent to non-reclamation node."
Mira said to me without any emotion,"You’ll be playing with fire, Keshav. But the fire is yours to burn. Otherwise, you'll be burnt for sure."
I could feel the weight of it all now—the choices, the corruption, the consequences. And the truth of it hit me. I wasn’t just a cop who took a bribe. I was the man who broke the system. Every decision I made—a ripple. Every step, a chain reaction. The murder wasn’t just a murder. It was the last hinge holding this world together. I wasn’t just saving the future. I was saving myself.
The screaming? It wasn’t just a plea for help. It was a warning. Every version of me, every Keshav Raj out there, wanted to pull me back into line. They screamed because they had no choice but to scream.
I nodded. "Fine. 2080. But after that, I’m gone. I want my life back. I want my 2025's world."
Prime Keshav’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Good. You’ll need to solve it before the sun sets in the day which we are going to send you in 2080. Fail, and you’ll find out what it means to truly vanish."
He continued.
"You will be sent as a cop once again. You will take the role of a transferred security cop from another city. Your documents will be ready at the place where you wake up, which will be your home. From there, go to the police station, take charge, and then go to Minister Vikram Sethi's gala event hall. That's where our models predict that he would be getting multiple attempts on his life. If he stays alive till sunset, you are safe. But remember, as I said, there will not be just one man or woman, or just attempt. Is that clear, Keshav?".
"Yes, I am very clear."
As Mira led me out of the room, the hum of the place felt louder, closer. I could almost hear the other Keshavs—my own ghosts—fading into the walls. They were watching. They were waiting.
But this time? I wasn’t running. I was fixing the thread that unraveled me.
---
Mira took me into another heavily-guarded chamber. She asked me to sit inside domb-like advanced machine. Once I went inside and all-tied up, it automatically closed.
Mira’s finger hovers over the panel. “Time’s up.”
She pressed it. The air whirred...
---
I woke up in a hi-fi apartment. The time on the bed-clock was showing 6:30 AM. I went to the balcony and looked at the city. It was 2080, the city's skyline was hovering with flying cars and all other futuristic elements one could not even imagine. There were sky planes, malls, roads, exuberant skyscrapers, beautiful women, and whatnot!
I took a shower, shaved, wore my uniform, and got ready to the task with utmost focus.
I took the documents, came to the balcony, where my AI air-car was waiting. My apartment's auto-lock system got enabled.
My air-car's interior was humming like a restive animal. “To the station,” I say. It obeyed before I even finished the thought.
---
I came to in a room stacked with uniforms and badges—too pristine for a real precinct. A junior officer in smart fatigues stepped forward and saluted.
“Welcome, Officer Keshav Raj. We’ve been expecting you.”
Two more followed, offering coffee and a data-pad. On it, a file flashed: Keshav Raj – Protection Detail – Minister Vikram Sethi – Assignment Start: 09:00, 12 June 2080.
They chatter about security protocols, hover‑car ETA, live‑feed schedules. Not one of them did suspect that I’ve already lived—and died—once in this job. I blended naturally with them, as an ally and a friend.
I went into the Captain's room.
Police Capt. Samit Patel welcomed me with a heavy handshake, followed by gripping and patting my shoulder.
“Good to have you aboard. Heard you’re sharp.”
Desk sergeants handed me advanced weapons. They were speaking the 2080 police language, I was just smiling at them with a nod: “New drone patrols,” “Feed glitch at sector 7G,” “D-Squad’s got your back.”
They looked at me as if I belonged there. They didn't know the heartbeat beneath my ribs is counting down to a choice which I’ve already made.
---
Minister Vikram Sethi’s gala was electric. Cameras, holo‑ads, security drones buzzing like hornets in a jar. I and two others settled in the security positions.
"Mr Sethi, don't leave my side even for a second, as your life is now my responsibility. This is only till the sunset, as our intelligence reports suggest that once you enter this event hall, till the sunset, attempts will be made on you. But, for the sake of the people and the greater good, the event must go-on, and you must also be present. That's why we increased our security. Am I making myself clear Sir?", I asked Sethi.
"Mr. Keshav Raj, I already know all of this info. That's why I asked for the best man they have, and they got you on transfer. I will follow all protocols. But I don't want to hide like a coward. To show that, I came to the event."
"I'm glad that we are on the same page, OK, you please continue".
I and my team kept our eyes peeled for any form of attack.
The first “attempt” came—an exploding wrist‑watch which was gifted to the Minister by a known associate. Our detector alarms didn't find any issue in it.
But before he wore it on his hands, I saw a lazer pulse reflecting off the watch, just for a macro second. I snatched the watch at the right time and examined it. It was equipped with small needles with cyanide. The associate was arrested. Sethi was shocked, but he remained calm on the exterior.
The second—a sniper‑bot on the balcony—which was originally installed as a security drone - It turned rogue and came to target Sethi by shooting two bullets towards him- But I shot it down with my advanced gun. Luckily no one else was harmed.
Sethi convinced everyone to continue with the event.
Both times, my fellow police officers and minister Sethi appreciated me.
“Nice work, Officer Raj! You are the right man for the job.”
They smiled widely and congratulated me, but no one saw the shadow in my eyes.
Then came the third attempt.
I spot him—my clone—slipping through the press line, crossing all the security checks. Face like mine, but only I could recognize him as my clone, he had movements like mine. But the real beauty is, he came dressed like a woman.
The time is just 10:00 AM, we came to the event hall at 9:15 AM. Within these forty-five minutes itself, we are now facing a third attempt on his life. I am pretty much sure that within sunset, there will be a barrage of attempts by machines and by my clones, may be more than a hundred.
I pushed back my focus towards my clone who came dressed like a lady.
My eyes were keenly following him. At a sudden juncture, he pulled out a gun which was brought in un-detected. I too draw my gun from my holster.
I knew the stakes: if I shoot him, I stay trapped here, there will be countless attempts, my clones will come like a flood, from whom I can't save Sethi. But if I let this guy kill Sethi, I lose my life and the whole world will be plunged into chaos.
At that moment, wisdom struck me.
So I decided to do the only right thing left. I turned the gun on myself.
Boom...
---
Oh fuck, I didn't die yet.
Again I saw the White light.
Prime Keshav was sitting on his throne. This time, Mira was also sitting with him.
No triumph or anger in their eyes—just a glimmer of neutral facts.
“You kept your soul,” said Mira.
“You made the right choice,” added Prime Keshav.
Around us, versions of me—honest Keshavs, they stepped forward, clapping like believers who’ve seen salvation. They hugged me, not as savior, but as a man who corrected himself.
Mira came down, led me towards another chamber, and then opened a glowing door.
“Go home.”
I walked through it.
---
I wake gasping in my cramped Mumbai flat. The fan rattled along with rain's pattering outside. Gradually the rain stopped.
My phone buzzed: a message from HQ. “DSP Keshav Raj, your car is here.”
I woke up, blinked heavily, then smiled. When I saw my face in the mirror, I realized that my shame was gone.
I got ready, wore the uniform, and started my day of police duty.
On the veranda, Mrs. Fernandez from 2B waved at me, “Morning, sir!”
On the street, chowkidar tipped his cap. “Have a Good day, DSP ji!”
Nobody knows what I did—how I died—how I touched the future’s throat - how I resurrected myself without choking. Only I wished to carry that weight.
I slipped into the car, rolled down the window, and started looking outside. I saw the 2025 Mumbai in a new light. My driver was gracious enough not to speak, except the customary salute before I entered the car.
The car stopped at a signal.
I saw a new billboard with two familiar faces. A suave guy, that could only be Prime Keshav, next to Mira, they both were selling some insurance bonds with the tagline, “Today's honesty is tomorrow’s clarity.” They smiled at me.
I smiled back.
The signal turned green.
I moved on—same city, same badge, but a different man.
---
© Stellar Ram 2025
© Ram Kumar Sundaram 2025
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