But the Orbital Council had ears. A sleek drone, disguised as a vulture, hovered outside his shop. By dawn, the Surya Prime security forces had landed. Kaali was captured. Arun’s shop was set ablaze. But Arun had already done the one thing they couldn’t stop.
Arun hesitated. "I dub fiction, not rebellion."
In the year 2089, the world had fractured into two halves: the Orbital Elite, who lived on gleaming space stations, and the Surface Scraps, who survived in the crumbling ruins of Earth’s overgrown cities. But in the congested lanes of Old Chennai, a different kind of war was brewing—a war over stories.