Chapter 1: A Tough Joke
Location: Basra Oil Refinery Construction Site, Iraq
Time: 06:30 PM
Rahul dragged his boots across the gravel.
CRUNCH.
He held a clipboard against his chest. He checked the curing concrete on sector four.
"...Look at this," Amit said.
Amit dropped his shovel into the dirt. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his dirty glove.
Rahul marked a checkbox on his paper.
"The mix is solid," Rahul said. "We can pour the next layer tomorrow."
Tariq walked over holding three hard hats. He handed one to Rahul.
"...If we are still here tomorrow," Tariq muttered.
Rahul took the yellow helmet. He clipped it to his belt.
CLICK.
"Management said the site is secure," Rahul said.
HMPFH.
Amit scoffed. He kicked a loose rock toward the concrete forms.
"...They just moved two more US destroyers into the gulf," Amit said. "My wife watches the news back home. She is terrified."
Rahul handed his clipboard to the site foreman, Tariq, walking past them.
"We are civilian contractors," Tariq said. He pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped his neck. "...Targeting an international oil refinery is a war crime."
Amit shook his head.
"A bomb does not care about international law," Amit replied.
Rahul unbuttoned the top of his high-visibility vest. The evening heat was suffocating.
"...The company doubled our hazard pay," Rahul said. "That is why we stay."
Amit looked at Rahul.
"Money is useless if you are dead," Amit said.
Rahul reached into his pocket. His fingers brushed against a small plastic bottle.
'I need the money.'
"I have medical bills," Rahul said. He looked away from Amit. "...And my father needs the commissary funds."
Tariq patted Amit on the shoulder.
"...Just finish out the month," Tariq said. "They won't strike a civilian zone. The Saudi coalition knows our coordinates."
A loud horn blasted from the main gate.
HONK.
"Bus is here," Rahul said.
He turned and walked toward the dirt road.
--<>--
Location: Contractor Transport Bus, Basra Province
Time: 07:15 PM
The old engine rattled violently.
RUMBLE.
Rahul pressed the side of his head against the glass window. He watched the desert roll by in the dark.
Dozens of exhausted men slept in the seats around him.
ZZZZZ.
Tariq snored in the seat across the aisle.
A sharp, stabbing pain twisted inside Rahul's stomach.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He pressed his forearm into his gut.
'Hold it together.'
The bus hit a pothole.
THUD.
Rahul bit his bottom lip. He tasted blood.
His gastrointestinal illness always flared up after a twelve-hour shift. The stress made it worse.
Amit sat next to him. He was scrolling through a news app on his phone.
"...The militias are setting up logistics hubs in the city," Amit whispered.
Rahul opened his eyes. He slowly exhaled.
"We sleep ten miles from the city center," Rahul said.
Amit locked his phone screen.
"...I am breaking my contract," Amit said. "I am flying back to Kerala on Friday."
Rahul stared at the empty seat in front of him.
"You will lose your entire deposit," Rahul said.
"...I don't care, Rahul..." Amit looked at him seriously. "The possibility of dying from the US-Israeli conflict with Iran is very high this time. I just wanted to live."
Rahul kept his arm pressed against his stomach.
"..."
He didn't say anything else.
--<>--
Location: Contractor Housing, Basra Province
Time: 08:15 PM
Rahul pushed his room door shut.
CLICK.
He dropped his heavy work boots onto the concrete floor.
THUD.
He walked over to the small wooden table in the corner. He opened a plastic food container.
The rice and dal were completely cold.
Rahul reached into his pocket. He pulled out the orange pill bottle.
RATTLE.
He twisted the cap off. He poured three white pills into his palm.
He tossed them into his mouth. He grabbed a water bottle and swallowed them down.
GULP. GULP.
He sat on the edge of his squeaky mattress.
Rahul scooped a spoonful of cold rice and pushed it into his mouth. "Better than nothing.."
He picked up his phone.
He opened a news website. The top headline flashed in bold letters.
[US and Coalition Forces Prepare Preemptive Strikes on Militia Hubs.]
Rahul stopped chewing.
He tapped the screen to close the browser.
"When will this conflict end..."
Rahul opened the YouTube app to clear his head.
He tapped on a video titled [Gojo vs Sukuna: Full Fight Breakdown]
The anime characters flashed across his cracked screen.
He scrolled down to the comments while the video played.
CHOMP.
He ate another spoonful of food.
He read a comment complaining about Sukuna's cursed energy reserves.
"...They really dragged this out," Rahul muttered.
He watched Gojo fire a Purple hollow technique on the screen.
FWOOSH.
It was a good distraction. He needed this right now.
He set the plastic container down on the table.
He leaned back against the wall. He kept his eyes on the screen.
The pills slowly started to numb the pain in his stomach.
Rahul checked the time at the top of his phone screen.
It was 08:42 PM.
"I need to hit the bed earl~..."
Then.
A massive, deafening mechanical wail ripped through the air.
WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO!
The base-wide C-RAM siren shook the entire building.
Rahul froze.
"What's going on? An attack?"
The phone slipped from his hand.
CLATTER.
He stared at the small window in his room.
'No.'
The alarm screamed. It was the early warning system for incoming munitions.
Heavy footsteps pounded against the floor in the hallway outside.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Someone hammered their fists against his door.
"...Rahul!" Amit screamed from the hallway. "Get out!"
Rahul jumped off the mattress.
BAAAM.
He didn't grab his phone. He didn't grab his wallet.
He ripped the door open.
The hallway was pure chaos.
Dozens of men shoved past each other. They sprinted toward the stairwell.
People screamed in Hindi and Arabic.
"...Run to the bunkers!" a man yelled.
Amit grabbed Rahul's shirt. He pulled him into the crowd.
"...They are bombing the zone!" Amit shouted over the siren.
Rahul stumbled forward.
He pushed through the mass of panicked bodies.
He heard Tariq yelling from the bottom of the stairs.
"...Keep moving!" Tariq screamed.
Rahul gripped the metal handrail. He vaulted down the concrete steps.
WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO!
The siren continued to wail.
The reinforced concrete shelter was at the edge of the compound.
It was two hundred yards away.
Rahul burst through the exit doors into the hot night air. 'I'm going to stay alive!'
Then he looked up at the sky.
"..."
--<>--
Location: US CENTCOM Forward Operations Center, Qatar
Time: 07:45 PM (1 Hour Before)
The satellite feed flickered on the massive wall monitor.
BEEP.
A four-star general leaned over the metal table. He pointed a laser pointer at a cluster of gray squares on the screen.
"...Are we absolutely sure those are munitions?" the general asked.
An intelligence officer typed rapidly on his keyboard.
CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.
"Yes, sir," the officer replied. "Thermal imaging confirms heavy artillery being loaded into the warehouse."
The general dragged the red laser dot one inch to the right. It rested over a long, rectangular building.
"What about this block?" the general asked. He crossed his arms. "...That is the civilian contractor housing."
The intelligence officer pulled up a secondary screen. He scanned a list of field reports.
"...We received intel from local assets this morning," the officer stated. "The corporate managers evacuated the civilian contractors yesterday."
The general stared at the thermal feed. A few faint heat signatures hovered around the rectangular building.
"I see heat signatures," the general said.
"...Just residual heat from the generators, sir," the officer replied. "The site is clear."
The general uncrossed his arms. He pressed a button on the comms console.
CLICK.
"...Strike team Alpha, you are clear to engage," the general ordered into the microphone. "Target the warehouse."
"Copy that, command," a pilot's voice crackled through the speaker. "Coordinates locked."
--<>--
Location: Contractor Housing Alleyway, Basra Province
Time: 08:43 PM (Present)
WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO!
The C-RAM siren screamed across the compound.
Rahul stared up at the black sky.
A heavy shoulder slammed into his back.
"Move!" a man screamed in Hindi.
Rahul stumbled forward. He caught his balance on a concrete pillar.
The alleyway was a crush of terrified bodies.
Hundreds of men pushed toward the steel doors of the underground shelter.
"...They locked the secondary doors!" someone shouted from the front of the crowd.
Panic rippled through the workers.
A young Arabic contractor fell to his knees in the dirt.
"Get up!" an older man yelled. He grabbed the young man by his shirt collar. "...You cannot stop here!"
HIK-SOB. SOB.
The younger man just covered his ears and sobbed.
CLACK. CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.
People ran right past them. Heavy boots kicked up clouds of dust.
Rahul looked back toward the stairwell exit.
Amit shoved his way out of the building. He gripped Tariq's arm tightly.
"...Over here!" Amit screamed.
Tariq tripped over a discarded hard hat. He slammed face-first into the dirt.
THUD.
Amit grabbed Tariq's vest. He tried to drag him up.
"...Leave me!" Tariq yelled, spitting dirt from his mouth. "Just run!"
"Shut up and stand up!" Amit roared back.
Rahul took a step toward them.
The sound of the siren was suddenly drowned out by a deafening mechanical roar.
FWOOSH.
Two fighter jets tore through the clouds right above the compound.
The sheer volume vibrated in Rahul's chest.
He looked back up.
Two small, black objects detached from the wings of the jets.
They fell fast.
"...Incoming!" a worker shrieked.
Rahul watched the first black object plummet toward the adjacent warehouse.
It vanished behind the tin roof.
BOOM.
The ground buckled.
A massive pillar of fire erupted into the sky. The warehouse disintegrated into twisted metal and ash.
The shockwave hit the alleyway a split second later.
CRACK.
The physical force punched Rahul in the chest. He flew backward.
"AGHH!"
His back slammed against the dirt.
THUD.
All the remaining windows on the housing block shattered simultaneously. Glass rained down on the screaming crowd.
CRACK. CRUMBLE.
HUFF-PUFF.
Rahul gasped for air. The wind was completely knocked out of his lungs.
A high-pitched ringing filled his ears. The siren sounded muted and far away.
He rolled onto his side. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.
Thick, gray concrete dust choked the air.
ACK-COUCGH. KAH. KAH
Rahul coughed violently.
He looked at the crowd. Men were lying on the ground, holding their heads. Some were bleeding from the flying glass.
"HELP ME!"
"I'M BLEEDING!"
"I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS."
Rahul forced his head up. He looked through the smoke.
SWIISH.
The second black object was falling.
It was off course. It wasn't heading for the warehouse.
It was dropping directly toward the center of their housing block.
'No.'
THUMP. THUMP
Rahul's heart pounded against his ribs.
He didn't try to stand up and didn't try to run to the shelter.
Rahul just knelt in the dirt. He stared directly at the falling bomb.
It grew larger by the second.
The metal casing glinted in the light of the nearby fire.
He couldn't hear the crowd screaming anymore.
He couldn't hear the siren.
The world went completely silent.
A blinding white light swallowed his vision.
--<>--
The deafening wail of the C-RAM siren cut out entirely.
Absolute silence filled his ears.
'So this is what they say in the movies...'
He stared at the frozen light.
'Life flashing before your eyes...'
The white light vanished.
...
Rahul sat at his family's dining table. His feet barely touched the floor.
His two youngest cousins sat across from him.
They scooped rice into their mouths with their bare hands.
"Eat slowly," his mother said. She poured water into a plastic cup.
Rahul's father patted the youngest niece on the head.
"...Your mother is working in Dubai," his father smiled. "You stay with us until she finishes her housekeeping contract."
...
The dining room faded.
Rahul's aunt stood by the front door holding a suitcase.
"Thank you sis for taking care of my youngest daughters for four years."
She just got back from working outside the country.
She grabbed the two girls by their wrists and walked out of the house. The oldest was 12 years old and the youngest one was 9 years old.
"Thank you for taking care of us Auntie and Uncle.." the older sibling added.
"Bye bye.." the youngest one chimed.
SLAM
The front door closed.
The scene dissolved into gray clouds and heavy rain.
...
Another three years later Rahul stood in front of a funeral pyre. He wore a black shirt.
His mother pressed her face against his father's chest. She sobbed loudly.
His grandmother's photo rested on a wooden stand nearby.
"...Her heart couldn't take it," his father whispered.
Rahul stared at the flames.
The rain disappeared.
...
Rahul stood in his living room. It was December.
Eight years passed.
His teenage cousin stood in front of the television. She crossed her arms.
"...I just want to move back into this house Auntie," his cousin said. She rolled her eyes. "...It is too loud at my place."
His mother set a tray of tea cups on the table.
CLINK.
"I am sorry, dear" his mother said. "We cannot afford another person right now."
The cousin dropped her arms.
"...What do you mean?" she asked.
"Your brother Rahul is taking his civil engineering boards," his mother explained. "The review center takes all our extra money."
Rahul watched from the hallway.
"And besides your parents need to take care of you," his mother added.
"..." The cousin didn't say anything. She stared at his mother.
She turned around and looked directly at Rahul in the hallway.
She glared at him.
The living room vanished.
...
It was January next year. Rahul sat at his desk. He traced a structural load diagram with his pencil.
A loud crash echoed from the front of the house.
CRASH.
"DON'T!"
His mother screamed.
Rahul dropped his pencil and ran into the living room.
Two police officers shoved his father against the wall.
"Hey!" Rahul shouted.
His father dropped his work briefcase.
THUD.
"...What is going on?" his father asked.
The officer pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
"Arrest warrant," the officer said. "Violation of the POCSO Act."
The officer locked metal cuffs around his father's wrists.
CLICK.
"...Based on an accusation from eleven years ago," the officer continued.
"This can't be!?"
The living room faded into a cold courtroom hallway.
...
A few months later.
Rahul's mother handed a thick brown envelope to a man in a suit. A lawyer they hired for her husband.
"...Keep fighting it," she whispered.
"Don't worry ma'am, we have sufficient and strong evidence."
...
The hallway flickered. They stood in the exact same spot a month later.
His mother handed the lawyers another envelope twelve times. It was noticeably thinner.
The house. The car. The lot.
They're all gone. Entire lifetime of properties and savings, gone in a year.
The hallway flickered again.
...
Almost a year and six court trials later.
Rahul sat on a wooden bench inside the courtroom.
His cousin sat on the witness stand. She rubbed her eyes and sniffled.
"...He touched me," she said. She looked at the judge. "...I remember it perfectly."
Rahul gripped the edge of the bench.
His father's lawyer stood up. He walked toward the judge's desk.
"Your honor," the lawyer said. He placed a stack of papers and a flash drive on the wood. "...My client has a solid alibi."
The female judge looked down at the items.
"These are the attendance logs from the review center," the lawyer stated. "...He was taking his electrical engineering classes on that exact date."
The lawyer pointed at the flash drive.
"We also submitted photo and video evidence spanning eight years," the lawyer added. "The accuser has lived and communicated happily with the defendant's family since the alleged incident."
The lawyer looked back at the cousin.
"...She was present at every celebration. She even volunteered to be the emcee for my client's fifty-fifth birthday."
The female judge pushed the papers aside.
"...The POCSO Act places the burden of proof on the accused," the judge said. "Attendance logs can be easily manipulated."
The judge looked down at the lawyer.
"...As for the images, trauma responses in minors are complex," the judge continued. "Victims often mask their abuse. It is common for them to be pressured into acting happy during family events."
Rahul jumped up from his seat.
"My father was taking his exam! Why can't you understand?!" Rahul yelled. "...This is her motive! She is just doing this because we denied her!"
A bailiff grabbed Rahul by the shoulder and forced him back down.
"...The victim's testimony is consistent," the judge announced.
She picked up her wooden gavel.
"I find the defendant guilty," she said. "Life imprisonment."
BANG. BANG.
Rahul turned around. He looked at the gallery behind him.
His aunt sat in the second row surrounded by her other children and the accused.
His cousin looked directly at Rahul and gave an a nearly unnoticeable smirk.
The courtroom vanished.
...
A year later.
Rahul stood in a sterile white hospital room.
A heart monitor displayed a flat green line.
BEEEEP.
A doctor pulled a white sheet over his mother's face.
"...The stress caused severe heart complications," the doctor muttered. "I'm sorry your mother is gone."
The hospital dissolved.
...
Rahul stood in front of a bathroom mirror. He held a piece of ID in his hand.
It was his civil engineering license.
Then.
A sharp, stabbing pain ripped through his stomach.
"Ugh!! What's happening?"
He dropped the paper. He grabbed the edges of the ceramic sink.
...
ACK-COUCGH. KAH. KAH.
Rahul coughed violently.
A doctor stood behind him holding a clipboard.
"...You have a severe gastrointestinal illness," the doctor said. "The pills are extremely expensive."
Rahul pulled out his phone. He opened his banking app.
The balance read zero. The lawyer fees took everything.
The bathroom disappeared.
--<>--
Time: Present.
The white light receded.
The deafening wail of the C-RAM siren flooded back into his ears.
WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO!
Rahul knelt in the dirt.
He stared at the falling bomb. It was ten feet above the roof.
Rahul didn't move and didn't blink.
He thought about the thin envelope of cash. He thought about the court trials.
He thought about the smirk on his cousin's face.
He did everything right. He studied hard. He worked himself to the bone.
His parents fed those girls when her own mother was away.
They destroyed his entire family over a rejection.
The judge ignored physical evidence for a fake tear. It was a complete bias.
His mom died.
His own stomach failed him right when he needed to work.
And now, he was dying as collateral damage in a desert.
He opened his mouth and wanted to say something but.
"Hehehe..."
He laughed.
It started as a low, raspy chuckle in his throat.
"HAHAHAHAHA!!!"
It erupted into a loud, manic roar of pure spite.
He threw his head back and laughed at the bomb.
"HEHAHAHAHA!!"
Rahul laughed at the absolute, rigged joke of a world he lived in.
The metal casing struck the concrete roof.
CRUNCH.
BAAAANG. BOOOM.
The blast wave expanded.
SIZZZLE
The heat hit his skin.
Everything turned completely white.
'Baba... Maa... We are not wrong... The world is...'
--<>--
Location: Kamo Clan Estate, Kyoto, Japan
Time: Afternoon | Year 1893 |
The white light faded into the stark white of a blank sheet of rice paper.
A small hand held a bamboo brush.
SCRATCH. SCRATCH.
Black ink stained the paper. Hanzo traced the outline of a basic Japanese kanji.
He stopped writing. He lowered the brush and looked at his fingers.
They were tiny. He was exactly four years old.
He looked out the open wooden door of his room.
A mild afternoon breeze blew through the courtyard.
SWOOSH.
It had been two years since he woke up in this body with his memories intact.
The panic attacks were gone.
The silent screaming fits and crying were completely out of his system.
He thought about the Indian prison. He thought about his father waiting for a commissary transfer that would never arrive.
He slowly closed his eyes.
'I am sorry, Baba.'
He opened his eyes and picked up the bamboo brush again.
Rahul Sharma died in a desert. That life was over.
He dipped the tip of the brush into the inkstone.
TAP.
He dragged the black ink across the white paper.
He was forcing his adult mind to memorize the written language of the Meiji Era.
He already understood the spoken words. His toddler brain absorbed the language naturally while he grew.
He looked at the date written on a small scroll hanging on the wall.
It was 1893.
'I am in the Jujutsu Kaisen world.'
PUFF.
He let out a low breath.
'I am Kamo Hanzo.'
He stared at the ink drying on the paper.
There was no Gojo Satoru to break the balance of the world.
There was no Ryomen Sukuna terrorizing Shibuya.
Gojo was still in his great great grandfather's testicles waiting for another hundred years.
While Sukuna was still sealed.
A helpess smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
'I would be a hundred years old during the modern era... If I live that long enough.'
Heavy footsteps pounded against the wooden floorboards outside his room.
STOMP. STOMP. STOMP.
Someone grabbed the edge of the paper door and shoved it violently.
SHHHHK.
A slightly older boy stood in the doorway. He wore a dark gray hakama and gasped for air.
"...Hanzo!" the boy shouted. He leaned against the doorframe. "...Put the brush down."
Hanzo wiped a drop of ink from his thumb.
"... It's sensei," the boy panted, pointing down the hallway. "It's time already... The other children are in the training grounds right now."
Hanzo looked at the boy. He set the bamboo brush down on the wooden holder.
CLACK.
He stood up from the tatami mat. He brushed the dust off the knees of his own hakama.
"...Alright," Hanzo gave a perfect warmth smile. "Thank you for telling me this.."
He walked past the boy and stepped out into the hallway.
"Hehe... No problem, Hanzo..."
--<>--
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