The morning sun filtered through the massive glass windows of the Shamshabad estate's guest cottages, waking the elite of world cricket one by one.
The aftermath of Feroz's "Hot Ones" challenge and the late-night truth or dare session had left a distinct, hilarious mark on the squad. David Warner erged from his cottage wearing dark sunglasses, clutching a massive cup of black coffee like a lifeline, muttering under his breath about the lingering effects of the Guntur Reaper sauce.
Shikhar Dhawan was chugging his third liter of water, while Trent Boult looked completely unbothered, having tapped out early the night before.
Siddanth, whose tabolic Forge had processed any toxins and flushed his system hours ago, was completely fresh. He sat on the main patio, dressed in a white t-shirt and athletic shorts, calmly eating a plate of fresh fruit.
"I feel like my stomach is actively trying to divorce ," Rohit Sharma groaned, shuffling onto the patio and collapsing heavily onto a sun lounger. "Why did we let Feroz cook last night?"
"Because you wanted authentic Telugu spice, Ro," Virat Kohli laughed, walking out looking surprisingly energetic. "You can't handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen."
"I am never eating a chili again as long as I live," Kane Williamson added softly, taking a seat next to Siddanth with a polite, traumatized smile.
Once everyone had managed to stomach a light, restorative breakfast, the loud crackle of a gaphone echoed across the estate lawns.
"ATTENTION, GENTLEN!"
The players turned around. Standing at the top of the grand staircase of the main farmhouse was Saer.
He was dressed in full, black tactical SWAT gear. He wore a heavy combat vest, knee pads, tactical boots, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. He held a massive, specialized gaphone in one hand. Stacked behind him were dozens of large, military-style olive green crates.
"What in the world is he wearing?" Yuvraj Singh muttered, squinting at Saer.
"If he tells us to jump out of a plane, I am calling an Uber and going to the airport," Ashwin said analytically, adjusting his glasses.
Saer marched down the stairs, a massive, maniacal grin on his face.
"Welco to Day Two, boys," Saer announced, dropping the gaphone and clapping his hands. "Yesterday was about relaxing. Today, we are going to war."
"This is not your average, generic paintball setup," Arjun explained, his inner tech-nerd shining through. "We have imported specialized, mil-sim markers. You get to pick your loadout. We have compact, semi-automatic handguns for close-quarters combat. We have high-fire-rate SMGs. We have standard Assault markers with red-dot sights. And for the marksn, we have bolt-action Sniper markers with extended barrels and 4x magnification scopes."
"Paintball?!" Kohli's eyes instantly lit up. The competitive fire practically exploded out of him. He was already looking at the mud on the ground, seemingly calculating how to use it as face camouflage.
"Not just standard paintball," Arjun clarified, walking out of the house holding an iPad. "This is a 100-acre estate. We have cordoned off a massive 40-acre play zone spanning the mango orchards, the wooded ravines, and the old storage sheds. This is a real-life, tactical ga of Capture the Flag."
"The rules are slightly modified for maximum chaos," Saer took over, pacing in front of the crates. "This isn't one-hit-kill. You are all wearing tactical vests. It takes three shots to the body to kill you. However, a single headshot is an instant kill. Limbs count as body shots. Gun hits do not count."
"What happens when we die?" Bhuvi asked, inspecting a sniper barrel.
"You raise your hand and walk to the designated Safe Zone by the pool. We call it the Gulag," Feroz grinned, handing out the tactical vests. "You must serve a mandatory five-minute respawn tir. Have a mocktail, think about your life choices, and then you can re-enter the ga by walking back to your team's fort. The objective is to infiltrate the enemy's fort, steal their flag, and bring it back to your own base."
"Two massive sandbag and plywood forts at the opposite corners of the 40-acre zone," Arjun added. "But here is the twist. You are only starting with basic markers. Scattered throughout the woods and the orchards are 'Loot Boxes.' They contain smoke grenades, extra ammunition, upgraded sniper barrels, and one ghillie suit."
"This is basically real-life Counter Strike," Ben Cutting laughed, picking up a marker and testing the weight.
"We are dividing into two teams," Arjun announced, holding up a black bag. "Draw lots. Red Team shoots bright red paint. Blue Team shoots neon blue paint. No confusion."
The eighteen players eagerly lined up, pulling colored wristbands out of the bag.
Siddanth looked at his band. Red.
He looked around to see his squad assembling. Virat Kohli, Ravichandran Ashwin, Rohit Sharma, Yuzvendra Chahal, Dale Steyn, Ben Cutting, Saer, and one of the NEXUS security guards (brought in to even the numbers) all slipped on red armbands.
"Alright, Blue Team, gather up!" MS Dhoni called out calmly. Standing beside him, snapping on blue armbands, were David Warner, Shikhar Dhawan, Trent Boult, Bhuvneshwar Kumar, Kane Williamson, Yuvraj Singh, Ravindra Jadeja, Arjun, and Feroz.
"This is incredibly unbalanced," Ashwin analyzed, looking at the Blue Team. "They have MS Dhoni leading them. Tactically, they have a massive advantage in strategic maneuvering and map control."
"We have Virat bhai and Sid bhai," Chahal pointed out, loading red paintballs into his hopper. "We just Rush."
"Exactly," Kohli grinned ferociously, pumping his assault marker. "We play aggressive. We pin them down in their spawn."
"Alright, gear up!" Saer yelled.
The loadout selection was highly indicative of their personalities. Kohli grabbed a standard assault marker, prioritizing versatility. Dhoni calmly selected a bolt-action sniper marker, attaching a bipod to the front.
Rohit Sharma sighed heavily and picked up the lightest, smallest SMG marker available solely because he didn't want to carry anything heavy. David Warner, entirely ignoring logic, grabbed two semi-automatic handgun markers, deciding to dual-wield.
"Red Team, get in the buggy, you are heading to the North Fort! Blue Team, you are at the South Fort!" Arjun commanded. "The Head Chef, Sanjeev, is standing in the center of the map. He will fire a red smoke flare into the sky. When you see the red smoke, the ga officially begins! Good luck, check your corners, and watch your six!"
The two teams climbed into the electric golf buggies and were driven deep into the sprawling, densely wooded areas of the estate.
The Red Team arrived at the North Fort. It was a highly defensible, two-story plywood structure surrounded by a thick periter of heavy sandbags. In the center of the fort, perched on a wooden pedestal, was a bright red flag.
"Okay, listen up on comms," Kohli imdiately took charge, pressing his earpiece. "King Actual testing comms. Everyone read?"
"Ghost Rider reading you loud and clear," Saer's voice crackled over the radio, adopting an aggressively serious, faux-military tone. "I am Oscar Mike to the periter."
"Saer, shut up, we haven't even started yet," Cutting replied over the radio.
"We don't sit back. We attack," Kohli commanded, ignoring Saer. "Dale, you and Cutting take the left flank through the mango orchards. Use the trees for cover. Ashwin and Chahal, you guys push the middle, find the loot boxes."
"I am not running through the middle," Rohit sighed, leaning heavily against the plywood wall, adjusting his facemask. "It's too hot. I am going to stay here and defend the flag. If anyone cos close, I'll shoot them. But I am not running two kiloters in this humidity."
"Fine, Ro, you play defense. Anchor the base," Siddanth laughed, securing his mask and checking the safety on his assault marker. "Virat, you and I take the right flank near the ravines. We push up, clear the brush, and try to establish a forward operating base."
"Sounds like a plan," Steyn nodded, checking his hopper.
Suddenly, a loud, whistling THWUMP echoed across the estate. A brilliant, bright red smoke flare exploded high in the sky above the center of the woods.
"Ga on!" Kohli yelled.
The Red Team scattered, sprinting out of the fort and diving into the dense, green foliage. Rohit Sharma imdiately sat down behind a thick pile of sandbags, propped his SMG up on a crate, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.
---
Deep in the woods, the silence was intense. Siddanth and Virat moved quickly but silently through the thick brush of the right flank. The trees here were old, casting deep shadows that made visibility incredibly difficult.
"Keep your eyes peeled, Sid," Virat whispered, crouching behind a massive oak tree, his marker raised. "They have Bhuvi and Boult. They are going to use the terrain."
Siddanth didn't reply imdiately. He closed his eyes.
[Active Skill: Predator's Focus - ENGAGED]
His hearing amplified. The rustling of the leaves, the chirping of the birds, and the distant hum of the referee drones mapped out in his mind. He heard a subtle, rhythmic crunching of dry leaves about fifty yards ahead.
"Two tangos," Siddanth whispered, pointing through the brush. "Moving fast. Eleven o'clock."
Virat nodded, raising his marker, ready to execute a tactical ambush.
Suddenly, a terrifying, familiar battle cry echoed through the woods.
"LEEEEROY JENKINS!"
David Warner burst out of the bushes like an absolute madman. He wasn't using cover. He wasn't being stealthy. He was sprinting full speed down the right flank, dual-wielding his two handgun markers, firing a relentless, inaccurate hail of bright blue paintballs blindly into the trees.
"So anyway, I started blasting!" Warner roared in his thick Australian accent, spraying blue paint everywhere.
"He's lost his mind!" Virat yelled, ducking hard behind the oak tree as blue paint splattered violently against the bark.
Siddanth leaned out from cover and fired two rapid shots.
Splat. Splat.
Two red paintballs hit Warner squarely in the chest plate.
"That's two body shots, mate! I'm still alive! I still have one HP!" Warner scread, not breaking his stride, charging directly at Siddanth's tree, his handguns clicking empty.
"Cover ," Siddanth said to Virat.
Siddanth didn't run backward. He utilized his Parkour (Gold Tier) skills. He grabbed a low-hanging branch, vaulted silently up into the canopy, and balanced perfectly on a thick bough above the chaotic spray of paint.
Warner was still screaming, running directly below him, reloading his handguns and looking left and right for Siddanth.
Siddanth aid his marker straight down and squeezed the trigger once.
Splat.
A single bright red paintball struck Warner dead center on the top of his helt. A clean headshot.
Warner froze, stopping his chaotic charge. He looked up into the tree, red paint dripping down his visor.
"Oh, co on, mate!" Warner groaned, pulling off his mask in sheer frustration. "You're hiding in the trees like a drop bear? I was full sprinting!"
"Headshot. Instant kill, Davey," Siddanth smirked from the branch. "Enjoy the Gulag."
Warner sighed heavily, raising his hand in the air. "I'm dead! Five-minute respawn. I'll be back, you tree-hugger!" Warner trudged away through the brush toward the pool.
"Good shot," Virat laughed, stepping out from behind the tree. "He's literally insane."
But their celebration was cut short. A single, perfectly aid blue paintball whipped through the air from a vast distance and struck Virat squarely in the center of his chest plate. Then another hit him on the shoulder.
Splat. Splat.
Virat looked down at the massive blue stains on his vest in absolute shock. "I'm cracked! I've lost my shields! Where did that co from?!"
Before Virat could dive back into cover, a third paintball whipped through the leaves and struck him in the stomach.
Splat.
"I'm dead!" Virat yelled, throwing his hands up in pure frustration.
Siddanth imdiately dropped from the branch, rolling behind a boulder. He peered through the brush.
Standing seventy yards away, half-hidden behind a dense thicket, was Kane Williamson. He was holding his bolt-action sniper marker, looking through the 4x scope. The usually polite, soft-spoken New Zealander looked like a cold-blooded assassin.
"Sorry about that, Virat," Kane called out politely across the ravine. "Peace was never an option. Good luck, Sid."
"He just sniped !" Virat complained loudly into his walkie-talkie, pulling off his mask. "He apologized while he shot ! This ga is toxic!"
"Go grab a mocktail in the Gulag, Virat," Siddanth laughed softly over the comms, preparing to flank Kane.
anwhile, on the left flank, of errors was unfolding for the Blue Team. Shikhar Dhawan and Trent Boult were moving through the mango orchards.
The walkie-talkies were buzzing with uncoordinated panic.
"Ghost Rider to Base! Ghost Rider to Base! I am taking heavy fire in the center!" Saer's voice shrieked over the open channel.
"Saer, stop calling yourself Ghost Rider!" Arjun's voice shot back. "And you're standing in the open! I can literally see you from the South Fort!"
Splat. Splat. Splat.
"I'm dead! I got lit up by Bhuvi!" Saer groaned over the radio. "Gulag for ."
Suddenly, a loud rustle in the bushes to their left spooked Dhawan. Operating entirely on a jump-scare reflex, Dhawan spun around, squeezed his eyes shut, and unleashed a fully automatic barrage of blue paintballs.
"Take cover!" Dhawan yelled.
"Ow! Shikhar, stop! Stop! I'm on your team!"
Dhawan opened his eyes. Standing five feet away, absolutely covered from head-to-toe in blue paint, having taken at least ten body shots, was his own teammate, Trent Boult. The Kiwi fast bowler looked deeply, profoundly unamused.
"Bro... you just emptied a whole clip into your own teammate," Boult sighed, wiping blue paint off his visor.
"It wasn't my fault!" Dhawan imdiately defended himself, reaching into the ultimate gar excuse playbook. "My ping was 999! The controller disconnected! I had stick drift!"
"We are in real life, Shikhar!" Boult yelled in exasperation, raising his hand. "There is no stick drift! I'm dead! I have to walk all the way to the pool because of friendly fire!"
"Lag! It was visual lag!" Dhawan continued to shout into the woods as Boult trudged away toward the Safe Zone, shaking his head in disbelief.
Over the central comms channel, Feroz's voice crackled. "Feroz to Bhuvi. Bhuvi, do you read ?"
"I read you, Feroz. What's your status?" Bhuvi replied.
"I am currently pinned down by Steyn behind the old storage shed," Feroz whispered. "Listen to , Bhuvi. If you flank him and save right now, I promise I will make you a private batch of Hyderabadi Dum Biryani tonight. Immunity from the spice roulette. Deal?"
"...I'm on my way," Bhuvi responded instantly, fully bought by the culinary bribe.
---
Deep in the middle of the map, Ashwin and Chahal were creeping through the orchards. Ashwin was holding a red paintball in his hand, looking at a wooden shack where he suspected a Blue Team player was hiding.
"Okay, big brain ti, Yuzi," Ashwin whispered analytically, pointing at a plywood wall. "If I fire at a 45-degree angle, the paintball will ricochet off the plywood, bypass the cover entirely, and strike them in the back."
"Ashwin bhai, paintballs don't ricochet, they explode," Chahal pointed out logically.
"Nonsense, it's basic physics. Task failed successfully is not in my vocabulary. Watch," Ashwin declared confidently.
He leaned out of cover, aid precisely at the plywood wall, and pulled the trigger. The paintball hit the wood and instantly exploded into a massive spray of red paint, absolutely nothing bouncing anywhere.
"Okay, the tensile strength of the gelatin shell was lower than I calculated," Ashwin muttered.
Suddenly, Yuvraj Singh ca jogging through the trees from the Blue side. He wasn't paying attention and accidentally stepped his left boot about two inches over the yellow caution tape that marked the boundary of the 40-acre play zone.
Ashwin's eyes lit up. He imdiately raised his walkie-talkie. "Referee drone, this is Ashwin. Requesting a review on Yuvraj Singh. He stepped out of bounds."
"Hey! I wasn't even in cover!" Yuvraj yelled, startled.
"You stepped out of bounds, Yuvraj," Ashwin stated calmly, pushing his glasses up. "Geographical disqualification. The rules are the rules. You were essentially Mankaded. Go to the Gulag."
"You are unbelievable," Yuvraj groaned, raising his hand and walking away.
Before Ashwin could celebrate his highly technical kill, a barrage of blue paintballs rained down on him from above.
Shikhar Dhawan dropped down from a low stone wall, laughing hysterically. "Physics won't save you here, Ash! Rush B, Cyka Blyat!"
"I have been hit three tis," Ashwin announced calmly, looking at his paint-covered vest. He raised his hand and began walking away. "Well played, Shikhar."
Back at the pool—the designated 'Gulag' Safe Zone—it looked less like a tiout area and more like a luxury resort. Trent Boult was lying on a sun lounger drinking a virgin mojito, Virat Kohli was aggressively pacing back and forth checking his watch to see when his five minutes were up, and David Warner was eating a slider.
"One more minute, Davey, and we push the middle," Virat plotted intensely.
"I'm going to Leroy Jenkins the left side this ti," Warner strategized through a mouthful of food. "They won't expect it twice."
Back on the battlefield, at the Blue Team's South Fort, MS Dhoni was putting on a masterclass in psychological warfare. He wasn't running around. He wasn't sweating.
Bhuvi jogged back into the base to check on the flag. He stopped and stared.
Dhoni had literally found a folding canvas camping chair nearby. He had set it up perfectly behind a narrow gap in a massive pile of sandbags, providing a singular, impregnable line of sight to the main entrance. He was sitting in the chair, his sniper marker resting comfortably on a sandbag bipod, casually sipping hot tea from a thermos he had also looted.
"Mahi bhai... what are you doing?" Bhuvi asked, bewildered. "Are you drinking tea?"
"I am camping, Bhuvi," Dhoni replied calmly, not taking his eyes off the entrance. "It is a legitimate tower-defense strategy. I am holding the angle. If anyone walks through that gap, they take three to the chest. High-IQ plays. Go patrol the periter."
"He's literally a rat," Bhuvi muttered to himself, shaking his head and jogging back out into the woods.
anwhile, just thirty yards outside the Blue Fort, Ravindra Jadeja was taking stealth to a toxic, sweat-level extre. Jadeja had found the ultimate loot box. He was currently lying flat on his stomach in the tall grass, completely encased in a hyper-realistic, moss-covered Ghillie suit. He looked exactly like a shrub.
Ben Cutting, aggressively pushing forward for the Red Team, sprinted into the clearing near the Blue Fort. He looked around, seeing the fort seemingly unguarded.
"I have eyes on the flag!" Cutting yelled into his comms radio, sprinting toward the sandbags.
He ran right past the shrub.
The shrub suddenly stood up.
"Surprise, mate," Jadeja grinned beneath the moss.
Cutting scread in genuine terror as the bush spoke to him. Jadeja shot him three tis point-blank in the back with blue paint.
"I'm dead! I got killed by a plant!" Cutting yelled, raising his hand, absolutely traumatized.
But Jadeja wasn't done. Fully embracing the internet troll persona, Jadeja stepped out of the bush, stood over Cutting, and literally executed a flawless "Take the L" dance, kicking his legs out and forming an 'L' on his forehead with his fingers.
"Did you just Take the L dance on ?!" Cutting yelled, walking away toward the Gulag in sheer disgust as Jadeja laughed hysterically over the open comms channel.
Five minutes later.
Ben Cutting's respawn tir ended. Seeking revenge, he sprinted all the way back from the pool to the South Fort, marker raised, ready to light up Jadeja.
He entered the clearing carefully, checking every single tree. "Where are you, you bush wookie?!"
Suddenly, a different bush to his left stood up.
Splat. Splat. Splat.
"Skill issue, mate," Jadeja laughed, having relocated his Ghillie suit. He imdiately hit the "Take the L" dance again.
"I HATE THIS GA!" Cutting roared at the sky, raising his hand and walking all the way back to the pool for another five-minute tiout.
---
The match had dwindled down to the wire. The forty-minute tir was running low.
For the Red Team, Siddanth, a respawned Virat Kohli, and Chahal were actively pushing the enemy base. Rohit Sharma was still fast asleep at their own North Fort, completely undisturbed by the distant sounds of warfare.
For the Blue Team, Dhoni was still camping in his chair, Bhuvi and Arjun were patrolling, and Jadeja was a bush.
Siddanth t up with Kohli and Chahal near the edge of the Blue Team's clearing.
"We need a distraction," Siddanth whispered, looking at the heavily fortified sandbag structure. "Mahi is camping in there. He's literally holding the angle. Bhuvi and Arjun are watching the left. And Jadeja is a bush sowhere doing toxic dances."
"I'll draw Bhuvi's fire," Kohli volunteered, grinning behind his mask. "Yuzi, you go right. Sid, how are you going to get past Bhuvi in the open clearing?"
Siddanth looked around. Resting near a tree was an empty, massive cardboard Loot Box crate.
"I have an idea," Siddanth smirked.
"On three," Kohli commanded. "One. Two. Three!"
Kohli broke cover, sprinting like an absolute madman toward the left flank, firing rapidly at the sandbags to lay down suppressing fire. "He's one shot! Push him! Push him!" Kohli yelled, using classic sweaty gar comms.
Bhuvi and Arjun imdiately popped up from behind a wall, engaging Kohli in a fierce shootout.
Siddanth didn't run. Instead, he picked up the massive cardboard box, flipped it upside down, and placed it completely over himself.
[Active Skill: The Chaleon's Cloak - ENGAGED]
Channeling his inner Solid Snake, Siddanth crouched down beneath the cardboard box. While Bhuvi was distracted by Kohli, Siddanth slowly, inch by inch, began shuffling the cardboard box across the open clearing.
Bhuvi finished reloading behind his cover. He glanced toward the center of the clearing. He frowned.
"Arjun," Bhuvi whispered into his walkie-talkie. "Was that box there a second ago?"
"What box?" Arjun replied.
Bhuvi looked back at Kohli. Then he looked back at the box. The box had moved five feet closer to the fort.
Bhuvi rubbed his eyes beneath his visor, genuinely questioning his own sanity. "Am I hallucinating? Did that package just move?"
Bhuvi stared at the box. The box stopped moving.
"I'm losing my mind. Must be the heat," Bhuvi sighed, turning his attention back to Kohli.
Because Bhuvi was having an existential crisis about a moving cardboard box, and Jadeja was distracted by Chahal's frantic scrambling, no one was guarding the right flank.
Siddanth threw the box off, vaulted silently over the plywood wall using his parkour skills, and landed in a crouch inside the South Fort.
He raised his marker.
He froze.
MS Dhoni was still sitting in his camping chair right next to the blue flag. His sniper marker was resting on his lap. He wasn't drinking tea anymore. He was looking directly at Siddanth.
"The tal Gear Solid box trick, Sid?" Dhoni noted calmly, a slight, knowing smile visible even beneath the protective mask. "Very creative."
"Not creative enough for the ultimate camper, Mahi bhai," Siddanth smirked, keeping his marker aid squarely at the Indian captain's chest.
It was a xican standoff. If Siddanth shot, Dhoni would shoot. It would be a mutual kill, leaving the flag uncaptured.
"If we both shoot three tis, we both die and go to the Gulag," Dhoni analyzed logically.
"I'm faster on the trigger. I can hit the headshot," Siddanth challenged.
"Maybe," Dhoni acknowledged. "But Jaddoo is right behind you."
Siddanth didn't turn around. He knew it could be a bluff. But a split second later, he heard the faint rustle of a Ghillie suit shifting just outside the plywood wall behind him.
"Checkmate, Sid," Dhoni smiled, picking up his tea.
But suddenly, complete, absolute chaos erupted outside the fort.
"I GOT IT! I GOT THE FLAG! I NEED HEALING!"
Dhoni and Siddanth both whipped their heads around.
While Bhuvi was shooting at Kohli, and Jadeja was creeping up behind Siddanth, no one had paid attention to Yuzvendra Chahal. The wiry leg-spinner had completely bypassed the firefight, scrambled through a gap in the sandbags on the far side, and grabbed the blue flag off its pedestal.
" I am speed! I am speed! I am speed! I am speed!" Chahal scread, realizing the brilliant absurdity of the mont.
Chahal didn't hesitate. Clutching the heavy blue flag to his chest, he sprinted out of the fort and took off toward the woods with terrifying, adrenaline-fueled velocity.
"Get him!" Dhoni yelled, abandoning his camping chair and raising his marker.
Bhuvi and Jadeja imdiately turned their weapons on Chahal, firing a barrage of blue paintballs. Kohli, providing heroic cover fire, threw his body into the line of fire, taking three shots to the chest to protect the fleeing spinner.
"I'm dead! Go Yuzi, rush spawn!" Kohli yelled, raising his hand and pressing F to pay respects to his own sacrifice.
Siddanth vaulted back over the wall, sprinting after Chahal to provide cover.
"You can't catch !" Chahal scread, dodging paintballs like he was in the Matrix, weaving frantically through the mango orchards.
Shikhar Dhawan, who had just respawned from the Gulag, popped out from behind a tree ahead of him. He aid his marker squarely at Chahal.
"Gotcha, Yuzi," Dhawan grinned, pulling the trigger.
Click.
Dhawan frowned. He pulled the trigger again. Click. He had forgotten to refill his hopper at the spawn point.
"No ammo! Controller disconnected again!" Dhawan yelled in frustration, throwing his hands up as Chahal sprinted right past him.
Chahal was breathing heavily, his legs burning. He could see the North Fort in the distance. He was fifty yards away from winning the ga for the Red Team.
"I'm going to make it! I'm actually going to make it!" Chahal panted, a massive, victorious grin spreading across his face.
He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was chasing him.
Because he was looking backward, he didn't see the massive, exposed root of an ancient banyan tree right in front of him.
Chahal's boot caught the root dead-center.
He didn't just trip; he launched into a spectacular, flailing, airborne dive. He scread as gravity took over. As he tumbled through the air, the heavy blue flag slipped out of his sweaty grasp.
The flag flew forward like a javelin.
Inside the North Fort, Rohit Sharma was still in a highly comfortable sleep behind a stack of sandbags. The distant screaming and the sound of paintballs had been nothing more than white noise to him. It was fine. Everything was fine.
But the sudden, rapidly approaching scream of Yuzvendra Chahal finally woke him up.
Rohit opened his eyes, groggy and confused. He slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "What ti is it?" he mumbled.
The blue flag, sailing perfectly through the air over the sandbag periter, plumted downward.
It landed exactly, perfectly, right into Rohit Sharma's lap.
Rohit stared down at the flag resting on his legs. He blinked twice.
Chahal crashed into the dirt ten feet away, groaning in pain. Siddanth and Dhoni, who had been sprinting after him, skidded to a halt at the edge of the clearing, staring at the scene in disbelief.
Up in the control room of the main house, the referee drones transmitted the footage to the monitors.
There was a mont of silence.
Then, the Head Chef grabbed the gaphone, crying tears of laughter.
"THE BLUE FLAG HAS ENTERED THE RED BASE! RED TEAM WINS! RED TEAM WINS!" The voice bood across the entire 100-acre estate.
Rohit looked up at Siddanth and Dhoni, a lazy, incredibly smug smile breaking across his face. He held the flag up slightly.
"See?" Rohit announced proudly to his teammates over the walkie-talkie. "I told you guys. Task failed successfully. Defense wins championships."
Siddanth burst into hysterical laughter, collapsing onto the grass. MS Dhoni dropped his paintball marker, shaking his head, a genuine smile on his face.
"He slept for forty minutes, woke up, and won the ga," Kohli muttered, walking out of the woods covered in blue paint, looking at Rohit in existential defeat. "I hate this ga."
The rest of the squad slowly erged from the woods and the Gulag, covered head-to-toe in bright red and blue paint, laughing and recounting their ridiculous deaths.
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