He Saw His Own Funeral on Live TV… While Still Breathing

The news anchor stared straight into the camera, her voice solemn.

“Breaking News: Billionaire tech mogul Arman Fareed has been confirmed dead after a mysterious car explosion outside Islamabad this morning. His body is yet to be recovered, but authorities fear no one could survive such a blast.”

Arman watched the screen with bloodshot eyes.

He was very much alive.

Sitting alone in a dim motel room on the outskirts of the city, a cigarette shaking between his fingers, he watched his own funeral announcement unfold — on five different news channels.

And it wasn’t a mistake.

Three days earlier, Arman had been Pakistan’s rising tech giant — CEO of CoreNest, a company working on next-generation surveillance systems. Loved by media, respected by investors, feared by enemies.

What no one knew was: Arman had uncovered a data leak.

Someone inside his company was selling encrypted surveillance software to foreign intelligence — software that could turn any smartphone into a spy tool. Arman traced it back to one name.

Zeeshan.

His best friend. His co-founder.

When Arman confronted him, Zeeshan didn’t deny it.

He smiled.

“You’re smart, Arman. But not smart enough to stay alive.”

That night, Arman’s car exploded on Margalla Expressway.

Except… Arman wasn’t in it.

A gut feeling had made him switch vehicles last minute. The blast killed his driver — and convinced the world he was gone. Within hours, his company released statements. Police declared it an accident. Zeeshan was crying on national TV.

“He was like a brother to me.”

Now hiding, Arman realized one thing:

They had planned this. For months.

Bank accounts frozen. Access revoked. Facial recognition hunted him. Even ATMs rejected his ID. His empire… erased.

He was a ghost.

But ghosts, he decided, can haunt.

Arman began building a plan.

He still had one edge: a secret backdoor in CoreNest’s system — a code only he had written — that gave him real-time access to every internal message, every security cam, every device.

He used it to watch Zeeshan.

The betrayal wasn’t personal. It was profitable. Zeeshan had struck a deal to sell CoreNest’s tech to a European black market firm. They offered him $50 million and full control.

Arman was simply… collateral.

But Arman wasn’t dead. And he wasn’t done.

From the motel, he reached out to just one person — Ayla, his former executive assistant. Brilliant, loyal, and the only one who knew his secrets.

At first, she didn’t believe it was really him.

So he proved it — by sending her a voice note with the phrase he used every morning:

“Never trust what blinks more than it thinks.”

She broke down.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want revenge. Legal… and poetic.”

For the next week, Ayla played a double game.

She stayed inside the company, pretending to mourn. Meanwhile, Arman fed her data: voice recordings of Zeeshan, secret email chains, transfer receipts — everything needed to expose him.

And then, Arman made his final move.

He uploaded everything to the cloud.

Encrypted. Hidden.

Set to release to the media in 72 hours.

Unless stopped.

On Day 2, Zeeshan got an anonymous email:

“You buried the wrong man.

I’m coming.

– A”

Zeeshan panicked. He locked down servers. Froze every system. Ordered a search for the source.

But Ayla had already placed a location tracker in his office. Arman now knew where he’d be, and when.

The night before the 72-hour countdown, Arman returned to his own building.

In disguise. In darkness.

Ayla had disabled two security cameras. The rest… he walked past like he still owned the place. Every keypad, every scanner — they still answered to his fingerprints.

He entered Zeeshan’s office at 2:37 a.m.

Zeeshan jumped.

“Arman?”

“I heard you missed me.”

Zeeshan fumbled for the panic button. But Arman was faster — holding a small device.

“This? It’s jamming every signal in this room.”

“You can’t prove anything.”

Arman smiled, pulled out a flash drive, and plugged it into the laptop.

“I don’t have to. You already did.”

By sunrise, the data went live.

Every shady deal. Every stolen contract. Every message.

Zeeshan was arrested within the hour.

Arman, however, didn’t return to the spotlight. He vanished again — this time by choice.

Rumors say he’s in Morocco. Or maybe Northern Areas.

Some say he died after all.

But Ayla receives one encrypted message every month.

“The dead don’t forget.

And they never forgive.”