The reception area of Gamescape was an impressive sight. Its stark, dramatic decor exuded an aura of sophistication and mystery. The receptionist, a vision of stunning beauty, sat poised behind the sleek desk. Viren, flanked by six policemen, sat with an air of authority, their presence imposing in the otherwise serene setting.

Vlada approached the receptionist, her demeanor calm and composed. "Let him in," she instructed.

The cabin was a modern marvel, with sharp lines and minimalist furnishings. Viren stood in the center, holding up an ID card, his eyes locked on Vlada.

"Is this yours?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Vlada glanced at the ID, then back at Viren. "It appears to be," she replied nonchalantly.

"You'll need to come to the station," Viren said, his tone unwavering.

"Why?" Vlada asked a hint of amusement in her voice.

"We both know very well what's going on behind this building and where you people come from," Viren retorted.

Vlada laughed, a light, mocking sound. "Ahahah."

"Arrest them," Viren ordered, gesturing to his men.

Just then, Nitya walked in with a smile, her presence commanding attention. "Officer, what's this about? You show up unannounced and now you're talking bad things about my family in our home? That doesn't seem right."

Viren's eyes narrowed. "I've stopped caring about right and wrong."

Nitya smirked. " Wahhh! Great dialogue. I'll write it in my Bible."

Vlada and Nitya shared a laugh, a strange, chilling sound in the tense atmosphere.

"But before you take anyone away," Nitya continued her tone suddenly serious, "you might want to check with your superiors. See if they have room for them."

She pointed towards Viren's pocket just as his phone rang.

Viren answered the call, his expression hardening. "Yes, sir?"

The voice on the other end was stern and authoritative. "Never go there again, or you'll lose your job. It's an order."

"But—" Viren began, but the line went dead.

He stared at his phone, a mix of frustration and helplessness on his face. Nitya and Vlada watched him, their expressions triumphant.

"You heard the minister," Nitya said softly.

Viren clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the phone. The sense of control he usually wielded felt like it was slipping away, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty. He knew he had no choice but to retreat.

The bar was dimly lit, the haze of smoke hanging in the air creating an almost tangible veil of mystery. Flickering neon lights outside cast a subdued glow through the windows, blending with the soft hum of jazz playing in the background. Patrons sat in hushed conversation, their faces half-hidden in shadow.

Ayan sat at the bar, lost in thought, his fingers tracing the rim of his whiskey glass. He took a slow sip, the liquid burning a trail down his throat, grounding him momentarily. The barstool next to him creaked as someone sat down.

"Ayan Sharma?"

Ayan hummed in response without looking up, too absorbed in his thoughts to engage immediately.

"I'm Haider. From Gamescape Ltd., Mumbai. We've been following your work for quite some time. Yesterday's report was impressive."

Ayan finally turned to look at him, his eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. Haider, in his early thirties, exuded a quiet confidence. His sharp features were accentuated by the dim lighting, casting angular shadows across his face. He wore a tailored suit that spoke of understated elegance.

"Thanks," Ayan replied curtly.

"We'd like to offer you a job for our next case. The Satpal Case."

Ayan smirked, a cynical edge to his expression. "Sure, sure. Nice joke. Lots of people come and go with offers like yours. Sting operations, competitive reporters, this and that."

Haider leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Six lakhs salary per month. A house provided by the company in Bandra, Mumbai."

Ayan laughed, the sound devoid of humor. "Mumbai? Nice try. Whose prank is this, Kumar? You're good, but I'm not falling for it again. Have a nice day."

Haider smiled, unfazed. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope, placing it on the bar in front of Ayan. "Here are your flight tickets and the hotel booking number."

Ayan hesitated, then picked up the envelope, curiosity getting the better of him.

Haider handed him a business card. "Come to this address tomorrow if you're interested."

Haider stood and began to walk away, then paused and turned back. "And yes, the agencies are watching what you publish on the dark web under '9-reporter.' Be careful."

Ayan's heart skipped a beat, a cold wave of dread washing over him. "Who? How do you know?"

But Haider was already gone, leaving Ayan alone with his racing thoughts and the business card clutched in his hand. The weight of the envelope suddenly felt heavy, laden with possibilities and threats alike.