GAMESCAPE

Ayan’s screams still echoed in his ears. The searing pain. The cleaver’s brutal descent. The sickening crunch of bone.

Yet—his hand was whole.

He stared, breath hitching. His fingers flexed, unharmed. No blood. No wound.

A soft chuckle broke through the haze.

"Calm down, Ayan. Nothing happened."

Ayan’s wild gaze snapped to the speaker—Haider.

The man stood before him, composed, unshaken. "Your hand is fine," he said smoothly. "It was never cut off."

Ayan’s breath came in short, uneven bursts. His pulse pounded against his skull. "That’s impossible," he whispered. "I felt it. I—"

"It was a simulation." Haider’s voice was firm yet calm, as if explaining a simple fact. "A dream."

Ayan’s mind recoiled at the word. "A… what?"

Haider took a step closer. "An advanced psychological tool. The Gamescape. It doesn’t just show you a scenario—it makes you live it. Your mind believed everything was real."

Ayan staggered back, his legs trembling. "No," he muttered. "No, I was arrested. The cops—"

"Never happened," Haider interrupted. "Think, Ayan. We met two days ago. I offered you a job. You called back. I asked you to meet me here."

Ayan’s head pounded as fractured memories surfaced. A café. A conversation. But then—his arrest? The torture? The blood?

It had felt so real.

"Bullshit," he spat. "I was taken! Thrown into that hellhole! They—"

Haider exhaled, patient. "Look outside."

Ayan hesitated, then turned toward the window.

Sunlight streamed in, warm and golden. No interrogation room. No bloodstained table. Just the quiet hum of the garage.

The weight of reality—or whatever this was—came crashing down.

"The chase? The cops?" Ayan’s voice wavered.

"All of it—inside Gamescape."

Ayan swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Then… in reality…?"

"You went home that day," Haider confirmed. "And today, you came here in the morning."

The world tilted. Ayan clenched his fists, grounding himself. His heart still pounded as if it hadn’t received the memo that he was safe.

Safe.

But was he?

Haider studied him, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Gamescape can’t be explained. It has to be experienced. And now you have."

A crew member approached, handing Haider a file. He flipped through it, nodding. "Good reports, Ayan. Congratulations."

Around them, the team dismantled the Gamescape setup—wires coiled, screens powered down, the illusion fading into the mundane.

Ayan exhaled sharply, the last remnants of the nightmare still clinging to him. "So, what now?"

Haider smiled. "Mumbai."

Ayan frowned. "For what?"

Haider’s smirk turned cryptic. "The job."

Ayan crossed his arms. "And what exactly is the job?"

Haider extended a hand. "You’ll find out when you get there."

Ayan hesitated. Then, slowly, he clasped Haider’s hand.

The grip was firm. Grounding.

Haider turned away, disappearing into the crowd of techs packing up their instruments of deception.

Ayan remained standing in the middle of the garage, the aftershocks of the experience still rippling through his mind.

His hand flexed once more, his fingers moving as if testing their existence.

The nightmare had ended.

Or maybe—just maybe—it had only just begun.