THE CONFERENCE ROOM

The conference room exuded a cold, calculated precision—a space where decisions that shaped destinies were made. The air was thick with authority as forty faces, each marked with experience and resolve, gathered around a long, obsidian table. Senior Partners and department heads filled the room, their expressions a mix of curiosity and guarded professionalism. The introductions had made their way around the table, the formality hanging like a heavy fog.

Adir, the Criminal Lawyer, was the first to speak, his voice carrying a sharp edge as if he were already cross-examining someone in court. "Adir. Criminal."

Next came Vidya, the Property Lawyer, her tone clipped and business-like. "Vidya. Property."

Gambhir, the Reporter, leaned forward slightly, his eyes always scanning, always observing. "Gambhir. Reporting."

Vikas spoke last, his voice almost eerily calm, as if he were weighing each word before releasing it. "Vikas. Mind Investigator."

And then there was Cricket Tendulkar, the Managing Director, a man whose reputation preceded him. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of quiet confidence. "Cricket Tendulkar. Managing Director."

Feeling the weight of the room's collective gaze, Ayan noticed Vlada Rahim seated beside him. Her eyes were sharp, almost predatory, as if she could see straight through to his thoughts. "Vlada Rahim," she introduced herself, her voice smooth and deliberate, "Commercial litigation."

Nitya stood at the head of the table, commanding the room without effort. She paused for a moment, letting the silence build, allowing herself to absorb the significance of the gathering fully. Her eyes scanned each face, lingering just long enough to make an impact.

"This," she began, her voice steady and filled with purpose, "is our best-in-the-world team. And today, after so much time, we're all here together. It's a rare moment, and it feels good. Thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules and coming here from such distances."

There was a brief pause, a beat of contemplation. Nitya's eyes seemed to flicker with an idea. "I think," she mused, her tone lighter, almost playful, "we need a group picture." A few faces in the room showed mild resistance, but Nitya wasn't one to be ignored. "Come," she urged, a smile playing on her lips. "A Family Picture."

Reluctantly, they gathered for the photo, the forced smiles and stiff postures betraying the unease behind the camaraderie. As the photographer clicked away, Nitya glanced around, her expression a mixture of pride and contemplation.

"This is a remarkable moment," she said. "A healthy work culture and team make for a wealthy business. I'm proud of what we've built here together."

She let her words hang in the air, her gaze sharpening as she continued, "But it breaks my heart when I hear about other offices—backstabbing, departments tearing each other apart, partners who refuse to collaborate. Clients are being fought over in the same office. It drains me... shakes me to my core."

A palpable tension filled the room as she spoke, each word striking with a precision that left no doubt about the gravity of her thoughts. "For our family here, I want something special," she said, her voice softening but still carrying an edge. "A gesture that feels right."

Cricket, sensing the shift in tone, interjected with a casual shrug. "Oh, come on." Nitya's eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze fixed on him. "Suggest something, Cricket." But Cricket only chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm out of this one," he replied, his tone light, but the undercurrent of challenge was unmistakable.

Nitya paused, her mind churning through thoughts before her eyes lit up with a sudden idea. "A hug," she announced, her voice tinged with an unexpected warmth. "A family group hug. It's quick, makes us feel good... and free." There was a brief silence, the kind that comes when people aren't sure whether to take something seriously.

Nitya let it hang there, her eyes scanning the room as if daring anyone to challenge her. "Come on," she said, her tone firm but inviting. "Let's all come together for a family hug. Everyone, please gather around. It's time."

The room shifted from hesitance to amused acceptance. A mixture of doubt and laughter spread through the group as they began to move closer, forming an awkward yet sincere circle. Some looked at each other, unsure, but Nitya's infectious energy drew them in. Even those who had initially resisted couldn't help but join in, the atmosphere lightening as they embraced the absurdity of the moment.

Nitya glanced at Cricket, who stood slightly apart, watching the scene with a bemused expression. "You're not joining, Cricket?" she asked, her tone teasing yet with a hint of expectation. Cricket chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm already feeling good," he replied, his voice light, but there was a reluctance in his stance.

Nitya's eyes softened, but her resolve remained firm. "Come on," she insisted, her voice gentle but insistent. "It's important to me, Cricket."

He hesitated, then sighed, stepping forward with a resigned smile. "Alright," he said, joining the group. As they embraced, a collective warmth spread through the room. It was a strange yet strangely fitting moment, the group coming together in a way that was both symbolic and genuine. Nitya looked around at the team, a soft smile playing on her lips as she whispered, "See? The perfect family."

THE CABIN

The cabin exudes an air of cold efficiency, with a large oak desk dominating the center. It is cluttered with a precarious stack of files and folders, each meticulously arranged. The harsh, clinical lighting casts long shadows, accentuating the stark, sterile environment. The room's atmosphere is thick with a sense of impending complexity and secrecy.

Haider stands by the door, his expression unreadable as he observes Ayan taking in the room's oppressive ambiance. "How does it feel?" Haider asks. Ayan shifts uncomfortably under the weight of the room's atmosphere. "Heavy," he replies.

Shubham enters, his presence a stark contrast to the chaos of the room. He is composed, his movements deliberate and calm. He extends his hand toward Ayan, his demeanor professional and reassuring. "Ready for the run?" Shubham inquires.

"This is Shubham," Haider explains. "He'll be your guide through the Gamescape."

"Ayan," Ayan introduces himself.

"Shubham," Shubham says, extending a firm and confident handshake. "I'll leave you two to it," Haider says with a final nod. "Have a good one, Ayan." With Haider's departure, Ayan and Shubham are left alone amidst the cluttered desk and the dim, oppressive light.

THE DRIVE

The car glides smoothly over the road, its engine a steady hum contrasting with the tension inside. Ayan grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white with the strain.

"Are you nervous?" Shubham asks, glancing at Ayan.

"A bit," Ayan admits, his voice betraying his apprehension. "When I first experienced this, I was overwhelmed," Shubham continues. "The level of detail was staggering. I spent fifteen hours a day immersed in it. It was only through sheer persistence that I managed to get a handle on it."

"How can the mind be convinced that this world is real?" Ayan asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Shubham's tone is matter-of-fact. "We must ensure that it never recognizes this as a dream."

"But how? Creating a real world, manipulating the mind—how is that even possible?" Ayan presses.

"When someone dreams, they only realize it's a dream once they wake up," Shubham explains. "They rarely remember the start of the dream, only the middle."

"Perhaps," Ayan murmured. "So what does that mean?"

Shubham gestures vaguely. "Consider how we got here. Where did this car come from? How did you start driving it?"

Ayan's voice trails off as he begins to understand. "We arrived here—"

"How, Ayan? How did we get here?" Shubham presses.

Shocked, Ayan finally says, "We're in a dream world."

Ayan's grip on the steering wheel falters, and the car swerves slightly. Shubham's calm demeanor helps restore control. "Stay calm," Shubham advises. "The mind creates this world itself. We're inside Satpal's dream."

Ayan looks around, absorbing the unfamiliar environment with a sense of wonder. "How did I get here?" Ayan asks, his voice filled with awe.

"We're in the setup room of the Gamescape, safe and secure," Shubham reassures him.

Ayan glances around, his amazement evident. "Fantastic," Ayan said, a sense of revelation dawning on him.

"This is a REEL world," Shubham explains. "It's crafted from the real experiences of the subconscious mind."

"What do I need to do now?" Ayan asks, refocusing on the task at hand.

"You're familiar with the Satpal case," Shubham says. "Just approach it as you would in the real world. The only difference is that we're operating within Satpal's mind. The subconscious will reveal both truths and falsehoods, as well as some peculiarities. That's the nature of the mind."

Ayan, focused, asks, "So, I just need to extract accurate information for the report?"

Shubham nods. "Humans can never fully convey truth or lies through words alone" A beat passes as Shubham allows the weight of his words to settle.

"But the mind operates like a hard drive," Shubham continues, his tone taking on an almost hypnotic quality. "All information is stored and can be extracted. From this information, we can craft any reality we desire. Essentially, we can manipulate the case as we see fit. The subconscious will never quickly reveal what is true and what is false. You'll need to extract it using your skills."

Ayan, absorbing the gravity of the situation, inquires, "Will I be able to function fully here?"

"As long as you understand that this REEL world is crafted from real experiences," Shubham assures him, "you can do anything. This is a space where anything is possible."

Ayan's concern surfaces. "But how will I know if I'm dreaming while I'm here?"

Shubham's face lights up with a hint of amusement. "Ah, that's the easy part. You need to ask yourself how you'll distinguish between reality and this dream world." He pauses, letting the intrigue build. "Look at your hand," Shubham instructs.

Ayan follows, staring at his hand with curiosity and skepticism. "Now, move your hand and look again," Shubham added. Ayan watched in awe as the patterns on his hand shifted and changed instantly. The realization dawns on him, mingling with a sense of disbelief.