WEEKEND FILES

Main Characters: "Aryan Verma - Gender: Male Nationality: Indian Species: Human Hair: Black, short, usually messy under a hoodie Skin Tone: Medium brown Build: Lean, slightly athletic Occupation: Weekdays – Data Analyst for a fintech consultancy; Weekends – Urban investigator chasing unexplained tech anomalies Demeanor: Sharp, quiet, driven. He observes more than he speaks. Has the kind of stare that feels like he’s already solved half the puzzle. Carries a subtle intensity—equal parts burnout and brilliance. Vibe: Cyber-noir introvert. Feels like someone who sleeps in code and dreams in signals. Hoodie over collared shirt is his signature contradiction." "Medha Kapoor - Gender: Female Nationality: Indian Species: Human Hair: Long, wavy black hair usually tied in a low ponytail Skin Tone: Light-medium with cool undertone Build: Slim, expressive face Occupation: Architecture student and part-time barista Demeanor: Sincere and emotionally intuitive. Slightly anxious energy but resolute when it matters. Not easily dismissed—her concern for her missing boyfriend turns into an obsessive need for answers. Vibe: Empath meets realist. Wears oversized sweaters, speaks with her eyes before her mouth. Understated and honest." Side Characters and Extras: "Rohan: Medha's boyfriend who has vanished." "Pink Lotus: A pattern or organization, possibly related to disappearances." "Priya: A coworker of Aaryan, possibly envious of his freedom or activities." "Medha: Rohan's girlfriend." "Kunal: Individual moving encrypted data, possibly involved in something larger." "Flower vendor: Individual whose thumbprint Aaryan replicated to bypass the biometric scanner."

"Aaryan: Eager to escape his digital finance job and engage in mysterious, possibly illicit, activities." Story Locations: "1. Aaryan’s Weekday Co-Working Space Fintech Company - Architecture: Glass-walled, modern tech floor. Minimalist, with industrial ceilings, shared desks, and LED-lit corridors. Nature: None visible—artificial lighting and concrete rule the space. Surroundings: Constant low hum of keyboard tapping, coffee machines, and productivity playlists. Energy: Efficient but emotionally sterile. People rush from one tab to the next, emotionally absent. Vibe: Polished professionalism with underlying exhaustion. The “face” of Bengaluru's tech grind. " "Neon Alleys & Backstreets (Night Bengaluru) - Architecture: Old buildings layered with neon signage, patched wires, and glowing ad screens. Narrow lanes, dripping rain pipes, and flickering lights. Nature: Rain-slicked pavement, urban overgrowth on cracked walls. Surroundings: Late-night chai stalls, honking autos, and ghost bikes whizzing past. Energy: Electric and tense. Feels like the city is watching. Vibe: Cyber-noir Bengaluru. Claustrophobic but thrilling—truth hides here. " "Medha’s Indie Café - Architecture: Brick-and-wood interiors with hanging lightbulbs, graffiti walls, and mix-matched furniture. Nature: Small indoor plants, faint scent of earth and espresso. Surroundings: Lo-fi music, soft conversation, warm lighting. Energy: Cozy but layered in emotional weight—conversations here feel real. Vibe: A safe space for confessions. Comfortable but quietly heavy." "Aaryan’s Workspace / Flat - Architecture: Small, clean apartment with one room converted into an “evidence lab.” Covered in sticky notes, cables, blinking monitors. Nature: Plants long-dead on the windowsill. Surroundings: Stacked books, unfinished chai cups, digital noise from screens.

Energy: Mentally charged, physically neglected. The world is ignored; patterns are everything. Vibe: Lone wolf HQ. Feels like he never sleeps—only stares." "KR Market - Architecture: Colonial-era arches, layered with makeshift vendor stalls, wires, and tarps. Nature: Bright flowers, muddy gutters, ambient smoke from food carts. Surroundings: Dense foot traffic, constant calls of sellers, and lurking corners. Energy: Overstimulating and unpredictable. Every moment feels like it might break into something real. Vibe: Organized chaos. The city’s soul—but also its secrets." "Pink Lotus Spa (Front) - Architecture: Faux-upscale. Pink signage, mirrored lobby, faint incense, kitschy lotus motifs. Nature: Artificial plants, synthetic perfumes. Surroundings: Surrounded by massage centers, money exchanges, and silent stairwells. Energy: Hollow and oddly too clean—feels like a mask. Vibe: Plastic perfection hiding something sinister." "Pink Lotus Spa (Backdoor & Below) - Architecture: Transition from rusted iron doors to a stark underground corridor. Walls go from tile to exposed wiring and steel bulkheads. Nature: None. Sterile and lifeless. Surroundings: Buzzing electrical sounds, flickering lights, surveillance cameras. Energy: Controlled tension. It feels like a server is watching you breathe. Vibe: Entering the system’s core—digital hellscape masquerading as infrastructure." "Secret Server Room - Architecture: Cold, blue-lit expanse with vertical server towers. Clean metal flooring, cooling fog drifting. Nature: None—entirely artificial. Surroundings: Humming machines, blinking screens, partially eaten fast food. Energy: Deeply unnerving. Feels like you’re inside a machine’s brain. Vibe: The climax of silence. Truth lives here, coded and buried."

"Evidence Wall (Aaryan’s Room) - Architecture: One apartment wall turned into a crime-board collage. Strings connect photos, barcodes, maps, faces. Nature: Window always shut. Surroundings: Dim light, post-its peeling at the corners. Feels alive with intent. Energy: Quietly obsessive. The puzzle never stops growing. Vibe: Organized chaos—paranoia turned into method." "skyscraper window: A high vantage point overlooking the city" "Bengaluru: A city with a vibrant, unfiltered atmosphere" "Café: A place for conversation and lukewarm coffee" "Screen: Displays complex code and encrypted transactions" "City: An urban environment with digital shadows" "Pink Lotus: A location connected to a pattern or ghost protocol" "co-working space: A sterile, fluorescent-lit office environment" "Crowded pavement: A busy street filled with people" "neon-lit alleys: A location for clandestine activities" "Workstation: A place where Aaryan analyzes server logs" "Unmarked steel door: A secure entrance with a biometric scanner" "KR Market: A bustling market filled with vendors and sensory overload." "Aaryan's apartment: A cramped space with monitors and an evidence wall." The fluorescent lights of the co-working space buzzed, a sterile symphony Aaryan was eager to escape. He watched the clock tick toward six, each second a liberation from the predictable algorithms of digital finance. Outside, Bengaluru pulsed with a different kind of data, raw and unfiltered. He killed the power to his monitor, the sudden darkness a welcome change, and shrugged on his worn hoodie. "Heading out, Aaryan?" asked Priya from the next desk, her voice laced with a hint of envy.

"Yeah," he mumbled, already halfway out the door. "Got some…errands." Errands that involved neon-lit alleys and encrypted whispers. He couldn't wait to dive in. The glass of the skyscraper window was cold against Aaryan's forehead. Below, Bengaluru sprawled, a glittering circuit board of streetlights and moving vehicles. Each tiny spark represented a life, a story, a potential anomaly. He saw patterns where others saw chaos, whispers in the digital wind. Medha's boyfriend, Rohan, had vanished into that chaos, leaving only a faint digital echo. Aaryan sighed, the breath fogging the glass momentarily. He traced a circle in the condensation, a habit he'd picked up during late nights fueled by lukewarm chai. "Don't become another ghost," he murmured, more to himself than the city. The reflection of his own tired eyes stared back, a silent promise etched in their depths. The humid night air hit Aaryan like a wall as he stepped out of the building, a welcome change from the sterile, recycled atmosphere within. He tugged the hoodie tighter, the familiar anonymity a shield. Rain threatened, the air thick with the scent of diesel and wet concrete. He navigated the crowded pavement, the cacophony of honking autos and hawkers a familiar soundtrack. His phone buzzed – a message from Medha. "Café? Need to talk." He sighed. He preferred chasing digital breadcrumbs to comforting the bereaved, but something in her desperate tone tugged at him.

"Ten minutes," he texted back, already picturing the lukewarm coffee and the weight of her unspoken fears. The neon glow of the city beckoned, promising answers hidden in the digital shadows. The café's warmth was a fleeting comfort. Aaryan pushed past the mismatched chairs, the scent of cardamom and damp wool clinging to the air. Medha sat hunched over a steaming mug, her face pale in the warm light. He slid into the opposite chair, the worn wood creaking in protest. "Tell me," he said, his voice low, cutting through the café's murmur. "He wouldn't just disappear, Aaryan," she whispered, her eyes red-rimmed. "Rohan was... meticulous. Always leaving a trace." She gestured vaguely, her hand trembling slightly. "It's like he vanished from the system." Aaryan nodded slowly, already running through the possibilities in his mind. A clean slate, a digital ghost. Someone knew how to erase. Medha’s fingers traced the worn edges of the photograph, the paper softened by countless touches. Rohan’s smile beamed back, oblivious. "He always checked in," she choked, the café's low hum amplifying her vulnerability. Aaryan watched, his gaze unwavering. Steam curled from his untouched chai, the scent of ginger and cloves doing little to cut through the heavy air. "His phone?" Aaryan asked, his voice a low rasp. "Dead. Last ping was near KR Market, three days ago." Medha’s voice cracked. "Then, nothing. Just...gone." She looked up, her eyes pleading. "Aaryan, please.

I don’t know where else to turn." The cafe felt smaller, the chatter fading as her desperation took hold. "There's something else," Medha said, her voice barely a whisper above the café's murmur. She stirred her chai, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic. "The last few weeks...Rohan was different." Aaryan leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. "Different how?" "Moods, mostly. He'd be happy, then...distant. Secretive phone calls, hushed tones." She hesitated, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. "And the watch. A new smartwatch. He never took it off, not even to shower. Said it was a gift, but wouldn’t say from who." Aaryan felt a prickle of awareness. A new element, a dissonance in the pattern. This wasn't just a disappearance; it was a transformation. The encrypted crumbs led Aaryan into KR Market's heart. A sensory assault: jasmine cloying the air, turmeric staining the cobblestones, a thousand voices bargaining, praying, gossiping. His eyes, however, remained fixed on his phone, the decryption software crawling across the screen. "He was here," Aaryan muttered, more to himself than Medha, who trailed behind, her face pale against the market's vibrant chaos. The final message: a set of coordinates embedded within a flower vendor's QR code. He scanned it. Pink Lotus Spa. "A spa?" Medha asked, bewildered. Aaryan's silence was answer enough. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that relaxation wasn't on the menu.

The low hum of Aaryan's monitors filled the cramped apartment, a stark contrast to the cacophony of KR Market that still echoed in Medha's ears. Red string crisscrossed the evidence wall, connecting blurred faces to timestamps and snippets of encrypted code. It looked like a spiderweb spun by a digital obsessive. "What is all this?" she asked, her voice hushed, almost reverent. Aaryan didn't look up, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "Rohan's ghost," he muttered, his eyes glued to the screen. "Every digital footprint, every hidden message. It all leads back to the Pink Lotus." He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "And I think I know why." The rain was a greasy curtain, blurring the city into streaks of neon. Aaryan weaved through the auto-rickshaws and stray dogs, the roar of his engine barely audible over the downpour. Each drop felt like a cold calculation against his skin, a reminder of the data points coalescing in his mind. Pink Lotus. It wasn't just about a missing boyfriend anymore. This was a pattern, a ghost protocol humming beneath Bengaluru's glittering surface. He gripped the handlebars tighter, the city's pulse thrumming beneath him. He had a feeling he was riding toward the eye of the storm. The Pink Lotus loomed, its neon lotus flower a garish beacon in the downpour. Aaryan killed the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the city's muffled roar. "Wait here," he told Medha, his voice tight.

He could feel her anxiety radiating from the seat behind him. "I need you to be ready." Ready for what? He didn't say. He couldn't. The truth felt too heavy, a digital avalanche about to bury them both. He adjusted the rearview mirror, catching her worried reflection. He hoped, for her sake, he was wrong. The air in KR Market hung thick with the scent of jasmine and diesel. Aaryan scanned the throng, the cacophony of vendors a dull roar in his ears. Medha trailed behind, her face pale under the flickering tarps. "What are we even looking for?" she asked, her voice barely audible. He ignored her, his gaze fixed on a flower stall overflowing with marigolds. The vendor, a wiry man with eyes that darted like trapped birds, repeatedly scanned a barcode on a seemingly ordinary bouquet. Aaryan's gut tightened. It was the third time he'd seen that sequence today, each time on a different flower cart. A ghost in the machine, blooming in plain sight. The Pink Lotus Spa shimmered wetly under the streetlights, its pink façade a jarring splash against the muted tones of the alley. Rainwater streamed down the plastic lotus flowers adorning the entrance, making them look like they were weeping. Aaryan stared, a knot tightening in his stomach. It was too perfect, too clean. "This is it?" Medha asked, her voice barely a whisper. He could feel her apprehension, a mirror of his own. He nodded, his eyes scanning the darkened windows.

The air hung thick with the cloying scent of artificial jasmine, a sickly sweet perfume that did nothing to mask the underlying reek of decay. "Stay close," he murmured, pushing open the heavy glass door. The receptionist, a woman with vacant eyes and a name tag that read "Padmini," barely glanced up as Aaryan approached. He ignored her, heading toward a hallway lined with treatment rooms. The air grew thick with the false promise of relaxation. He spotted it then – a rusted iron door tucked away at the corridor's end, a blatant anomaly amidst the spa's pink veneer. "That's staff only," Padmini called out, her voice flat. Aaryan didn't break stride. He reached the door, the cold metal biting against his fingertips. A simple keypad lock guarded the entrance. He punched in the sequence, a string of numbers pulled from the flower vendor's metadata. A click, and the door swung inward, revealing a stark, dimly lit corridor – a brutal contrast to the spa's artificial tranquility. The door clanged shut behind them, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. Gone was the saccharine scent of jasmine; replaced by the metallic tang of ozone and something vaguely antiseptic. Aaryan pulled his hoodie tighter, a chill snaking down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows that danced with every step. "This doesn't feel like any spa I've been to," Medha whispered, her voice tight.

Aaryan didn't reply, his gaze fixed on the CCTV camera mounted in the corner. He could feel its unblinking eye boring into him, a silent invitation to turn back. But the digital whispers of Bengaluru were too loud to ignore. He pressed on, deeper into the sterile heart of the Pink Lotus. The corridor ended abruptly at an unmarked steel door, colder and more forbidding than the last. No handle, just a smooth, seamless surface and a biometric scanner glowing an ominous red. "Fingerprint lock," Medha breathed, her hand instinctively reaching for Aaryan's arm. He could feel her trembling. He ignored her, already pulling a small, transparent sheet from his pocket. A perfect replica of the flower vendor’s thumbprint, lifted from a discarded chai glass. The air hung thick, anticipation and the metallic tang making his mouth taste like pennies. With a practiced hand, he pressed the sheet to the scanner. A beat. Another. Then, a soft click, and the red light turned green. The steel door hissed open, exhaling a gust of frigid air that smelled of ozone and dust. Before them stretched a cathedral of servers, row upon row of blinking lights stretching into the blue-tinged darkness. The low hum was a physical pressure, vibrating in Aaryan's teeth. This was it. The heart of the signal, the place where the city's secrets were not just stored, but weaponized. He could almost taste the data, the ghost protocols made manifest in steel and wire.

Medha gasped beside him, her hand tightening on his arm. "What *is* this place?" she whispered, her voice lost in the mechanical drone. The server room hummed, a mechanical dirge. Aaryan scanned the rows, his pulse quickening. Something was off. An overturned office chair lay abandoned near a workstation, its cheap plastic frame cracked. He knelt, his fingers brushing against something cold and metallic on the floor – a data drive, its casing scratched. Ozone still hung heavy in the air, a ghostly echo of power discharged, or perhaps a hasty system wipe. "Someone was here," Medha whispered, her voice tight with a fear that mirrored his own. "Recently." He stood, a knot forming in his stomach. "And they didn't want to be found." The race wasn't just on; it was heating up. Aaryan hunched over the workstation, the server logs blurring into a meaningless stream of code. He scrubbed his eyes, the blue light reflecting in the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Then, a flicker. Kunal's digital signature, unmistakable amidst the noise, pinged repeatedly beside a string of encrypted transactions. His heart hammered against his ribs. This wasn’t just about a missing boyfriend; it was a meticulously woven web. "Medha," he said, his voice low, "look at this." He pointed to the screen, the complex code a stark contrast to her bewildered expression. "Kunal... he was moving data. Encrypted data. A lot of it." Her breath hitched. "What does it mean?" Aaryan shook his head.

"It means he wasn't just a victim, Medha. He was part of something bigger." The grainy footage flickered on Aaryan's monitor, the timestamp in the corner mocking their slow progress. Rain lashed against the window of his flat, mirroring the storm brewing inside him. "Enhance," he muttered, his fingers flying across the keyboard. The image sharpened, revealing the Pink Lotus Spa's neon sign bleeding into the wet pavement. A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, a black bag clutched in their hand. Medha leaned closer, her breath fogging the screen. "There," she whispered, pointing to a second figure who appeared, took the bag, and vanished into the alley. The exchange was swift, practiced. Aaryan paused the feed, the still image burning into his mind. "A drop," he said, his voice low. "They're using the spa as a hub." His gaze hardened. "This isn't just about Kunal anymore, Medha. This is a network." The bell above the Indie Cafe jingled, announcing their arrival. Aaryan scanned the room, the aroma of cardamom and roasted coffee doing little to soothe his frayed nerves. Medha led him to a small table where Kunal sat, pale and gaunt, stirring his chai with a vacant expression. He barely acknowledged their presence, his eyes glued to the screen of his smartwatch. "Kunal?" Medha's voice was soft, laced with concern. He flinched, his gaze darting up, a flicker of fear in his eyes before he forced a smile. "Medha, hey.

Sorry, just...catching up on work." Aaryan watched him carefully. The subtle tremor in his hand as he checked the watch again sent a chill down his spine. He was here, but he wasn't free.