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: "Kunal: A person who has disappeared and frequents the Pink Lotus Spa." "Shoppers: People haggling over spices in the market" "Aaryan: A coder who looks for things that don't want to be found." "Pink Lotus Spa Employee: Works at the Pink Lotus Spa" "Medha: A person who is interested in what Aaryan does." 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." "KR Market: Location of a chai stall, presumably a bustling marketplace" "Brigade Road: Street with neon signs casting a lurid glow" "Aaryan's flat: Messy apartment with an evidence wall" "Co-working space: A place with a sterile hum of forced productivity" "Bengaluru: City with snarled traffic and a symphony of horns" "Shadowed alleyway: Dark, potentially dangerous passage" "Rain-slicked streets: Wet roads reflecting neon lights" "Chai stall: A place to meet, likely serving tea" "Steel door: Barrier at the end of the corridor" "Corridor: Concrete passage with a steel door at the end" "Café: A place of refuge where Medha seeks Aaryan's help" "Old textile mills: Abandoned industrial area, location of a signal spike" The co-working space buzzed with the sterile hum of forced productivity. Aaryan stared at the cascading green numbers on his monitor, a financial algorithm unfolding like digital origami. Outside, Bengaluru traffic snarled, a symphony of horns and frustrated engines. He minimized the window, revealing a chaotic desktop littered with encrypted files and location pings. A world away from balance sheets. Medha’s voice cut through his focus, “So, what exactly do you *do* when you're not staring at code, Mr. Verma?” He swiveled in his chair, the cheap plastic creaking. "I… look for things," he said, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "Things that don't want to be found."

The fluorescent lights of the co-working space flickered as Aaryan logged off, the algorithmic green fading from his vision. He shrugged off the crisp shirt, the fabric feeling alien against his skin after hours of forced formality. Beneath, a worn, black hoodie waited. He pulled it on, the familiar weight grounding him. Outside, the Bengaluru night air hung thick and wet. Neon signs bled into the rain-slicked streets, painting the world in hues of electric blue and toxic pink. The city exhaled a humid breath of diesel and street food. A text pinged on his phone: Medha - "Meet me at the chai stall near KR Market? Got something…" He pocketed the device, the corner of his mouth twitching. The hunt had begun. The chai stall reeked of ginger and cardamom, a fragrant cloud clinging to the humid air. Medha fidgeted, her eyes darting around the crowded marketplace. "He sent me this," she said, shoving a crumpled receipt across the sticky table. Aaryan smoothed it out. Pink Lotus Spa. "He never went to spas," Medha said, her voice tight with worry. Aaryan traced the faded ink with his finger. A timestamp, slightly smudged, but readable. He pulled out his phone, the screen reflecting the chaotic neon glow. "Let's see what ghosts this place has left behind." He typed, his fingers flying across the keyboard, already lost in the digital ether. The bell above the café door chimed, a fragile sound swallowed by the lo-fi music.

Medha stood there, framed by the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed. The café, usually a sanctuary of calm, seemed to amplify her distress. Aaryan watched her approach, the steam from his chai doing little to soften the harsh lines of his face. “Aaryan, please,” she began, her voice cracking. “The police… they aren’t doing anything. Kunal is just… gone.” She slid into the seat opposite him, her hands trembling as she gripped a paper napkin. “You’re the only one who can find him. You have to help me.” He saw the raw fear in her eyes, a stark contrast to the café’s warm, inviting glow. Aaryan leaned back, the worn wooden chair groaning in protest. Medha’s desperation was a tangible thing, thick as the café’s air. "Secretive how?" he asked, his voice low, careful. "He... changed," she whispered, tracing patterns on her paper napkin. "Always on edge, jumping at shadows. And this watch..." She pulled out her phone, displaying a picture of Kunal wearing a sleek, black smartwatch. "He never took it off. Shower, sleep, everything. Said it was a gift, but wouldn't say from who." A frown creased Aaryan's forehead. A new device, obsessive behavior. "Anything else?" He prompted, already running scenarios in his head, patterns starting to form in the digital static. Back in his flat, Aaryan stared at the sprawling mess of his evidence wall – Kunal’s face duplicated across printouts, connected by strings to maps and timestamps.

The air hung thick with the scent of stale chai and ozone from the overloaded monitors. He zoomed in on Kunal's location data: a jagged, erratic path through the city, punctuated by long stretches at the Pink Lotus Spa, a place that reeked of cheap incense and secrets. Encrypted messages pinged his screen, indecipherable but frequent. This wasn't a simple disappearance; this was a deliberate vanishing act, shrouded in digital whispers. A chill snaked down his spine. Someone didn't want Kunal found. The heat hit Aaryan like a wall as he stepped from the auto rickshaw into KR Market. A symphony of shouts, hawkers’ cries, and the metallic clang of scales assaulted his ears. The air, thick with the mingled scents of jasmine, spices, and diesel fumes, made him cough. Kunal’s last ping placed him somewhere in this labyrinth. Aaryan pulled his hoodie tighter, a futile attempt to block out the chaos. He felt Medha's anxiety mirroring his own as he navigated through the throngs of people, the data points on his phone suddenly feeling insignificant against the market's overwhelming pulse. Each face a blur, each stall a potential dead end. The blinking cursor on Aaryan’s monitor mocked his exhaustion. Empty chai cups formed a precarious tower next to his keyboard, a testament to sleepless hours fueled by caffeine and dread. Kunal's face, blown up and pixelated, stared back from the evidence wall, a silent accusation.

Red string spiderwebbed across the corkboard, connecting location pings to cryptic forum posts, each a breadcrumb leading deeper into the digital labyrinth. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. Aaryan muttered, "There has to be something I'm missing." The hum of the overloaded server rack filled the small apartment, a constant reminder of the digital ghost he was chasing. The engine roared, spitting a cloud of exhaust as Aaryan gunned the bike through the pre-dawn streets. Sleep was a distant memory, replaced by the jittery buzz of caffeine and a gnawing unease. Bengaluru was just beginning to stir, the neon signs of Brigade Road still casting a lurid glow on the damp asphalt. Each turn, each shadowed alleyway, felt like a step closer to the truth, or maybe just closer to a dead end. He gripped the handlebars tighter, the cool metal a stark contrast to his sweaty palms. *Where are you, Kunal?* The question echoed in his mind, a silent prayer whispered to the uncaring city. Rain lashed against Aaryan's visor as he navigated the chaotic web of narrow streets behind KR Market. Each neon sign bled into the wet asphalt, turning the world into a distorted, shimmering canvas. He cut the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the city's hum – hawkers yelling, autos honking, the rhythmic splash of tires on flooded roads. He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen reflecting his anxious face.

A new ping – a signal spike near the old textile mills. "Almost there, Kunal," he muttered, the words lost to the downpour. The city felt like it was watching, a million eyes hidden behind flickering lights and rain-streaked windows. The chaos of KR Market threatened to swallow Aaryan whole. A kaleidoscope of colors, a symphony of shouts, the thick, sweet smell of jasmine battling the acrid tang of exhaust. He moved slowly, letting the crowd jostle him, his eyes scanning, filtering. Then he saw it – a flash of white against a flower stall, a QR code slapped on a stack of marigolds. He paused, feigning interest, snapping a photo. The same sequence again. He moved on, past mounds of spices and pyramids of fruit, each step a calculated risk. Another code, this time on a stack of newspapers. *47-22-93*. A pattern blooming in the madness. He felt a surge of adrenaline, a cold certainty cutting through the noise. He was close. The numbers swam in Aaryan's head, *47-22-93*, a digital breadcrumb trail laid in the heart of the chaos. He veered left, pushing through a throng of shoppers haggling over spices, and the market's grit gave way to something incongruous: the Pink Lotus Spa. Neon pink lotuses bloomed garishly against the building's peeling facade. It felt wrong, too clean, too… deliberate. The air, thick with the scent of jasmine and diesel fumes moments ago, now carried a cloying sweetness, like cheap incense trying to mask something rotten.

Aaryan paused, his hand hovering over the spa's entrance. This was it. The QR codes led here. But what waited inside? A trap? Answers? He took a breath, the humid air heavy in his lungs, and stepped inside. The Pink Lotus Spa's saccharine aroma clung to Aaryan as he circled the building. Behind, past overflowing bins and a rat feasting on discarded takeout, a steel door hunkered in the shadows. No pink lotuses here, just rust and grime. He ran a gloved hand over the cold metal. A keypad. He fished a miniature camera from his jacket, snapping photos of the smudged numbers. This wasn't the pristine facade of the spa; this was something else entirely. A low hum vibrated through the door, a mechanical heartbeat. He typed in the code gleaned from the QR trail, each press a gamble. The steel door hissed open, swallowing Aaryan into a world purged of pink. Gone was the cloying sweetness, replaced by the metallic tang of ozone and the low thrum of hidden machinery. The opulent facade had been a stage set; this corridor, all exposed wiring and cold concrete, was the brutal backstage. Surveillance cameras, like unblinking eyes, tracked his every move. A chill snaked down his spine, colder than the air conditioning. This wasn’t just a back room; it was a descent. He pulled his collar higher, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead amplifying the feeling of being watched, dissected, known. Where the hell was he?

The corridor stretched, a concrete artery pumping with unseen energy. At its end, another steel door, identical to the first but devoid of even a number. Just a blank, unyielding face. The silence here was thick, almost viscous, broken only by a high-pitched whine that resonated deep in Aaryan’s skull. He reached the door, his fingers hovering over the keypad. No smudges this time, no clues. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. This wasn't just a barrier; it was a locked jaw, refusing to yield its secrets. He glanced back down the corridor, a sudden, irrational urge to retreat warring with the burning need to know what lay beyond. He punched in a sequence, a hunch based on the anomaly he'd tracked. The green light flickered. The door clicked. The door slid open, and a glacial wave washed over Aaryan, raising goosebumps on his arms. He stepped into a cathedral of code. Rows upon rows of servers stretched into the blue-lit distance, their blinking lights a silent, hypnotic language. The air hummed with a low, constant thrum that vibrated in his teeth. This was the nerve center, the cold, unfeeling heart of Signal Bengaluru. Kunal was in here, somewhere—not physically, but his digital ghost, trapped within this labyrinth of data. Aaryan felt a pang of something akin to pity, quickly suppressed. He had a job to do. The truth was buried somewhere in this digital mausoleum.

The cold bit deeper here, a manufactured chill that seeped into Aaryan's bones. He scanned the server rows, the rhythmic blinking now a frantic pulse against the silence. Something was off. Further down, near a cluster of humming racks, a chair lay overturned, its metal legs splayed like a crippled insect. Beside it, a discarded screwdriver glinted under the blue lights. Aaryan moved closer, his boots echoing on the metal floor. The air tasted of ozone and panic. Someone had been here recently, working on something, and they’d left in a hurry. He knelt, picking up the screwdriver. A thin smear of blood stained the handle. The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the sterile hum of the servers. Aaryan rose, the screwdriver a cold weight in his hand. He moved deeper into the blue glow, his gaze sweeping across the workstations. Most were deserted, screensaver patterns dancing in hypnotic loops. Then, near a console bathed in an unnatural light, he saw it: a laminated employee badge, face down on the metal floor. He picked it up, flipped it over. Kunal Sharma stared back, a forced smile plastered on his face, the Pink Lotus Spa logo a cruel joke above his name. This wasn't just a missing person; Kunal was an integral part of this cold, digital machine. A cog in something far bigger, and infinitely more dangerous. Aaryan's phone buzzed, Medha's name flashing across the screen.

He answered, a knot tightening in his stomach. "Aaryan, he's back! Kunal's home." Her voice was a breathless rush of relief. "I don't know where he's been, but he's here." He heard background noise, a television murmuring, the clatter of dishes. "Can you come over? He's... different." The line went silent for a beat. Aaryan gripped the phone tighter. "His eyes, Aaryan, they're empty." He swallowed, the metallic tang of the server room still clinging to his senses. "I'm on my way, Medha." The rain had stopped, leaving the Bengaluru night glistening under a sodium glow. From across the street, Aaryan watched Medha's apartment, a warm square of light in the encroaching darkness. He saw Kunal silhouetted against the window, moving with a strange, deliberate stiffness. Then he saw it – the smartwatch, still strapped to Kunal's wrist. But the screen wasn't displaying the time, or notifications. It pulsed with a slow, rhythmic pattern of light, a cryptic heartbeat against Kunal's skin. A chill snaked down Aaryan's spine. Relief had been a phantom, a cruel trick of the light. This wasn't a reunion; it was a puppet show.