Their daily lives weren’t extraordinary or world-shaking. And that was precisely what made them happy. They still met up whenever their varying schedules allowed. Sometimes they went out for cheap roadside food. Sometimes they simply sat on the workbenches in the garage until midnight, talking about nothing important. Sometimes they walked around the perimeter of the sector because nobody wanted to go back to their empty flats yet.
Goutam usually joined them, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder after his programming shifts.
Joy’s girlfriend, Priya, started appearing at those weekend gatherings too. Sarthok eventually began dating a girl named Mili from the arts college. The first time Mili joined the group for dinner at a local dhaba, she quietly watched Sarthok enter a loud argument with Sayan over the split of the food bill.
“You explicitly said you’d pay for the tandoori tray,” Sarthok barked.
“I said I’d help with the total,” Sayan corrected.
“You ate half of the plate yourself.”
“So what if I did?”
Mili looked across the laminate table at Joy, her eyebrows raised. “Are they always like this in public?”
Joy smiled, reaching for his glass. “Pretty much daily.”
Mili let out a short sigh. “I completely see why you four are friends.”
Sarthok caught the sentence. “What exactly does that comment mean, Mili?”
“Nothing.”
He stared at her suspiciously for three seconds. She simply smiled and continued eating her dal.
Their collective outings became more frequent as the months accumulated. Sometimes the girls dragged them to places they would never have chosen themselves. Once, Priya insisted on taking everyone to a small scenic hill outside the city limits for the sunset view. Sayan complained about the grade of the dirt climb for twenty consecutive minutes.
“You’re the one who agreed to come on the trek, Sayan,” Joy reminded him.
“I agreed before I knew there would be a literal hill involved.”
“You honestly thought we were going to teleport to the view?”
“I was hoping so,” Sayan grumbled.
Even Goutam laughed at that, the sound clean in the evening air. For a long while, life felt entirely simple. Work, friends, small arguments, cheap food, occasional dates, and loose plans for the future.
Then, on a Friday evening, something changed.
Goutam wasn’t with them that day; he had been held back at the tech firm for a late server deployment. Joy, Sarthok, Sayan, Priya, and Mili had stopped at a busy roadside café after their dinner to get some tea. A television mounted above the wooden billing counter was playing the evening news on low volume. Nobody at the blue plastic tables was paying it any attention.
Then the newsreader’s vocal tone became noticeably louder, the audio level clipping slightly through the cheap speakers.
“...authorities have confirmed that five prisoners involved in the notorious bank robbery case escaped custody earlier today during a transit shift. One of the five was found dead at the scene during the immediate pursuit. State police have launched a large-scale search operation across the sector for the remaining four...”
Sarthok stopped his movement mid-bite, his fingers freezing. Joy slowly lowered his tea glass back onto the laminate surface, his knuckles going pale. Sayan turned his head sharply toward the television screen.
For several long seconds, none of them spoke a single word. The ambient conversation around their table disappeared entirely. Mili noticed the sudden, heavy shift first, her eyes moving between them.
“What happened?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “Joy?”
Joy didn’t answer her. The news broadcast continued looping footage in the background.
“Police have urged the public not to approach the escaped individuals and to immediately contact the sector authorities if they notice any suspicious activity near the abandoned warehouses...”
Sayan’s fingers tightened around his glass until the glass clicked against his ring. “They actually got out?”
Sarthok nodded once, his eyes anchored to the screen. “Apparently so.”
Joy looked across at him, his voice barely a whisper. “Four of them are loose?”
“Yeah.”
Nobody touched their food anymore. Priya looked between their pale faces, her anxiety rising. “Do you guys actually know these people from the news?”
“No,” Joy said quickly. He answered far too quickly.
Sarthok looked toward the television again as the photographs of the escaped prisoners appeared briefly on the digital display. He looked away, his jaw tightening under his skin.
“Let’s go,” Sarthok said, standing up abruptly.
Sayan didn’t argue, immediately grabbing his jacket from the plastic chair. Mili frowned, looking at her half-empty cup. “We literally just got here, Sarthok.”
“I know.” His voice was noticeably quieter than usual. “We should go home. Now.”
The three friends stood in unison. Their girlfriends followed them out of the café, thoroughly confused and frustrated by the sudden change in behavior.
Outside on the pavement, the evening traffic continued as usual. Cars passed under the streetlights. People talked near the pan shop. Someone laughed loudly across the asphalt street. Nothing in the city had visibly changed.
But the three friends stood together near the edge of the curb, unusually silent, their shoulders tense. Joy finally broke the quiet, his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead.
“Don’t tell Goutam a single word about this.”
Sarthok looked at him through his glasses. “I wasn’t going to.”
Sayan swallowed hard, his throat moving against his collar. “Do you think they... Do you think they’ll come back here?” He stopped himself before he could finish the thought.
Joy stared blankly into the traffic. “I don’t know, Sayan.”
None of them said anything after that sentence. They simply stood there for another silent moment before walking away into the dark lanes. Behind them, through the glass window of the café, the television continued reporting the details of the escape.
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[RECORD:1]
“Shweta...”
The voice was barely audible, a dry rasp that didn’t even vibrate the clear plexiglass casing.
Inside the dim, fluorescent-lit laboratory, A human body lay completely motionless inside a transparent biopod. A dozen thin, blue-tinted silicone tubes ran directly from the sealed injection ports along the sides of his pod, disappearing into the heavy racks of processing hardware surrounding the berth.
A secondary monitor mounted on the status rack suddenly broke the quiet hum with a rapid, uneven series of electronic beeps.
One of the researchers shifted in his wheeled stool, his eyes widening through his safety glasses. “Director.”
The older man standing near the central console turned his head sharply. “What is it?”
“The baseline values. It’s shifting again.”
The director walked over to the console, his heavy boots clicking hard against the antistatic floor tiles. “Give me a variance. How much?”
“It’s climbing too fast for the stabilizer to catch it,” the researcher said, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard.
The director’s gaze moved from the screen toward the transparent pod. The subject’s fingers gave a sudden, involuntary twitch against the rubberized lining of the berth.
“Increase the sedation line,” the director commanded, his voice dropping into a flat, quiet register.
“The dosage was already increased during the last cycle, sir.”
“Double it.”
The researcher hesitated, his hand hovering over the physical slider controls on the console panel. “We are already within five percent of the neurotoxic limit. If we push the synthetic block any further, its lungs will collapse.”
“Do it anyway,” the director said, not breaking eye contact with the pod.
The researcher swallowed hard and jammed the slider forward. Instantly, an amber light on the main display began to flash, accompanied by a low, rhythmic warning chime.
“Damn it,” the tech muttered, his shoulders going rigid.
“What broke?”
“The suppression field,” the researcher said, his voice rising slightly. “The automated dampeners are drawing maximum current, but they aren’t holding the terminal waves.”
The director stepped closer to the glass, his breath fogging the outer layer slightly. Inside the pod, the body’s chest had begun to rise and fall with a deep, heavy regularity.
“He’s coming around,” the director muttered.
“We can switch the backup line to the spinal port—we can still put him under safely.”
“You told me that five minutes ago during the first spike,” the director said, turning his head slightly. “Stop analyzing the display and drop the manual grid.”
The two remaining researchers in the room hurried around the perimeter of the berth. One adjusted the coolant flow settings on the base valves, while the other checked the thick fiber-optic cables attached to the crown of the pod, his hands shaking slightly as he verified the links.
The director remained perfectly still beside the glass panel, his reflection overlapping with the pale, submerged face inside.
The body’s lips parted a second time, a small bubble escaping into the nutrient fluid. “Shweta...”