For a few seconds, both men simply stared at the blinking notification on the wall as if it were a venomous snake preparing to pounce. The digital chime echoed again—once, twice, relentlessly—each ping hitting Nacikate's nerves like a hammer against glass. The words "Under Review" blinked with cruel enthusiasm, the font far too cheerful for a message capable of ending careers.
Mehul tilted his head slowly. "Okay so like… technically… they might not read it, right? Government employees take chai breaks at weird times."
But almost immediately, another message appeared on the screen.Then another.Then three at once.
Notification: Ministry Accessed FileNotification: Forwarded to Public Relations CommitteeNotification: Logged in Parliamentary Records (Temporary)Notification: Marked 'Interesting' by Senior Officer
The room fell eerily silent.
Even CAM-7 went quiet, perhaps sensing the existential dread radiating from both users.
Nacikate's voice came out strangled. "INTERESTING?! Why would they mark it as interesting?! We are not INTERESTING! We are ACCIDENTAL!"
Mehul, on the other hand, looked like he had personally ascended into chaos nirvana."Bro… we made it into parliamentary records." He placed a gentle hand over his heart, emotional. "My ancestors are screaming with pride."
"STOP BEING PROUD," Nacikate snapped, pacing in rapid circles now, his tie flapping like a stressed flag. "This is a disaster! A public sector disaster! A nationwide disaster! We are in official records, Mehul. OFFICIAL. Do you know who goes in official records?! Corruption cases! Budget reports! And—"
"Iconic duos?" Mehul suggested.
"NO."
But before he could spiral further, the simulation room door burst open with the velocity of a small cyclone. A breathless junior employee stood there, panting and clutching a tablet.
"S-sir— sirs— you need to come to the lobby— RIGHT NOW."
"Why?!" Nacikate demanded.
The employee looked like he had witnessed something sacred, horrifying, and deeply confusing all at once.
"It's… it's everywhere," he whispered.
They rushed out into the main hall and froze.
Every TV screen—every single display, from the large lobby panel to the tiny digital calendar screens by the elevators—played breaking news alerts in a chaotic overlay of headlines:
"BANKER–HACKER SYNERGY PAIR TAKES OVER INDIA!""ALPHA COMPLIANCE OFFICER & BETA HACKER: THE FUTURE?""EXPERTS CLAIM THEIR AUDIT SCORE SHOWS 'UNUSUAL CHEMISTRY'.""GOVERNMENT PRAISES NEW 'COLLABORATIVE ENERGY' MODEL.""WHAT IS A SYNERGY PAIR AND SHOULD YOU BE IN ONE?"
Mehul blinked, mesmerized. "Damn. They gave us a cinematic montage."
But it wasn't just the news channels.
Several influencer accounts had already posted dramatic edits:
— One set their simulation footage to romantic Bollywood violin music.— Another made an anime version with cherry blossoms floating behind them.— A third posted, "Hacker-Banker Duo Solves India's IT Problems??"
Someone had created a fanfic tag.It already had 300 entries.
Someone else made merch.The CEO's face was printed on a T-shirt crying.
Employees crowded around in buzzing groups, some excited, some panicking, many filming discreetly while pretending not to.
"Sir," Rohit whispered urgently, "your synergy hashtag has 2 million views."
Nacikate's soul audibly left his body.
"And—" Rohit added, "there's more."
He turned the tablet around to show a bright poster with a saffron-blue design, issued by the government itself.
At the top, bold letters spelled:
DIGITAL INDIA WEEK — NEW PRESS PANEL ANNOUNCEDUnderneath were photos of key speakers.
And in the third row—
Smack in the center—
Were their faces.
"WHAT?" Nacikate screeched, voice jumping three octaves.
Mehul blinked slowly. "Bro we're keynote speakers. I'm gonna wear my sunglasses."
"You are not wearing SUNGLASSES to a GOVERNMENT PANEL!"
"Yes I am."
"No you're not!"
Rohit scrolled further down."It says both of you are invited to 'share your innovation journey as a high-potential duo.'"
"DUO?!"Nacikate's entire aura combusted."We are NOT a duo! We are two mutually suffering individuals! This is… this is slander!"
"Free publicity," Mehul offered cheerfully.
Before they could argue further, a new sound erupted — the shrill triple-beep of the government portal app. Both men froze, dread prickling over their skin like static.
Their phones buzzed simultaneously.They exchanged horrified looks, then unlocked their screens.
The new message pulsed in bold red font:
BOND PROGRESS: 25%Proximity Requirement Increasing.Both parties must remain within 50 meters of each other during work hours.Penalties may apply.
The words hung there like a curse.
Mehul read it three times, then slowly grinned."Oh-ho-hohhh. This is gonna RUIN your life."
Nacikate looked up at the ceiling, silently begging every god of bureaucracy for mercy."What penalties?" he whispered.
The app chimed again.
Penalty for Violation:Temporary lock on both user accounts.Risk of public audit flag.Risk of media notification.
Mehul casually pocketed his phone. "So basically—if we separate—we get exposed on live TV?"
"Yes," Nacikate whispered, horrified.
"Well," Mehul said, stretching leisurely, "guess we're stuck together, bro."
A long moment passed.
Then, as if the universe wanted to rub salt deeper into the wound, an office assistant approached them nervously.
"Excuse me sirs… management asked me to inform you…"
"WHAT NOW?!" Nacikate snapped.
The assistant gulped.
"They're moving your workstations together. Into a shared cabin."
Nacikate staggered backwards.
Mehul clapped once, delighted."Shared cabin arc LET'S GOOO."
Nacikate grabbed him by the hoodie."This," he said, shaking slightly, "is psychological torture."
Mehul adjusted the hood smugly."Bro think positive. At least now you get to see my face all day."
"That is NOT A POSITIVE."
But before the argument escalated, both phones vibrated again—one soft ping, unified and ominous.
A new notification glowed on-screen:
Beginning Phase 2: Emotional Calibration ProtocolCountdown: 48 Hours
Mehul whistled."Emotional calibration. Sounds deep."
Nacikate looked like he was about to faint.
And the countdown ticked on.