The audition hall was on the third floor of an old commercial building that smelled faintly of dust, sweat, and ambition.
A paper sign taped near the stairwell read:
FIXED GAMES – AUDITIONS
Jai stood outside the door, script in hand.
To everyone passing by, he looked like every other struggling actor in the city — simple black shirt, faded jeans, tired eyes, unshaven jaw. Nothing heroic. Nothing dramatic. Just another face hoping to be seen.
Inside, his heart was steady.
Not because he wasn't nervous.
But because this time… he wasn't empty.
He carried someone with him.
---
Inside the room, Suraj sat behind the camera, elbows on the table, chin resting on folded hands. He had already seen dozens of performances that week — loud villains, screaming villains, over-stylized villains.
All noise.
No presence.
Rajesh flipped through forms beside him, barely looking up anymore. Hope had quietly packed its bags the previous evening.
"Next," Suraj called, voice flat.
Jai walked in.
Suraj gave him a two-second glance — the standard casting scan.
Age: fits.
Build: lean.
Face: rough.
Energy: unreadable.
Generic.
Suraj gestured to the tape mark on the floor.
"Name?"
"Jai."
"Profile?"
"Background roles. Theatre in school. No major credits."
Rajesh scribbled something without interest.
Suraj handed him the scene sheet.
"Dinner scene. Villain confronts Ishani for the first time. Keep it subtle. No shouting."
Jai nodded.
He didn't open the paper.
He didn't need to.
---
He walked to the chair placed opposite an empty one meant to represent Ishani.
He sat.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Just a normal young man sitting in a plastic chair under tube lights.
Suraj glanced at Rajesh, silently saying Let's get this over with.
Then—
Jai reached into his pocket.
And slowly placed an imaginary object on the table.
Carefully. Gently.
With ritual.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
He didn't make the sound with his mouth.
But both Suraj and Rajesh felt it.
A rhythm had entered the room.
Jai adjusted the invisible metronome slightly… until it was perfectly aligned with the edge of the table.
Only then did he look up.
And Suraj's casual boredom disappeared.
Because Jai's eyes were no longer auditioning.
They were measuring.
Cold. Precise. Emotion filtered through control.
Not anger.
Not drama.
Authority.
---
"You found the Folio, Ishani…"
His voice was soft.
Deep.
Musical in a disturbing way — each word placed with the same care he had placed the metronome.
Rajesh stopped writing.
"…that makes you a broken piece in my collection."
Jai tilted his head slightly, studying the empty chair like a specimen under glass.
No blinking.
No extra movement.
Just stillness that made the air heavy.
"And I don't like broken pieces."
He reached forward, miming the preparation of a syringe.
But he didn't rush.
Everything happened in threes.
He tapped the table once.
Twice.
Three times.
Suraj felt goosebumps crawl up his arms.
He's not performing, he realized.
He's behaving.
---
Jai leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice.
"Do you know why I prefer injections over knives?"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Knives are… emotional. Blood is messy. Loud."
A pause.
"Injections are quiet. Polite."
He held eye contact with the empty chair for a full five seconds.
No actor does that in auditions. They rush. They push.
Jai just… stayed.
The silence itself became intimidation.
Rajesh shifted in his seat unconsciously.
---
Then Jai did something unscripted.
His gaze flicked to the side wall of the room — where a small crack ran through the paint near the window.
His breathing hitched.
Just slightly.
His fingers twitched.
For half a second, fear cracked through the villain's control.
Then he forced himself to look back at "Ishani," jaw tightening.
Suraj's eyes widened.
He hadn't told the actors about Vardhan's psychological weakness.
It wasn't in the audition sides.
But Jai had just shown a man who was terrified of imperfection.
Without a single line explaining it.
---
"Every hour," Jai continued softly,
"I will take one thing from you."
He held up one finger.
"Touch."
Second finger.
"Taste."
Third finger.
"Sight."
His hand trembled faintly on the third count — like the number itself had power over him.
Then he leaned back.
Perfect posture.
Perfect symmetry.
And waited.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The room was so silent the ceiling fan sounded like thunder.
---
Suraj forgot to say "cut."
Jai slowly reached forward and mimed adjusting the metronome again.
Straightening it.
Centering it.
Only then did he look at Suraj.
The villain vanished.
Just Jai again.
Breathing normally.
Waiting.
---
Rajesh spoke first, voice low.
"Do… do the climax moment. When the metronome breaks."
Suraj shot him a look — they never asked for second scenes in first auditions.
But he didn't stop it.
Jai nodded once.
He stood.
Closed his eyes.
When he opened them again—
The control was gone.
His movements became sharp. Fragmented.
Breathing uneven.
He turned his head slightly, as if hearing something stop that no one else could hear.
"No…" he whispered.
His hands began to shake violently.
"Where is it— where is the rhythm—"
He stumbled backward, knocking over the empty chair accidentally.
The crash echoed.
Jai flinched like it was a gunshot.
His eyes darted around the room wildly — and landed again on the cracked paint near the window.
This time he couldn't look away.
His chest tightened. Breath shortened.
"Fix it…" he muttered, voice breaking.
"I have to fix the lines…"
He dropped to his knees, staring at the wall like it was a living nightmare.
The transformation was so complete, so sudden, that Rajesh felt genuine discomfort.
This wasn't theatrical madness.
This was a mind collapsing.
---
"CUT!" Suraj finally shouted, louder than intended.
Jai froze.
Blink.
The terror drained.
He looked confused for half a second — like he'd just woken up.
Then he stood, straightened his shirt, and said quietly,
"Thank you."
Normal again.
Completely normal.
---
Silence filled the room after he stepped back.
Suraj and Rajesh just stared at him.
Not at an actor.
At a question.
Suraj leaned forward slowly.
"What theatre group are you from?"
"I'm not," Jai said.
"Who trained you?"
"No one."
Rajesh swallowed.
"How did you know about the crack thing?"
Jai hesitated.
"I didn't," he said truthfully. "It just… felt right."
Suraj leaned back in his chair, eyes still locked on Jai.
A strange thought formed in his mind.
Not logical.
Not professional.
But undeniable.
For a moment…
It hadn't felt like an actor performing a character.
It had felt like a character stepping out of the script to introduce himself.
Suraj looked at Rajesh.
Rajesh didn't speak.
He just gave a small, stunned nod.
They had found him.
Or maybe—
The villain had found them.