Just as the Hunter, Ruban Kinoh, raised the sifblade to stab the fallen Tauheen in the chest, the door to Viman’s office slid open and Menaka walked in. He looked up at her, pausing the video. She looked more composed and self-possessed than she had when she left the office, though she was still clearly excited.

“We’ve made the changes to the script, sir. Everything is ready. We’re airing the video today itself, no delays. We’ll start filming in twenty minutes. I’ll send the make-up people around, shall I?”

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Viman nodded, straightening, brushing imaginary lint off his suit-jacket. He could feel his blood thrumming in his veins. He liked his job, but it had been a while since he had felt so profoundly excited by it – it was intoxicating. Finally, he breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the moist monsoon air. It was showtime.