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Rahul, an investigative journalist, receives a mysterious call warning him to leave. He discovers his phone was hacked and someone is watching him. He finds a hidden camera under his bed and the police arrive, but something feels off. His best friend, Amit, sends an email telling him not to open the door and to run. The story ends abruptly. The last call. Rahul's phone buzzed at exactly 3.33 a.m. It was an unknown number. The voice on the other end was shaky, almost desperate. You need to leave. Now, they are coming for you. The call disconnected. Rahul was an investigative journalist known for uncovering political scandals. Lately, he had been working on a secret case. A high-profile businessman involved in human trafficking, but he had never told anyone about it. So, who was warning him? He checked his log. The number doesn't exist. No record of the call. That's when he noticed something chilling. His apartment door was slightly open. He was sure he had logged it before going to bed. Rahul slowly grabbed his phone and dialed his best friend, Amit, a cybersecurity expert. Amit checked and found out that someone had hacked into his phone an hour before the call. CCTV footage of his building was missing from 2 a.m. to 3.45 a.m. He tried calling the police, but his phone went dead. Footsteps inside his apartment. Someone was there with him. Rahul grabbed a paperweight and moved towards his bedroom. Trying not to make a sound, he could hear faint breathing on the other side. He took a deep breath, counting to three, and he opened the door. The room was empty, but on his laptop screen, a new email had popped up. You were warned. The attachment a live CCTV feed of him sitting in his own apartment. Someone was watching him in real time. His heart pounded as he quickly tried to shut down the laptop, but the cursor wouldn't move. A single message typed itself on the screen. Check under your bed. Rahul felt his stomach drop. Slowly he went down and lifted the bedsheet. A tiny blanking red light. A camera. Someone had planned it there. A loud knock at the door made him jump. This time a voice. Mr. Rahul, we need to talk. Open the door. It was the police, but something felt wrong. He looked at the email sender. It was Amit, his best friend. Should he trust the police or run? And why would Amit send the email? As he took a deep breath and reached for the door handle, his phone buzzed again. A new number. Rahul, don't open the door. Run. Fade to black.