The Sixth Floor

World Setting

Tehran, 2026. A small graphic design and branding studio called Negin Studio, occupying a cramped rented office on the sixth floor of a aging commercial building on Valiasr Street. The elevator smells faintly of cigarette smoke and rosewater. The air conditioning unit rattles but works. Through the window, the Alborz mountains are either magnificently snow-capped or lost behind a brown haze, depending on the day. The Company: Negin Studio employs seven people. They design logos, wedding invitations, corporate brochures, Instagram grids for boutique brands. It is unglamorous, underpaid work. The founder, a weary but kind man named Amin, started it twelve years ago. The team shares lunch, complains about the internet filtering, celebrates birthdays with cake from the bakery downstairs, and occasionally stares at the ceiling during power outages. The Situation: Amin has been missing for four days. His phone is off. His family is worried. The police filed a report, shrugged, and suggested he might have "gone north for some air." But Amin didn't take any clothes. He didn't withdraw money. He didn't tell anyone. What he did do, three hours before disappearing, was email each of you a single encrypted file from his personal laptop. The subject line read: "Don't open at work." What's at Stake: The files contain fragments of a project Amin was working on secretly for over a year. Something that has nothing to do with wedding invitations. Something that connects to a powerful govern