The low hum of the AC filled the detective office like a lullaby for the damned.
Kavir lay sprawled across the leather sofa, one arm dangling off the edge, the other clutching the TV remote. The air was cold enough to make breath mist, but he didn't mind. The silence, in his world, was far more comfortable than most people's conversations.
Ratan was out buying groceries—his monthly pilgrimage to the wholesale market where both prices and morals were equally negotiable. That left Kavir alone in the office, and he had plans. He turned toward the corner of the room where Ratan's latest purchase stood like a trophy: a brand-new home theater system.
With a lazy flick of his finger, Kavir powered it on, connected it to the Wi-Fi, and entered the live-streaming app. The homepage was a minefield of panicked news.
He scrolled briefly—until a familiar face stopped him.
LIVE: Anika (Sub-Inspector) — Addressing Citywide Panic
He clicked.
Anika stood at a press podium, flanked by uniformed officers, her presence calm but piercing. Her voice echoed through the surround sound, amplified and crisp.
"The police are working nonstop and will surely find those behind these disappearances. We won't rest until the criminals are behind bars. This is clearly the work of a psycho killer—or killers—and we're advising all citizens to avoid going out at night."
Her expression was cold steel, but her words were public reassurance.
"If you must go out, do so in groups. All schools are to be closed for a week. Classes will resume online. The city borders are now under strict security screening. No one enters or leaves without identification and clearance."
She paused briefly.
"If your area lacks functioning streetlights or has no CCTV coverage, please contact local authorities. Shopkeepers are being urged to install cameras immediately."
She ended with a grim reminder.
"More than 200 people have gone missing this year. And 50 of those were just this month."
The live feed ended—but the internet, as usual, exploded.
Hashtags like #PsychoCity, #CatchTheGhost, and #WhereIsOurPolice trended within minutes. Memes flooded the web, mocking police incompetence. One showed a cop holding a magnifying glass to an empty street with the caption: "Still no signs, boss."
Another had Anika's face photoshopped next to Sherlock Holmes, with the tagline: "Coming soon to a case near you… or not."
Kavir smirked.
Villagers who had moved to the city for a better life now packed their bags, heading back to the very poverty they'd tried escaping. Everyone feared the dark, and fear has always been more contagious than any virus.
Just then, the office door creaked open. Ratan stepped in, bags of vegetables in one hand and a packet of tea in the other. His expression was grim, but not surprised.
"This was destined to happen," he muttered as he entered.
Kavir didn't even glance over. "The borders, the curfews, the lockdowns… it's like we're being gifted a vacation."
Ratan placed the bags down, then collapsed into his chair with a sigh. "At least with the city this alert, the crimes will slow down."
Kavir turned his head toward him and smiled faintly. "And so will our work."
Ratan chuckled. "Peace has a price."
Later that evening, Ratan stood in the kitchen doorway. "I don't feel like cooking."
Kavir, already curled on the sofa, flipped the remote and smirked. "There's a psychopath outside. Going out at night alone might not be the best idea."
Ratan leaned against the frame, one eyebrow raised. "The only psychopath here is you. It's the society that should go out in groups."
Kavir laughed softly, grabbed his coat, and stepped out into the night.
The streets were unusually empty. Shops were closing early, lights dimmed, security guards pacing nervously. Cameras blinked above store doors—new installations, rushed in after the morning warnings.
Kavir approached the small restaurant where he worked part-time. The aroma of paneer tikka and fried oil hung in the air like a memory.
Outside stood a dimly lit store—a corner mart sharing space with the restaurant. Inside stood Sona, the girl from the Screaming Room case. Her hair was tied up, face focused, eyes alert.
"Sona," he greeted.
She looked up. "Kavir! You came to pick up food?"
He nodded. "And check up on you. Night shifts alone, huh?"
She shook her head. "Not alone. Others are changing in the back. We're closing early today. Boss wants everyone to go home in groups."
Kavir's eyes flicked up. "Those cameras weren't there before."
"Put up this morning," she replied. "Boss said something about Anika's speech. Said it's either CCTV or CCTV footage of our corpses."
Kavir chuckled. "Practical man."
She handed him his parcel. "Chicken roll and your favorite soda."
"Much appreciated."
They stood together near the entrance as the other staff emerged from the back room. Kavir, ever quiet, walked with them until they parted ways.
One of the waiters turned and asked, "Kavir bhai, aren't you scared walking alone?"
Kavir gave a slow smile. "Shouldn't the psychopath be scared of me?"
But as he continued walking, a different sense began to settle over him.
A feeling he had known since childhood.
The unmistakable itch of eyes watching from the dark.
He didn't turn immediately. That would be too obvious. Instead, he shifted his gaze slightly—to the far left, where the street met a broken fence.
Someone stood there.
But the moment his eyes shifted, the figure ducked into shadow.
Kavir kept walking.
So, he thought, I'm in their radar now.
As he passed a streetlight, he adjusted his pace, then abruptly turned into a narrow alley.
The follower, out of habit or duty, followed.
It was a short alley. No exit, no corner. A perfect dead end.
Perfect for a reversal.
Footsteps echoed behind him—hesitant.
Then—tap.
A hand on the shoulder.
The man turned.
Kavir stood behind him, calm as a sleeping cat. In one hand: a burger, still warm.
"You looked hungry," he said.
He handed over the burger and walked off before the follower could even open his mouth.
Back in the office, Kavir dropped onto the sofa again.
"Followed?" Ratan asked without looking up from his book.
"Yes," Kavir replied.
"Police?"
"Probably."
Ratan nodded. "I'm being followed too."
Kavir shrugged. "Expected."
They both looked at the TV. A talk show was airing—Anika, once again, in the spotlight.
The reporter leaned forward. "Many say this criminal is smarter than the average killer. What would you say to that?"
Anika smirked on camera.
"No criminal is too smart. They all make mistakes. Even the most brilliant ones leave traces. What we're dealing with is not genius—it's cowardice hiding behind fear."
"Criminals are cockroaches," she added. "You shine a light, and they scatter. They fear exposure more than justice. Sooner or later, they trip. And when they do—"
She leaned forward.
"—we'll be there."
The screen shifted to the reporter. "So, no respect for this killer?"
"None. They're weak. Mockery is all they deserve."
Ratan chuckled softly. "She's trying to provoke him."
Kavir didn't reply. He just kept watching with quiet amusement.
"She thinks he'll mess up if his ego's hurt," Ratan added.
"Maybe he will," Kavir said.
"But not this week," Ratan smiled.
The Next Morning
Another newspaper.
Another wave of panic.
10 MORE MISSING IN SINGLE NIGHT — No Clues Left Again
Kavir lay on the sofa, staring at the headline. The morning light cut across the room like judgment.
He didn't blink. He didn't smile.
He just said quietly, "I think you made him angry, Miss Officer."
Ratan looked up from his cup of tea. "Well… that's what happens when you poke a sleeping lion."
Kavir sighed and reached for the remote.
"Let's see what else they say about our imaginary friend."