This story contains fictional depictions of crime and justice. It does not promote violence or vigilante behavior. Reader discretion is advised.
The room was silent, but thick with tension. Three officers stood in front of their superior like schoolkids caught cheating—back straight, eyes downward, sweat forming despite the office air conditioning.
The one in the middle—Inspector Veer—was in his early forties. He looked weathered, tired, and as though life had personally argued with him every day for the past twenty years. His moustache twitched nervously as the scolding intensified.
To his right stood Rishabh, a good-looking twenty-something officer with perfect hair, a clean-shaven jaw, and a posture that screamed, I post gym selfies during my night shift. He wore the uniform like a model doing a photoshoot for a police calendar.
And to the left, Anika—twenty-three, sharp-featured, confident-eyed, and with beauty that turned heads wherever she went. Unlike the other two, she didn't fidget. She simply stood tall, fingers lightly crossed in front of her.
Across from them, their superior's voice boomed.
"Fifty! Fifty bloody missing persons in a month and you three are my best officers?" The Commissioner slammed a file on the desk, causing all three to flinch slightly. "No bodies. No witnesses. No digital traces. You think this is a game?"
"Sir, we believe they may have left voluntarily," Veer said meekly, avoiding eye contact.
"Voluntarily? Fifty people? Without packing, without telling anyone? What did they do—start a colony on Mars?"
Rishabh cleared his throat. "Sir, we have checked CCTV and—"
"Checked nothing!" The Commissioner pointed at him. "You just pose next to the bloody crime scenes like you're filming a documentary!"
Anika finally spoke, calm and composed. "Sir, we are doing everything in our power. We're expanding our search net."
The Commissioner sighed, rubbing his temple. "If I don't get something solid soon, the media will burn us alive. Now get out of my office and find me something real. Fast."
The three officers nodded, saluted, and walked out, tension radiating from their shoulders.
Across the city, the hum of an air conditioner buzzed lazily inside a small detective office. Kavir lay on the sofa, one leg hanging off the edge, his arm covering half his face. His long hair was a chaotic mess across the pillow. The remote lay balanced on his stomach, and the AC was set to full blast.
Ratan, sitting at the desk with a calculator in one hand and a file in the other, glanced over in irritation.
"If that electricity bill crosses the roof, I'm selling your kidneys for payment," Ratan muttered.
Without moving much, Kavir raised a hand. "Sell my hair. You'll get more weight."
"Maybe I will," Ratan grunted. "At least it won't eat AC like a starving dog."
Kavir slowly sat up, yawning, and reached out for the newspaper lying nearby. "What's the morning panic today?"
Ratan tossed it to him.
Kavir's eyes skimmed the bold headline.
"CITY'S DARK MONTH – 50 PEOPLE VANISH WITHOUT A TRACE"
Kavir raised an eyebrow. "Fifty?"
He looked at Ratan with a faint smile. "We only did twenty this month, didn't we?"
Ratan sighed, sipping his tea. "Twenty, yeah. So who's handling the other thirty? Some competition we don't know about?"
Kavir flipped a page. "Police must be having a heart attack."
"They are," Ratan replied dryly. "Which means we stay quiet, keep our heads down, and reduce our 'community cleaning' for a while."
Kavir nodded. "At least we'll have fewer cases to take. Free time."
Just then, the office door creaked open.
Standing at the entrance were two officers—Anika, the composed beauty from earlier, and Veer, the tired veteran. Their expressions were neutral, but their presence brought a sudden stillness into the room.
Anika stepped forward. "Kavir. We'd like you to come with us to the station."
Ratan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Kavir stood slowly, stretched like a lazy cat, and without argument, walked toward the police Jeep parked outside.
The interrogation room was cold and plain. A single bulb swung above the table, the atmosphere deliberately uncomfortable.
Kavir sat on one side, arms folded, hair as disheveled as always. Across from him, the charming young officer Rishabh sat upright, holding a slim file and a tablet.
"Mr. Kavir," Rishabh began, tapping the screen. "You were residing in Room 207 at Madhuban Hostel four days ago, correct?"
Kavir nodded.
"And coincidentally, the landlord of that property was reported missing the same night you checked out?"
"Coincidences happen," Kavir replied flatly.
Rishabh narrowed his eyes. "Mind telling us why you were there in the first place?"
"I was hired," Kavir said casually. "Someone staying there approached my office. Said they were hearing strange sounds at night and didn't want to involve the police."
"Why not involve the police?"
Kavir smirked. "I don't ask. I get paid. I listen. I check. I leave."
Rishabh leaned forward. "So you're saying you found nothing?"
"That's right," Kavir answered. "Some rats fighting, maybe the walls creaking. Spent a couple nights. Didn't hear a scream. I reported to the client, took my fee, and left."
Rishabh's jaw tightened. "It's strange, though. People say you left rather hurriedly. And your name doesn't appear in the official hostel records."
Kavir shrugged. "Because I used a fake name. Old habit. Privacy reasons."
"Privacy, huh?" Rishabh murmured, scrolling through notes. "And do you often use fake names while working cases?"
"When dealing with sleazy landlords and paranoid clients? Every damn time."
Rishabh leaned back in his chair, studying the man before him. Kavir's eyes were half-lidded, almost bored. His voice carried no nervousness, no guilt—just the slow confidence of someone who had been through interrogations before and always walked out clean.
"Alright," Rishabh finally said. "That's all for now."
He clicked the pen in his hand and gestured to the door. "You're free to go."
Back outside, Kavir stepped into the hallway where Anika and Veer were standing.
"Done?" Veer asked.
Kavir gave a small smile. "For now."
Anika studied him, her sharp eyes looking for cracks.
"You're either innocent," she said softly, "or really good at acting."
Kavir turned to her. "I never liked acting. Too much dialogue."
With that, he walked past them and out of the station.
Back at the detective office, Ratan looked up from his desk as Kavir entered. He didn't say anything—just handed over a fresh cup of tea.
Kavir took it silently and dropped back onto the sofa. He took a sip, eyes wandering to the same newspaper article still lying on the table.
Fifty missing.
Twenty by them.
Thirty still unaccounted for.
Kavir's lips curved into a tiny, unreadable smile.
Ratan spoke from behind the paper. "So, they let you go?"
Kavir nodded. "Didn't even offer snacks."
"Good," Ratan said. "Let's stay quiet for a while. Until the heat dies down."
Kavir leaned back again, letting the AC hum lull him into rest.
But even as he relaxed, he couldn't help but wonder—
Who else was out there?
Doing what he did.
And why did that thought thrill him?