Location: CBI Secret Agents HQ – Conference Room | Time: 11:42 AM
The fluorescent lights above flickered briefly as the heavy door of the conference room creaked open. Kiaan Verma entered with a storm in his eyes and a file clenched in his hand. Without pausing, he walked to the control panel and switched on the projector, his every step echoing authority.
"Two minutes," he said firmly without looking up, "I want everyone in this room. No delay."
Within seconds, the team rushed in. Tara, Rehaan, Dev, and Zid filed into the room, tension instantly thickening as they sensed the gravity in their captain's tone.
Kiaan didn't waste a moment. The projector clicked alive behind him, illuminating the screen with a grainy yet disturbing image.
He turned to face them, his voice low and direct, like a blade being unsheathed.
"This," he said, pointing at the first image, "was the first victim. Maya Bishop. Age eighteen. University freshman. Found in an alley behind her campus dorm—face down, limbs twisted unnaturally… as if she was dancing mid-air."
Tara flinched slightly, the photo showing Maya's contorted form in the dim-lit alley sending chills down her spine.
"No drugs, no alcohol. No signs of a struggle. The forensics said she didn't fight back because there was no reason to. It's like she willingly followed him to her death."
A flick of a button.
The next image took over.
"Victor Gable," Kiaan continued, "Age twenty. Found in an abandoned subway tunnel. Kneeling. Eyes wide open even in death. Throat slit with surgical precision. No prints, no DNA, nothing. Just silence. He was military-trained—his body posture confirmed that. He was prepared for pain, not betrayal."
Another click.
The third image came. The most disturbing of all.
"Isaac Drewe. Twenty-one. Rooftop greenhouse. Suspended by wires like a puppet. Arms outstretched. A message was left behind."
Kiaan zoomed into the picture. The note.
"The puppets dance until their strings are cut."
Everyone in the room fell into stunned silence.
Zid leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes analyzing the killer's methods.
"But here's what makes this case dark," Kiaan said, his voice tightening, "All three victims attended a military-led international youth initiative seminar last summer. Off-record. Hidden from public databases. But it was there."
He looked directly at Dev, Rehaan, and Tara.
"This detail was wiped out. Official reports are clean. Someone scrubbed their identities from that event. Deliberately."
Dev muttered, "So the seminar is the only link?"
Kiaan nodded. "Yes, and the killer is choosing his targets from there."
He turned to Zid then, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Zid," Kiaan said, "you trained in the military. I want you to tell me — during such seminars, do they train both boys and girls equally?"
Zid gave a slow nod. "Yes. Tactical drills, psychological endurance, physical combat. Equal ground."
Kiaan's mind raced.
"Then why two boys and only one girl? Why is it not balanced?"
He stepped toward the board and circled the numbers in red: 18. 20. 21.
"I believe the killer isn't selecting based on gender. He's targeting boys deliberately. The girl might have been a decoy or a personal exception. But this—" he jabbed a finger at the names "—this is a pattern forming. All boys above 19 and below 23."
Tara asked carefully, "But why that age range?"
"Because it's the golden period for military grooming. Minds are sharp, spirits are reckless. But the killer…" Kiaan paused, his voice darkening, "...the killer is manipulating them. And you know what that means?"
Zid straightened. "He was one of them."
Kiaan gave a subtle nod. "Exactly. And that's why I say — the killer is a man. A woman can manipulate a man with emotion. But a woman manipulating a girl into walking silently to her death without force? No. Unlikely. And no woman could kill a trained military boy without resistance unless she matched him in skill and outpowered him in brute force."
He locked eyes with Zid. "Am I wrong, soldier?"
Zid was quiet for a long second before replying, "You're not wrong. A female can overpower, yes, but not without noise. And not three times without trace. This is a man's execution style. Silent. Precision. Ritualistic."
Kiaan turned back to the others. "Tara, what did you find on the seminar event?"
Tara opened her file. "The seminar was organized by a front company called Red Crest Solutions. It's not officially tied to any government body, but it received security clearance. And—here's the catch—it was funded by a private anonymous trust. Most documents lead to shell accounts."
"Anything about the attendees?" Kiaan asked.
"Only 47 total. All top candidates from different nations. But names are missing. Erased from records. I had to cross-match using university applications and covert photos."
Kiaan nodded approvingly. "Good job. Rehaan?"
Rehaan tossed a file onto the table. "MI5's past reports match the deaths, but they've sealed this as 'unresolved psychological warfare.' They were afraid to admit it was an inside job. They're keeping media out."
Kiaan turned to Dev.
Dev looked uncomfortable. "Cops were clueless. Thought it was some twisted artist at first. But none of them had any clue about the seminar."
Kiaan inhaled sharply, his gaze falling back on the board.
"We have less than 13 days left. Whoever's doing this isn't random. He's selecting by memory. He's killing based on something that happened during that seminar."
He looked at Zid again.
"You were trained in England. Maybe not at this seminar, but your experience overlaps. I want your full report—on sniper routines, team formations, any recruits gone rogue during your time."
Zid gave a brief nod. "Understood."
Kiaan's voice was firm now.
"Everyone else—dig deeper. Find every shadow in that seminar. The killer has begun his dance. It's our job to cut his strings before he pulls another body into the air."