Chapter 2: officer Ram, In The Action.
Far from the bustling city, deep inside the silent embrace of the Vikar forest, red and blue lights flashed across tree trunks. Police barricades had been set up, and the haunting outline of a lifeless body could be seen from a distance. Officers gathered in murmurs, unsettled by the brutality of the scene before them.
The forest was unusually quiet. Birds didn't chirp. The wind didn't move. Something sinister lingered in the air.
A black SUV screeched to a halt just outside the yellow tape. The door opened, and a tall, rugged man stepped out – crumpled white shirt, sleeves rolled, aviators on despite the shade of the woods. A cigarette dangled lazily from his lips. Officer Ram.
He ignored the murmurs of the officers nearby, walked past the barriers without gloves or protective gear, and bent over the body. His presence was unnerving but magnetic.
"Male, early thirties... bruises... wine near the mouth," Ram said aloud. He crouched closer. "Imported. Expensive. Not the usual drunk-killer kind."
He stood up, glancing around. "There's no sign of a struggle. Means he knew his killer... trusted him."
Ram walked further into the clearing. His eyes scanned the ground like a hawk. Chips packets. Cigarette butts. Broken Kingfisher bottles. An empty box of imported whiskey. A sandal torn at the strap.
He turned to the nearest officer. "Get me the victim's call log. And bring in everyone who was close to him. Friends. Enemies. All of them."
The officer nodded and walked away quickly.
Ram lit a new cigarette and stared into the woods. Something about this place felt too familiar. Like déjà vu.