under the wraps

No Spotlight, Just Duty

Monday Morning — 6:00 a.m.

Yaad Shehar

The street should not have been this quiet.

A young woman walked alone, her footsteps soft against the uneven road. Faded jeans. A simple printed top. An old rucksack pulling slightly at one shoulder. Nothing about her demanded attention—exactly the way she preferred it.

Her eyes were on her phone.

She didn't notice when the air changed.

It began as a pressure—low and instinctive—curling at the base of her spine. She slowed. Her thumb froze mid-scroll. When she lifted her head, her reflection stared back at her from a dark shop window.

And behind it—

Movement.

Her breath caught.

She didn't turn around. Not fully. She didn't need to. The sound of footsteps—measured, deliberate—mirrored her own.

She walked faster.

So did he.

The street stretched ahead of her, empty and unforgiving. Sweat broke out along her temples. Her chest tightened until breathing became work. Each step felt heavier than the last, her body betraying her as panic took control.

Her phone slipped in her grip as she tried calling someone. No answer. Again. Nothing.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears—too loud, too fast—like something trying to escape her ribcage.

Run.

The thought came too late, but she obeyed.

She ran.

Footsteps pounded behind her—closer now.

The road was broken, unfinished. Her foot struck an uneven patch and she went down hard, pain ripping through her knees and arms. Her phone hit the ground and spun away.

She screamed—once—before forcing herself up.

Pain didn't matter.

She ran again, tears blinding her, sobs clawing at her throat as fear consumed everything else.

The abandoned building appeared suddenly, rising from the silence like a warning she ignored. Crumbling walls. Shattered debris. A broken table near the entrance.

She dove beneath it, curling inward, pressing both hands over her mouth to trap the sound inside her.

Her heart was out of control now—wild, violent. Her legs trembled so badly she thought they might give out entirely.

Footsteps slowed.

Stopped.

A shadow passed.

A man dressed in black moved quietly past the table.

She didn't breathe.

Time stretched. Silence returned, thick and suffocating.

When she finally crawled out, her lungs burned as she gasped for air. She looked around wildly.

Nothing.

Relief hit her like a collapse.

She was alive.

She took one step—

A hand closed around her shoulder.

Her scream tore through the morning.

Same place ( 12 noon )

The same abandoned building was suddenly overrun by police officers, who were seen scurrying about in all directions and taping the ground floor of the structure with the phrase "don't enter under investigation" to warn people not to enter.

The girl's body lay on the ground, faced away. Her hair concealed most of her face. Blood pooled beneath her head—dark, final. A tag marked her as evidence now, not a person.

Officers murmured among themselves, taking notes, clicking photographs. A forensic expert in a white coat—his large glasses sliding repeatedly down his nose—collected samples using tweezers and small polythene bags.

A car pulled up in front of that location, and a female got out to the street wearing a knee-length black dress and a brown leather jacket while displaying her high heels

Most of the reporters were busy presenting live news with their specific cameramen accompanying them, and their vans were covering the majority of the area of the murder site. The amount of media and police noise in that location was loud enough to deafen anyone.

Leaving everyone behind, she moves towards the restricted area. A police sergeant intervened when she was ready to walk into the restricted area.

Girl: "what is the issue?"

She asked with a quiet voice and an unperturbed expression.

sergeant: (In a Haryanvi accent) Madam Ji: "Can't you tell that this is a murder scene rather than a scene of a shooting?"

After examining her from head to toe, offer her an odd gaze that is not arrogant in any way. After listening to him, the girl used her phone to call an unknown number, and after a few beeps, someone must have picked up because she yelled at him and shouted these words in a deep voice.

Girl:

"You will be accountable for the penalties if you don't arrive here in five seconds."

she speak in the same tone as when responding to Sergent a moment earlier and after hanging up, began checking her watch as though she were going to wait just five seconds before showing the repercussions to the person on the phone.

Sergeant: madam Media is not permitted inside, regardless of who you phone, Ji.The girl gives him a blank stare and doesn't reply to him at all.

An inspector quickly runs in their direction in a matter of seconds. sergeant saluted him after observing him however the inspector salutes a female while dispensing with his very existence.

The sergeant is astounded by this sight as if he had just witnessed a dead person walking.

Inspector: He is new here and was unaware that you are a ssp, so I apologise, ma'am.

The sergeant is even more frightened after hearing these statements since it seems as though the dead body that had been walking earlier has now come after him with a knife.

Sergeant: s....s.....s.....s.. Unfortunately, he was unable to say anything else since shock had taken hold of him and may have also affected his senses, as he appeared to have lost them. That poor creature was left in shock as a girl, I mean SSP, gave him a death stare and entered the restricted area while the inspector followed behind her.