The rain in city didn't just fall; it screamed. In the Murthy bungalow, the air was stagnant. Druvi K. Murthy, a woman who lived for the truth, was facing the ultimate lie. A struggle, a gasp, and then—nothing.
Three years later. The city was paralyzed. A phantom was walking the streets, leaving a trail of female victims, all found in serene, almost ritualistic poses. The media dubbed him "The Mortician."
At Police HQ, the City Commissioner stared at a map littered with red pins. "He's mocking us. Every murder is cleaner than the last. No DNA, no prints, just a city in a state of terror." Out of pure desperation, he authorized the formation of the SIT.