The mess hall at GEC smelled of burnt toast and industrial-grade floor cleaner. Subin trudged through the line, his eyes half-glued shut, stomach growling.
"Oi, Chotu! Is it the special chicken today?" Subin yawned, reaching for the heavy stainless steel lid of the massive serving cauldron.
"Ji, Saar. Very special," the server muttered, wiping a greasy hand on his apron.
Subin gripped the handle and hauled the lid back. The steam hit his face first—savory, spicy, and thick. But as the vapor cleared, Subin's scream died in his throat. Floating amidst the star anise and floating bay leaves was Rahul's head. His skin had been charred to a blackened crust, peeling away in ribbons to reveal pink, cooked muscle beneath. His eyes, boiled white like marbles, stared up at Subin from the bubbling orange gravy.
Subin didn't just scream; he fell backward into a stack of plastic trays with a crash that silenced the entire hall.
The Circus Arrives
By 9:00 AM, the mess hall was cordoned off. Inspector Dhillon, a man whose uniform buttons were held together by sheer willpower and prayers, stood by the crime scene cracking peanuts.
Crack. Crunch.
"Fucking hell," Dhillon muttered, tossing a shell toward the evidence markers. "This college again. I swear, GEC stands for 'Graveyard for Engineering Children.' If this were a Netflix show, the audience would have stopped watching by Season 2 because the plot is too repetitive."
Chairman Atul Yadav hovered behind him, dabbing sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "Inspector, please. A 'freak kitchen accident'? Can we call it that? Think of the admissions! The rankings!"
"A kitchen accident?" Dhillon pointed a peanut at the cauldron. "What, did he slip, decapitate himself, char-broil his own head, and garnish himself with coriander? Use your brain, Chairman."
Nearby, Rahul's parents were a wreck of human grief. His mother's wailing echoed off the corrugated metal roof, while his father gripped a police officer's collar, screaming about lawsuits and blood money.
The Elite Mourning
Outside on the stone benches, the 'Elite' group sat in a tense circle.
* Dwivedi: "Rahul was practically our leader. Without him, we're just... a group of people who hate the same things."
* Pihoo: (Clinging to Rehan's arm) "I'm literally shaking. Like, what if the killer wants pretty people next?"
* Rehan: (Patting her hand blankly) "Then you're safe, Pihoo. Don't worry."
* Ali: "Come on, guys. Let's be real. Rahul bullied half the campus. One of those weirdos probably snapped and turned him into a side dish."
* Syed: "A side dish? That's cold, man."
* Shila: "I can't even look at chicken curry anymore. I'm going vegan. This is a sign."
* Ria: "Anyway, so what about the party tonight? My parents are out, and I already bought the vodka."
* Rehan: (Looking horrified) "Are you serious, Ria? Our friend's head was literally in the lunch menu today and all you think about is partying?"
* Ria: (Biting her lip) "I just... I need a distraction."
* Rehan: (Suddenly grinning broadly) "Well, you thought right! Lol. Let's get wasted. Rahul would have wanted us to do shots in his honor."
* Dwivedi: "Actually, yeah. Dying is no excuse for wasting good vodka."
* Ali: "I'll bring the mixers. To Rahul—the tastiest guy in college."
The Detective and the Soap
In the quiet of the library, Raj was holding a glass of water for a trembling Subin.
"The steam, Raj... the steam smelled like... like dinner," Subin whimpered.
"Focus, Subin," Raj said, his eyes sharp behind his thick lenses. "The killer is organized. The arrow trap for Verma was mechanical. This? This was theatrical. It's a message. Go back out there. The police are talking near the fountain. Use your 'overweight and invisible' routine. Just listen."
Ten minutes later, Subin wheezed back into the library. "Dhillon said... the CCTV was looped. And they found a small piece of a blue latex glove near the gas stove."
"Blue latex," Raj muttered, scribbling in a notebook. "Not the kitchen staff—they use clear vinyl. The chemistry lab uses blue. And the heat? To char a head that quickly requires a high-intensity blowtorch or a furnace. The mechanical lab has the industrial torches. The killer isn't a ghost, Subin. They're a student with keys."
Just then, Ria strolled over, her heels clicking on the linoleum. "Hey, Nerd. I know you don't drink, but if you want to be my personal pet for the night, you can come to the party. I might even let you hold my bag."
"No thanks," Raj said without looking up. "I have a lot of reading to do. Decapitation is a very engaging subject."
"Suit yourself, four-eyes," Ria laughed, walking away.
As they left, Subin hissed, "Those people are evil, Raj. Their friend is a soup ingredient and they're already planning to get hammered."
Theory and Practice
At the local police station, Dhillon's subordinates were debating over tea.
"It's a cult," Officer 1 insisted. "Satanic rituals. They used the head for a spell."
"Nonsense," Officer 2 countered. "It's a jilted lover. Rahul was a player. One of those girls has a very sharp knife and a very cold heart."
"I think it's the Chairman," Officer 3 added. "Insurance money. Students are worth more dead than graduated these days."
The Final Drink
The party was in full swing at Ria's. Music blared, masking the sound of the rain outside.
"Guys," Dwivedi said, checking his phone with a giddy grin. "There's this really hot guy in a chrome mask in the DM's. He says he's outside and wants to 'take me away.' I'm off for a hookup. Hehe."
"Brother, why are you gay lol," Ali shouted over the music.
"Oh, cut it, Ali," Pihoo chirped. "At least he isn't a nerd like Raj or... what's his friend's name? Sabun? Like the soap?"
"Subin," Ria corrected, taking a swig of vodka. "Though honestly, Raj is almost interesting. Interesting enough to keep as a pet. Hahaha!"
Rehan joined in the laughter, his eyes fixed on the sliding glass door leading to the balcony.
The Apartment Complex Pool
Dwivedi led the masked man toward the rooftop pool area. The stranger was tall, wearing a sleek, reflective mask that mirrored Dwivedi's own excited face. He didn't speak, only moved his hands in graceful sign language.
"A drink first," the stranger signaled.
"Ooh, mysterious," Dwivedi giggled, tossing back a shot the stranger handed him. "Now, off with the mask, big boy."
The stranger gestured toward the pool. Dwivedi, feeling the alcohol hit him with unnatural speed, stumbled into the water. "Come on in! The water's fine!"
The masked man stood at the edge. He didn't jump in. Instead, he reached over to the heavy-duty industrial generator humming in the corner. He gripped the thick, rubber-insulated power cables.
"Surprise," a distorted, metallic voice whispered from behind the mask.
The stranger ripped the live wires from the terminal.
Dwivedi had one second to realize his mistake before the copper touched the water. The pool turned into a glowing blue deathtrap. Dwivedi's body jerked violently, his muscles snapping under the sheer voltage. His hair stood on end, and smoke began to rise from his skin as the water boiled around him. He couldn't even scream; the electricity had frozen his lungs.
The masked man watched until the splashing stopped and the smell of ozone and burning flesh filled the night air. Then, he turned and walked back into the shadows.