The missing bullet,A mystery

The next morning, Ri-me woke up and went to school. The world was the same, but it felt new to him. The cold anger was still there, but it was now a focused, sharp feeling.

He walked through the city as if he was waiting for something to happen.

Meanwhile, a few streets away, a detective named Z was in his office reading the morning paper and drinking a cup of coffee.

He was a few sips in when his radio came to life with an urgent message. He was told about the three bodies found in the abandoned yard, and how the victims were killed at the same spot, with their bats lying near their bodies.

Z froze, his eyes wide with a sudden shock. The coffee he was drinking came out of his mouth in a messy spray. He grabbed his radio, his calm morning suddenly a thing of the past.

Detective Z received the urgent call about the murders. He stayed calm, his face showing no emotion as he put down his empty coffee cup. He grabbed his jacket and left his office, his mind already working on the case.

He arrived at the abandoned building, where police cars with red and blue lights blocked the street. He went past the yellow crime scene tape and walked to the yard.

He saw the three bodies on the ground. He went to the first body and knelt down. He looked at the strange, round hole in the body. There was blood, but it was frozen, solid and dark in the cold air.

He stood up and went to the other two bodies, which had the same type of wound. He found no clues: no footprints, no signs of a fight, and nothing that could explain what had happened.

There were no bullets anywhere. The case was a puzzle with no clear pieces.

Detective Z finished his initial look at the bodies. He stepped back and walked toward the dark, open door of the abandoned building.

He went inside to investigate, looking at every room on the first floor one by one. The air was cold and full of dust. He walked slowly, his eyes on the floor.

In the thick dust, he found boot prints, not just three, but four sets of them. He followed the prints to a broken staircase and went up.

He went through every room upstairs, but there were no more prints or any other clues to be found. The second floor was completely empty.

Detective Z looked at the four sets of boot prints in the dust. This was the one clue he had found in the whole building.

He carefully took a picture of the prints and wrote down his notes, marking them as the only piece of evidence he had so far. He knew he had to figure out who the fourth person was.

Detective Z went back outside into the yard. He saw that the grass was tall, and he knew he would not find any prints there. He walked to the footpath and began to search there instead.

He was in luck. In the soft dirt of the path, he found the same prints he had seen inside the building.

He followed them for about a kilometer, moving away from the crime scene and toward the city. He kept his eyes on the ground, careful not to lose them. Then, all at once, they simply vanished.

The path was clear, but the prints were gone as if the person had lifted into the air and disappeared. He stood there, looking at the empty ground, with no more clues to follow.

Detective Z stood at the spot where the footprints vanished. He stared at the last clear print in the dirt, his mind working harder than ever to make sense of it. He began to go through all the possibilities, even the impossible ones, with a cold and focused logic.

He considered the most obvious theory first. The person got into a car. But Z walked a few feet and looked at the ground, noting the lack of any tire marks or even a scuff in the dirt. The prints were just gone.

A scooter or a bike? There would have been a kickstand mark, a different kind of print, or a sign of the person getting on it. There was nothing.

What about a very specific type of shoe, a special device? He dismissed the idea as movie fantasy, but kept it in the back of his mind.

Then he went to the second strange fact: the three dead bodies with no bullets. He had dealt with strange weapons before, but a force that left a wound and no evidence was something new.

He knew that the two impossible facts were not separate. They were connected. The same person who could make a bullet wound without a bullet was the same person who could make footprints disappear without a trace.

He had to face a truth that no one would believe. This wasn't just a murder case. It was something else, carried out by a person with a power that was not possible and not known to science or the law.

A new, cold purpose appeared on Z’s face. He looked around the yard one last time, not at the bodies, but at the empty ground. All the strange facts came together in his mind, and he finally had a name for it. "The missing bullet case," he said to himself, his voice low and sharp.

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