The Curry Conspiracy

The engine of Crimson's beat-up car roared as we pulled up to the suspicious building. It was an old, rundown apartment complex with faded signs in Hindi and a distinct smell of spices in the air. The entire place looked like it was one health code violation away from being condemned.

Kaz, who had been sitting quietly in the back, muttered, "This is already a setup. I can feel it."

Leon smirked. "You're just saying that 'cause this place smells like your uncle's kitchen."

"I don't even have an uncle," Kaz shot back.

"Exactly. He's still stuck in airport security."

Before Kaz could respond, the front door of the building creaked open. A scrawny man with a thick mustache peeked out, his eyes darting around suspiciously before waving us in.

"Ah, detectives! You come, you come! Quick-quick! Time is of the essence!"

Kai squinted. "Why does he sound like he's about to sell us an unlimited data plan?"

We stepped inside, and immediately, we were hit with the overwhelming aroma of turmeric, cardamom, and what I could only describe as questionable life choices. The wallpaper was peeling, the walls were stained with years of failed kitchen experiments, and in the corner of the room, a lone ceiling fan struggled to spin—probably because it was covered in what looked like curry grease.

The scrawny man wrung his hands nervously. "Many bad things happening here. Very bad. I tell you, I hear strange noises at night."

Crimson leaned in. "Strange like… ghost noises? Or like your neighbors arguing about cricket?"

"Worse," the man whispered. "Footsteps. Heavy ones. And sometimes… sometimes, I hear… sizzling."

We all stared.

Leon raised an eyebrow. "Sizzling?"

The man nodded quickly. "Like… frying."

Kai groaned. "Great. We're either dealing with ghosts or some guy deep-frying his enemies."

Suddenly, a loud BANG echoed from upstairs, followed by rapid footsteps. Without hesitation, we bolted toward the stairs, guns drawn.

"I swear, if I get jumped by some possessed samosas, I'm quitting," MJ muttered.

We reached the top floor, where a single flickering lightbulb cast eerie shadows. The air was thick with the smell of burning oil. As we stepped forward, a door suddenly BURST open—

Out came a man, sprinting toward us at full speed, screaming in Hindi. In his hand—was a ladle, covered in what looked like boiling oil.

"HOLY—"

Before we could react, he flung the oil straight at us. We barely dodged, the liquid sizzling against the floor.

Leon growled. "Are we seriously getting attacked with cooking oil right now?"

Kaz, completely unfazed, simply sighed. "You know, this is why I don't bring you guys around my people."

Crimson charged forward, tackling the man into a table. Dishes and spices went flying, filling the air with a cloud of red chili powder. The guy shrieked as Crimson slammed him against the wall.

Kai coughed, wiping spice from his eyes. "Jesus, this is the most violent cooking show I've ever been in."

But then—more doors swung open. More men poured out, all armed with kitchen utensils. One had a rolling pin. Another had a wok.

Leon cracked his knuckles. "Alright, boys. Let's deep-fry these bastards."

The fight was absolute chaos. Kai dodged a flying plate, only to get slapped across the face with a piece of naan.

"DID THIS GUY JUST HIT ME WITH BREAD?!"

MJ grabbed a sack of rice and used it as a makeshift weapon, swinging it into one attacker's stomach, sending him crashing into a shelf of spices. A wave of turmeric exploded into the air, coating everything in a fine yellow dust.

Crimson ducked under a thrown rolling pin and countered by flipping a guy into a boiling pot of lentils. The man screamed as he flailed, splashing yellow liquid everywhere.

"Hey, Kaz!" Leon yelled mid-fight. "How do you say 'you got your ass beat' in Hindi?"

Kaz sighed, grabbing a plate and smashing it over an attacker's head. "Probably the same way you say it in English, dumbass."

Within minutes, the fight was over. The entire floor was destroyed. Broken plates, spilled curry, and unconscious men littered the scene. The spice cloud was finally settling, leaving everything looking like a crime scene at a badly-run restaurant.

Breathing heavily, Leon looked down at one of the unconscious men. "So… you think this was the 'mystery' we were called for?"

Before anyone could answer—

RING RING

Our phones buzzed.

Kai pulled his out and checked the caller ID. Unknown number.

He answered. "Yeah?"

A deep, static-filled voice came through.

"Not bad, detectives. But this was just a taste. The real case starts now."

Click. The line went dead.

We all exchanged looks.

Crimson wiped some turmeric off his jacket and sighed. "Man… I really hate this job."

To be continued…