* CHAPTER 1 Mysterious disappearance*

*WARNING*

`Some of the place and institution names featured in this story may be real. However, all events and characters are entirely fictional and do not reflect any real incidents or individuals. This is a work of fiction.`

*EPISODE 1 - STUDENTS MISSING AT KAZIM KAYNAK - EXTENDED*

_Massive spotlights hung from the studio's high ceiling, casting a cold, white, surgical air over the blue and white walls. The kind of cold light that makes everyone look a little dead. The floral-patterned tiles on the floor softened that chill just a little, fake flowers, fake warmth._

_Right in the center of the wall stood a giant teleprompter screen, 3 meters wide. In an instant, a drone photo of a school appeared on it, top-down, empty courtyard. With the words beneath it, big, red, urgent: "STUDENTS MISSING AT KAZIM KAYNAK ANATOLIAN HIGH SCHOOL - 16 STUDENTS VANISHED"_

_At that moment, millions of eyes across Turkey locked onto the anchorwoMan standing rigid behind a futuristic white desk in the middle of the studio. Her short, blonde hair shimmered under the lights, hairspray shiny. Around 1.60m tall, this young woman, Ayşe Yılmaz, kept a professional yet grave expression, the face they teach in journalism school for disasters, as she stared directly into the camera lens, into living rooms._

_The "LIVE" text in the corner glowed like a red ember, blinking, as the words from her pale lips struck the entire nation like a hammer, like an earthquake announcement:_

_ANCHORWOMAN AYŞE (voice trembling just enough to be human, but controlled):_

"Good evening. We begin tonight's bulletin with both a mysterious and tragic breaking news story that has shaken Denizli and all of Turkey. There is still no news from the students of class 11-C, who vanished without a trace at Kazim Kaynak Anatolian High School this morning. 16 students. 16 children. Despite search and rescue operations ongoing since noon, with police, AFAD, and gendarmerie, no trace has been found. Not a shoe, not a scream."

_She pauses, looks down at paper, looks up again, eyes wet._

"The entire country is holding its breath, waiting for hopeful news from within those school walls. Parents are waiting outside the school right now, praying. Our correspondent Abdulkadir is on the scene right now, ready to bring us the latest developments from the dark heart of this story. Without further delay, let's go live to Abdulkadir at the school."

_The screen split in half with a digital swoosh, and the artificial, warm studio gave way to the heavy, bleak, cold atmosphere of the evening outside._

_It was around 6:30 PM. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon behind the mountains, leaving behind blood-red and purple clouds that looked like bruises. The camera, handheld, shaky, panned across the wide courtyard of Kazim Kaynak Anatolian High School, now completely swallowed by silence and police tape. That eerie air, that wrongness, crawled through the screen into the viewers' homes. You could feel it._

_On the right and left sides of the courtyard, cone-bearing pine trees swayed and groaned in the wind, creaking like old doors, alongside old mulberry trees casting long, long shadows on the ground that looked like fingers. In the center, the basketball hoops and soccer goals with rusted iron bars—once filled with the laughter of running students, with shouts of "pas at!"—now stood empty, like gravestones in a cemetery. A single basketball lay deflated in the corner, untouched._

_The flashing blue and red lights of 6-7 police cars rippled across the trees, across the walls, making everything look like a crime movie. Dozens of officers had formed a human wall in front of the school's entrance gate, arms linked. Yellow police tape with "CRIME SCENE - DO NOT ENTER - GİRİLMEZ" in bold black letters fluttered violently in the wind, sealing off the area completely. Parents trying to push through._

_But along the pale blue concrete of the school's outer courtyard wall, low, near the ground where cameras almost don't look, something else caught the light from the police cars. In thick, fresh, still-wet red spray paint, five groups of numbers were written in a row, large and deliberate, like a child practicing writing:_

_`0 378 10 55 136`_

_The paint dripped slightly at the bottom of each number, fresh drips, still shiny. To the officers it looked like random vandalism, some stupid kid's tag during chaos. But the numbers were spaced too perfectly to be an accident. Too clean. Too intentional. Like a code. No one commented on them. A police officer even stepped in front of them while talking on radio, blocking the view._

_Only a few journalists and reporters were being allowed through the second barricade. Outside, behind the first barricade, the public waited, hundreds of them. Mothers crying, fathers shouting, students from other classes hugging._

_From the crowd, a woman's voice suddenly rose, cracking, full of accusation, pointing at the principal who was hiding behind police:_

_WOMAN IN CROWD:_ "We trusted you with our children! We trusted you! Is this how you protect them? Where are our kids? Where is my daughter?!"

_From behind the barricade, Abdulkadir stepped forward, young reporter, 28, tie crooked from running all day, gripping his microphone so tightly his knuckles white, as he turned to the camera. The shadow of the massive 4-storey building fell over him, making him look small, as he began, wind hitting his mic:_

_ABDULKADIR (shouting over wind and crowd):_

"Good evening, Ayşe. I am standing in the courtyard of Kazim Kaynak Anatolian High School—the top story in all of Turkey, and even the world right now. A mystery that has not yet been solved. This incident has deeply saddened all of us, and filled us with a great fear that we can't explain. After minutes of tense waiting, our school principal, Mr. Mehmet, has finally agreed to speak and has joined us. We are now handing the microphone to him for a live statement. Mr. Mehmet is understandably devastated."

_The camera framed Principal Mehmet Bey. He wore a burgundy t-shirt and black, ironed trousers that now had dust on them. He appeared to be 40-50 years old, with stubble, about 1.73m tall. The hair at his temples had started to turn white in the last 4 hours, it seemed. And the exhaustion in his eyes showed the magnitude of the shock he had endured, like he aged 10 years. With a trembling hand, he adjusted the microphone, his hand shaking visibly on live TV, and began:_

_PRINCIPAL MEHMET (voice hoarse, weary, looking at ground, not camera):_

"Thank you, Abdulkadir... thank you... To be honest... we are just as lost as the public, as the parents... We are still trying to understand what happened, what we are facing. This morning, the students entered their classes as usual, at 8:30, with nothing out of the ordinary. Attendance taken, all present. When the bell rang for break, everything was completely normal. Laughing..."

_Abdulkadir cut in with the critical question everyone at home was screaming:_

_ABDULKADIR:_ "Mr. Mehmet, were the missing students actually inside the school building at that time? Had they left the classroom during break? Did anyone see them leave the gate?"

_Principal Mehmet took a deep breath, a deep, shaky breath that mics picked up, and nodded, eyes closing:_

_MEHMET:_ "No, the entire class was present. The class teacher, Mr. Adem, stepped out for a few minutes to get a 'combinatorics' Book from the teachers' room on the '2'st floor. Just 3-4 minutes. He locked the door? No, he left it open. But when he returned, he found classroom 11-C completely empty. Empty."

_Mehmet's eyes welled up, tears now, he doesn't wipe them, letting cameras see._

_MEHMET (voice breaking):_

"The desks hadn't been touched. The students' bags were still by their desks. Pencils still rolling. But there wasn't a single student inside. It was as if they had vanished into thin air... as if God took them... I have been principal for 12 years, I never..."

_Following this shocking statement, Abdulkadir signaled to the cameraman with his hand. Together with Principal Mehmet, the reporter and cameraman entered through the school's heavy iron door, which creaked, and headed to that classroom—11-C. The school inside was dark, lights off to preserve evidence._

_Class 11-C was on the 3rd floor. The corridor was of medium width and length, with white walls that now looked grey in evening light. The floor was freshly mopped but footprints everywhere. The reporter, the principal, and the cameraman quickly climbed the stairs, breathing hard, camera shaking, reaching the 3rd floor. Room 11-C was at the very end of the corridor, on the right. Door half-open._

_When the camera lens filtered through the classroom door, slowly, like a horror movie, millions watching at home held their breath. You could hear the cameraman's breathing._

_There were exactly 16 wooden desks in the room, in 3 rows. Notebooks lay open on them, some with math formulas half-written, and pencils were left as if someone had just been writing and was about to continue. Some of the students' bags were placed behind their chairs, others hung on the hooks on the upper right side of the desks, heavy with books. At the back of the class, jackets hung on the coat rack, one pink jacket with a fluffy hood._

_Principal Mehmet spoke, whispering now, as if not to disturb something:_

_MEHMET:_ "As you can see... there is no sign of a struggle. No fight. The bags, notebooks, and desks are all in place. No broken glass. Windows closed from inside. It's... it's impossible..."

_Reporter Abdulkadir continued, turning to him, voice low:_

_ABDULKADIR:_ "Mr. Mehmet, it is being said that the cameras did not record anything during the incident. Is that true? The security cameras?"

_At this question, fear crossed Mr. Mehmet's face, real, primal fear. His expression turned anxious, he looked at the camera like it was a gun._

_MEHMET (stammering):_ "Yes... unfortunately... This makes everything even more horrifying. At the time of the incident, between 10:12 and 10:15, an electronic wave, a... a glitch, disabled all of the school's security cameras. All 12 cameras went black at same time. Technicians said it's impossible..."

_Abdulkadir pressed on, the question everyone wants but is afraid to ask:_

_ABDULKADIR:_ "Mr. Mehmet, could this be a terrorist attack? An abduction?"

_With a serious expression, Principal Mehmet replied, shaking his head vigorously, almost angry:_

_MEHMET:_ "I swear, we don't know any more than you do. The investigation is ongoing. Police, intelligence... We are confident we will have answers as soon as possible. Please pray for our kids. Please."

_At that moment, the cameraman, while panning across the room, pointed at the blackboard with his finger, zooming in fast. Abdulkadir looked over, following finger._

_Written in white chalk on the blackboard, in big, angry, messy letters, as if written with left hand or in a hurry, were the words:_

_"I WARNED YOU"_

_The chalk was pressed so hard that some letters were broken, dust on the floor below board._

_The camera pulled back toward the window for a brief second, as if cameraman felt watched. Far below, in the yard, the red numbers on the courtyard wall glowed intensely under the sweeping police lights, now more visible in dark: `0 378 10 55 136`. The red paint almost looked like blood in that blue-red flashing. The shot held for two seconds, deliberate. Then it cut back to board, as if reminding viewer. Then it cut._

_Abdulkadir turned to Principal Mehmet, his face pale now too:_

_ABDULKADIR:_ "Mr. Mehmet, doesn't this writing on the board feel like someone is trying to take revenge? Someone who warned you before?"

_Principal Mehmet looked at the board, at "I WARNED YOU", and his face collapsed. He whispered, so low mic almost didn't catch, but millions at home caught:_

_MEHMET:_ "Who would want revenge on 15-16 year old kids? What could these children have possibly done? They are just kids... what did they do to deserve this? Who did we fail..."

_His voice trailed off. He sat down on a student's desk, head in hands, live on national TV. Principal crying in empty classroom._

_Abdulkadir looked at camera, closing:_

"Ayşe, as you see, more questions than answers here at Kazim Kaynak. Search continues, parents are devastated, and that writing on board... we will follow. Back to you in studio."

_Screen goes back to anchorwoman, but for a split second, before split, you can hear a faint whisper from the empty classroom, behind Abdulkadir, like a kid giggling._

_END OF EPISODE 1..._