Some time later—well past evening—DJ woke up.
His whole body hurt. The familiar kind. The kind that told him it isn't good.
He didn't move. Just stared at the ceiling. It was dirty. Cracked in places. A faint oil stain shaped like nothing in particular.
The punch replayed in his head.
His chest throbbed in response, like it remembered before he did.
He inhaled slowly. Exhaled. Tried to shift his arm.
A sharp pain answered.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Still here."
Across the room, metal clinked. A tool dropped.
Rony froze, then turned.
Their eyes met.
"Oh—" Rony was already moving, crossing the room too fast, kneeling beside him. "Don't move. Please don't move. How do you feel? Pain? Dizzy? Can you breathe okay?"
DJ blinked at him. Took a second. Then said, quietly,
"It was Krish. Wasn't it?"
Rony stopped.
Just nodded...
"Yes."
DJ looked away, his face tighten. " How? "
Silence stretched.
Then DJ continued, "How did I survive?"
"The suit—" Rony started, pointing automatically.
"It's built for extreme kinetic—"
"Not that." DJ cut him off, eyes still on the ceiling.
"How did I get here? Why am I still alive?"
Rony hesitated.
"…Teleport."
DJ finally turned his head. Really looked at him.
"You're not joking?"
Rony shook his head. "No."
A beat.
"You have a teleportation device," DJ said flatly.
"Yes."
"Since when?"
"…A while, but it's a prototype and -"
"How much don't I know about that suit?"
Rony opened his mouth, then closed it. "A lot."
DJ let out a breath that was half a laugh, half disbelief. "Of course."
Rony rushed to explain. "It's not finished. At all. It drains insane energy. I only tested it on non-living matter and even that was unstable. When Krish hit you, the suit was already screaming. I just… tried my luck."
DJ closed his eyes. "You teleported me."
"Yes."
"With a prototype."
"Yes."
"That barely works."
"…Yes."
DJ went quiet. Too tired to argue. Too tired to be angry.
After a moment, he asked, "Is the suit okay?"
Rony didn't answer immediately.
DJ opened his eyes. "Rony."
"…It's fried," Rony said. "The teleport pulled everything at once. Overloaded the core. Circuits melted. Actuators are gone. It's scrap."
DJ pushed himself up anyway.
Pain flared. He grunted, teeth clenched, but swung his legs over the side.
"Don't," Rony said quickly. "Your ribs are bruised. Internal bleeding. You shouldn't be walking."
DJ stood anyway. A little unsteady. "How bad?"
"Bad enough that you should be in bed."
DJ stretched slowly, wincing. "I'll survive, I always have."
Rony watched him, worried. "You always say that."
DJ ignored it. "What's the situation?"
He paused, then added, quieter, "I saw Krish. Up close. Where did he even come from?"
"Sakshi," Rony said. "Dr. Rohit called him."
He tapped a screen. The TV flickered on.
News channels. All of them.
DJ's masked face. The burning truck. The frozen street. Headlines screaming words like
TERRORIST and EXPERIMENT and ANOTHER DR ARYA.
Rony grimaced. "The media's gone feral. Supriya ran it in prime time. Krish is flying patrol over the city. Actively looking for you."
DJ watched silently..
"They're saying I'm a weapon," DJ said.
"Yeah."
" Another of the failed God's experiments ."
"Also that."
DJ's eyes narrowed. "What about the truck?"
Rony hesitated. "Footnote."
DJ looked at him.
"They're calling it relief supplies. Aid cargo. For Maldives."
DJ laughed. Short. Bitter. "Of course they are."
"And the burning money?" DJ asked.
Rony shrugged. "Not a great PR move. But… it hurt him. You could tell."
DJ turned away from the screen. "I didn't want to hurt him."
Rony said nothing.
"I just wanted him to regret," DJ finished.
He pulled off the shirt he was wearing, movements slow and careful, then reached for a clean black one. Slipped it on, wincing as the fabric brushed his chest.
"Why isn't my identity out?" DJ said, putting his shirt on.
His voice was low, tired. "He knows who I am. Roy knows. So why hasn't it leaked?"
Rony didn't answer right away.
DJ turned. "Rony." And he saw his face, he wasn't in a good mood.
Before he could speak, a phone vibrated on the table.
Both of them looked at it.
"…About that," Rony said quietly.
DJ's eyes shifted "It's him?"
Rony nodded.
DJ picked up the phone.
The call connected instantly. No ringing. Like the other side had been waiting, finger already on the button.
Calm. That was the first thing DJ felt. Too calm.
Then the voice came.
"Huh. Finally picked up."
A familiar voice. Smooth. Almost amused.
"You know," Roy continued, "you're the first person that I've called this many times over the decades. You should feel honored, kid. Most people just dream of getting a single call from me."
DJ closed his eyes.
"So," Roy went on, casual, almost friendly, "how's your health? Awake, I see. Should I send a doctor? You were hit by Krish. That must've hurt. A lot."
DJ said nothing.
Silence stretched between them.
Roy didn't rush it. He waited..
After a while, his tone shifted. Less playful.
Sharper.
"So. Where are you hiding? Secret lair?"
A pause.
"Batcave? Underground tunnel?"
Another pause, then a soft chuckle.
" Don't tell me you live in a penthouse. Ohh wait, you do live in a penthouse, but that would be too obvious." And he fake ponders.
"Or maybe the disaster zone. You know. Where your girlfriend died."
DJ's grip tightened around the phone.
"You burned over a hundred billion just to spite me," Roy continued. "And yes—you succeeded. Impressive, really. Destroying three different regiments of people when said people held arms is impressive, the insurance company almost didn't believe it, a single person destroying the convoy, glad I had that Mahamanav insurance added, money well spent I guess." He pauses looking at the view outside his window.
" You did the impossible, and by doing it. You succeeded in making yourself the biggest enemy of everyone."
He listed it like a grocery bill.
"Politicians. Police. Businessmen. Lawyers. People in white. People in black."
A breath. Calm.
"You do realize that money wasn't even mine, right?"
DJ's hand clenched, tightening.
"You've made every layer of society your enemy. They're circling you like vultures. The moment you show your face, you'll be deader than your—"
He paused, corrected himself lightly.
"—your dead girlfriend, I suppose."
DJ's eyes snapped open.
"And the funny part?" Roy said. "The only thing stopping them right now… is your guide. Your helper. Whatever he is."
A beat.
"And me."
Rony stiffened.
"Only I know who you are, DJ. All I have to do is say one word."
Another beat.
"And you're finished."
Roy sighed, almost bored.
"But here's the interesting thing. I don't even need to do that. Because someone far more dangerous than politicians or police is hunting you."
DJ already knew.
"You know him," Roy said softly. "Krish. The man who blew a meteor out of the sky."
A pause.
"He's looking for you. He will find you. Sooner or later. And I'll hear about your death. Either by police… or by Krish."
A small laugh.
"Either way, you're dead."
Roy leaned in closer to the mic. DJ could hear the glass clink faintly.
"You come out of your hole—you're dead.
I tell anyone your name—you're dead.
You stay hiding in the dark—you're still dead."
Silence.
"The only option left for you… is death."
Then, almost cheerfully—
"So do me a favor. Come out."
DJ's breath slowed.
"I'm at my building. Alone. No bodyguards. No weapons. Just me and my good old wine."
A pause.
"I want to see your face when you lose everything."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"If you've got the guts," Roy said, voice calm as ever, "come out. I'll be waiting."
The line went dead.
DJ didn't move.
He stood there holding the phone long after the call ended.
Then—
He slammed it into the ground.
Plastic shattered. Screen exploded into fragments.
Rony flinched—but didn't say a word.
Normally, he would've complained. Yelled about hardware. Money. Parts.
This time, he stayed silent.
Because he'd heard everything.
And Roy was right.
Things weren't looking good