In the secret lair, DJ stood still.
Pure black bodysuit. No logos. No shine. It hugged him tight from shoulders to feet, like it was afraid to let go. He rolled his neck once, slow. Took a deep breath.
" I'm ready."
Rony came up behind him, pushing a metal table stacked with boxes. Wheels squeaked once, then stopped. He moved around DJ, crouched in front of him, eyes sharp.
"Ready then."
DJ nodded. "Ready then."
Music suddenly filled the room. Low. Heavy bass.
DJ glanced sideways. "Really?"
"For background," Rony said, already reaching for the first panel.
DJ sighed. "Fine."
Rony started with the legs. Plates slid into place, locking around his calves and thighs. The bolting machine buzzed, sharp and fast. Click. Click. Click. DJ clenched his fists but didn't say anything.
The rest came next. From feet to neck, a full frame wrapping around him. This one was different. Leaner. Meaner. Still bulky, but tighter, like it was built to move, and tank hits.
Rony fitted the weapons in silence. Compartments sealed. Arsenal locked.
Then he picked up the injector gun.
"Hold still."
DJ didn't move.
Rony pressed it to the suit and pulled the trigger. Blue ripples spread instantly—hands, chest, legs. He injected another vial. Then another. Then a fourth. The glow settled, pulsing softly, like a heartbeat.
"Four?" DJ asked.
"Trust me."
Rony stepped back, wiped his hands on his jeans, then walked to a large metal box in the corner. He opened it.
Inside was the helmet. New. Sharper lines. Mean eyes.
DJ reached for it.
Before he could put it on, Rony tossed something at him.
DJ caught it without thinking. A small silver box.
"What's this?" he asked, turning it over.
"Open it."
DJ popped it open. Red powder inside.
He looked up. "Explosives?"
Rony snorted. "Tilak. Ever heard of it?"
DJ blinked. "Why?"
Rony smiled. Just a little.
"Good luck," he said. "Mom used to-" And he paused, his expression sifting.
" Mom used to put it on my forehead before exams. Cricket matches too."
He stopped talking for a second.
DJ looked at him. "How many did you win?"
Rony shrugged. "Every single one."
DJ smiled. "Didn't know you played cricket."
"Used to."
DJ tried opening the box wider. It stuck. He frowned, tried again.
Rony stepped closer and opened it for him without a word.
DJ dipped his finger in the powder and drew a straight line on his forehead. Clean. Centered.
"Thanks for luck," he said, lifting the helmet.
Rony chuckled. His eyes were a little wet. He didn't wipe them.
"You'll need it," he said. "A lot."
DJ nodded. Put the helmet on.
The suit sealed with a soft hiss. His LED lights are coming to life.
He turned and walked toward the exit.
" Dj." And he stopped.
" Come back soon." And Rony in his mind kept saying "Don't say anything, don't say anything."
And DJ liked hearing him, nodded, and raised his hand in an ok gesture, and he turned, not looking back.
Rony stayed where he was, his eyes wide, tears falling, watching DJ's back shrink, then vanish into the shadows at the end of the lair, Rony whipped his tears, his mood shifting to firmness.
" Let's not dwell in the past."
In the city, every screen was shouting his name.
Not his name—his mask.
News vans parked everywhere. Red tickers screaming SEARCH OPERATION INTENSIFIED. Helicopters cutting circles in the sky. Mumbai felt smaller tonight. Cornered.
Police were everywhere. Patrols on every main road. Barricades where there were none yesterday. Checkpoints every few hundred meters. They were hunting him like hawks.
Why wouldn't they?
The money he burned wasn't just money. It was their money. Bosses' money. Friends-of-bosses money. The kind of money people smile for on camera and kill for off it.
At one checkpoint, the road was sealed completely. Metal barricades. Portable spikes dug into the asphalt. Removable nail strips laid out like teeth. No gaps. No shortcuts.
Two familiar cops stood off to the side, near a tea stall someone had dragged close for convenience.
Both were injured. One had his arm wrapped in a bandage. The other had a strip of tape near his eyebrow.
The first officer, the chubby one, took a sip and grimaced. "Even the tea tastes wrong today. What is this?" he said, looking at the tea vendor. The second shook his head.
"Have you ever seen security like this?"
"Not even during the World cup." Second one nodded, and took a sip.
"And why are we still on duty?" the first added, tapping his bandage. "We should be resting."
The second let out a dry laugh. "Orders from above. They said if you can stand, you report. No excuses."
The first sighed. "Figures."
He lowered his voice. "This isn't just about safety. You know that, right?"
The second immediately nudged him. "Careful."
"Yeah, yeah," the first said. "I know."
He looked back at the road. "Two cargo trucks don't just disappear." The second one nodded like usual.
" What was even in those trucks? People up there were screaming so much. Was it really the black-" and the second one stopped him.
" Don't say that casually." And he looked around, and then at the tea vendor who looked away like he didn't hear anything. And the first one shrugged, and the second one continued in a low voice.
" Have you seen the footage of the first truck? It was literally cut in half. The second one didn't even have a scrap left. The whole street where the incident happened is sealed off by the M.A.H.I." The first one raised an eyebrow.
" The MAHI right? That international office stuff? What was his name again? international Mahadaana, mahamana…what again?"
" Mahamanav. It's Mahamanav. Full form is Mahamanava administration for high-value individuals. And the name isn't official yet. And they mean business, they are doing some serious business, and our duty is to let them do it. They manage stuff that we only dream of." And the first man shrugged.
" Not my dreams." He said his focus was more on the local parts, not international.
" Whatever was on those trucks, someone important lost something today."
The second nodded. "And they're not used to losing."
"We underestimated that guy," the first said quietly. "One man, pulling this off."
"How does he even do it?" the second asked. "He moves like he's not human."
The first one seems to realize something. "Maybe that's why MAHI is here. They are looking for a second Carl."
The second frowned and shut him off. "Don't say that. People are still sensitive about it. Carl wiped out half of the entire Mumbai, don't say stuff like that, it will only spread rumours. The guy was on a bike, do you think if he was half Carl, he would ride on motorcycle? IMI is investigating it, and we have Krish, he will stop him." first man hesitated, about to say something, but stopped himself, and get close to him and said in a very low voice.
"There are rumours," he went on. "That he actually fought off Krish."
The second scoffed. "Impossible. No one hurts him."
The first nodded, taking another sip. "Yeah. Even if someone tried, they wouldn't last—"
A sudden rush of air cut him off.
Not loud. Not explosive.
Just fast...
A black-and-red blur shot past the checkpoint, slipping between the barricades like it was never there.
Gone.
The first officer froze, tea spilling onto his hand.
"…wouldn't last—"
The second stared down the road, heart pounding. "Did you see that?"
The street was empty..
No sound. No shadow.
Just the barricades… and the feeling that something had already passed them by.
The first cop kept staring at the road.
Dust still hung in the air. A faint red streak fading fast. A couple of parked cars screamed as their alarms went off for no reason at all.
"What the—" he muttered.
The second one didn't wait.
He was already moving, tea forgotten, hand on the mic.
"Control, control—possible visual. Repeat, possible visual. Black and red blur. Moving fast. Southbound."
His voice cracked. He didn't care.
He sprinted to the jeep, slammed the door open, twisted the key. The engine coughed, roared alive.
"Arre, come in!" he yelled, banging the dashboard.
The first cop snapped out of it like someone slapped him. He jumped forward, hot tea spilling over his fingers.
" shit—!" he hissed, shaking his hand, then climbing in anyway. "You sure?"
"I saw it, you saw it." the second said, already flooring it. "I swear on my posting."
The message hit the system like a spark in petrol.
Radios crackled everywhere.
"Say again?".
"Which direction?"
"Block the junction."
"Seal the flyover."
"He's back?"
Sirens came alive. One. Two. Ten. Whole streets woke up angry.
From nearby blocks, cops ran half-ready, helmets crooked, rifles grabbed mid-run. Barricades dragged into place. Bikes kicked to life. Vans swerved into U-turns without caring who they blocked.
Somewhere, the commissioner spat out his drink.
"Don't lose him," he barked. "Not today."
People who wanted him dead heard it too, and the news they can't be left behind.
Phones lit up. Messages flew. Windows opened in dark rooms. Men who hadn't slept all night smiled for the first time.
"He's moving."
"Get eyes."
"Anywhere. Just slow him down."
Roy, who was sipping his wine, raised an eyebrow, he didn't believe he would actually come out, but he did. .
" Surprise me impress." he said.
" Let's see what you are planning." and takes a sip again.
Above the city, a helicopter blade thudded into the air. Then another. Searchlights cut through the evening haze, sweeping roads, rooftops, unfinished buildings.
And then the sky snapped.
Thunder cracked so loud the streetlights flickered. Wind slammed into hoardings. Rain came down hard, sudden, like the city offended the clouds.
Within seconds, roads turned slick. Water rushed along gutters. Wipers struggled. Tires screamed at every turn.
Lightning hit somewhere close—white, violent—lighting up the flyover for a heartbeat.
In that flash, the first cop swore he saw it again.
Just a blur.
Too fast..
Too low.
Gone.
"Madness," he breathed.
The second cop grinned, eyes locked on the road.
"Doesn't matter," he said. "The whole city's awake now."
Behind them, sirens howled louder.
Mumbai had started running.