Far away in Rony's apartment.
Rony was hunched over an arm length metal glove, the tiny torch in his hand glowing white-hot. His glasses projected thin blue lines across the joints, little numbers flickering whenever he adjusted a screw. He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. His fingers moved like he was stitching someone's heart back together.
Then—BANG.
The door slammed open so hard it hit the wall.
Rony jerked, the torch skidding across the metal. "HEY—" He barely caught the glove before it slid off the table. "Dude, knock?!"
DJ stood there clueless with two plastic bags of takeaway swinging from his hands. He didn't answer—just stared at the glove, remembering their talk about hero suits.
Rony froze. Then sighed. "If I tell you this is absolutely not part of a superhero suit, will you believe me?"
DJ dropped into the chair beside him without a word, pushing the food aside. He stared at the arm length glove, then at Rony remembering the words he had with Sakshi, he let out a long, tired breath.
"Why do you keep doing this?" he muttered.
"Why do you wanna be a hero so bad? Why me? Why not— I dunno—someone who actually… fits…why not you?"
Rony didn't answer immediately. He leaned back, the torch still in his hand, watching the flame shrink to nothing.
"I was there," he said quietly.
DJ looked up.
"Three years ago," Rony continued, rubbing his thumb across the metal glove. "Carl incident. Old Mumbai." His voice went thinner. "I saw buildings fall like cardboard. I heard people screaming. Kids crying. Folks trying to dig with their bare hands because someone they loved was under all that concrete."
He took a shaky breath.
"I couldn't do anything. I can hear them scream... " And he paused, thinking about his words.
" I felt useless. Powerless. I Couldn't Help Anyone. Just… listened." He looked down. "I promised myself I wouldn't be that useless again."
He turned the glove over, touching it like it might vanish.
"But promises don't build suits. Money does. Gear does. People does. And I had none of it. So yeah, I gave up."
He exhaled, shoulders sinking.
"Then I met you."
DJ snorted softly. "I'm a thief, dude. A petty one in that. I steal money, not destinies. You're hyping me like I'm some lost Avenger."
"You're confident," Rony said simply. "You walk into rooms like nothing can knock you down. People follow that. I don't have it. Not like you."
DJ rubbed his face. "Buddy… we already got Krish. The world doesn't need another guy in tights."
Rony stared at the table. Something flickered in his eyes—quick, sharp, painful.
"What if we don't have him?" he said quietly.
DJ blinked. "…Isn't that what everyone wants?" His voice came out confused, almost defensive.
Silence dropped between them, thick and weird.
DJ stood first. "I'm going to the mine. Need that pull-water before the heist." He slung the backpack over his shoulder. "We retire after this. Rich as hell. You can… build whatever weird superhero crap you want. Or don't. Up to you."
He walked out.
The door shut. Rony didn't move for a long moment.
Then he looked at the screen again—schematics of the glove spinning slowly, blue highlights marking the blaster nodes. His eyes were shiny, but not a single tear fell. He slipped the glove onto his hand with a small click, flexing his fingers.
The TV behind him buzzed to life, a reporter shouting over helicopter noise:
"—Krish was sighted near the Bay of Bengal—"
A flash. A blast.
The entire TV exploded into sparks,
collapsing backward into the wall.
Rony stood there breathing hard, the glove's blaster smoking at the tip, located above his wrist. A moment passed. He slowly lowered his arm, staring at his shaking hands like he didn't recognize it.
Far away, DJ reached his home, and pushed the door open.
Unlocked.
He didn't even pause.
"Probably Nat," he thought , kicking it shut behind him.
The apartment smelled like usual, and the lights were on. TV humming softly. " That's rare." Nat never turns on the TV.
He walked in, dropped his keys on the counter and froze-.
Sakshi stood near the table
Arms folded.
Quiet.
He blinked.
Then a slow grin spread across his face.
"What— hey. Hey." He walked toward her.
"You're here?"
No hug.
No smile.
Just those eyes watching him.
He laughed awkwardly. "How did you even find this place? Wait… Rony told you, didn't he? That idiot."
She didn't answer.
He kept talking anyway. Random stuff. Traffic. Some memes he saw. Anything to fill the air.
She hadn't said a single word since he entered.
Then—
Soft. Calm.
"What did you say you do for work?"
He stopped mid-sentence.
"What?"
"For work."
"Oh." He scratched his neck. "Freelancer. Didn't I tell you? Tech stuff. Random gigs."
"Oh."
That was it.
Just oh.
She stepped aside.
On the dining table—
Stacks of cash.
Bundles.
Loose notes.
Careless.
He forgot.
Or maybe he stopped caring.
She looked at the money. Then at him.
"What do you do with this?"
His brain scrambled.
"That's— that's payment. Big client, the Arabic client, it was a Cash deal."
She tilted her head slightly. "Who uses cash like this, in this much amount… unless it's illegal?"
The words didn't rise.
They cut.
He swallowed.
He wanted to lie, but he couldn't, he could see it in her eyes. She knew.
"It's illegal," he said finally. He really didn't want to hide it.
Quiet.
She didn't react.
"It's money from bad guys," he added quickly.
"I don't hurt anyone. I just— I take from people who deserve it."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Bad guys?"
"Yeah."
"What bad guys?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "Corrupt people. Smugglers. Politicians. You know. Them."
"You work for them?"
"No!" He said in a hurry."I steal from them. I don't work for anyone."
"So." She nodded slowly. "It's stolen."
He exhaled hard. "I only steal from bad guys, I'm—"
"Don't justify it." Her voice sharpened. "You stole. Where did they get that money from? Did you ever think about that?"
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
She stared at him.
"You never did."
Silence stretched.
She looked around the apartment. The furniture. The lights. The view.
"This feels good, doesn't it? Luxury. Comfort. All this." She gestured at the room. "Built on someone's suffering."
He snapped.
"What suffering, Sakshi? What suffering?" His voice rose. " I only stole from the rich." And she also snapped, " Money that they took from everyone, don't you ever think about th-" And DJ snapped before she could continue.
" Why would I? Everyone's living the life they want. Eating what they want. Posting what they want. What happens if I take a little bit?"
"Living the life they want?" She stared at him.
"Have you even seen the world?"
He laughed.
A sharp, humorless sound.
"I haven't seen the world? I haven't?" He stepped closer. "I was on the streets at eleven. Eleven. I've seen enough of the world to know one thing— if you want to be happy, you need money. And if money doesn't make you happy… you just need more of it."
That hung in the air.
Heavy.
She didn't shout this time.
She just looked at him differently.
"So money is the most important thing to you?"
He inhaled slowly. Calming himself. "No. But it's necessary. Everything I have is because of money, Sakshi."
She stepped closer.
"Everything?"
He didn't answer.
"Everything?" she repeated softly. "Even me? Even Rony? Are we here because of your money?"
He didn't think.
"He is—"
The slap came fast.
Sharp.
His face turned with it.
"Don't you dare," she said, voice shaking now. "He is your best friend. He would always stand beside you, even if you had nothing. Nothing. Remember that."
His cheek burned.
He didn't look at her.
She grabbed her bag.
"You think money built your life," she said at the door. "But you're about to lose the only things that weren't bought."
The door opened.
Closed.
Silence.
DJ stood there for a long time.
Then slowly—
He sat down.
The money-counting machine on the table blinked red.
Stacks of cash stared back at him.
For the first time—
They didn't look powerful.
They looked empty.
The night stayed dark.