The car stopped in a narrow alley.
John stepped out first.
Roy lit another cigarette. Dj stared at him through blood and sweat.
Roy offered it.
Dj took it his hands shaking.
As the flame caught, DJ muttered, "I've heard a story too."
Roy raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused seemingly interested.
DJ coughed on the smoke. "There was a kid. On the balcony. Playing when he saw a ripe mango. Just out of reach in a nearby branch.
Roy listened.
"He climbed out. Reached. But the mango wasn't on the tree anymore he noticed." Dj swallowed. "It was in the sky."
Roy's eyes narrowed.
"The kid flew. Higher and higher. Trying to reach the biggest mango he has seen. And as he get closer to the mangos. The mango kept getting bigger and bigger. The closer he gets, the bigger the kid himself becomes."
The DJ smiled faintly. " Soon the mango was in reach. The kid opens his mouth and swallowed it whole ."
A pause.
"The mango was the sun," Dj said. "And the kid—Lord Hanuman."
Roy said nothing.
The door opened. John grabbed Dj, dragged him out.
Roy watched from inside, face unreadable, as DJ was forced to his knees.
John checked the gun. Clicked it ready. Raised it.
Dj didn't look up, maybe he has accepted his fate.
The alley hummed. But maybe someone hasn't.
Then—
A blue glow bloomed behind them.
Sharp. Electric.
Buzzing like a live wire snapping free.
-----
The next day, DJ woke up to the smell of antiseptic and grease.
His eyes opened slowly. Ceiling lights, dimmed. Concrete. Familiar cracks. He tried to move and hissed instead.
Bandages. Pain stuff.
"Great," he muttered.
He pushed himself up anyway. The room tilted, then settled. Screens. Racks of gear. Half-built tech on tables. His place.
The lair.
Rony was hunched near the main console, hoodie up, fingers flying. Like sensing it, he glanced over his shoulder—and froze.
"Oh, you're awake?" Rony was already on his feet. "Fantastic. Perfect. You know what would've been even better? Not getting kidnapped by a billionaire murderer."
DJ blinked. "Morning to you too."
Rony didn't stop. "I told you—carry a blaster. Or a laser. I know you don't like guns but. literally anything that fires something. Why would you get into the car? Why not run? You're good at running. I've seen you jump buildings."
His voice cracked at the end. He hated that it did.
DJ rubbed his face. "I'm fine."
"You were unconscious for six hours."
"Still fine."
"You could've died."
DJ didn't answer.
Silence crept in, thick and awkward. Machines hummed to fill it.
Finally, DJ said, "Did you save me?"
Rony scoffed. "Obviously. If you die, who's gonna wear the suit? That thing cost me three years and my sanity. I don't have replacement-money either."
DJ smiled despite himself. A quiet chuckle slipped out.
Rony rolled his eyes but stepped in anyway, helping him up. DJ leaned on him more than he wanted. Sat down in the chair Rony had been using.
He stared at the floor for a second. Then said, "He said she was digging into water theft."
Rony paused. "Water what?"
"The slums. Water shortage you are having. She was tracking the missing supply."
DJ turned back to the console, already pulling data. And Rony understands something.
"That… tracks. Water. That's why we are having trouble. Someone's siphoning it. But why." The DJ nodded and answered.
" Didn't you say, the Pullwater needs to be a cool and calm place. They needs to cool it down, naturally." Rony looked confused, and asked.
" It's not very practical."
" But affordable. It's cheaper than other methods."
" She followed it. Through sewer routes. Lost signal near the disaster zone. Jammers."
Dj stopped typing. Slowly looked at him.
"She had a camera."
Rony looked up.
"The one you made." Dj said.
Rony said not understanding the meaning behind his words. "Yeah."
"And you powered it with Pullwater."
A beat.
"Yeah."
Something clicked.
" You mean-"
"You put trackers in everything," DJ said and opened the Rony tech setup.
Rony pointed at him. "You're not touching my setup."
"Let me check."
"Hey—" Rony tried to push, but DJ yanked a panel open, fingers moving fast. Screens lit up. Three signals. Weak, but there.
Two drones. One camera.
All inactive. All near the disaster zone.
Rony leaned in. "The camera's still alive."
DJ's pulse jumped. "That means she reached something."
"She has proof," Rony whispered.
DJ nodded. "And of what."
They stared at the screen.
Then Rony laughed. Loud. Sharp. "We have it. We actually have it."
His phone buzzed.
So did the main monitor.
Both froze.
DJ read it first. The message loud and clear informs them that today is the cremation of Sakshi Mehra.
The room went quiet. Even the machines felt distant.
Something passed through DJ's eyes. Fast. Dark. Then gone.
A sharp beep cut through it.
DJ looked up. "What's that?"
Rony jolted. "Wait—move."
He shoved DJ aside and zoomed in. Rony looked at it like his life dependent on it, but when he looked at the screen, it faded in the distance. He calmed himself and looked at the drone that was giving signals. He opened the feed and saw.
People. Lots of them.
Three huge Metal container shipments stacked in rows.
DJ leaned closer.
"That's it."
Rony frowned. "It's just containers."
DJ immdeailly recognized them.
"Money," DJ said.
" You mean the billion kind." Rony zoomed out.
Trucks lined, having similar containers stacked to them.
"…They're moving it," Rony said slowly.
"Trojan horse," DJ muttered. "Shift it before anyone notices, using fake truck for distraction."
Rony pulled up an aerial angle. More trucks. More containers.
"They're clearing out," Rony said. "Fast."
DJ glanced back at the message on the screen.
"Her cremation's today," he said.
Rony nodded once.
DJ stood up. Ignored the pain. "Then he's not forgetting this date."
Rony looked at him. No jokes this time. Just a sharp grin.
"Whatever you're planning," he said, grabbing his jacket, "I'm in."
Far from the city lights, the worn down yet steady factory gates slid open.
Three trucks rolled out first. Heavy. Slow. Loaded.
Front of them—six identical trucks. Same containers. Same plates, but empty.
Around them, cars packed with armed men. Windows tinted rifles ready for anything.
The plan unfolded cleanly.
At the first junction, the convoy split.
One route curved left, skirting the city's edge. Taking the long route with no public eye.
One punched straight through the highway through the city. Taking the middle route in front of the public.
One dipped underground, into tunnels and service roads beneath the city. Shortest and safest, away from public eyes, yet very close.
Each real truck is shadowed by two decoys trucks shuffled positions at random. No pattern. No tells.
If one got hit, the others vanished. Changed routes. Dug in. Call backup or just vanish from view.
" A three-way knot. Almost impossible to grab."
"And your name's already lighting up police, military, CBI… even FBI for some reason. Don't know what they are doing here?" Rony's voice crackled in DJ's helmet. "You still think you can pull this off in the middle of the day?"
DJ sat in darkness. Helmet eyes glowing faint red.
"Impossible?" he said. "Let's find out."
The bike hummed awake.
Lights flared around him as he rolled out of hiding and into a tunnel—wide, clean, freshly lit. One of the money trucks had passed through minutes ago.
DJ twisted the throttle.