DJ didn't look back at the disk. Didn't want to.
He locked his eyes on the truck, HUD flickering.
Red arrows. Timers. MILITARY ETA: 6:12.
"We don't have time," DJ said, breath tight. "They're sending the army. Anything left that's not… that?"
Silence.
DJ snorted. "Thought so."
A beat. "As long as it doesn't kill people."
"It won't," Rony said quickly. "No effect on carbon-based lifeforms."
"That sentence should not make me feel better."
DJ reached back. His fingers found
something cold, cylindrical. He pulled it out. A small missile, almost toy-like, clipped neatly where the laser module had been.
"I really hope this isn't terrifying," DJ muttered.
He fired.
The missile streaked ahead, white tail hissing like a firecracker. You can see the ark that ut made.
Rony's voice came in. Calm. "Test launch. Prototype. Anti-silicon bomb."
DJ's stomach dropped. "Anti-what bomb?"
No answer.
The missile smacked the truck's side—and bounced.
It clattered onto the road. Rolled. Didn't explode.
DJ frowned. The cars behind the truck slowed. Even the cops looked confused.
"…Did it just—miss?"
Before anyone could react, the casing split open.
Red gas poured out. Thick. Fast. Blooming into a cloud that swallowed the lane.
Cars drove straight through it.
Nothing happened.
No coughing. No alarms. No screams.
DJ squinted. "Rony. I see nothing."
"Wait," Rony said.
The railing on the side of the road, went first.
Paint blistered. Peeled. Metal underneath turned brown, then orange, then dust—rust racing like time on fast-forward. The railing sagged, snapped, collapsed into flakes.
" What the—"
A man in the car ahead looked down at his wrist. His watch face clouded, then crumbled.
He screamed, yanking his hand back as the band disintegrated.
The car shuddered. Dashboard flickered. Engine died.
Metal screamed.
The truck started to rot. The site was terrifying and yet beautiful.
From the back wheel inward, steel turned to powder. The axle snapped. The wheel came off clean, bouncing once before dissolving mid-roll.
The driver shouted. Too late.
The cargo door tore itself apart. Containers split. And then—
Money.
Piles of Swiss cash spilled onto the road.
Clean. Untouched. Sitting in a street that was being erased.
The truck tilted, sagged, and collapsed into rust dust.
Silence.
DJ stood there, frozen. The red cloud thinned. When it cleared, there was nothing metallic left. No cars. No guns. No shells. Just concrete, cash, and orange dust.
"…what the hell was that," DJ whispered.
Men stumbled out of wreckage. Empty-handed. Staring at where their weapons used to be.
DJ walked forward slowly. Didn't even look at the money. Couldn't. His chest felt hollow.
"Army in five minutes," he said, snapping himself back. "Move."
He took two steps.
"DJ," Rony said. "First truck stopped."
Far away, in a quiet parking lot, Roy stood watching the second truck roll to a halt. Calm.
Hands behind his back.
"Open it," he told his guard.
They did.
At the same moment, DJ's screen filled with footage from the dropped disk earlier. Roy.
Clear as day.
"Rony," DJ said firmly, his voice serious."Call him." Rony didn't hesitate.
The phone rang. Roy's secretary answered, hesitated, then handed it over.
"How's your day going, Roy?" DJ said, voice clean and unfiltered.
Roy didn't speak.
DJ chuckled. "Just wanted to see your face when you lose a hundred billion."
And inside the truck, the drone ignited. A thin laser line. Money caught fire. Flames raced through stacks of currency.
People panicked. Shouted. Tried to stomp it out.
Roy didn't move. Fire reflected in his eyes.
After a beat, he said calmly, "Then I assume you have my third truck as well."
"Yes," DJ said. "Planned."
He glanced at the pile of cash in front of him.
"I'm about to burn this too." He pointed his hand towards it.
Roy nodded once.
Rony frowned at his screens. He noticed some readings, odd readings.
"You know," Roy said, voice almost amused, "I have to praise your courage, kid. You really have some courage getting out in the daylight, if I were you I wouldn't be this reckless."
" That's the difference between you and me Roy." DJ shot back. " I don't waste time talking, you should have killed me when you had the chance, you won't have that chance ever again, I'll end you today, one set for all.
Roy laughed softly hearing this bold statement. " You are right, i won't have the chance to kill you." Said Roy and continued .
" Do you remember the story you told? Hanuman and the sun."
Rony's alarms screamed. Something was move A black blur crossed one camera.
"It inspires people," Roy continued. "But you forget a very crucial part."
Another blur. Faster. Rony's danger alarm blaring up. Sensors going haywire.
" When the kid was about to eat the fruit, he was struck by the caretaker."
" The kid was Hanuman, the fruit and the sun. And the caretaker." He paused.
Rony's voice cracked. "DJ—"
" Indra," Roy finished. " King of Gods "
Wind roared.
DJ turned—startled.
A fist filled his vision.
Impact.
The armor glowed red, making ripple. Not scratched—overloaded, an armour that withstand bullets and, remain scratch free, couldn't survive a single punch. Force punched through him like an explosion. He flew backward, slammed into the pile of money.
Pain bloomed. Real pain.
As he rolled, he saw him.
Black suit. Black criss-cross mask.
Krish.
The city-breaker. The man from myths.
The hero.
And he didn't look happy. And that was the last thing he saw before, he felt a tingling sensation all over his body, and he heard the system's voice, emergency Teleport. And he vanished.
Krish landed lightly, eyes scanning the wreckage. Calm. Certain.
DJ was already gone.
By the time Krish reached the cash pile, there was nothing there but burning notes and rust dust.
He frowned. Standing there, looking at the flames. And far away in the city near the river, a funeral flame was rising as well.
In DJ's secret lair, Rony stood frozen in front of a workbench.
A white disk sat there on the ground, Quiet. Innocent-looking.
"Come on… come on," Rony muttered, tapping the console beside it. His fingers wouldn't stop shaking.
Then—
a thud.
Not loud. Heavy.
Rony's head snapped toward the door on the left.
Another sound. Metal scraping. Something dragged.
His breath caught.
"No."
He ran.
The door slid open and his heart dropped straight through the floor.
DJ lay on the ground, twisted slightly, armor dull, lights flickering weakly, than dead. Not moving.
Rony rushed to him, knees hitting the floor hard. "DJ—DJ, hey—hey—"
He grabbed his shoulder, tried to turn him. The suit was dead weight. Too heavy. His hands slipped.
"Come on," Rony choked, teeth clenched. He dug his heels in and managed to roll DJ onto his back.
The helmet stared up at him, LED died down. Blank. Lifeless.
Rony reached for it, fingers clawing at the seams. "No—no, open—"
It wouldn't budge.
"Shit—shit—"
He scrambled up, nearly tripping over himself, ran to the tool rack. His hands knocked things over. Metal clattered.
"Where is it—where—"
Screwdriver. He grabbed one, the wrong size, dropped it, swore, grabbed another.
Back to DJ.
He worked the screws like a madman, slipping, scraping the metal. "Hold on. Just—just hold on."
The helmet finally loosened. He pulled it off.
DJ's face was pale. Too pale. Lips barely parted. No response.
"DJ?" Rony whispered.
Nothing.
Then he saw it.
The chest.
A deep, fist-shaped dent caved into the armor, edges cracked and glowing faintly red. Blood seeped slowly from beneath the plate, dark and steady.
Rony froze.
Then everything broke.
"No—no no no—" His voice cracked. He grabbed at the chest plate, pulling, prying.
"Please—please—"
It wouldn't open.
Tears blurred his vision. "You can't die. You can't—" He laughed weakly, hysterical.
"You're… you're bulletproof, remember? This is stupid. This is just—"
He hit the armor with his fist. "Open!"
Nothing.
Rony's shoulders shook. "Please," he whispered, forehead resting against the suit.
"Don't leave me. I can't— I can't lose anymore."
His hands finally found the manual release.
He yanked.
The chest plate came loose.
Rony didn't breathe as he leaned in, fingers pressing against DJ's neck. One second.
Two.
Then—
A pulse.
Faint. Uneven. But there.
Rony sucked in a sharp breath, half sob, half laugh. "—Oh. Oh thank god."
He pressed his forehead to DJ's shoulder, still crying, still shaking. "You're fine. You hear me? You're fine. I've got you."
He wiped his face with his sleeve, already moving, already thinking. "Okay. Okay. We fix this. We always do."