---
Outside the factory, DJ crouched behind a broken wall.
He launched a drone and sent it high. The feed filled his vision—sentries at every door, cameras sweeping, traps layered cleanly into the design. Checkpoints everywhere.
He let out a quiet breath.
"Military grade," he whispered. "At least."
Infrared. Heat. Sonar.
Machines everywhere. People moving. No motion sensors.
" They got some confidence." He said to himself and noticed a single car rolling from a distance. A perfect opportunity.
He waited.
The car rolled toward the checkpoint.
DJ rolled under it.
The gate opened without hesitation. The car passed through smoothly, barely checked. DJ stayed flat, gripping the undercarriage until it stopped inside.
Voices. Footsteps.
Through the drone feed, he caught sight of a familiar face—the playboy guy. The one who sold pull-water to terrorists. He heard their snippet of conversation, where they talked about a surprise visitor.
DJ noted it. Didn't dwell, as long that wasn't him, he didn't care.
When the area cleared, he slipped free.
His helmet guided him past sentries, blind spots opening just in time. He reached a lift shaft descending deep underground.
Deeper than expected.
He grabbed the cables and slid.
And then—
"Well, I'll be damned."
The same cavern.
The same glowing pond.
Scientists in lab coats moved around it, extracting the blue liquid into metal cylinders.
"So that's the source," he muttered.
He slipped closer. Took one metal container. Fill it carefully, not the diluted once, but pure. One then another. Then a third.
A commotion rose from one side of the cavern.
He glanced over.
A group had gathered. Raised voices.
He ignored it.
A scream echoed through the space.
Female.
DJ paused. His eyes shifted behind the mask.
He kept moving.
When the last container sealed, he turned toward the lift.
A gunshot cracked the air.
Sharp. Sudden.
His pulse spiked, he flinched, more than needed, then steadied. He turned, his back facing the pond.
"Not my mess," he said quietly.
He ascended. Slipped out. Reached his bike and tore into the night.
---
He reached his secret base without stopping.
Removed the helmet, his face little tight after that sudden gunshot and commotion, dampening his enthusiasm for these easy and successful heists. He tossed his helmet, set it among scattered equipment. Didn't look at it again.
He took the lift to his floor. Entered his room. Collapsed onto the bed.
Sleep took him fast.
Too fast.
And far below the city, the blue light continued to glow in the dark.
The pond pulsed softly. Calm. Wrong. A thin smear of blood clung to the sandy shore at its edge, already starting to dry.
The next day, DJ woke up like he always did.
Same ceiling. Same dull morning light. He dragged himself out of bed, still half-asleep. The smell of coffee reached him before he even reached the kitchen. His maid Natalie stood there, setting the cup down.
"Morning," he said, voice flat.
She replied, but he didn't really hear it. He took the mug, sipped, stared past her. His phone buzzed on the counter. Once. Then again.
He didn't notice.
Showered. Changed. Still tired, like sleep had cheated him. The events of last night being the lion part of his. He grabbed his bag—the heavier one. The one with the pull-water containers tucked deep inside. Slung it over his shoulder and walked out.
His phone stayed behind, vibrating itself into silence.
The college felt… off.
DJ noticed it the moment he stepped inside. The several chocolate bars he brought for apology from Sakshi looked too vibrant in the current college setting, it was Too quiet.
Groups clustered together, whispering.
People kept checking their phones, faces not their usual arrogant ones, their eyes darting.
He frowned and walked faster.
Down the corridor, he spotted Rony. Same spot as always. Laptop open. Fingers slamming the keys like they'd personally offended him.
DJ stopped beside him and gave his shoulder a light tap.
"Yo—"
Rony turned.
DJ froze.
Something in Rony's face stopped him cold. No jokes. No lazy smirk. Just serious eyes, he has never seen him this serious.
"Where were you last night?" Rony asked.
The tone wasn't friendly.
DJ blinked. "What?"
"What happened?" DJ asked, confused now.
"Why do you sound like that?"
Rony stared at him for a second longer than necessary.
"Sakshi is missing."
The words didn't land right.
DJ laughed once. Short. Wrong. "What do you mean, missing?" and he seems to understand something.
"She didn't come home," Rony said. His voice was flat serious, but his hands shook on the keyboard. "Didn't answer calls. Didn't answer texts. Nothing."
The noise in the corridor faded a bit.
"What… no," DJ said slowly. "That's not—she would've said something."
"She told her dad she was going to a friend's place," Rony replied. "She said she would come late, but didn't."
DJ leaned closer, his voice dropping. "So track her phone. You do that in like, thirty seconds."
Rony exhaled sharply. "That's the problem."
He turned the screen slightly.
"She's got a firewall on it. A bad one. Like… someone capable made it."
DJ swallowed.
"But not better than you," DJ said, forcing it.
Rony's fingers flew again. "Obviously, no one is better than me."
A pause, and after a few seconds.
"I found it," Rony said.
DJ waited.
"Last location," Rony continued, slower now, "was the Disaster Zone."
Both of them went still.
"Her phone died right after," Rony added quietly.
DJ felt something cold slide down his spine, he seems to know where this is going.
"That place," DJ said under his breath.
Rony glanced at him. " The No-fly zone. No electronics."
DJ nodded once. "Near the dead signal area."
Rony stared at him harder now. "She was near the same place you went.
DJ opened his mouth.
A voice cut through the corridor.
"They found Sakshi!"
Everything exploded into motion.
Students rushed past them, voices overlapping, panic spilling everywhere. DJ and Rony bolted after them.
Outside, the noise got worse.
"She's—" "—news said—" "—dead—"
DJ stopped short.
"What?" he snapped. "No. That's not funny."
Rony didn't speak. He just stood there, not moving. No one knows what he felt or what thought at that moment.
DJ grabbed a student by the collar. "What did you say?"
The guy shoved his hand away, annoyed. "It's on the news, man. Supriya's covering it."
DJ didn't wait. He snatched Rony's phone right out of his hand. Didn't notice the cluttered wallpaper. Didn't care.
He searched.
And there it was.
DRISHYAM NEWS: DAUGHTER OF DR. ROHIT MEHRA SHOT DEAD NEAR DISASTER ZONE
The phone slipped from his fingers.
The world shrank. It zoomed around her.
Sounds blurred. Voices turned into mush. He could hear the anchor talking, distant and distorted, like underwater.
Then—
"We also have an image of the suspect."
DJ's head snapped up, he was ready to tear up whoever was involved in it, no matter who stood before him.
The screen showed a blurry photo.
His chest tightened, as the outline and the figure he saw.
It was him.
Helmet. Mask. His stance. His silhouette.
The report kept going. Words piling on top of each other.
A seasoned thief. Targets corporations and the rich. Leaves behind a devil emoji. Known for operating near the Disaster Zone. Sakshi had been investigating him. She stumbled onto his lair. A hub of stolen goods. Police recovered items. The criminal remains at large.
"And investigators believe he shot her while trying to escape."
DJ couldn't breathe.
" NO."
His ears rang.
Then it hit him.
The scream.
The gunshot.
The moment he chose to walk away.
His knees went weak.
The person he ignored. The sound he brushed off.
It was her.
The weight of it crashed down all at once, heavy and merciless, and DJ finally understood—
The world hadn't just accused him.
It had buried her.