Sometime later.
In DJ's secret lair, he sat slumped in the chair, forehead pressed into his crossed arms.
The room hummed faintly. Generators. Old wires. Silence layered on top of silence.
His foot tapped the floor. Slow at first. Then faster. Faster. He noticed it, got annoyed, and slammed his fist into his own thigh to make it stop.
It didn't help.
He stood up abruptly, chair screeching back. The place looked even smaller when he was angry. Concrete walls. No windows. Cables like veins crawling everywhere. Less a hideout, more a cage.
His eyes landed on the helmet resting on the table.
He grabbed it and hurled it across the room.
The helmet didn't shatter like he wanted.
Instead, it hit the floor with a dull crack. The concrete split. The helmet slid, spinning, and slammed into an old piece of gym equipment with a metallic clang.
DJ stared at the crack in the floor, breathing hard.
"Of course," he muttered.
His gaze shifted to the corner. A dusty punching bag, half-buried behind junk. He dragged it out, coughed as dust filled the air, wiped it down with his sleeve, and hooked it to a beam.
Then he started hitting it.
Hard.
Each punch landed with a deep, ugly thud. His shoulders burned. His knuckles screamed. Sweat rolled down his face, dripping onto the concrete. He didn't slow down.
Guilt sat on his chest like something alive.
Far away, Rony stood hunched over his workbench.
His head was low. His glasses were crooked. Hands shaking as he tried to solder something small and precise. He missed. The tool slipped. Metal clattered across the table.
Behind him, the TV glowed.
Muted news footage. Sakshi's face frozen mid-smile.
Another tool slipped. It bounced. Hit the remote.
Sound filled the room.
"…confirmed dead near the Disaster Zone—"
Rony flinched.
He didn't turn around.
"…suspect believed to be the masked thief—"
His hands curled into fists.
When DJ's name came up, something inside him snapped.
"Fuck it," he muttered.
He swept his table clean. Grabbed things without looking. Sharp things. Loud things. Dangerous things. Stuff he probably never uses on a person.
He stuffed them into a bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out.
Back in the lair, DJ kept punching.
The bag swung wildly now. His arms felt like lead. Sweat soaked his shirt, pooled on the floor. He barely noticed.
Then—
A sound.
Metal shifting. A lock disengaging.
His head snapped up.
A beam of light cut through the room.
DJ reacted on instinct. He dropped and rolled.
The punching bag exploded.
Shreds of fabric and sand blasted outward, peppering the walls. DJ swore as debris rained down.
Another blast.
The floor behind him erupted, concrete chunks flying.
"WHAT THE HELL—" DJ shouted.
A third shot screamed past him.
Rony stood near the entrance, eyes wild, arm raised. A gauntlet hummed angrily, glowing hot as it fired again.
DJ dove, barely clearing the blast. He skidded across the floor, heart pounding.
"RONY!" he yelled. "Are you out of your mind?!"
Rony didn't answer.
He just kept firing. Baseball-sized holes tore through walls. Sparks flew. The lair filled with smoke and dust.
DJ dodged, ducked, scraped his shoulder, cursed loudly. He moved fast, but barely.
Then the blasts stopped.
Silence crashed down.
Rony staggered back a step, breathing hard. The gauntlet flickered, dimmed, then died. He ripped it off his arm and hurled it to the floor.
Clang.
DJ stayed where he was for a second, chest heaving, eyes scanning.
Then he straightened slowly.
The lair was wrecked.
Cracks everywhere. Rubble. Hanging wires sparking weakly.
DJ wiped sweat from his face and stared at Rony.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked quietly.
Rony blinked, like he was waking up. His shoulders slumped.
"…I was angry," he said.
" ANGRY?" Dj said.
" How angry were you that you tried to blow me up with that metal glove of yours."
" Mildly." Said Rony , and they both stood there for a moment, both breathing too hard.
Then Rony spoke again, voice steadier. "Tell me. What happened?" There moods calming down.
DJ ran a hand through his hair. His thoughts were racing, colliding, tripping over each other. He took a breath.
"It's a frame-up," he said finally.
Rony nodded. "I know."
DJ looked at him.
"If you'd actually killed her," Rony continued, eyes sharp now, "you wouldn't have missed those shots."
The words landed wrong.
DJ frowned, a strange chill running through him.
He pushed it aside.
For now.
DJ fidgeted, foot starting to tap again. He stared at the floor. Then the wall. Then nowhere. The scene replayed anyway. The light. The sound. That scream.
Nothing came out.
Rony watched him, standing still, arms loose at his sides, waiting. Too patient. That somehow made it worse.
DJ finally inhaled. It sounded rough.
"I went there," he said and paused.
Silence again.
Rony shifted. Took one step toward the table. Then another. Reached for the helmet.
"What are you doing?" DJ snapped, looking up.
"Checking for myself," Rony said without turning. "I don't have time to waste."
"Wait." DJ pushed himself up from the chair. "Wait. I'm explaining."
Rony stopped, hand still hovering. Didn't look back.
DJ dragged a hand through his hair. Took a deep breath that didn't help much.
"When I went there… they had a mine," he said. "Underground. Big. Not some side thing. A full setup." His words started coming faster now, messy. "Pull-water isn't just… stored. It's mined. There's a pool. Like a lake. Glowing blue. I saw it."
Rony's jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet.
"They had guards. Cameras. Layers. Way more than I expected." DJ laughed once, sharp and hollow. "Military-level stuff."
Rony turned slightly. "So."
"So it was them," DJ said. His voice dropped.
"I think."
Rony's face shifted. Just a little. Enough.
"How do you know?" he asked.
DJ hesitated. Too long.
Rony moved. Fast. Bent to grab the metal glove off the floor.
"I heard it," DJ said suddenly.
Rony froze.
"I heard it," DJ repeated, louder. "A scream."
Rony straightened slowly. His hand clenched around the glove.
DJ kept going, words tumbling now. "I was filling the containers. Almost done. And I heard it from the other side of the cave."
Rony's breathing sped up. "And?"
"And I didn't know it was her," DJ said. His head dipped. "I didn't know."
Rony turned fully this time. His eyes were sharp. "You ignored it."
"What would I have done?" DJ shot back.
Rony exploded. "So you let her die?"
"No!" DJ yelled. The word cracked. "I would never— I would never let anything happen to her."
"Then why didn't you go?" Rony shouted, stepping closer. "Why didn't you run toward it?"
"I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS HER!" DJ shouted back. His hands were shaking now. "I didn't know!"
"That doesn't matter!" Rony yelled. "Even if it wasn't her, DJ. Even if it was a stranger. A woman screaming in an illegal mine—"
"I'm not a saint!" DJ snapped. "What does it have to—"
The slap landed hard.
The sound echoed in the basement.
DJ staggered half a step, stunned. His cheek burned. His ears rang. He stared at Rony like he was seeing him for the first time. This is the second slap he has taken this week. Nobody had ever slapped him before. Not once.
Rony's finger jabbed toward his chest, trembling with rage.
"Don't," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Don't finish that sentence."
DJ didn't move. Didn't speak.
Rony stepped back, chest heaving. He turned, grabbed his bag, and started toward the door.
At the threshold, he stopped. Looked over his shoulder.
"Come back," he said, quieter now, but colder, "when you understand what you were about to say."
Then he left.
The door slammed.
The echo lingered, long after Rony was gone.
Dj stood there stunt silent.