Sometimes later near the disaster zone.
Same tea stall. Same cracked plastic stools. Same steel kettle that had probably survived three governments.
Two familiar cops stood there in uniform, cups in hand, discussing about life .
The fat one was mid-rant.
"I'm telling you," he said between occasional slurps, "they didn't even let us sleep. Whole night statements, reports, 'Where were you?' 'Why didn't you respond faster?' As if we were supposed to fly. And the flying one didn't do anything either."
His taller partner just hummed. Knowing this gud is just complaining for sake of complaining
"hmm."
"Sometimes, my heart says burn the commissioner's office down, drink his funeral vine."
The tall one raised an eyebrow..
"And then,"
the fat cop sighed understanding his partner, "if someone burns it, we'll have to go stop it."
A passerby, unable to resist, leaned in. "Isn't that the fire department's job?"
The fat cop slowly turned his head.
"And who's going to investigate the fire?" he snapped. "Your uncle?"
The passerby vanished instantly.
The tall cop hid a smirk behind his cup.
The fat one finally looked down at his tea. Now cold. "Arre yaar. It's cold."
He yelled at the tea vendor for another one, took a dramatic sip, burned his tongue slightly, and then continued complaining as if nothing had happened.
"And that masked guy," he grumbled. "Destroyed my phone too in that… what they call it… CMP blast?"
"EMP," the tall cop corrected calmly like always do." it's EMP, Electromagnetic pulse."
"Same thing," the fat one waved it off. "And they're giving us only one new phone. One! I had two. Personal and official. Now I'm downgraded."
"You only had one other one you other one you lost in gambling," the tall cop muttered.
"That was unrelated."
He took another sip. "And I'm telling you—if I see that masked murderer again, I'll shoot him on sight."
The tall cop finally looked at him properly.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Last time," the tall one said evenly, "you were ready to surrender and request transfer."
The fat cop opened his mouth to argue—
—and stopped.
The tall cop wasn't looking at him anymore.
He was staring across the street.
The fat cop followed his gaze.
And froze.
" You got your chance."
There..
On the opposite side of the road.
Black suit.
Red LED eyes.
Same helmet.
Same presence.
A bike idled beneath him.
Traffic noise seemed to dull around them
The masked man wasn't hiding, he was walking in the day light.
He simply turned the bike smoothly off the main road and onto a side street.
Both cops stood completely still for a full three seconds.
Then, like always, the tall one spoke first.
"Next time," he said quietly, "when you talk about him, make sure we have backup."
The fat cop swallowed hard. "…Yeah."
The tall one was already on his radio.
"This is Unit 27," he said steadily. "Visual confirmation. Masked suspect heading east from Patel Road toward the inner market streets near the Disaster zone. Black bike. Requesting immediate support."
DJ's bike cut through the broken lanes of old Mumbai.
Twisted alleys hanging wires, Half-dead streetlights flickering in broad daylight.
DJ didn't slow down.
In his ear, Rony's voice was tight. "Police confirmed the visuals. Three satellites tracking thermal. And MAHI is active, those guys have really good tech."
DJ didn't react. "Anything else?"
"Yeah. They upgraded their grid after last night. You're basically trending."
DJ turned sharply into the ruined sector — the old disaster zone. Cracked buildings. Exposed concrete ribs, The place no one rebuilt.
He killed the engine in a narrow gap between two collapsed structures.
Rainwater still pooled in broken asphalt.
He checked the timer on his HUD.
00:35:12
"Half an hour gone," he said flatly.
"Twenty-five left," Rony corrected.
"Five to reach him, Five to execute, Five to infiltrat, Five to grab, Five buffers, unfortunate circumstances ." DJ adjusted his gloves.
"Enough."
Before Rony could respond—
A sonic crack split the air..
Both of them froze.
A black blur descended from the sky.
Krish landed in front of him.
Unfortunate circumstances. This probably counts as one.
" Fuck " They both said in unison.
There was no warning, Just impact.
DJ barely turned before Krish's fist connected.
The visor spider-cracked.
DJ hit the far wall hard enough to shake dust from it.
Rony's voice snapped immediately. "Game mode on."
Electric discharge fired from DJ's gauntlet Krish rushed again.
It sparked across his chest.
Krish didn't stop.
"Stop him!" DJ barked, rolling sideways as concrete shattered where his head had been.
"Do you think it's easy?" Rony shot back, fingers flying over controls. "I'm trying!"
More electricity. Stronger this time.
Krish's body twitched once.
Still coming.
"He rearranged his biofield," Rony muttered. "He adapted."
"Noted that now DO SOMETHING," DJ said dryly.
Suit plates shifted. Servos adjusted.
DJ vaulted up the side of a broken building, flipped over the edge, rolled across the rooftop.
Krish hovered up in a straight line and dashed forward.
"Pink eyes, go," Rony said.
A missile was. launched.
Krish immediately changed direction mid-air, recognizing it.
The projectile exploded behind him—
—releasing expanding pink foam.
It ballooned instantly on contact with air, thick and aggressive. Most of it splattered across rooftops and ground. Some latched onto Krish's boots and calves, spreading like fungus.
He tried to shake it off but it keeps expanding.
DJ hit the ground running again.
"What's with the bubblegum?" he asked.
"Supposed to be inhaled," Rony said. "Clogs airways. If —"
DJ sparked his fingers.
The foam ignited..
A sudden sheet of pink fire roared upward.
It didn't hurt Krish.
But it swallowed his vision.
"—burns from Inside. " Rony finished.
"You're wicked," DJ muttered.
Krish burst through the fire.
DJ dodged right..
Krish swung left.
DJ read the pattern his system predicted it, but and then Krish broke it, he changed the pattern.
A sudden kick slammed into DJ's ribs.
Orange energy flared on contact.
DJ was launched backward.
Before he could recover, Krish grabbed his wrist mid-air and yanked him forward.
Fist drawn back.
Rony frowned. "Hold—"
He triggered a flashbang.
White light.
Compressed shockwave.
Krish staggered half a step his vision clouded over.
Rony pushed a deep-calibrated electric surge directly into his nervous system.
This time—
It worked.
Krish spasmed visibly.
"Rock his world," Rony said.
DJ moved in instantly.
Punch.
Electric arc.
Another punch.
More voltage.
Krish's body jerked under the overload onslaught.. Even DJ could feel the thrill, he was about land a final heavy strike, when his fist suddenly stopped.
Krish had caught it.
Palm wrapped around the gauntlet.
Firm.
Unmoving.
The electricity crackled uselessly between them.
Krish lifted his head slowly.
Their eyes met.
Through cracked visor and storm-damp air.
DJ's voice came out low.
"…Fuck."
In the control room, Rony whispered the exact same word.
Krish's moves came back like a storm that refused to die.
He moved before DJ could reset his stance.
A fist crashed into DJ's shoulder — armor denting inward with a metallic shriek.
Another hit to the abdomen.
Another to the jaw.
The empty street echoed with impact after impact.
DJ tried to counter — electric arcs snapping from his gauntlets — but Krish walked through it like pain was optional.
A knee to the ribs, A backhand across the visor, A hammering blow to the spine.
DJ's hud HUD flickered violently, the suit almost giving up.
WARNING — STRUCTURAL DAMAGE 42%
WARNING — RESPIRATION IMPACT
WARNING — POWER FLUX
DJ staggered.
He felt it.
Not filtered.
Not dampened.
Every strike sent raw pain through his nerves.
"Rony—" he gasped.
Krish's fist slammed into his chest plate and drove him through a half-standing wall.
Concrete exploded outward.
DJ hit the ground hard enough that the air left his lungs.
Krish didn't give him time.
He grabbed DJ by the collar plating and hurled him across the street like scrap metal.
DJ bounced once.
Twice.
Stopped.
Didn't get up immediately.
In the control room, Rony's breathing became sharp and uneven.
"Get up… get up…"
Krish advanced again.
DJ pushed himself up on one knee — and caught another punch straight to the faceplate.
The visor shattered further.
Internal glass spiderwebbed across his vision.
Blood filled his mouth.
He tried to raise his arm.
It didn't matter.
Krish hit him again.
And again.
And again.
And when he was about to do it again, Rony made his move.
He slammed his palm onto the console.
A full-output electric discharge detonated outward from DJ's suit.
Not controlled.
Not targeted.
A raw bioelectromagnetic blast.
The entire street lit up white, even the day light couldn't conceal it.
Krish was thrown backward.
DJ was thrown too.
He slammed against a wrecked car and collapsed
Smoke rose from his suit.
The mask was barely intact — cracked, sparking, pieces hanging loose.
The HUD blinked on and off.
Several messages poped in, warning, reports and errors.
Game Mode: ERROR
Servo Link: DISCONNECTED
Motor Assist: FAILURE
His system was malfunctioning. Rony's voice came through the remaining channel, thin and shaking.
"DJ. DJ answer me."
Static.
Then coughing.
"I'm here…" DJ rasped.
He tried to stand.
The suit didn't respond.
Actuators whined uselessly.
He fell back to one knee.
"Ok. Ok. Okay," Rony muttered rapidly. "Manual override. Backup relay. Come on…"
He triggered several command but Nothing stabilized, The damage was too deep and physical mothi that software can do .
Across the street, Krish was half-kneeling, shaking off the blast.
Still conscious.
Still dangerous.
"Rony…" DJ said quietly.
"What?"
"I… can't breathe."
Everything in Rony froze.
Without hesitation he activated emergency eject and The faceplate hissed and detached, unlocking from the collar.,
It loosed.
DJ tore it off completely, Fresh air hit his lungs.
He sucked it in desperately.
His cheek was split — blood running down to his jaw.
Area neae an eye swelling.
"Stand up," Rony said.
DJ did.
Barely.
He swayed, breathing heavy, vision blurred.
He looked at Krish, still kneeling in the distance.
"This wasn't planned…" DJ muttered.
Rony didn't answer.
Behind DJ, the backpack compartment split open.
Two compact mechanical spider drones unfolded and dropped to the ground. They skittered toward the fallen helmet, magnetic limbs snapping into place as they began rapid repair — welding microfractures, reseating circuits, sealing cracks.
DJ glanced at them.
From the helmet's external speaker, Rony's voice projected faintly:
"Fire two shots of anesthetic gas. Then run. It might work."
DJ nodded once.
He rotated the mechanism on his wrist.
The dial shifted.
ANESTHETIC — READY
A small cylindrical canister locked into position.
He raised his arm ready to fire when he suddenly stopped.
He eyes sported a figure frying towards him
Dj froze, as shadow fell across him.
Someone landed between him and Krish.
Blue.
Clean lines with intricate patterns.
Wearing a suit that looked perfect for comic con and a museum at the same time.
DJ froze.
So did Rony.
What were the odds?
A man descending from the sky in a blue superhero suit, in the middle of a life and death battle. Spatially in life and death matters.
The stranger turned.
Their eyes met.
DJ didn't recognize him.
But the blue-suited man did. He was now others our resident CEO and Maharakshak , Raghav Suryavanshi. But for some reason DJ could not identity him even tough he didn't wear any mask.
Recognition flashed in Raghav's eyes mixed anger layered over confusion.
He glanced at Krish.
Then back at DJ's bleeding face.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Did you kill Sakshi?"
DJ immediately shook his head.
"No."
"Any proof?"
"I'll have it in half an hour."
A beat of silence.
Wind moved through broken buildings.
Krish shifted behind the blue figure.
Maharakshak didn't turn.
"Good," he said finally. "You better have that."
His gaze shifted.
"I'll handle this guy."
DJ hesitated only a second.
Then survival instinct won.
He grabbed the partially repaired helmet from the drones — yanking it free mid-process — and backed away.
Behind him, the blue-suited man stepped forward toward Krish.
DJ didn't look back again.