Sometimes later. They ate in silence for a bit. Steel plates. Cheap rice. Something fried that tasted better than it looked.
Rony broke first. "So. What now?"
DJ didn't even look up. He scooped another bite, jaw working slow. " Justice."
Rony paused, mid-chew. Stared at him. DJ didn't blink and ask. "Don't tell me you're going to rush in like a chicken."
Rony snorted.
" I thought of the word Revenge." And DJ snorted.
"We need a plan," Rony continued.
DJ finally glanced up. A corner smile. Not happy. Not joking. "I got a plan."
Rony watched him for a second longer, then looked back at his food. Didn't argue. That worried him more than shouting would've.
Far away.
Glass and steel caught the morning light in New Mumbai. Settled after the almost world ending end of the old one.
Samir stepped out of the lift, sunglasses already on, even indoors. His left cheek throbbed. Purple under the lens. He adjusted them like it was just style.
"Good morning, sir."
"Morning."
"Morning, sir."
He waved without stopping. Boss behavior. Expected. Practiced.
Near the hallway, a man in thin frames fell into step beside him. Old friend. The glasses guy. Sharp suit. Always looked like he was thinking a step ahead.
"Why the sunglasses?" the guy asked immediately.
"Forget it," Samir said. "Why is Roy calling again?"
His voice was flat. Last night still sat heavy in his chest. This early meeting—for nothing obvious—just added to it.
The man hesitated. "It's about… the girl. From the mine."
Samir slowed. One eyebrow rose. "That?"
He stopped near the conference doors. "He called all of us for that?" You can practically hear the confusion and disinterest in his statement.
"That's what he said," the glasses guy replied, unease creeping in. "Roy said he'll explain."
Samir clicked his tongue, pushed the door open.
Inside—two people already seated.
Roy, reclined like he owned the air, which he did.
And John.
Tall. Broad. Quiet in a way that made rooms behave.
Samir blinked. "All four?"
The glasses guy frowned. "That's rare."
" Aren't we meeting this more often nowadays?" Said Samir as they took their seats.
"What happened?" the glasses guy—Gaurav—asked.
Roy didn't answer. Didn't even move. His eyes slid to John instead.
"John," Roy said lightly. "Please."
John shifted in his chair. looked at them both. Voice blunt. No warm-up.
"The girl last night," he said, "was Sakshi Mehra. Daughter of Dr. Rohit Mehra."
The room changed.
Samir stopped rocking his chair.
Gaurav straightened. "That's… troublesome."
Roy leaned forward now, elbows on the table, eyes on Samir. Serious. No smile.
Samir noticed. That surprised him.
"I'm surprised you know him," Roy said. "You follow the news now?"
Samir shrugged. "Everyone knows him, Roy. Even people who don't care." He paused. "He's the guy behind Krish."
Silence.
Heavy. Thick.
"That's bad," Gaurav said quietly.
Roy didn't respond.
Samir added his expression wasn't calm.
"Didn't you say you met her before? Why didn't you check her background?"
Roy met his eyes. Calm. Almost bored.
"Guess I need a new assistant, who didn't go through the recommendation ."
Gaurav exhaled. "We're screwed, right? This thing at this time! We are having one of our biggest deals and this happens. This is the second time we've brushed Krish. The first time we got lucky."
John shook his head. "Luck didn't get us here, Gourav. Plans did."
He leaned back. "But we don't have one for this, do we?"
Roy stood up. Smoothed his cuffs. Thoughtful.
"She's dead," he said. "No undoing that I guess. We move fast—before a flying freak lands on our doorstep."
He snapped his fingers. "The thief. The scapegoat. What was his name?"
Gaurav blinked. "The… devil emoji guy.
Nobody knows who he is."
Roy nodded. "Find him. Kill him."
Samir's eyes shifted. He said nothing.
"Make sure the police get their salaries on time," Roy continued. "Check the black market. He steals—he sells. Track the trail."
Gaurav glanced at Samir. Just a flicker.
Samir pretended he didn't see it.
Roy turned to John. "Double elixirs
extraction."
John nodded once.
"Gaurav," Roy said, "push the new energy module. Loud, we need PR and soothing to distract."
"Done."
"Samir," Roy finished, eyes back on him, "find DJ. Keep an eye on Krish."
Gaurav looked at Samir again. Longer this time.
Roy noticed. "Am I clear?"
Samir met his gaze. Gave a short nod. "Clear."
Roy smiled thinly. "Good."
He headed for the door. "Do as planned."
Sometime later, Samir sat in the back of a parked car, one window slightly open. Samir smokes the cigarette, smoke curling out slow.
City noise hummed around them. Horns.
Distant sirens. Mumbai doing its thing.
Gaurav watched him from the other seat. Quiet too long.
"You're not gonna tell him," Gaurav said finally, his voice lite, "about that guy stealing elixir. Right?"
Samir didn't answer. Just dragged again. Ash glowed. Fell on the road.
Gaurav sighed. "When Roy finds out, he's not gonna be happy."
Samir's face tightened. He flicked the.cigarette out, watched it die under a tire. "We'll find him soon."
Pause.
"You do your job," Samir added. "By the way—there was a mismatch in yesterday's batch. Elixir count was off."
Gaurav froze. Just for a second.
"Did you tell Roy?" Samir asked.
Silence.
Samir smiled, thin and tired. Didn't push it.
Opened the door. "Good talk."
That evening, Samir walked into the same bar.
Same bass shaking the floor. Same lights.
Different mood.
He drank fast. Didn't dance. Didn't smile. By the third glass, the edge softened. By the fifth, his head felt warm and heavy.
Bathroom. Needed air. Cold water.
He went alone.
Mirrors lined the wall. Too many reflections. He leaned over the sink, stared at his own face. Bruise still there. Yellowing now. Ugly.
Lights flickered.
He frowned. "Seriously?"
They flickered again. Longer this time.
He bent down, splashed water, hands shaking just a bit. When he straightened—
Someone stood behind him.
Samir sucked in a breath.
Black mask. Matte finish. LED eyes glowing red, curved like an angry devil emoji. The mouth shifted, pixel by pixel, into a frown.
He didn't get time to speak.
Something slammed into the back of his head.
Hard.
His skull cracked against the sink. Sound dull. Wet. He dropped without drama.
Inside the mask, DJ stared down at him, chest rising fast.
"Lights are clear," a voice said in his ear. Rony. Calm. Too calm. "Bathroom's empty."
DJ nudged Samir with his foot. No response.
"When I said 'plan,'" Rony continued, "I didn't think you meant kidnapping the guy who beat you up. One of the richest men in Mumbai and maybe in India. In a bar full of rich idiots and their bodyguards."
DJ crouched, hooked his arms under Samir's shoulders. "Relax."
"How are you escaping," Rony said, "with seventy-five kilos of chicken on you, when half the city, all the police, even the CBI wants your head?"
DJ grinned under the mask. "Front door."
The music cut.
Lights died.
Groans filled the bar. Shouts. Whistles.
Phones came out instantly.
"What the hell—"
"Again?"
Security outside the bathroom looked around but stayed put. Not their problem yet.
Someone screamed near the bar. A guy shoved back. A drink spilled. Someone touched someone wrong. Voices rose.
Cameras flashed. A perfect mess. A perfect distraction.
DJ kicked the bathroom door open.
Music slammed back on. Lights exploded alive.
People cheered, thinking it was part of the show.
The two bodyguards turned just as DJ moved. He remembered the last time. Didn't hold back.
One went down hard. The other followed faster.
DJ slung Samir over his shoulder and walked.
No one noticed.
No one wanted to.
By the time anyone realized something was wrong, the devil emoji was already gone.
Sometime later, Samir came back to himself with a groan stuck in his throat.
Cold air. Concrete smell. Rust. His wrists burned. Ankles too. Rope biting deep. He tried to move and the chair scraped, metal on cement.
"Fuck—"
Cloth over his eyes. Tight. Red light leaking through it anyway. Like a warning.
He thrashed once. Pointless.
A hand reached out and ripped the blindfold away.
Samir squinted, head splitting, vision swimming. Half-finished building. Pillars.
Exposed rebar. Red emergency lights humming somewhere above, washing everything in blood color.
His vision becomes clear. Someone stood in front of him.
Black armor. Weird helmet. LED eyes glowing. Devil emoji curved into something angry.
Samir spate once. Dry. "Who the fuck are you supposed to be?"
The voice that came back wasn't human. Scratched. Filtered.
"Justice."
Silence.
Samir blinked, not processing that word for a moment.