The college semester break arrived like a much-needed deep breath. After the whirlwind of the meteoroid, discovering their powers, and the intense, secret training sessions at the abandoned construction site, the five friends were exhausted, both mentally and physically.
"We need a break," Rosy had declared one evening, collapsing onto Krishna's couch after a particularly grueling practice session where she accidentally punched a hole through a reinforced concrete pillar. "Somewhere far away from… all this."
"Somewhere with beaches?" Mahira added hopefully.
"Somewhere with minimal opportunities for accidental property damage?" Simran suggested dryly, looking pointedly at Rosy.
And so, the plan was made. A trip to Goa. Just the five of them. No powers (if they could help it), no secrets, just sun, sand, and a chance to feel like normal nineteen-year-olds again.
A few days later, they stepped off the bus in Panjim, the warm, humid air thick with the smell of the sea and fried fish. The contrast with the familiar streets of Chhatrapati Sambhaji Nagar was immediate. Goa was a riot of color, sound, and energy. Brightly painted houses stood next to ancient Portuguese churches, scooters zipped through narrow lanes, and the sound of Konkani chatter mixed with the distant roar of the waves.
They checked into a small, budget guesthouse near Calangute beach, dropped their bags, and made a pact. "For the next five days," Krishna said, looking at each of them seriously, "no powers unless it's a life-or-death emergency. Agreed?"
"Agreed!" they all chorused, though Rosy looked a little disappointed.
The first couple of days were almost perfect. They spent hours on the beach, splashing in the waves, building terrible sandcastles, and trying questionable street food. Mahira, with her natural talent for mimicry, picked up a surprisingly convincing Konkani accent after just a few hours. Simran, armed with a travel guide and her incredible memory, became their instant expert on local history and navigation. Rosy's boundless energy was perfect for exploring the bustling markets, while Gunjan seemed calmer and more relaxed than they had seen her in months, quietly enjoying the feel of the sand between her toes.
Krishna watched them all, a sense of relief washing over him. Here, away from their hidden headquarters and the weight of their secret, they were just his friends again. Maybe, just maybe, they could still have a normal life alongside the impossible one they had been given.
But their powers were a part of them now, woven into their very being. Keeping them completely hidden was harder than they thought.
At a crowded flea market, a pickpocket skillfully lifted an expensive camera from a foreign tourist. Before anyone else even noticed, Simran's super-fast mind processed the entire sequence of events. She saw the thief slipping away into the crowd. Without thinking, she subtly calculated his trajectory, predicted where he would emerge, and casually stuck out her foot, sending him tumbling harmlessly to the ground. The camera skittered across the pavement, and the relieved tourist recovered it, completely unaware of the silent intervention. Simran just melted back into the crowd, her heart pounding.
Another time, they were exploring the crumbling ruins of an old Portuguese fort overlooking the sea. Rosy, leaning against a thick, ancient stone wall for a photo, felt it shift ominously under her weight. A large section of the wall was about to collapse onto a narrow pathway below where other tourists were walking. There was no time to shout a warning. Instinct took over. She braced herself, channeling just a fraction of Judith's strength, and held the heavy stones in place, her muscles barely straining, until the people below had passed safely. "Wow, this old wall is really shaky!" she said loudly, pushing herself away casually, leaving her friends staring at her with wide eyes.
Even Gunjan had a close call. While examining some beautiful seashells on the beach, she picked up a piece of smooth, black volcanic rock washed ashore. Lost in thought, she didn't realize until Krishna gently touched her arm that her hand had turned the same deep black color, hard and glassy like obsidian. She quickly dropped the rock, her hand returning to normal, hoping no one else had noticed.
These small incidents were reminders that their pact was fragile. Their powers were always there, just under the surface, waiting.
On their fourth day, they decided to try water sports at Baga beach. The place was buzzing with activity—parasailing, jet skis, banana boats.
"Banana boat!" Rosy yelled excitedly. "Come on!"
They strapped on their life vests and climbed onto the big, inflatable yellow boat. The speedboat towing them took off, bouncing them wildly over the waves. They were screaming and laughing, holding on for dear life. The salty spray felt wonderful, washing away their worries.
Suddenly, the driver of the speedboat, perhaps trying to give them an extra thrill, took a sharp turn too fast. The tow rope snapped with a loud crack.
Their banana boat, now free, went skidding sideways across the water at high speed, completely out of control. They were heading directly towards a rocky outcrop near the edge of the bay.
Panic erupted. They were going too fast. They were going to hit the rocks.
"Everyone, lean left!" Krishna shouted, trying to steer the unwieldy boat, but it was useless.
Rosy prepared to brace for impact. Gunjan instinctively reached for the rubbery side of the boat, her body ready to absorb the shock.
But Simran's mind was already working. Faster than anyone else could react, she analyzed the boat's speed, the angle of approach, the water currents, and the shape of the rocks. There was only one, incredibly slim, chance.
"Mahira!" Simran yelled over the wind and screams. "The parasail! Look like the instructor!"
Mahira didn't understand why, but she trusted Simran. She looked up at a nearby parasail boat where an instructor in a bright orange shirt was shouting instructions. In an instant, Mahira transformed. She was now wearing the instructor's face and bright orange shirt.
"NOW!" Simran screamed. "WAVE YOUR ARMS! SHOUT AT HIM!"
Mahira, still looking like the instructor, stood up precariously on the speeding banana boat, waved her arms frantically at the real instructor on the parasail boat, and shouted in his exact voice, "MAYDAY! MAYDAY! ENGINE FAILURE! NEED ASSISTANCE!"
The parasail boat instructor, hearing his own voice and seeing his own shirt calling for help from the runaway banana boat, reacted instantly out of pure confusion and instinct. He spun his boat around, thinking something was terribly wrong with his own vessel or perhaps a bizarre reflection.
His sudden turn created a large wake, a wave that hit their banana boat broadside just yards from the rocks. The wave didn't capsize them, but it drastically altered their course, sending them spinning harmlessly away from the jagged rocks and back towards the open water, where they eventually slowed to a stop, shaken but safe.
The parasail boat instructor stared at them, utterly bewildered, as Mahira quickly shifted back to her normal form.
They were safe. Simran's impossible calculation and Mahira's quick thinking had saved them. But as they sat there, catching their breath on the gently bobbing banana boat, Gunjan suddenly grabbed Krishna's arm.
That night, feeling adventurous, they decided to walk along the beach back to their guesthouse after dinner at a shack further down the coast. The moon was bright, the waves crashed gently, and the air was cool. It felt peaceful, a perfect end to the day.
As they passed a slightly larger, family-run beach restaurant set back a little from the water, the sound of angry shouting shattered the calm. It wasn't the sound of a drunken argument; it was the sound of real fear.
"Please, just give me more time!" a man's voice pleaded.
"Time's up, old man!" another voice snarled. "You pay what you owe, or we take it out on your place... and maybe your family."
The five friends stopped, instantly alert. They crept closer, staying in the shadows of the palm trees. Through the open front of the restaurant, they saw a horrifying scene. Three rough-looking men, dressed in flashy clothes, were menacing the restaurant owner, a kind-looking middle-aged man. His wife and teenage daughter stood behind him, clinging to each other, their faces pale with terror. One of the thugs casually waved a small handgun.
"Goons. Local gangsters, probably," Krishna whispered, his mind already assessing the situation. "Extortion."
"We have to do something," Rosy hissed, her fists clenching.
"But the pact..." Mahira reminded her. "No powers."
"This looks like life-or-death to me," Rosy shot back.
"She's right," Krishna agreed, his voice low and firm. "But we can't reveal ourselves. Not here." He looked around. "Masks. Quickly."
They improvised. Mahira and Gunjan untied the light cotton dupattas they had draped over their shoulders. Rosy and Simran pulled their t-shirts up over their lower faces, bandana-style. Krishna used a handkerchief from his pocket. It wasn't much, but it would obscure their features in the dim light.
"Okay," Krishna whispered, his leadership instincts kicking in. "No suits, so we have to be smart. Judith, you're the distraction. Pritha, focus on defense. Rukhsar, control the crowd, keep anyone else from getting involved. Anura, watch their movements, call out warnings. I'll handle the gun. Go!"
Rosy (Judith) moved first. She didn't charge in. She walked calmly towards the entrance, her face masked, her powerful presence undeniable. "Having some trouble here, gentlemen?" she called out, her voice loud and confident.
The three thugs spun around, surprised. "Who the hell are you? Get lost!" the leader snarled, raising his gun slightly.
That was the opening. As their attention was on Rosy, Gunjan (Pritha) moved silently along the side wall. She reached the terrified family and quickly whispered, "Stay behind me." She placed her hands flat on the wooden wall behind them, focusing. Her skin hardened, taking on the strong, resilient properties of the aged wood. She became a living shield.
Mahira (Rukhsar), meanwhile, stepped out onto the beach path, adopting the authoritative voice of a police officer. "What's going on here? Police! Put your hands up!" she shouted into the night, hoping to startle the gangsters and alert anyone nearby.
It worked. The thugs hesitated, confused by the sudden appearance of Rosy and the shout from outside. The gunman momentarily lowered his weapon, looking towards the beach path.
"Anura, now!" Krishna commanded.
"Gunman turning right!" Simran's voice was a calm report in their ears.
Krishna moved. He wasn't wearing his suit, so he didn't have enhanced strength, but he had his training. He burst through the entrance, moving low and fast. He used a Kalaripayattu technique his father had taught him—a swift, precise strike to the gunman's wrist. The gun clattered harmlessly to the floor. Before the man could react, Krishna followed with a disabling elbow strike, and the leader crumpled.
The other two thugs, seeing their leader down and their gun gone, charged at Krishna. But they never reached him. Rosy intercepted them. Even without her full armor, her raw super-strength was overwhelming. She grabbed one man by the arm, lifted him off his feet, and threw him into a pile of empty plastic chairs. The other charged wildly, and she simply stepped aside and stuck out her foot, sending him crashing face-first onto the sandy floor.
It was over in less than thirty seconds. Quick, efficient, and controlled.
The restaurant owner and his family stared in stunned silence as the four masked figures quickly checked on them, ensuring they were okay.
"Who... who are you?" the owner stammered.
"Just some concerned citizens," Krishna said, his voice muffled by the cloth. "Call the police. They'll take care of these guys."
Before the owner could say anything else, the four figures melted back into the shadows of the beach, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. They ran back to their guesthouse, their hearts pounding with adrenaline, pulling off their makeshift masks as soon as they were safe. They had done it. They had saved a family, worked as a team, and kept their identities secret.
Back at the beach restaurant, the police arrived and arrested the three groaning gangsters. The owner, still shaken, tried to explain what had happened. "Four people... they wore masks... one woman was incredibly strong... they just... appeared!" The police listened patiently, but dismissed it as the exaggerated story of a man in shock.
Later that night, the five friends sat on the small balcony of their guesthouse, the sound of the waves a calming backdrop. They were exhilarated but also sobered. Their vacation had been invaded by their new reality. They couldn't just turn off who they were.
"We did good," Rosy said quietly, breaking the silence.
"We did," Krishna agreed. "But we were lucky. That could have gone wrong in a dozen different ways." He looked out at the dark ocean. "Being a hero... it's not a part-time job."
Meanwhile, back in Mumbai...
Meteoroid Man stood in the doorway of the ruined lab where his transformation had begun. The room was a wreck of shattered glass, overturned equipment, and scorch marks from his own energy blasts during his escape weeks ago. The air hung heavy with the smell of burnt plastic and ozone.
His glowing green eyes scanned the destruction. This was the place where Dr. Bharat Maske had died. But it was also the place where his knowledge resided. The brilliant mind of the scientist, now trapped within this monstrous form, began to work.
[To be continued…]
Support me: vanshbosssrahate@oksbi (UPI ID)
Author: Vansh Rahate
Editor: Vansh Rahate
Story by: Vansh Rahate
Under: Alaukika Studios