codename: Seraphim

Confused, he picked it up, his eyes narrowing as he read the single, ominous word scrawled across the paper: BOOM. A smiley face, drawn in a sloppy, mocking curve, grinned back at him.

In that instant, his blood ran cold. He dropped the paper, his pulse pounding, and lifted the cloth on the tray's lower shelf. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the ticking bomb nestled there, a red LED display counting down the seconds in grim, unrelenting silence.

"Shit…" Beom's mind raced, panic flaring as he scrambled to think. His first instinct took over, his training kicking in with swift precision. He flung open the door and bolted into the hallway, his voice echoing with urgent warning as he shouted, "Everyone! Get out! Evacuate the floor, NOW! There's a bomb! Move, or you're dead!"

The blast's force had hurled Beom across the hallway, slamming him into the wall with a bone-rattling impact. His ears rang, and the taste of smoke and dust lingered on his tongue. Groaning, he pressed a hand to his ribs, each breath stabbing through his bruised chest. As he stumbled down the staircase, flames licked up the walls, and the air grew dense with smoke, threatening to choke him with each step.

Once he burst out of the building, Beom doubled over, coughing and clutching his side as paramedics and firefighters hurried around him. The scene was a blur of flashing lights, shouted orders, and the roar of the blaze that continued to consume the floors above.

"Sir, are you okay?" A firefighter jogged up to him, eyes wide with concern. Beom barely heard him through the haze clouding his mind, his thoughts racing. Yaroslav really wants me dead, he muttered internally, every nerve in his body prickling with urgency and frustration.

"I'm fine," Beom managed to say, though his voice was strained. He gestured back at the building. "Forget about me—there are people still inside—"

But before he could protest further, the firefighter's firm grip tightened on his arm. "You don't look fine. Medic, get him to the ambulance!"

Beom shook his head, trying to pull his arm away. "No, really, I'm—" But he didn't finish his sentence; two firefighters firmly guided him to an ambulance despite his protests. He glanced back instinctively, and his heart skipped a beat. Through the crowd, a shadowy figure stood by the edge of the scene, partially hidden but watching with an eerie calmness.

That face... I know that face, he thought, his pulse hammering as the realization struck him. It's Yaroslav.

"Yaroslav!" Beom's eyes widened, the name slipping from his lips in shock. He had to get to him—now, before he vanished. Panic shot through him as the paramedics pulled him onto the ambulance, one of them inspecting his ribs, while another started to tend to the cuts on his arm.

"No...no, I can't stay here," Beom thought, his chest tight with urgency. I have to go after him—this could be my only chance.

Driven by a sudden surge of adrenaline, he jerked his arm away from the medic and jumped off the stretcher, shoving past the firefighters who tried to hold him back. Before they could react, he swung a desperate punch, enough to catch them off-guard and loosen their hold on him. Ignoring their shocked calls, he broke into a run, pushing through the crowd in the direction he had last seen Yaroslav.

The figure was moving swiftly through the chaos, almost gliding as he slipped between the shadows. Beom sprinted after him, his injured body protesting with every step, but he ignored the pain, focusing only on the figure ahead.

He finally reached a narrow alleyway, where Yaroslav's silhouette paused, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, and a chilling smile curved Yaroslav's lips—a smile that sent a shiver down Beom's spine. It was as if Yaroslav knew he'd been spotted, that he wanted Beom to follow.

"Stop!" Beom shouted, his voice raw, but Yaroslav didn't respond. Instead, he stepped further into the darkness, disappearing around the corner with a calm, unhurried stride.

Beom's footsteps echoed as he tore down the alley, every instinct screaming at him to catch up, to end this chase once and for all. His mind raced with questions and fears, with images of everything Yaroslav had done, each act of violence and betrayal that led to this moment.

Turning the corner, Beom found himself in a dimly lit, empty stretch of the alley. Yaroslav was gone. He scanned the shadows, his heart pounding, feeling the oppressive weight of the silence pressing down on him. It was as if Yaroslav had melted into the shadows, leaving only the faint scent of smoke and a cold sense of dread.

The roar of the motorbike engine reverberated through the narrow alley, a cacophony of sound that signaled imminent danger. Beom spun around just in time to see the rider, clad in black leather and a helmet that obscured his face, drawing a gun with a swift, practiced motion. The world around him seemed to slow as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

Bang! Bang! The sharp cracks of gunfire echoed like thunder, and Beom instinctively ducked, barely avoiding the first round that whizzed past his head. His heart raced as he bolted down the alley, the narrow passageways feeling like a claustrophobic labyrinth, each turn an opportunity for escape. But the bike roared behind him, the relentless engine a predator in pursuit.

"Dammit!" Beom cursed under his breath, the word laced with urgency as he sprinted forward. The air was thick with tension, his pulse thundering in his ears as he pushed himself to run faster. The cold bite of fear gripped him, mingling with the determination that had driven him since the explosion. He couldn't afford to be caught, not now.

As he turned another corner, two burly figures emerged seemingly out of thin air, grabbing him with an unexpected ferocity. "What the hell—!" Beom snarled, caught off guard. Their hands were like iron shackles on his arms, pinning him in place. He struggled violently, instinctively twisting and turning to free himself from their grip.

With sheer willpower, he managed to elbow one of them hard in the ribs, forcing the air out of the man with a grunt. He swung a punch at the other, connecting with a satisfying thud against the man's jaw, causing him to stagger backward. For a brief moment, Beom broke free, adrenaline propelling him forward as he realized the motorbike was still a danger.

The rider had revved the engine, his figure a blur of motion as he barreled toward Beom with ruthless speed. Time seemed to stretch as the bike closed in, the gleaming metal frame a harbinger of chaos. Beom's mind raced, every survival instinct screaming at him to move. With a burst of energy, he dove to the side just as the bike sped past, narrowly missing him by mere inches. The rush of wind from the bike's passage whipped against his skin, a reminder of how close he had come to disaster.

He hit the ground hard but rolled to his feet, adrenaline propelling him forward. Yet, the two men he had fought were regaining their composure, lunging toward him again with renewed aggression. They were relentless, each trying to grab him, their movements a choreographed dance of violence. Beom was ready, though, pivoting on his heels. He ducked under a wild swing and countered with a strike of his own, sending one man sprawling to the ground.

In the chaos, Beom's eyes caught a glimpse of the fallen gun from the first attacker. Without hesitation, he lunged for it, grasping the cold metal in his hands. As he stood, he leveled the gun toward the motorbike rider, heart pounding in his chest, breathing heavily as he aimed directly at the shadowy figure.

"Stop right there!" Beom's voice rang out, raw and commanding, cutting through the noise of the alley. The rider halted, momentarily taken aback, and for a fleeting second, the world froze. The two men behind Beom paused, uncertainty etched on their faces.

"You want to keep coming?" Beom spat, his voice steady despite the chaos surrounding him. He could feel the weight of the gun in his hands, a symbol of his defiance against the threats that loomed over him. The rider, helmet gleaming under the dim light, didn't flinch. Instead, he took a deliberate step forward, unphased by the gun aimed at him.

He was poised, ready to pull the trigger, adrenaline coursing through his veins like fire, when everything shattered in an instant. TWHAK! A brutal impact struck the back of Beom's head, a jarring blow that sent him spiraling into a dizzying abyss.

"Ugh!" The sound escaped him involuntarily as the world around him began to blur and fade. He felt himself crumple to the ground, the hard surface colliding with his body like a tidal wave of force. Pain erupted, sharp and searing, radiating through his skull, cascading down to the tips of his fingers and toes. His vision wavered, a swirling storm of colors and shapes, as reality slipped through his grasp like sand through fingers.

"Get up, get up!" The frantic voice in his head screamed, a desperate plea echoing in the recesses of his mind. He could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, each pulse a reminder that he was still alive, but the sensation felt muted, distant. Beom fought to raise himself, but his limbs felt like lead, weighed down by an invisible force that held him captive. It was as if the very gravity of his situation had conspired to keep him on the ground, crushed beneath the weight of his own body.

"I feel...heavy," he thought, each word like a stone sinking into a deep well of despair. Panic clawed at his throat, a primal fear that gripped him tightly. "Is this where I die?" The thought flitted through his mind like a dark specter, cold and chilling. "I can't… die like this… I haven't…" The words trailed off, the weight of unfulfilled promises and unaccomplished goals crashing down upon him like a heavy shroud. The fear of leaving so much unfinished, of never seeing the faces of those he cared about again, ignited a fierce determination within him.

But as hard as he tried, as fiercely as he fought against the encroaching darkness, he felt his strength ebbing away. The ground seemed to tilt beneath him, and the edges of his consciousness began to fray. His body, once a vessel of power and agility, now felt foreign, unresponsive. "No… I can't give in," he urged himself, desperation coating his thoughts like a thick fog. But with each passing second, his resolve weakened, the flickering light of consciousness dimming as if it were a candle being snuffed out by a gust of wind.

"Get up!" he screamed inwardly, but the words fell flat, swallowed by the void that beckoned him closer. With a final surge of will, Beom attempted to push himself off the ground, his palms scraping against the rough surface as he fought against the pull of oblivion. "I can't leave them… I can't…" But just as the flicker of hope ignited within him, darkness enveloped him completely.

Everything went blank. Just the faint sound of a helicopter.