"He's always like this," Beom-sook chimed in with a mouthful of food. "Can't even sit down for a full meal without the agency dragging him away." She rolled her eyes, but there was a soft smile on her face. She was proud of her brother, even if his job meant they didn't get to see him as much.
Their mother nodded, her fingers absently toying with the edge of her apron. "I just hope he takes care of himself," she whispered, almost to herself, as she stared at the empty seat Beom-ki had left behind.
Beom-sook grinned, nudging her mom gently with her elbow. "Come on, eomma, you know Beom-ki's tougher than he looks. He'll be fine. Plus, he's got you to come home to. That's enough to keep anyone going."
Her mom chuckled softly, her expression softening. "I suppose you're right."
And as they continued their dinner, the absence of Beom-ki was felt, but the warmth of their family still remained the same.
Beom-ki arrived at the agency just under 30 minutes, the drive feeling like a blur as his mind raced with thoughts of the sudden call. The building stood tall, glowing against the night sky, its sleek glass façade reflecting the bustling activity inside. Even at this hour, the agency was alive with agents moving in and out, voices overlapping as they exchanged information, and the soft hum of technology permeating the air. The entrance slid open with a soft whoosh as Beom stepped inside, his eyes immediately scanning the familiar, busy surroundings.
As soon as he entered, he heard someone shouting his name across the lobby. "Beom-ki! There you are!" Nakwon's voice cut through the noise, and Beom-ki turned to see his colleague hurrying toward him, slightly out of breath. Nakwon was panting as he approached, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, his usually calm demeanor replaced with a sense of urgency.
"I've been looking for you," Nakwon huffed, catching his breath. His expression was serious, his eyes darting around as if expecting something major to happen at any moment. Beom-ki's brows furrowed at the sight of Nakwon like this. He was rarely flustered, so whatever was going on had to be important.
"What's going on?" Beom-ki asked, his voice calm but alert, already bracing himself for whatever was to come.
"The heads are looking for you," Nakwon said, his tone heavy, the words sinking in like a weight.
"The heads?" Beom-ki echoed, his heart skipping a beat. The heads of the agency rarely got involved unless it was something massive, something that could shift the balance of their operations. It wasn't often that they asked for an agent personally, and Beom-ki knew this was no ordinary situation.
"Yeah," Nakwon replied, nodding as they started moving toward the elevator. "That means whatever the problem is, it's big. Really big." There was a note of worry in Nakwon's voice now, something unspoken passing between them. Beom-ki could feel the tension thickening in the air.
They walked briskly through the lobby, passing by agents who were either too focused on their tasks or too hurried to notice the gravity of the situation unfolding. Beom-ki's footsteps echoed slightly as they crossed the marble floor, the hum of voices and the tapping of keyboards filling the space around them.
When they reached the elevator, they both stood in silence, waiting for the doors to slide open. The seconds felt longer than usual, each tick of the clock in Beom-ki's mind reminding him of the unknown urgency that lay ahead. He could feel his pulse quicken slightly, but he kept his face neutral, calm, as the elevator finally arrived with a soft ding.
Stepping inside, they both faced the panel as Nakwon pressed the button for the fifth floor. The doors closed, and the elevator began its smooth ascent. Beom-ki's eyes flicked to the illuminated floor numbers as they passed each level. The quiet hum of the elevator contrasted with the buzz of activity below, creating a strange sense of calm before the storm.
Nakwon broke the silence, his voice low but filled with the weight of the moment. "I don't know exactly what's going on, but when the heads get involved, it's usually something that could affect the entire agency. Maybe even beyond that." He glanced at Beom-ki, his eyes filled with concern. "Just be prepared."
Beom-ki nodded, his mind already shifting into problem-solving mode. He could feel the adrenaline starting to course through his veins, his body preparing for whatever he was about to face. He didn't know what was waiting for him on the fifth floor, but he had a feeling it would be something that would challenge him in ways he hadn't yet imagined.
As the elevator neared its destination, Beom-ki took a deep breath, steadying himself. The tension in the air was palpable now, thick like a storm cloud ready to burst. The doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the dimly lit hallway of the fifth floor, a stark contrast to the bustling energy below. This floor was quieter, more serious. The walls lined with sleek black panels, and the atmosphere was one of quiet authority.
Nakwon then opened the door for Beom-ki, who entered with a steady composure. The atmosphere inside the room was thick with intensity. The heads of the agency, some of the most powerful and experienced figures in the field, were all seated around a large oval table. But it wasn't just their presence that caught Beom-ki's attention. Sitting directly across from them was the Russian agency's ambassador, an unexpected and rare sight in these parts.
Beom-ki's eyes flicked to the ambassador for a brief moment. Why would someone so high up from Russian Intelligence be here? And more importantly, what could possibly warrant such an international collaboration? His mind raced with possibilities, but he remained outwardly calm, as always.
He bowed his head slightly. "Good evening," he said, his voice firm yet respectful.
"Ah, yes. Shadow, please have a seat," his boss gestured to an empty chair near the center of the table.
Beom-ki sat down, maintaining his composure as he glanced around the room. Every set of eyes was on him, and the air felt heavy with the weight of whatever was about to be discussed.
The head of the agency leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on the table. His expression was stern, more serious than Beom-ki had seen in a long time.
"We've received some highly classified information," his boss began, his tone dark. "Codename 'Seraphim' has been activated."
Beom-ki's breath caught for a split second, but he kept his face impassive. Codename Seraphim was a name he had heard whispered in the darkest corners of the intelligence world, but never confirmed. The kind of weapon that wasn't just a threat to one nation but a destabilizing force that could send the entire world into chaos.
"This weapon is incredibly dangerous," his boss continued, his voice low. "It's not just a regular weapon. It's an advanced cyber-sigil technology—something that can disrupt not just military systems, but everything: financial markets, power grids, communication networks."
"The faction responsible has deep ties to both the Russian and Korean underworld," the ambassador continued. "We believe they're planning to target both of our countries simultaneously. This isn't just a threat to us. It's a threat to global security."
Beom-ki's boss took over again, his voice grave. "This is why you've been called in, Shadow. You're our best operative. Your experience with covert ops, advanced tech infiltration, and taking down high-level threats makes you the ideal candidate for this mission."
Beom-ki nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of what was being asked of him. This wasn't just another assignment. This was an international crisis.
"We need you to lead this operation," his boss said, locking eyes with him. "The mission is simple: Find Seraphim, eliminate the faction responsible, and prevent the activation at all costs."
Beom-ki's mind was already calculating. He'd need a team—experts in both cyber warfare and tactical combat. The fact that this operation spanned multiple countries meant he would have to coordinate with foreign agents, like the Russians, which added another layer of complexity. He couldn't afford any mistakes.
"This is a joint operation," the Russian ambassador added, his voice measured. "You'll have full access to our resources, and some of our best agents will be assisting you in the field. But make no mistake, Shadow. The responsibility of stopping Seraphim falls squarely on your shoulders."
Beom-ki clenched his jaw, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. If they failed, the consequences would be catastrophic—blackouts, infrastructure collapse, panic in the streets, and potential war. He had always taken pride in his ability to handle pressure, but this… this was something else entirely.
"We have every confidence in you," his boss said firmly. "This mission is classified at the highest level. You'll be briefed with more detailed intelligence shortly, but for now, know this: Time is not on our side."
"Do we know this guy's real name?" Beom-ki asked, his voice steady yet carrying a sharp edge of urgency that cut through the room's tension like a knife.
The head of the agency exchanged a long, knowing glance with the Russian ambassador before answering. "Yes," he replied gravely, his tone even but laden with weight. "His real name is Yaroslav Olegovich Vyshnevsky." He paused, letting the name sink in. "We know he's Russian, though his allegiances are... far more fluid. He's a man who's long abandoned the concept of loyalty to any one nation, operating in the darkest veins of global crime, slipping in and out of countries as easily as a shadow. But don't be mistaken—this man is as ruthless as they come, leaving a trail of devastation wherever he treads."
Beom-ki leaned back in his chair, repeating the name silently to himself: Yaroslav Olegovich Vyshnevsky. It was a name that seemed almost bland, like any ordinary man on the street. But Beom-ki knew better than to judge by appearances—or names. In the intelligence world, it was often the most unassuming people who wielded the deadliest skills, who could strike without leaving a ripple on the surface. The ordinary name only served to intensify the enigma surrounding this man. Beom-ki gave a slow nod, acknowledging the weight of what was being revealed.
"Do we have anything on his appearance?" Beom-ki asked, though deep down he already sensed the answer.
The Russian ambassador sighed heavily, his gaze dropping momentarily as though searching for words. "Unfortunately, no. We call him 'Ghost' for a reason," he said, his tone resigned but laced with an edge of respect, even fear.
Beom-ki frowned as the ambassador elaborated. "There are no confirmed photos, no fingerprints on file, no tangible evidence to pin him down. Every trace of him has been erased, or he's been careful enough to leave none in the first place. In the intelligence world, Yaroslav is practically a phantom. A myth, even. His existence is something whispered in dark alleys, mentioned only by those who've survived his wrath—or by those trying to understand the enigma of his power."
He continued, his voice dipping lower, as if afraid the man himself might somehow overhear. "There are no reliable visuals of him. The few eyewitnesses who've survived encounters with him describe vastly different versions of the same man. To some, he appears tall and broad-shouldered; to others, he is of average build, almost forgettable. He's known to change his appearance constantly—his hair color, eye color, even his skin tone. Witnesses report everything from a jet-black mane to silver-grey, eyes that range from piercing blue to the deep, unsettling black of endless night."
The ambassador's voice took on a conspiratorial tone, almost reverent. "They say he's a master of disguise, a chameleon who can mold himself into any role, any identity. Some even claim he speaks with dozens of accents, each as flawless as a native's, slipping in and out of languages with the fluidity of water. He's been heard speaking fluent Mandarin in one instance, shifting to perfect Arabic in another, then adopting the subtle intonations of a London accent as if he were born on the streets there. He can blend into any environment, be it the bustling crowd of a New York subway or the desolate alleyways of Moscow. He's earned the nickname 'Ghost' because, quite simply, he can disappear like smoke, leaving no trace."
Beom-ki absorbed the gravity of the description, his mind racing. This wasn't just another operative or a criminal mastermind—this was someone who had elevated deception and survival to an art form. If even the most advanced intelligence networks couldn't pin him down, it meant he operated on a level beyond the usual rules, beyond normal human boundaries.
The Russian ambassador locked eyes with Beom-ki, as if to underscore his words. "We may not know exactly what he looks like, but make no mistake, Shadow. The man is a lethal weapon in his own right, able to dismantle entire organizations from within without anyone realizing it until it's too late. He's left chaos in his wake from St. Petersburg to Shanghai. His is the kind of presence you feel, even when you don't see it. And now," the ambassador's gaze darkened, "this 'Ghost' may very well be on our doorstep, with Codename Seraphim at his disposal."