Beom's head throbbed as he blinked open his eyes, groggy and disoriented, the dull ache from the back of his skull pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The first thing he noticed was that he was in the back seat of a car, the low hum of the engine filling the otherwise silent space. He took in his surroundings, the darkened windows, the rough interior, and a growing unease settled in his gut. He instinctively rubbed the back of his head, wincing at the pain, and felt the tension mount within him.
The driver's voice cut through the fog in his mind. "Sir, I see him up ahead," he announced, his tone clipped and urgent. The car sped up, and Beom squinted out the window to see what the driver was talking about. His heart nearly stopped when he saw a helicopter hovering in the distance, Sasha visible within, his expression twisted into a smirk as he clutched an M134 minigun, the barrels spinning menacingly in preparation.
Beom's stomach turned as he took in the scene. Sasha was fully armed, and he looked all too pleased with himself as he prepared to rain down fire on the car. Beom turned, dread pooling in his stomach as he noticed who was seated beside him—Yaroslav, his face twisted into a calculating smile, his hands wrapped around a shoulder-fired missile launcher aimed directly at Sasha's helicopter.
"No!" Beom's voice tore from his throat as he lunged forward, instinctively reaching to grab the launcher in Yaroslav's hands. But Yaroslav was faster, his finger already squeezing the trigger. The missile shot out with a deafening roar, slicing through the air and hurtling toward Sasha's helicopter. Beom's hand swiped desperately, but he missed, watching helplessly as the missile veered off course at the last moment, slamming into a nearby building. Concrete and glass exploded outward in a cloud of dust and debris, the shockwave shaking the car.
Before Beom could catch his breath, Sasha opened fire, the minigun's rapid, thunderous shots echoing as bullets tore through the air. The car shook as the windows shattered under the assault, glass raining down around them. Beom ducked, covering his head as bullets pelted the vehicle, each impact sending a fresh jolt of fear through him. He looked over in horror to see the driver slump forward, blood trickling down his neck, his hands slipping from the wheel. With no one to steer, the car careened wildly, lurching as it veered off the road and bounced across rough terrain.
Beom's fury boiled over, his fear turning into raw, unrestrained anger as he whipped around to face Yaroslav. "You son of a—!" he spat, driving his fist into Yaroslav's jaw with all his strength. The blow landed solidly, Yaroslav's head snapping back as he grunted in pain. Yaroslav recovered quickly, however, grabbing onto Beom's arm, his eyes dark and dangerous as he struggled to wrest control.
The two men grappled, the enclosed space making every move clumsy and frantic. Beom swung again, his fist slamming into Yaroslav's ribs, but Yaroslav retaliated, his hand digging into Beom's shoulder as he attempted to push him back. Amid the chaos, the car jolted violently, skidding and spinning out of control. Beom's stomach lurched as he realized they were heading straight toward the edge of the road, the ground below dropping off steeply toward a river.
"Let go!" Beom growled, shoving Yaroslav with all his might, but Yaroslav held on, his grip like iron.
Suddenly, with a sickening lurch, the car tipped over the edge. Gravity took hold, and in an instant, they were tumbling, the vehicle flipping as it plummeted down the embankment. Beom's body was thrown around like a rag doll, each roll slamming him against the seats, the doors, Yaroslav—anything and everything in the confined space. The world spun around him, a blur of metal and glass, his vision a kaleidoscope of colors and chaos.
Then, with a final, bone-rattling crash, the car hit the river, plunging into the icy depths with a resounding splash. Water rushed in immediately, filling the interior, the cold shock hitting Beom like a punch to the gut. He gasped, his lungs screaming as he instinctively sucked in a mouthful of water, sputtering and choking as he tried to regain his bearings. The river was merciless, swallowing the car whole, the water pressing in from every direction as the vehicle sank deeper and deeper.
Beom held his breath, lungs already screaming as he kicked hard against the car door, pushing himself away from the sinking wreckage. The icy water felt like knives piercing his skin, each stroke growing harder as the cold sapped his strength. His heart hammered as he fought his way upward, his mind fixed on one thought: reaching the surface before his lungs gave out.
But then he saw it—the bullets slicing through the water, faint trails of bubbles following each shot as they pierced deeper into the murky depths around him. Sasha wasn't letting up; he was aiming right into the water, relentless. The harsh realization hit Beom like another icy wave. Is he seriously trying to kill me like this? Beom thought, panic coiling tighter in his chest. Every bullet that zipped past felt like a razor-sharp reminder of how little time he had.
Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, a sudden, brutal yank on his leg sent him tumbling downward. Beom's eyes widened in alarm as he looked down to see Yaroslav beneath him, his face a grim mask of desperation and rage, his grip vice-like as he clawed his way up Beom's leg, refusing to let him escape.
Panic surged, but so did a fierce determination. Beom twisted, kicking out as hard as he could, his foot connecting solidly with Yaroslav's face. The impact sent ripples through the water, but Yaroslav's grip didn't loosen. He only tightened his hold, his eyes blazing with a manic intensity as he pulled himself closer, trying to drag Beom back down to the depths. Desperate, Beom kicked again, harder this time, each movement becoming more frantic, his vision blurring as his lungs screamed for air.
I have to get free, he thought, adrenaline surging as he kicked once more, his heel slamming into Yaroslav's jaw with all the strength he could muster. This time, it worked. Yaroslav's grip loosened, his body jolting back from the force, his expression momentarily dazed as he floated back in the dark water.
Without hesitating, Beom twisted upward, kicking fiercely toward the surface. His limbs felt leaden, his muscles burning as he forced himself upward, every stroke feeling heavier as the seconds dragged by. Beom clawed his way onto the shore, collapsing onto the damp sand with his lungs burning and his entire body aching from exhaustion. Each breath he took felt like fire, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady himself. The freezing water dripped from his soaked clothes, pooling around him, but he hardly noticed, too focused on the overwhelming relief of finally being out of the river. He closed his eyes for a moment, still catching his breath.
"That… was close," he muttered to himself, barely audible between his gasps. But the respite was short-lived.
A sudden shadow fell over him, blocking the harsh glare of the sun. Beom squinted up, his heart sinking as he took in the figure standing over him. Sasha stood there, smirking, a heavy white fur coat draped over his shoulders, stark against the rugged landscape. The coat gleamed in the sunlight, making him look almost ethereal, like some twisted angel of death. His face was calm, a hint of amusement playing in his eyes as he looked down at Beom, relishing the sight of his barely-surviving opponent sprawled at his feet.
"Wow, you really are something," Sasha drawled, his tone dripping with mock admiration. "Managed to survive all that, did you?"
Beom struggled to sit up, coughing out the last of the river water from his lungs as he fought the urge to curse. His muscles protested every movement, his limbs still weighed down from the ordeal. But the anger bubbling up inside him overshadowed the pain, fueling him as he forced himself to his feet, wobbling slightly but refusing to back down.
"You son of a—" Beom spat, his voice thick with fury. "Were you actually trying to kill me? I almost died down there!" He staggered, his fists clenching despite the exhaustion seeping into his bones. "Do you even care?"
Sasha merely tilted his head, an amused chuckle slipping past his lips as he studied Beom, thoroughly entertained by his fury. "Kill you?" he echoed, feigning innocence as his smirk widened. "Oh, Beom, if I wanted you dead, you'd already be six feet under. This was just… a little test."
Beom's jaw clenched, his fists tightening as Sasha's words settled over him, the casual cruelty in Sasha's tone making his blood boil. "A test?" he repeated, disbelief coloring his words. "You nearly blew up an entire floor, had me dodging bullets underwater, and you call that a test?"
Sasha shrugged, unbothered, as he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with ease. He took a slow, measured drag, letting the smoke curl around his face as he looked Beom over, clearly savoring every bit of his frustration. "What can I say? I had to see if you'd sink or swim," he replied with a dark gleam in his eyes. "And look at you—still standing. I'd say you passed with flying colors."