A faint sound to his left caught his attention, and his head snapped in that direction. It was just a shadow, flickering at the edge of his vision, but it was enough to make his stomach tighten. He had seen it before, that shadowy figure that seemed to linger just out of reach. It wasn't one of the men below—he was sure of that—but he didn't know what it was. And that uncertainty gnawed at him, a whisper of doubt in the back of his mind. Focus. Don't get distracted. You can deal with that later. Right now, you have a job to do.
Eun-jae's sharp eyes caught a flicker of movement below. One of the men—a burly figure with a shotgun slung over his shoulder—was gesturing to the others, his voice a muffled rumble in the night air. Eun-jae couldn't make out the exact words, but the tone was clear: orders. The group was dividing.
Three of them broke off, their boots crunching against the gravel-strewn alley as they headed toward the nearest building—his building. Eun-jae's jaw tightened. He shifted ever so slightly, peering over the edge of the rooftop. The remaining five lingered in the alley, their weapons glinting faintly under the streetlamp's dim glow.
They're searching for me. They're expecting me to run. He smirked bitterly at the thought. Running wasn't an option. Not now.
As his gaze darted back to the building entrance below, he spotted the first man of the smaller group beginning to ascend the stairs. The stairwell was narrow, claustrophobic, and creaked with every step the man took. The sound grated against Eun-jae's nerves, each creak like a countdown to an inevitable confrontation.
Then, for a fleeting moment, Eun-jae caught something out of the corner of his eye. A shadow. No, not just any shadow—the shadow. It slithered along the edge of his vision, faint and fleeting, yet somehow chilling in its presence. His breath hitched. Not now. Focus. It's just in your head.
But was it? That same shadow had been haunting him for weeks, lurking in the periphery of his sight like a ghost that refused to let go. He didn't have time to dwell on it now. There was a more immediate problem making its way toward him.
One man. One knife. Make it quick, make it clean.
He slipped the small blade from his back pocket, its cold steel a reassuring weight in his hand. His grip tightened around the handle as he crouched in the shadows, his muscles coiling in preparation. The man's steps grew louder, closer.
"Just a little more… just a little more," Eun-jae whispered in his head, the mantra grounding him, calming the storm of adrenaline surging through his veins.
The moment the man's shadow fell across the top of the stairs, Eun-jae moved. Silent as death, he stepped from the shadows, his blade flashing in the dim light. He struck quickly, efficiently, his movements honed by years of training. The man didn't even have time to cry out as the knife plunged into his neck—once, twice, three times. Blood sprayed in warm, sticky arcs, coating Eun-jae's hands and staining the floor beneath them.
Eun-jae caught the man's body before it could collapse and alert the others. He lowered it gently to the ground, wiping his blade on the man's jacket before tucking it back into his pocket. His heart was racing now, pounding like a war drum, but he forced himself to stay calm. He reached down, searching the man's body for anything useful. His fingers closed around a handgun, and he exhaled sharply. This'll do.
Without wasting a second, he climbed back to the rooftop. The moment he reached the top, he spotted the three men still below. The soft glow of their cigarettes made them easy targets. Eun-jae didn't hesitate. He raised the gun, steadied his aim, and fired.
The first shot hit its mark, a clean kill through the head. The second man barely had time to react before Eun-jae's bullet tore through his chest. The third scrambled for cover, shouting to alert the others, but Eun-jae was faster. He pulled the trigger again, and the man crumpled to the ground.
Three more down. That's six. Two left.
Eun-jae crouched low, reloading the gun—or at least, he tried. His stomach sank as he realized the magazine was empty. He cursed under his breath, tossing the useless weapon aside.
He searched the bodies below for ammunition but came up empty. Instead, his fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. He pulled it free, his eyes widening as he recognized the device in his hand: a KRS-34 bomb. Compact, deadly, and perfect for his needs. A grim smile tugged at his lips. They want to hunt me? Let's see how they handle this.
Knife in one hand, bomb in the other, Eun-jae made his way back to the rooftop. The wind whipped around him, carrying the faint sound of shouting voices. As he reached the edge, he froze. One of the two remaining men was tumbling from the roof, his body slamming into the pavement below with a sickening thud.
Eun-jae's blood ran cold. That meant only one thing. The shadowy figure.
He ducked behind the wall, his heart hammering against his ribs. The sound of approaching footsteps sent a shiver down his spine. He clenched the knife tighter, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
The figure emerged, its presence sending a wave of dread crashing over Eun-jae. It wasn't just the strength in its movements or the deliberate way it walked—it was the aura, dark and oppressive, like death itself had come to claim him.
Eun-jae didn't wait. He moved, lunging with the knife, ready to strike. But the figure was faster. It caught his arm mid-swing, twisting it with inhuman strength. The bomb slipped from Eun-jae's grasp, clattering to the ground. Before he could react, the figure kicked it aside, sending it skidding across the roof. The explosion was deafening, a shockwave that rattled the rooftop and sent debris flying.
Eun-jae barely had time to process what was happening before the figure had him pinned. His face scraped against the rough concrete, pain flaring in his cheek as the figure pressed a polished shoe against his head.
"Ugh!" he groaned, struggling against the weight, but it was futile. The figure was too strong, its movements precise and unyielding.
Eun-jae twisted his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of his assailant, but the darkness obscured the figure's face. All he could see was a faint glint of light reflecting off a cigarette as the figure chuckled, the sound low and menacing.
The figure dropped the cigarette, grinding it into the ground before kicking Eun-jae's face again. Stars exploded in his vision, dizziness washing over him in waves. He could feel the blood dripping from his nose, pooling beneath him, but he couldn't move.
As the figure bent down, snapping a pair of handcuffs onto Eun-jae's wrists and chaining him to a metal bar, Eun-jae's mind raced. Who the hell is this guy? How does he know my moves?
But before he could piece anything together, he felt the humiliating tug as the figure stripped his pants off. It wasn't just an attack—it was a power move, a way to remind Eun-jae just how much control this man had.
Through the haze of pain and fury, Eun-jae gritted his teeth, his thoughts a chaotic mix of anger and humiliation. Damn him. Damn this demon. A psycho. That's what he is. A psycho.
Eun-jae sat slumped in the uncomfortable plastic chair, a thin, scratchy blanket draped around his shoulders. The fluorescent lights of the police station cast a harsh glare on the scene, illuminating the dried blood on his forehead and the angry red marks on his wrists from the cuffs. His hair, now loose and tangled, framed his pale face, and his body ached from head to toe.
"Thank God the police came on time," he thought bitterly, glancing at the officers milling around. "I'd probably be a corpse in some alley right now if they hadn't shown up. But seriously... my wrist is sprained, I'm bruised all over, and on top of everything else, that psycho took my pants off. Great. Just great. Turns out, he's not just a lunatic—he's also a damn pervert. Wow."
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. The chair was hard, the room was cold, and the constant hum of chatter and ringing phones grated on his already frayed nerves.
A police officer approached him, a stocky man with a gruff demeanor and a notepad in hand. His uniform was neatly pressed, but his expression was weary, as though he'd seen too many nights like this one.
"We believe this was a targeted attack, Mr. Nikolai," the officer began, his tone measured. "The men you encountered were likely part of a larger organization. Their weapons and tactics suggest they're professionals."
Eun-jae raised an eyebrow, his mind racing. "Targeted attack? No kidding. I've been in Moscow for, what, five minutes, and already half the city's underworld wants me dead. Professionals, huh? Guess I should feel flattered they're sending their best to kill me."
The officer continued, flipping through his notes. "Do you have any enemies in the area? Someone who might have known you were coming?"
Eun-jae hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Enemies? Try half the criminal organizations in Europe," he thought, but he didn't say it aloud. Instead, he shrugged, feigning ignorance.
"No one comes to mind," he replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his head.
The officer frowned but pressed on. "You're certain? The man who attacked you—we're trying to identify him. Did you get a good look at his face?"
Eun-jae snorted internally. "Good look? Sure, if you count his shoe pressing into my face and the boot kicking me senseless. Real intimate introduction." He shook his head. "It was dark. I couldn't make out much."
"I saw his shoes," Eun-jae said slowly, his voice low, as if still trying to confirm it to himself. He closed his eyes, remembering the distinct shape of them, the sharp lines that contrasted with the dirt and grime of the rooftop. "They weren't just normal shoes. These were... something else."
He paused, trying to collect his thoughts, the image of the shoes vivid in his mind. They were made of a material that wasn't common, something he couldn't place right away, but once he thought about it, the answer became clear. The officer watched him closely, jotting down notes.
"They were animal leather... some exotic kind," Eun-jae continued, his voice taking on a more analytical tone, as if describing something as mundane as a car or a building. "Not like anything I've ever seen before... almost like the hide of something... rare. Maybe ostrich, maybe crocodile, but something more—like it had been made with intention, like it wasn't just for show."
He let out a breath, his mind replaying the sight of the shoes, and the sensation of his arm being twisted, the pressure as the man slammed him to the ground. His mind shifted back to the shoes, narrowing the details.
"They were polished to a sheen, slick, like they'd been treated with some kind of oil or wax, making them almost... too perfect. I could barely see the stitching, but it looked like it had been done by hand. Each thread was tight, clean. The soles were thick, sturdy. Not the type you'd expect for someone trying to sneak around."
The officer raised an eyebrow, tapping his pen on the table. "Interesting."
Eun-jae couldn't shake the feeling that the shoes were a clue—maybe not the most obvious, but a clue nonetheless. He had seen enough to know that this man wasn't just an average criminal. There was something deliberate about him, almost like a hunter who took pride in every detail of his hunt. Those shoes, and the way they gleamed in the dim light as he stood over Eun-jae, were a symbol of something far more dangerous.