That night, Draven y on his mattress, staring bnkly at the cracked ceiling. The flickering light bulb above him buzzed like a nagging voice that wouldn’t go away.

  His katana leaned against the wall—still stained from the chaos earlier. The air in the room felt heavy, like it knew something was weighing on him.

  He exhaled sharply.

  “This is bad…” he muttered to himself.

  She’s getting too close.

  He turned to his side, eyes narrowing at the corner of the room where shadows danced faintly.

  The more I stay around her, the more that day creeps back…

  The sound of her voice, the look in her eyes when she said she didn’t want to be alone with the secret anymore—it echoed in his head like a curse.

  I can’t let the past drag her down again. I’ve already sunk too deep.

  She deserves to be free from it. I don’t.

  As he buried his face into the pillow, one st thought cwed its way in:

  Maybe it’s time I disappear… again.

  Cathie, already half-asleep, was still going through reports in her apartment. Papers were scattered around her like fallen leaves in autumn. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and she dozed off on top of the messy pile.

  In her dream, she was drowning—swept away by a furious, rushing river. The current was merciless, dragging her deeper and deeper. Her lungs screamed for air, but she couldn’t breathe. Panic cwed at her chest as her limbs filed in the dark, icy water.

  Her head smashed against a jagged rock near the riverbank, then her shoulder hit another. The pain was sharp, but distant—muted by the sheer terror of helplessness.

  The river kept pulling her under. And she couldn’t scream. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t escape.

  As her head violently struck a sharp rock in the dream, Cathie jolted awake—gasping, disoriented. But the nightmare hadn't fully ended. Her head throbbed with real pain, as if it had truly been hit. She tried to move her hands—only to realize they were tightly bound with rough rope.

  It was pitch bck.

  The air was stale. Confined. Every bump and lurch of her surroundings made it clear—she was in the trunk of a moving car.

  Panic set in fast. Her heart raced.

  "No… no no no!" she whispered in terror, and then—she screamed. As loud as she could.

  "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

  Her voice echoed inside the suffocating metal shell, but there was no answer. Just the sound of the engine rumbling, tires rolling over uneven pavement, and the cold, creeping realization:

  She'd been taken.

  Still half-asleep, Draven sat up in bed as his phone kept buzzing relentlessly. The screen fshed with an unknown number. He hesitated for a moment, then answered with a groggy, “Yeah?”

  A tense male voice came through.

  “Draven? It’s Kevin—Cathie’s coworker. Sorry to call like this but... I didn’t know who else to contact.”

  Draven’s expression shifted. “What’s going on?”

  “Cathie’s missing,” Kevin said quickly. “I went to her apartment just now. The door was open. No sign of her, and a bunch of her documents are gone.”

  Draven stood by the window, torn between his past and present, his phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't a call—but a notification of an unread message from Geret. He opened it.

  “New mission offer: Eliminate a newly-established syndicate branch in the city. Intel reports they’ve abducted a woman.”

  Draven’s pulse jumped.

  Without thinking, he quickly replied:

  “Give that mission to me.”

  A few seconds ter, another message came in from Geret.

  “Too te. Drake already took it. If you want it that bad, call him.”

  “Damn it… why does it have to be him again,” Draven muttered, gripping his phone tightly before finally swallowing his pride and dialing the number.

  Across the city, Drake leaned casually against his motorcycle at a gas station, helmet hanging from the handlebar. His phone buzzed. He gnced at the screen, smirked, and answered.

  “Well, well… look who’s calling.”

  “I want in on your mission,” Draven said without wasting a second.

  Drake chuckled. “You serious? I don’t split payment. Not with you.”

  “Fine. How about 90:10?” Draven offered, jaw clenched.

  “Deal. 100:0. You don’t get a cent. Consider it a free ride.”

  There was a long pause. Draven exhaled through his nose, frustrated.

  “…Fine,” he said bitterly.

  Draven hung up, already regretting the decision.

  Two missions unpaid. This better be worth it.

  At the crime scene, Cathie sat slumped against a cold metal chair, wrists bound tightly with coarse rope. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit warehouse — shadows moved in every corner, voices mumbled, and ughter echoed from the gang members who lounged zily with their weapons in hand.

  The boss, a broad-shouldered man with slicked-back hair and a scar trailing down his cheek — Norman — stepped forward and smmed a folder onto the table in front of her. “You’re gonna tell me everything, sweetheart,” he growled.

  But before he could say more, Cathie’s breathing began to quicken. Her chest heaved with short, rapid gasps. Sweat formed on her brow as the walls seemed to close in. Her eyes darted frantically. Panic attack.

  “Damn it, she’s spiraling,” one of the syndicate grunts muttered.

  Another man — younger, with a calmer voice and sharp eyes — stepped forward. His name was Billy. “She’s no good to us like this,” he said. “Let me handle it.”

  Norman grunted but gestured for him to proceed.

  Billy knelt in front of her, carefully unscrewing the cap of a water bottle. “Here,” he said softly, holding it to her lips. “Drink. You’re alright.”

  Cathie blinked, still trembling, but slowly drank from the bottle.

  Billy’s voice remained low and steady. “Just breathe. One second at a time. No one’s gonna hurt you… not yet, anyway. Just don’t pass out on us, okay?”

  She gave the faintest nod, still on edge — but for now, breathing again.

  Norman returned to the table, leaning over Cathie with an intense gre. “Let’s try this again,” he said, his voice cold. “Tell me what data you’ve been collecting.”

  Cathie, still shaken but regaining some composure, stared him down. “I’m not telling you anything. That data exposes the rot inside this government — and I won’t stop until the truth is out.”

  Norman chuckled bitterly, then smmed his fist on the table. “You self-righteous types never understand the bigger picture. This regime?” He pointed upward as if gesturing to some invisible authority. “This is the best damn government we’ve ever had.”

  He stepped back, arms wide. “You know what happened before Gustavio took power? My community organization was broke, falling apart. We couldn’t even pay for basic services. Now?” He ughed. “Now our funding arrives on time, every month. No more scraping by.”

  Cathie frowned. “Wait… you guys get paid?”

  Norman smirked proudly. “Damn right we do. President Gustavio is a visionary. A protector. A saint. The man brought order, purpose, money.”

  Cathie looked at him like he was insane. “You sound like you’re ready to kiss his boots.”

  Norman gave her a smug grin. “If he asked me to, I’d polish them with my tongue.”

  The tension in the room thickened as Cathie, despite her shaken state, stayed firm. “You’re wasting your breath,” she said coldly. “I won’t tell you anything.”

  Norman's eyes narrowed, his tone growing darker. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. I’m trying to be civil, but—”

  Just then, one of his subordinates rushed in, holding a folder. “Boss! Here’s the data summary I just analyzed!”

  Norman snatched the folder eagerly. “Finally,” he muttered, flipping it open. But just as his fingers gripped the first page—

  SHLNK!

  A fsh of metal arced through the air. In an instant, Norman’s hand dropped to the floor, cleanly severed, blood spraying across the table. The room froze.

  Standing at the door, katana still dripping red, was Draven.

  “Sorry, he looked too happy,” Draven muttered coldly.

  Gasps and shouts erupted as guns and bdes were drawn toward Draven, but they didn’t notice the second intruder — until it was too te.

  From the shadows, Drake emerged, cracking his neck as spikes of bone erupted from his forearms. With terrifying speed, he lunged into the crowd. Crack! Ssh! Bone fragments sshed and impaled the nearest thugs as blood sprayed like a storm.

  Draven dashed forward, slicing down two more enemies as he made his way to Cathie. “Hang on,” he said sharply, cutting through her restraints.

  Cathie coughed and looked up in disbelief. “You… actually came?”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Draven replied, eyes scanning for the next threat.

  The room descended into chaos — and vengeance.

  In the middle of the rampage, Drake let out a crazed ugh as he crushed another man’s ribcage with his bone-formed cws.

  “This is too easy! They're all just regur humans with a toy gun! No thrill at all!”

  Draven, who was still cutting the ropes around Cathie’s wrists, gnced sharply toward him.

  “Don’t get cocky, idiot—!”

  BANG!

  A sharp thud echoed as a sniper bullet pierced Draven’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back. A split second ter—

  CRACK!

  Drake screamed as another bullet tore through his leg, causing him to crash onto one knee, snarling in pain.

  “The hell?!” he roared, scanning the windows.

  Cathie, still trembling from the shock, screamed when the first shot rang out and Draven stumbled beside her.

  “Draven—!” her voice cracking.

  The remaining syndicate members, stunned at first, quickly seized the opportunity.

  “Run!” one of them shouted.

  “Go, go, go!”

  They bolted in all directions, some escaping through stairwells and back doors.

  Draven gritted his teeth, grabbing his bleeding shoulder.

  “Cathie, Drake—get down! Stay away from the windows! Now!”

  He scanned the room for any vantage points, blood dripping from his wound as his instincts kicked into overdrive.

  Meanwhile, in the abandoned building facing the warehouse, a teenage girl y prone beside a tripod-mounted sniper rifle. Her eyes were cold, almost lifeless, as she muttered through her comms, “Targets neutralized.”

  The barrel of her rifle still smoked from the precision shots. As she rose, the dim light caught the insignia on her shoulder — the emblem of the Mysterious Marksmen. Without a hint of emotion, she began disassembling her rifle with methodical efficiency.

  But then — a beam of light suddenly shone through the broken window, aimed directly at her. Someone had found her position.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  “…Compromised,” she whispered. Without hesitation, she slung her gear and vanished into the shadows.

  Amidst the heavy tension, the sound of steady footsteps echoed from the corridor. Everyone stiffened, ready for another threat—until a calm, composed voice called out:

  “Stand down. The hostiles have retreated.”

  A tall man stepped into view, wearing a dark coat and a silver pin bearing the symbol of Velmire Thorns. His sharp eyes scanned the room before nding on Cathie.

  “The name’s Cleave,” he said coolly. “Intel Division, Velmire Thorns.”

  Cathie instinctively stepped back, still breathing hard from the chaos. Cleave’s expression remained unreadable as he continued, “The data you’ve collected is too votile. If it remains in your possession, you’ll be hunted again… and next time, we may not be able to intervene.”

  “I’m not handing it over,” Cathie shot back, her voice shaky but firm.

  Cleave gnced at Draven, who was seated against the wall, pressing down on his bleeding shoulder. Cleave raised a brow. “Then look at him and ask yourself if your pride is worth another bullet.”

  Cathie hesitated. She clenched her fists. Then, with a long exhale and a reluctant nod, she said, “Fine. But it’s temporary. I want it back.”

  “You’ll get it,” Cleave replied with a faint smirk. “If you’re still alive to cim it.”

  As Cathie tightened the bandage around Draven’s shoulder, she gnced at him, frustration still lingering in her eyes.

  “Why did you even bother coming here?” she asked quietly.

  Draven stared at the floor for a moment, then muttered, “I have no idea. Maybe I’m drunk.”

  Without missing a beat, Cathie yanked the bandage tighter than necessary.

  “Ah—damn it!” Draven winced. “That was unnecessary.”

  “So was your answer,” she shot back.

  Draven sighed, avoiding her gaze. “I just… did my job. That’s all.”

  From across the room, Drake chuckled as he wiped blood off his jacket. “Oh, so you’re willing to join a zero-pay mission just to save your little girlfriend? I’m touched. Really. Almost jealous.”

  “Shut up, you dumb skeleton,” Draven snapped without even looking at him.

  Drake just smirked. “I knew you were soft somewhere under that edge.”