The punch landed before he could finish. His head snapped sideways, the coppery tang of blood flooding his mouth. He swallowed the pain, refusing to give Linol the satisfaction of a whimper.  

Linol's chuckle slithered through the room. 

"Give it back? It's been eight fucking years. "

He circled Shin like a shark, boots scuffing against the wooden floor.

 "...And you still got some nerve to tell me that?"  

Without warning, Linol's hand shot out—fingers clamping around Shin's throat like steel cables. The pressure cut off his air instantly.  

"You really thought you could hide from me?"

Shin's vision pulsed black at the edges.

 "I... I..." Each gasped syllable burned.  

Linol leaned in, his breath hot against Shin's ear. 

"I trusted you." 

The words dripped with something worse than anger—disappointment. 

"But you had to be stubborn."

Then, sudden release. Shin slumped forward, coughing as oxygen flooded back into his lungs. Around him, low laughter spread like poison—his men joining in, their amusement echoing off the walls.  

"Look at this dumbass," Linol sneered.  

The kick came without warning. A brutal impact to Shin's ribs that forced out a strangled gasp. Bones creaked in protest.  

"Thought you could mess with me?" 

Linol scoffed, watching Shin curl inward on himself.  

He crouched beside his prey, fingers digging into Shin's jaw to force their eyes to meet. When he spoke again, his voice was deceptively soft—the calm before the storm.  

"You hearing me?"

Linol's smirk was glacial, devoid of anything resembling mercy. "This ain't personal," he said, straightening his cuffs with deliberate slowness. 

"It's just how things work."

The unspoken truth hung in the air—

this was always going to happen.

Shin's breath sawed through clenched teeth, every inhale a battle against bruised ribs. Blood trickled from his split lip, painting his chin in crimson. Still, his glare never wavered.  

"Lesson number one,"

 Linol continued, circling him like a vulture.

 "You crossed the line. That means you don’t walk out the same."

A boot nudged Shin's sprawled leg. The cold kiss of a gun barrel pressed against his kneecap.  

"You really should’ve minded your own business."

Linol's finger curled around the trigger—  

"NO!"

Micah's scream shattered the room's tension. She stumbled forward, collapsing to her knees. Tears carved tracks through her ashen face. 

"Please… please stop…!" Her voice splintered, raw with terror.  

Linol paused, the gun still pressed to Shin's leg. His head tilted, amusement flickering in his dead eyes.

 "Well, well," he purred. "Looks like we've got an audience." 

Linol's eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he turned to his men. 

"Bring her to me."

Shin thrashed against the hands pinning him, his voice ragged. 

"No! Leave her alone—! She has nothing to do with this!"

Linol slowly turned back, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. 

"Yes, she does." He leaned in, his breath hot against Shin's ear.

"You used my money on her." 

Shin's chest heaved, his voice cracking.

 "I'm the one you want—" 

"SHUT UP!"

 Linol's roar cut through the room.

 "You're so pathetic."

Micah trembled, her voice barely a whisper.

 "Shin… Who is he?" 

Linol tilted his head, mocking. 

"Go ahead, answer her."

Shin's throat worked. He didn't want her in this. Didn't want her to know. But the truth clawed its way out. 

"I… I… he's the guy… I stole—"

Micah's eyes widened in horror. 

"You stole money from him?"

Shin's jaw clenched, the words scraping out like gravel. 

"I… I was doing it for us—"

Micah's face fractured—disbelief, fury, and raw terror warring in her expression. 

"For us?" 

Her voice splintered, hands trembling at her sides.  

Linol barked a laugh, rolling his shoulders. 

"Is that all you have to say?" 

The mockery dripped from every syllable.  

"Shin!"

 Micah's shout cracked the air.

 "Do you even realize what you’ve done?"

 Her fists balled, nails biting into her palms.  

Linol sighed, waving a dismissive hand.

 "Huh, enough with the drama."

 He jerked his chin toward his men.

 "Just make sure she doesn’t make too much noise." 

A thug wrenched Micah back, a meaty hand clamping over her mouth. Her muffled scream sent Shin surging against his restraints—  

Linol turned back, grinning. 

"So… where were we?" 

Shin's voice broke.

 "Please… don’t do this."

The gunmetal gleam in Linol's eyes sharpened. He tilted his head, slow and predatory. 

"Come on… are you blind?" 

A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leveled the pistol at Shin's knee again.

 "This was always the price."

The sound of the gunshot split the air like thunder.

Shin’s body jerked violently, pain erupting through his leg as if fire had crawled beneath his skin.

He collapsed, clutching his bleeding knee, teeth grinding against the scream clawing up his throat.

The metallic tang of blood filled the air.

Laughter followed. Cruel. Echoing.

Linol stood above him, the gun glinting under the flickering warehouse light, his grin sharp and predatory.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” 

he mocked, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Micah thrashed against the grip of one of Linol’s men, her wrists twisting desperately, nails scraping skin—but it was useless. She could only watch, helpless and furious.

“Let’s see how long you can hold out,” 

Linol said, cocking the gun again.

Another shot.

Shin’s shoulder exploded in white-hot agony. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling as blood soaked through his shirt.

Then another.

The bullet tore through his thigh. His vision blurred, the edges of the world fading to red and white. But still—he didn’t give in. He clenched his fists, forcing his body not to collapse completely.

Linol’s shadow fell over him. The man’s boot came down hard, pressing against Shin’s chest until the breath was crushed from his lungs.

Linol crouched slightly, the barrel of his gun pressing cold against Shin’s forehead.

“Say goodnight.”

A final shot rang out.

The echo lingered.

Then—silence.

Blood pooled beneath Shin, dark and spreading across the cracked concrete floor.

Linol exhaled slowly, lowering his gun with an expression that barely changed. To him, it was just another body. Another loose end.

He turned his gaze toward Micah, his smirk returning.

“One down,” 

he murmured. 

“How about the next one?”

Micah trembled but didn’t step back. Even with her side burning from where she’d been hit earlier, she forced a bitter smile.

If this was the end, she’d face it standing.

"Yeah..... screw you."

Linol tilted his head, the cruel smirk never leaving his lips. 

"Still got some attitude?"

 The cold barrel of the gun dug into Micah's shoulder as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.  

She glared up at him, chest heaving, but her voice didn't waver.

 "Go to hell."

Linol chuckled, the sound dark and dripping with amusement. 

"Ladies first."  

The metal shifted, pressing against her forehead. Micah's breath caught—her heart pounded so violently she was certain he could hear it.  

"See you there."

**BANG.**  

The gunshot shattered the silence.  

Linol sighed, stretching his arms above his head as if he'd just finished a tedious chore. He turned to leave, but one of his men hesitated, eyeing the bodies.  

"Boss, what should we do with them?"

Linol didn't even glance back. 

"Do I look like I care?"

 He adjusted his cufflinks, stepping over Shin's lifeless form without a second thought.

 "Just leave them. I'm hungry."

And with that, he walked away—whistling. 

The bedroom door whined as Michael pushed it open, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence.  

"Mom? Dad?"

His voice bounced off the walls, unanswered.  

The house felt wrong. Too still. Too heavy. Mom *always* answered.  

His socked feet barely made a sound as he crept downstairs, each step making his chest squeeze tighter. The wooden stairs groaned under his weight—a sound usually drowned out by Dad’s laughter or Mom’s radio.  

Then he saw them.  

His smile died. His tiny face crumpled in confusion.  

"Mom?"

He inched closer, small fingers pressing into her shoulder.  

"Wake up…"

Nothing.  

He shook her harder now, panic clawing up his throat.  

"Mommy…?"

His hands came away sticky.  

Red.  

*So much red.*  

Michael's chest locked. His tiny hands balled into fists, nails biting into his palms. His knees buckled.  

Then—  

A scream ripped through him, raw and shattered, tearing at his throat.  

*They wouldn't wake up.*  

*They wouldn't—*  

His body moved before his mind could catch up. He ran—bare feet slapping against tile, then pavement, his breaths coming in ragged, panicked hitches. The street stretched endlessly before him, blurred by tears.  

"*Help!*" 

The word burst out, strangled. 

"*Somebody—!*"