The rooftop wind howled against their ears, cutting across the silence left by the last sniper shot. Lin crouched near the ledge, eyes scanning the skeletal frames of neighboring buildings. The city below was not their escape—it was Jin's stage, lit with dangers that shimmered even in the darkness.

Min-joon's breathing was ragged, his hands trembling as he tried to steady himself. "We can't stay up here," he whispered, his Korean accent breaking on every syllable. "The snipers—they'll keep us pinned. We'll starve before we make a move."

Keller spat, running a gloved hand across the scar on his cheek, smearing fresh dirt. "He's right about one thing. But sitting ducks aren't my style. We go down, fast, and we hit hard." He banged his fist against the rooftop ledge, his knuckles whitening. "Enough playing this rat maze."

Lin said nothing at first. He was watching, listening, letting the city breathe around him. Jin's games weren't loud when they didn't need to be; they thrived on silence, on subtle nudges that forced choices. And this rooftop—it wasn't a vantage point. It was a cage.

"We move," Lin said finally, his voice a low cut through the wind. "But not Keller's way. If we hit hard, we hit blind. And blind is how Jin wins."

Keller glared, but didn't argue. Not yet.

The Descent Begins

They found the rooftop's fire escape, its metal frame rusting, dangling like bones against the wall of the building. Min-joon reached for it first, desperate, but Lin's arm shot out, grabbing his wrist.

"Wait," Lin hissed. He crouched, running his eyes along the bolts, the hinges, the shadowed joints of the ladder. At first glance it was nothing unusual—but Lin had learned to trust patterns, and the silence around the fire escape was too heavy. He flicked a pebble against the first step.

The clink was followed by a faint, almost inaudible click.

"Booby-trapped," Lin muttered.

Min-joon paled, backing away from the ladder as if it might explode just by looking at him. Keller cursed under his breath.

"Figures," Keller growled. "Every path down, Jin's got his hands on it. He's funneling us, forcing us into the open. Bastard doesn't just want us dead—he wants a show."

Lin scanned the edge of the roof. "We improvise. Ropes. Fabric. Anything we can braid together."

Minutes later, they had torn strips from abandoned tarps, electrical cords ripped from the rooftop units, even Min-joon's jacket sleeves. The makeshift rope looked pathetic, but it would hold for one person at a time if weighted carefully.

"I'll go first," Lin said, knotting the rope to the base of a vent pipe. "Min-joon, you follow. Keller, you cover us from up here until the last second."

Keller grunted. "I don't like playing rear guard, Lin. But fine. Just don't get him killed on the way down."

Rope into the Abyss

Lin swung his legs over the edge and began his descent. The rope bit into his palms, burning them raw as he lowered himself one floor at a time. The wall beside him was scorched with graffiti, chipped concrete biting against his boots.

Halfway down, he felt it—a sudden tug. The rope strained unnaturally, as if caught. He froze, hanging in the darkness. Then he saw it: a thin, near-invisible tripwire stretched across the wall, set to snap the rope if pulled too hard.

Jin had even rigged the descent.

Lin exhaled slowly, shifting his weight, using his knife to cut the rope clear before it brushed the wire. Inch by inch, he adjusted, bypassing the trap.

When his boots finally hit the second-floor ledge, he motioned up to Min-joon. The younger man's face was pale in the moonlight, but he gritted his teeth and started down.

"Easy," Lin whispered, his voice floating upward. "Don't swing. Don't pull."

Min-joon obeyed, trembling but steady, until his foot slipped on the wall. His body swung wide, the rope scraping dangerously against the wire.

"Stop!" Lin barked.

The younger man froze, dangling like prey in a spider's web. Lin leapt upward, grabbing his waist, steadying him with sheer strength before guiding his foot back to the wall.

"Focus," Lin hissed in his ear. "Jin wants you scared. Don't give him what he wants."

Min-joon nodded furiously, forcing himself to keep climbing until he reached the ledge beside Lin.

Keller descended last, moving with brutal efficiency. He didn't fear the traps—he snarled at them, cutting through cords, scraping his boots hard against the wall as if daring the bombs to ignite.

By the time Keller landed beside them, the three men were sweating, their hands raw and blistered. But the descent wasn't over. They were only halfway down.

The Streets Waiting Below

As they reached the final level of the building, Lin peered over the ledge. The streets were too quiet. Not abandoned—prepared.

He spotted them: faint glimmers of scopes, shadows shifting behind barricades. Jin's men had cordoned the alley, turning the only exits into choke points. Worse, two drones hovered at street level, their red lights blinking like patient predators.

"He knew we'd come down," Min-joon whispered, his voice cracking.

"No," Lin corrected softly. "He made sure we had no other choice."

Keller pulled his pistol free, checking the magazine. "Good. Saves me the trouble of looking for a fight."

"Think before you act," Lin warned, grabbing Keller's arm. "Those drones will cut us down the second we're exposed. We use the chaos, not the gun."

The Alley Trap

They dropped the last distance into a shadowed corner of the alley, moving low. The walls loomed tight around them, littered with debris and old crates.

That's when the voice came.

"Brave little rats," Jin's smooth tone drifted from a hidden speaker, echoing across the narrow passage. "Climbing down into my arms. I must admit, Lin, I expected you to last longer on the rooftops. But perhaps you know what I'm teaching you. There is no high ground here."

The words hit like a blade twisting. Keller snarled, firing a bullet at the speaker. Sparks showered, but Jin's laughter continued from another hidden box.

"Good. Waste your bullets. Rage is my favorite weapon to watch."

Before Keller could fire again, the alley lit up—spotlights flaring, blinding them. Min-joon shielded his eyes, choking back a cry.

Then the barricades opened.

Jin's men poured in—black-clad, rifles raised, faces hidden by masks. The narrow alley became a killing ground.

"Move!" Lin roared.

The Fight in the Choke

The first wave of enemies surged forward. Lin dropped low, sweeping one man's legs and smashing his skull against the wall with brutal precision. He stole the man's rifle mid-motion, swinging it into another's chest.

Keller was a storm, charging straight into the gunfire. Bullets sparked off walls around him, but he plowed through, tearing a man's throat open with his knife before firing point-blank into another. His roar echoed like an animal set free.

Min-joon stuck close to Lin, his shots less accurate but desperate. Each trigger pull was survival, every bullet an act of raw fear.

The alley became chaos—muzzle flashes, the stench of gunpowder, screams muffled by the echo of boots on stone.

But for every man they dropped, two more pushed in.

"This is endless!" Min-joon cried, panic in his voice.

Lin shoved him behind a crate, eyes blazing. "It's not endless. It's deliberate. He's bleeding us, making us fight until we're too weak to matter."

As if to punctuate his words, one of the drones swooped low, its gun mount swiveling toward their cover.

A Message in Fire

Lin acted on instinct. He ripped a flare from his vest, struck it alive, and hurled it straight into the drone's sensors. The machine convulsed mid-air, spinning before crashing into the barricade in a burst of sparks. The explosion tore open a gap, scattering Jin's men.

Smoke billowed, thick and choking. For a heartbeat, they had breathing room.

But amid the haze, Lin saw it—spray-painted in bold strokes across the far wall of the alley, revealed only by the flare's light.

A symbol.

Jin's mark.

Not random graffiti. A circle with a line slashed through it, identical to the symbol Lin had seen once before—in the tunnels, on the door that had nearly killed them.

This wasn't just another trap. It was a message.

"To me," Lin whispered, realization hardening in his voice.

Keller tore another man apart, turning, his face wild with blood. "What?"

Lin pointed at the symbol, his expression grim. "He's not hunting us. He's hunting me. The rest of you… you're just bait in his story."

The words hung heavy, almost lost in the chaos. And then the walls shook—the building behind them groaning as charges set by Jin began to ignite, sealing the alley in collapsing fire.

Cliffhanger

The three men sprinted for the gap torn by the drone's wreckage, smoke clawing at their lungs, bullets slicing past. The roar of collapsing concrete thundered behind them, chasing them with dust and fire.

Lin's mind burned with one thought—not of escape, not of survival, but of the symbol.

Jin wasn't just ahead of them.

Jin was writing their story.

And Lin, whether he liked it or not, was the protagonist of Jin's cruel play.