It was raining heavily.
The endless rhythm of raindrops drumming on the asphalt filled the night air, a haunting melody that could make one lose themselves in it. Everything seemed calm… almost peaceful.
But peace was a lie tonight.
Through the sheets of rain, a lone figure sprinted down the deserted road — his breath ragged, his clothes drenched, his footsteps splashing through puddles. Behind him, shadows pursued — men dressed in black, their movements silent, methodical, merciless.
The city slept, oblivious. No one would see. No one would help. The storm itself drowned out the sound of the hunt.
After nearly an hour of desperate running, the man's strength finally gave way. His knees buckled, and he crashed onto the cold, flooded street. Rainwater splashed over him as he lay face-down, gasping for air. He tried to push himself up — but his arms trembled uselessly. Blood streamed from three gunshot wounds, mixing with the rain until the street ran crimson.
The men in black slowed their pace and formed a circle around him. None spoke. None moved closer. It was as if they were waiting — for someone else to finish the job.
Moments later, the low growl of an approaching engine broke through the rain. Headlights cut through the darkness before a sleek black car rolled to a stop. Two figures stepped out, both cloaked in raincoats, their faces hidden beneath the hoods.
A man approached and flicked on a flashlight. Its beam sliced through the downpour, revealing their faces — a man and a woman, both strikingly beautiful, yet utterly devoid of warmth. Their expressions were carved from ice.
They stepped into the circle.
The man lowered his hood, eyes cold and distant as he looked down at the broken figure lying on the soaked pavement.
"How much weaker you've become… brother."
The handsome man's voice cut through the rain like a blade — calm, yet laced with venom. "To think that the one who betrayed you stands right before your eyes, and yet your broken body can't even lift its head to look at me. How pitiful. Seems like I'll have to help you with that."
A faint, cruel smile touched his lips as he raised his hand slightly. One of the men in black stepped forward immediately.
He walked over to the fallen man, his boots splashing through puddles, and grabbed a fistful of his soaked hair. With a jerk, he yanked the man's head up, forcing him to kneel in the rain.
The wounded man's eyes blazed red — bloodshot, filled with hatred and defiance. Rainwater streamed down his face, mixing with blood that dripped from his jaw. The fury in his gaze was like fire trying to burn through the cold night, yet it couldn't pierce the indifference in the eyes of the man before him.
Seeing that defiance, both the handsome man and the woman beside him smiled faintly.
But no one around them mistook it for kindness.
It was the kind of smile a predator wear when its prey, cornered and helpless, still dares to bare its fangs.
"How cruel," the man said with mock sorrow, his voice dripping with irony. "To see my own brother like this… it almost makes me sad."
He sighed theatrically, shaking his head — and then, without warning, stepped forward. His fist crashed upward into the fallen man's chin with a sickening crack.
Blood sprayed across the rain-slick road as two teeth clattered onto the wet ground. The man's head snapped back violently, and for a moment, he swayed like a broken doll before collapsing forward again.
But mercy wasn't something his brother knew.
A gloved hand gripped his hair once more, jerking his head up so he could see — could witness — the face of the man who'd destroyed him.
The handsome man's smile hadn't faded. If anything, it deepened, the rain glinting in his cold eyes.
"Now this feels right," he said softly, his tone almost affectionate. "You… who trusted us completely, who believed that family could never betray you."
He chuckled under his breath, then turned and walked toward the woman standing beside him. Slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled her close until her body pressed against his.
"Especially your wife," he whispered, tilting his head with a cruel grin. "Hahaha…"
The laughter echoed through the storm — cruel, mocking, and swallowed by thunder — as the fallen man's world shattered before his eyes.
Seeing that scene, something inside the fallen man finally snapped.
Rage — cold, boiling, boundless — surged through his veins, drowning the pain and exhaustion. He lifted his trembling head just enough to meet their eyes, his voice barely a whisper beneath the roar of the rain.
"...Why?"
The word cut through the storm like a plea from a dying soul.
The handsome man's laughter abruptly stopped. His expression hardened as he stared down at his broken brother. Then, a smirk crept back onto his face.
"Why?" he repeated mockingly. "You really want to know why?" He crouched slightly, his eyes glinting with madness. "How stupid can you be? We're gangsters. You said it yourself — cruelty runs in our blood. You taught us that! So, tell me, brother, why are you pretending to be surprised now?"
But the fallen man didn't respond. His eyes, clouded with pain, weren't on him. They shifted — slowly, deliberately — toward the woman standing beside him.
The handsome man noticed. His grin widened.
"Oh… so you're asking her." He chuckled darkly, tightening his grip around the woman's waist. "Fine. I'll tell you."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a whisper thick with mockery.
"From beginning to end, she was never yours. She was mine."
A cruel laugh tore through the rain.
"Surprised? From the day you married her, every move she made was for me — every whisper, every lie, every touch. She gave me your secrets, your money... even your life, one drop at a time. The slow poison she fed you? My idea. Her hands. My will."
Before his laughter could echo again, the woman cut in coldly.
"Why talk so much?" she said, her voice flat, emotionless, as if the man kneeling before her was already dead. "He's going to die anyway. There's no point wasting words on a corpse."
She looked down at him with indifferent eyes — the same eyes that once looked at him with love.
The man looked down at the ruined figure and smiled — a smile that had no warmth, only sharp edges.
"Hahaha. You were right. No point wasting words on this piece of garbage," he said, each syllable laced with mockery. "He's going to die, so let him. But… let's not dirty our hands. After all, he was once my brother — and your husband."
He drew the woman closer, his arm possessive and theatrical, then stepped back and raised his voice to the men around them.
"I've said all I need to say. Now finish him — and let us enjoy the night."
A shrugged order, casual and final: "Pick him up. Throw him in the river nearby. No need to kill him — he's already bled out. There's no chance he survives."
Boots sloshed through the pooled rain as two men moved in. They hoisted the fallen body with rough efficiency, the man's limbs dangling like broken ropes. The rain washed the blood into the gutters; thunder swallowed their laughter.
As they carried him toward the river, the wounded man's chest rose once — a single stubborn breath that the night could not claim. Then he hung between them, limp, rain-dark, and impossibly small against the vast, indifferent storm.
The Fallen Man's POV
The rain had stopped mattering.
Cold hands gripped my arms, dragging me through the flooded road, but my body felt weightless — more corpse than man.
Then a voice echoed inside my head.
"What did you live for… to end up like this?"
I didn't flinch. I knew that voice. It wasn't someone else. It was me — or rather, the part of me that never shut up.
"I lived for myself," I whispered inwardly, "and for those I called my brothers."
"Then why did they betray you?"
The question made my chest tighten. My lips parted, but all that came out was, "...I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"...Yeah."
"Hahaha!"
The laughter that followed was cruel and familiar — the kind that once belonged to me.
"You do know. You just don't want to admit it. You taught them everything — their loyalty, their cruelty. Isn't that right?"
My fists twitched weakly. "I didn't teach them to betray."
"No? And yet they did. Why, then?"
I couldn't answer. The silence was worse than the question.
"You told them to be ruthless, to survive in a cruel world. And they did. So why resent them now?"
"Shut up," I growled inwardly.
But the voice didn't stop. It grew louder, angrier — as if it had waited for years to finally speak.
"You've killed men without blinking. Destroyed families. Spilled blood for money and pride. AND YOU EXPECT TO LIVE IN PEACE?"
"Shut up!" My breath hitched. My vision blurred. "I did those things to live, not to die!"
"Heh… and that's exactly why you're dying now."
That mocking snicker cut deeper than any bullet. I fell silent. Because… he was right. Every word.
The men kept dragging me. They couldn't hear the war raging in my skull.
"Now what?"
The voice was calm again. Almost tired.
I didn't answer. I could hear water now — the low murmur of the river beneath the bridge. My end was close. Even the rain had quieted to listen.
Then, softly, playfully, the voice spoke again:
"Hey… one last question. What would you do, if you got a second chance to live?"
The men heaved. My body lifted into the air — weightless, cold, free.
I managed a faint laugh. "Heh… If I could live again, I'd do the opposite of everything I did. I'd study hard, become a doctor… save lives instead of taking them. No money, no gangs, no blood. Just… peace."
Then I hit the river.
Cold water swallowed me whole. The world became pressure, silence, and pain. My lungs screamed. My vision dimmed. My thoughts began to dissolve like smoke.
As the last of my consciousness slipped away, I heard something — faint, distorted, yet unmistakably real.
"...Okay... I will grant... your wish... so live... well..."
My eyes widened, but darkness claimed me before I could even wonder whose voice it was.