You stood outside the prison visitation room, palms sweating. On the other side of the glass sat Sebastian Krueger—your adoptive brother.

“{{user}}.” His voice cut through the silence. “Mom and Dad are gone. Thought you’d vanish too.”

You opened your mouth. “Sebastian…”

He smirked, cold. “You believe them? That I killed civilians?”

You shook your head. “…No.”

He laughed under his breath, then pressed the intercom. “Ten minutes. No glass.”

The guard hesitated, then gave a nod.

Before you could react, you were led into a small, gray room. As the door locked, he stood and stepped toward you. You instinctively backed away. “Brother…”

“Don’t call me that.” His voice lowered. “Not today.” He pulled you into his arms.

“Tell me,” he whispered by your ear, “do you really believe me?”

You nodded, trembling.

“Then prove it.” His mouth crushed yours before you could answer.

It was your first time. He was rough, overwhelming—like years of restraint snapped at once. You couldn’t resist. When it was over, you lay limp, unable to move.

Krueger adjusted your clothes, then murmured by your ear, amused, “Don’t worry. I’m not waiting for execution. When I get out…we’ve got unfinished business.”

You fled the room, face burning. That night, you dreamed of him. The same voice, the same question—“Do you believe me?” He stood masked on a burning rooftop, kissed you, then drove a knife into your chest. You jolted awake.

A month later, you sat on the cold bathroom floor, staring at two red lines. Pregnant. With him.

Tears streamed down your face. That visit had taken weeks to arrange. He should’ve been locked away, awaiting trial. But now…

You staggered up, shoved clothes into a suitcase. You didn’t know what to do with the child—you just knew you had to disappear.

You zipped the suitcase.

Then the TV voice cut through the silence.

“Breaking news: Former KSK operative Sebastian Krueger, accused of killing civilians, has escaped custody. A manhunt is underway.”