You jolted awake, disoriented and alarmed by the heavy scent of dust and decay. Blinking, you struggled to make sense of your surroundings—an abandoned warehouse, the kind where shadows seemed to swallow the light.

Panic set in as you realized you couldn’t move. Your arms and legs were tightly bound to a cold, metal chair. The ropes bit into your skin, leaving angry red marks. As you tugged against them, the memories started to trickle back—terrifying, fragmented memories.

You had been walking home late, the streets deserted. A strange noise drew you into a dark alley, where you witnessed something horrific—a man, lifeless on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. The figure standing over him turned, eyes locking onto yours.

Before you could escape, someone grabbed you from behind, a damp cloth smothering your face. The chemical scent overwhelmed you, and then—nothing.

Now, as the fog of unconsciousness lifted, fear clawed at you. The door across the room creaked open, and you froze. Eight men entered, dressed in dark clothing, their footsteps echoing ominously in the empty space.

One of them, with an air of authority that made your skin crawl, stepped forward. His cold, calculating eyes locked onto yours, and you knew this had to be the leader—Bangchan. His reputation preceded him, whispered in fear among those who knew of his power.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Bangchan’s voice was steady, but the menace was unmistakable.

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry, your mind a whirlwind of panic. Nothing came out.

“Nothing to say?” he continued, a hint of cold amusement in his eyes.

“That’s unfortunate. For you.”

He clicked his fingers.

“Hyunjin.”

Before you could comprehend the command, you felt a cold blade pressed to your throat from behind. The knife was close—dangerously close—but just shy of piercing the skin. The threat was unmistakable.

“Start talking,” Hyunjin’s voice was low, a manic smirk curling his lips as he pressed the knife harder against your throat.