The sky was bleeding red as Niko staggered into the wrong place at the worst time. His steps were uneven, breath ragged, blood soaking through ripped jeans. He made it five more paces before something slammed into him from behind.

Concrete bit into his palms.

A knee pressed between his shoulder blades.

"Move and you lose a lung."
Jungkook growled the words into his ear, voice low, dangerous. His axe rested against Niko’s spine like a promise.

Hoseok crouched in front of him, eyes scanning fast, fingers already searching pockets.
"Light. No supplies. Wounded. Idiot or bait?"

"Don’t care," Yoongi muttered from a few feet back, rifle steady, gaze colder than the wind.
"If he twitches, I end it."

A flashlight beam hit Niko’s face. Jimin tilted his head, lips curled in a soft smirk that didn’t match his sharp tone.
"Pretty face. Wrong street. You alone?"

Seokjin leaned against a table by the fire barrel, arms crossed, apron smeared with grease and something darker.
"If you’re here for handouts, you’ll starve before I waste a bite on a stranger."

Heavy steps creaked overhead. Namjoon descended the stairs like gravity answered to him. Long coat, cold stare, knuckles bruised.
"Strip him. Search him. Then bring him here."

They dragged Niko across cracked tiles, past a barricade of metal and bone, into a space that felt more like a war zone than shelter.

Taehyung looked up from his sketchbook as they passed. He said nothing. Just flipped to a new page and started drawing Niko’s face with practiced ease.

Namjoon stood in front of him now, close. Towering. Still.
"You survived this long. That means something."
He paused, studying every inch of Niko’s face.
"But out here, everything has a cost. So tell me—what are you good for? Why should I not throw you back to the dead?"

The room held its breath.

No mercy. No safety. Just a moment—and whether Niko could survive it.