Kwon Taekjoo used a thin wire to unlock the front door.
Once inside, he paused near the entrance, listening carefully for any sounds.
Fortunately, it seemed that no one was home.
To prevent anyone from entering too easily if they returned, he wrapped the wire tightly
around the lock.
Then he went into the bathroom to take a shower.
As the water ran down his body, it washed away the soot, dust, and blood that had accumulated on his skin.
After cleaning himself thoroughly—even inside his ears—he threw on the first clothes he could find.
He sat down on the sofa, towel-drying his damp hair.
He let out a deep sigh, wishing he could simply drift off to sleep right there.
But fresh blood was seeping from the wound on his side, making rest impossible.
He pulled out a medical kit he'd taken from an ambulance, stocked with more professional supplies and tools than a standard first-aid kit.
Kwon Taekjoo started with antiseptic and
suturing thread.
Holding a thick roll of bandages between his teeth, he poured antiseptic onto the open wound where blood still flowed.
The sting made him clench his jaw, veins popping on his forehead.
After a deep breath, he pressed down on the wound with gauze for pressure, then injected a painkiller around the area with a syringe.
Each step was a wave of agony, but it was nothing compared to the pain of stitching raw, un-numbed flesh.
"Ugh... agh..."
Clamping the bandage tightly between his teeth, he stitched the wound closed.
His fingers trembled from the intense pain.
Getting proper medical treatment in a safer place might have been wiser, but with all the blood he'd lost, he knew he wouldn't make it far before collapsing.
After slowly finishing the stitches, he pressed gauze over the wound to secure it.
A shaky breath escaped him, and his molars—and even his gums—throbbed from clenching the bandage so hard.
As he quickly packed up the medical kit, he caught a glimpse of himself in its small mirror.
He looked awful.
It was a wonder he was still able to keep moving in such a state.
He could only hope his body would hold out until he found somewhere secure.
Likely from the infection spreading through his body, he felt a low fever coming on.
He pulled out an antibiotic and injected it, then swallowed a few fever-reducing pills.
With the worst taken care of, he suddenly felt hunger gnawing at him.
Rubbing his now hollow-feeling stomach, he made his way to the kitchen.
In the fridge, he found some cold lavash and gormeh sabzi, a type of vegetable curry.
He didn't bother reheating them—he simply stuffed the food into his mouth.
Right now, his priority was filling his stomach and conserving energy.
As he chewed, he skimmed the morning newspaper left on one corner of the dining table.
The front page covered the explosion and fire at Evin Prison last night.
Authorities had provisionally concluded that it was an attack orchestrated by IS-K, a branch of the Islamic State known as Islamic State-Khorasan.
Since the prison primarily held anti-government dissidents, it seemed the attack was aimed at helping them escape.
Additionally, IS-K was suspected to be behind a recent armed assault targeting Iranian and Russian officials in downtown Tehran.
Many detainees arrested after the Tehran attack had reportedly escaped
amid last night's chaos.
IS-K was infamous as one of the most extreme and violent jihadi factions among Islamic fundamentalists.
Even before the Tehran attack, they had staged brutal incidents, like coordinating simultaneous shootings and suicide bombings at sites such as the Khomeini
Mausoleum and the parliament.
While reading the article, he suddenly remembered information about how ISIS recruited new members through social media worldwide, primarily targeting young people with a strong sense of pride.
In reality, ISIS placed no restrictions on the nationalities of its recruits; they brought in young foreigners to turn them into revolutionary fighters or sometimes held them as hostages.
Could Kwon Taekjoo have been one of them?
If that were the case, it would explain his
fluency in Persian, his exceptional combat skills, and the fact that he was found at the scene of the attack in Tehran.
But he simply couldn't accept it.
Had Kwon Taekjoo led acts of violence that harmed innocent people under some absurd pretext?
Just the thought made him feel uncomfortable and disgusted.
What kind of mindset, or what circumstances, could lead someone to do such a thing?
"Ugh…"
As he tried to delve into the essence of his being, once again, a headache struck him.
It felt like an intense pressure building up intermittently in his brainstem, squeezing memories trapped behind a thick wall, letting only small fragments leak through.
Blurry, fragmented images began to emerge, though he couldn't be certain if they were real or not.
He saw flashes of himself in military uniform, armed, crossing a dark sea in a boat; then, rappelling down from a helicopter into dense jungle; and later, skiing at high speed across a vast snowy plain, as if he were being chased.
Each scene appeared in isolation, like watching a reel of film projected frame by frame, with no clear connection between them.
Disconnected voices from these images echoed in his mind over and over, drumming against his skull in a constant hum.
It was as if he were losing his sanity, unable to stop these hallucinations by sheer willpower.
"Congratulations on passing. I knew you'd make it, son."
"Take good care of your mother."
"Would you like to go out with me?"
"Congratulations on completing your first mission."
"Why do you keep trying to escape? It's not like I'm trying to kill you."
"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Olga."
"Where are you, sunbae? Are you okay? They said you were here last night. The mood at headquarters is a disaster. Almost everyone thinks you're a terrorist!"
A flood of memories surfaced in his mind like mushrooms sprouting after rain, triggering an intense headache.
His mind was so overwhelmed by chaotic thoughts that the pressure in his brain kept mounting.
His vision blurred, and it felt like his head might explode at any moment.
"Ah, damn it…"
He clutched his head as if it were about to split, writhing in pain.
His mind quickly tangled, as if overloaded, and his breathing became shallow.
His vision flickered non-stop.
Each time he tried to force the memories; the same sharp pain struck him.
"Ugh…"
Finally, feeling nauseated, he rushed to the bathroom.
He clung to the toilet, vomiting everything he had eaten.
His stomach convulsed with such force that it seemed like everything was going to force its way up his narrow throat. Inside, he was completely churned up, aching in an indescribable way.
"Haa, haa…"
Kwon Taekjoo breathed heavily, still clinging to the toilet as he tried to calm himself.
Cold sweat trickled down his back and neck.
Closing his eyes tightly, he worked to steady his breathing.
Gradually, his vision, which had been completely blurred, began to clear.
With effort, he managed to stand, though his legs felt weak.
He steadied himself against the sink, catching his breath before washing his face and brushing his teeth.
Even after rinsing his mouth several times and scrubbing his tongue and cheeks, the nauseating feeling lingered.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and left the bathroom, heading straight to the room with the computer.
Sitting down in front of it, he powered it on.
As the system booted up, a password prompt appeared on the screen.
He searched through the desk and bookshelf, soon finding a note with the birthdate of the room's owner.
He entered the numbers, but the system returned an error message, indicating the password was incorrect.
He scanned the room more carefully.
Inside a drawer, he found a photograph of a man and woman who looked close.
They held a cake and smiled, likely taken during a celebration.
What caught Kwon Taekjoo's attention was the digital clock on the wall in the background of the photo.
It displayed the date, day of the week, and time.
Squinting, he noted the date on the clock in the picture.
When he entered those numbers as the password, he was finally able to unlock the system.
Turns out, the owner of the room was a bit of a romantic, which made Kwon's task easier.
"Your birthday's coming up. Is there something you'd like to receive?"
Kwon Taekjoo gave a faint smile at the memory, but suddenly a thought crossed his mind, accompanied by a sharp sensation in his inner thigh.
More precisely, where he had a tattoo in
Cyrillic script.
"My Anastasia."
That's what the tattoo read.
The handwriting was rough, as if it had been inscribed by hand.
What did it mean?
Was it referring to himself or someone else?
As he continued to reflect, Kwon Taekjoo shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside.
He didn't have time to get lost in distractions.
As a fugitive, he couldn't afford to stay in one place for long.
Resolute, he connected to the internet.
His current location was Tehran, Iran.
The first thing he needed to do was ensure his safety.
His long-term goal was to return to his home country and find out who he truly was.
The problem was the significant distance to South Korea, and with his current uncertain
identity, entering the country would be challenging.
Although Tehran had a South Korean
embassy, he wasn't sure it was wise to seek help there.
If he really was a criminal, the embassy wouldn't be a safe place.
Plus, he doubted they'd protect him if he were pursued as a terrorism suspect.
He needed to find somewhere else.
Somewhere safer than Iran, from where he could eventually reach South Korea, and close enough to move in his current state.
Where would be suitable?
He opened a world map on the screen, searching for a place that fit his criteria.
Traveling across multiple borders without identification or money was nearly
impossible.
In the Middle East, his East Asian appearance would make him stand out,
making it difficult to hide.
In the end, only one option remained.
Turkey.
A country that wasn't fully allied or fully opposed in the polarized world.
A place where Europeans and Asians mixed, and where movement was relatively unrestricted.
There didn't seem to be a better option.
Determined, Kwon Taekjoo immediately erased the computer's activity history.
Then, he shut down the machine and left the apartment quietly.
In the vast, snowy landscape, a small black dot stood out in the distance.
At first, he thought it might be a rock and observed it curiously.
However, after a few moments, the black dot seemed to shift slightly.
Unsure if he had really seen it move, he decided to get closer to confirm.
But suddenly, the creature began to flee at high speed.
With its long, powerful legs, it bounded swiftly through the snow.
It was a rabbit.
"Zainka?"
He murmured breathlessly.
Hearing his voice, the rabbit, running wildly, paused for a moment.
Its long ears perked up as it looked in Zhenya's direction.
Almost instinctively, he took a step toward it.
Startled, the rabbit took off again, and Zhenya pursued it.
What began as a hesitant step quickly turned into a full sprint.
His pupils narrowed, focused like a hunter
on its prey.
Soon, they reached a dense birch forest.
The black rabbit darted nimbly between the trunks, and the dark knots on the trees cast shadows that created an illusion, making the chase more difficult.
Zhenya knew that when the pursuit got challenging, the best tactic was to cut ahead.
He raced through the forest, positioning himself in front of the rabbit, blocking its escape with his arms wide open.
But instead of stopping, the rabbit leapt into the air.
In the blink of an eye, its limbs stretched, and before Zhenya's eyes, the rabbit transformed into a black leopard.
Effortlessly, the leopard vaulted over his head.
Stunned, Zhenya spun around, feeling a fresh surge of adrenaline, and resumed his pursuit, driven by a blind force he couldn't explain.
Before long, a towering cliff loomed in front of the leopard. It looked like the chase was over.
The animal, now cornered, paced anxiously near the edge of the precipice.
Zhenya didn't rush.
He gradually slowed down, approaching cautiously.
Just as he was about to reach the leopard, a sudden strong gust of wind forced him to close his eyes.
When he opened them again, he heard the flapping of wings above him.
The black leopard had vanished, and in its place, a black hawk rose swiftly with the wind, escaping before he could react.
"Stop right there!"
Zhenya shouted.
Fearing he might lose sight of the hawk, Zhenya scrambled up to higher ground.
He climbed the steep ridge with bare hands, feeling the terrain grow steeper beneath him.
In his haste, he reached for an unstable protrusion, and finding no firm grip, he slipped precariously.
Regaining his balance, he looked down almost by accident.
What he saw left him speechless: beneath his feet stretched a dizzying urban landscape.
The mountain he'd been climbing had transformed into a skyscraper.
Hundreds of police cars with flashing red lights surrounded the building.
Above, helicopters buzzed in all directions,
lighting up the scene with powerful beams.
The black hawk reached the top of the skyscraper in a single flight.
As it folded its large wings, its silhouette transformed into a human figure.
It was Kwon Taekjoo.
There he was, standing on the edge of the rooftop, dangerously close to the brink, wearing a mask of a comical character.
The helicopters' spotlights focused on him all at once, and in an instant, Kwon's body was covered in red dots from sniper lasers.
"Surrender and drop your weapons. Surrender and drop your weapons."
Blaring sirens and robotic warnings echoed from below.
Kwon Taekjoo tossed his gun without resistance.
The weapon passed quickly by Zhenya before plummeting to the ground.
Immediately, gunfire erupted from all sides, hitting Kwon Taekjoo before he could even
attempt to shield himself.
In an instant, Kwon Taekjoo, bloodied, fell toward the abyss.
As he passed by Zhenya, time seemed to slow.
It was as if they were suspended in a void, separated only by a single moment.
The mask Kwon wore was soaked in blood, and his pale lips moved faintly behind it.
"Zhenya."
Zhenya desperately reached out to catch him but couldn't even brush against him.
Kwon Taekjoo's body continued to fall, breaking apart as it descended.
"...!"
His eyes flew open wide.
His vision quickly cleared, though he felt a faint dizziness.
His heart beat irregularly, and his heavy breathing echoed in his ears.
He felt uneasy.
Trying to sit up, the discomfort made him feel nauseous.
Biting down hard, he swallowed the bitterness.
Tilting his head back, he covered his eyes with his hands.
Maybe from the tension, his fingertips were numb.
His long exhale also shook uncomfortably.
When he slowly opened his eyes, he noticed his eyelashes were damp—something rare for him.
His neck and back were also wet.
Had he been sweating in his sleep?
He rarely dreamed, and even more rarely had nightmares.
He usually woke after a deep sleep that left
him fully restored, giving him high sleep quality.
Besides, nightmares were remnants of the
subconscious in those who knew fear.
Only those who feared losing something precious were affected by such illusions.
He'd never experienced that kind of terror in his life—until he met Kwon Taekjoo.
Where was Kwon Taekjoo now?
Was he as anxious as Zhenya? Did he still think about him?
If so, why hadn't there been any news?
His worry for his indifferent lover was turning into a growing resentment.