Show me his face.
The man standing behind Paul pulled the dark cloth away. Light spilled over him, sharp and sudden. Paul blinked, eyes narrowing as they adjusted.
The room came into focus. Gold-tinted lights hung low from the ceiling, washing everything in a dim, rich glow. The air was still, cold. Maybe from the air conditioner humming faintly somewhere behind the walls.
Seven people surrounded him, spaced in a loose half-circle. None of them spoke. They just stared. Their expressions said enough. Caution, curiosity, and something close to disgust.
A clock ticked somewhere on the left wall. Its sound cut through the silence, steady and precise.
Paul's gaze moved slowly. First to the floor, the bloody red carpet had covered everything, then to the figures around him. He could read them easily. Nervous hands. Stiff shoulders. People who wanted to look confident but weren't sure if they should.
Roxy stood among them, a little behind the rest. His arms were crossed, fingers tangled together, playing with themselves. His head was slightly lowered, eyes darting between Paul and the man sitting ahead of him.
The man on the couch didn't speak yet. He sat in the center, the others flanking him like guards. The gold light caught the edge of his ring, gleaming once when he moved his hand. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but one can easily tell. Tell that he that weight around him, which doesn't need to be spoken.
Roman.
The name echoed quietly in Paul's head.
The man he came for.
"So you're the one," Roman said finally. His voice was smooth, almost polite, but it carried something beneath it. Steel under silk. "Been hearing quite a few stories about you."
Paul didn't reply. His eyes followed the dust swirling faintly in the golden light.
Roman's smirk deepened. "Quiet, huh? Guess Roxy wasn't lying about that part." He looked at Roxy then, tilting his head. "You said he doesn't talk much."
Roxy straightened up a little, like a student caught off guard. "Yeah… yeah, that's right. Keeps to himself mostly. Never starts shit unless someone else does."
"Right," Roman said. His eyes shifted back to Paul. "But he does finish it. Isn't that what you told me?"
Roxy didn't answer right away. The silence stretched, heavy.
Roman chuckled low, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I like that. A man who doesn't waste words. But I'm curious. What exactly did you think was gonna happen when you started breaking my toys?"
Paul's gaze lifted slightly, enough to meet Roman's eyes. His face didn't change, not even a twitch.
"Depends," he said quietly. "Which toys are you talking about?"
The words landed soft, but they carried weight.
The room shifted. A few of the men moved subtly, straightening their stance, like something invisible had just pressed against them. Roxy looked up, startled.
Roman didn't move. He just smiled, small and thin. "You got some nerve." He sat back again, spreading his arms across the couch. "You walk into my world, tear down my boys, ruin my little setup… and now you stand here, acting like you own the fucking place."
Paul said nothing. His breathing was slow, steady. Everything is under control.
Roman watched him for a long moment, then reached for the glass beside him. He lifted it, the amber drink catching light, and took a sip. "You know what I hate, kid? People who don't understand the balance of things. You push too much, everything falls apart. You pull too little, nothing moves. You…" He pointed the glass at Paul. "You don't strike me as the kind who understands balance."
Paul's lips parted slightly. "Maybe I just don't believe in it."
Roman chuckled. "Yeah. I can see that." He set the glass down on the table, the sound soft but sharp. "But here's the thing. Disbelief doesn't stop consequences. You're here now. In my space. So before I decide whether to put a bullet in your head or shake your hand… why don't you tell me what you really want?"
The clock ticked again. One, two, three.
Paul looked at him. calm and unreadable. Then said, "You already know."
Roman's smile faltered just a little. His eyes narrowed, studying Paul the way a man studies a puzzle with one missing piece.
Then he leaned back, tapping his finger on the armrest. "Maybe I do."
He looked past Paul to Roxy. "Take his bindings off."
Roxy hesitated. "Boss."
"Do it."
The rope came loose. Paul's hands fell free, wrists marked faintly red. He didn't move right away, just stood there. Watching.
Roman's voice dropped low, almost a whisper. "Let's see what kind of ghost you really are."
Roman's hand drifted down to the small side table. The gold ring on his finger clinked softly against metal. He pulled something from under a stack of papers. A gun. Sleek, black, polished. Which can settle things with one pull.
He turned it once between his fingers, studying the reflection on the slide.
The whole room went still.
Roman placed it on the table in front of Paul. The sound, soft and deliberate clack carried more weight than any shout.
Paul's eyes dropped to it, calm, distant.
Roman leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His tone turned almost conversational, like they were discussing the weather. "Let's make this simple. You want to walk out of here? Fine. You prove to me you belong in this room."
He nodded toward the gun. "That's how you wanna play?"
The clock ticked again in the corner.
Paul didn't move. His shadow stretched long under the amber light.
Roxy shifted from the side, visibly uncomfortable. He looked at Roman, then back at Paul. "Boss… You sure about this?"
Roman didn't look away from Paul. "Yeah. Let's see how far the kid's luck runs."
"Go on," he said, voice low. "Pick it up. You've got options. Make the best choice you can."
Paul's fingers brushed the table. Slow and steady. He reached forward and took the gun into his hands. The metal was cold against his skin, almost biting. His thumb traced the edge of the trigger guard.
Around him, the men shifted slightly. Instinct, tension, fear. Two of them stepped back. Another adjusted his jacket. Someone near the wall exhaled.
Roman smiled faintly. "Careful now. Could be loaded. Could be empty."
He leaned back again, spreading his arms. "You've got, what… three possible moves? You figure out which one's gonna keep you breathing."
The silence grew thick.
The possibilities started circling in Paul's head. Or... maybe it was you who felt it first, the questions hanging in the air like ghosts.
Is the gun even loaded?
Roman's tone didn't give it away. Maybe there were bullets, maybe not. Maybe one, maybe six, full magazine. Maybe none at all.
If he turns it on himself, will that prove loyalty or stupidity?
If it fires, it ends here. A clean exit. If it clicks empty, he wins trust, maybe even Roman's respect. But that "maybe" could split his skull.
What if he points it at Roman. He was enjoying this. Not hard to tell.
Would that earn him favor? Or would the rest of them pull the trigger before he could blink?
What if it is empty? he pulls it, nothing happens, and then what? Would Roman laugh? Or would that laughter be the last thing Paul hears before the bullets from the others find him?
Roman watched all of it play out behind Paul's eyes.
He tilted his head, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You've got ten seconds, kid. Show me what kind of man you are."
The clock ticked once.
Paul's fingers tightened around the grip.
Tick.
His thumb brushed the safety.
Tick.
His eyes lifted. Calm and detached like always. Followed from the gun to Roman's face.
Tick.
Roman smiled, that same thin, deadly smile. "Go ahead."
Tick!
Paul moved.
Inside Paul's head, everything slowed.
The voices in the room faded. The shuffling, the faint hum of the AC, the nervous exhale of someone by the door. All of it became background noise.
He looked down at the gun resting in his palm. The cold metal felt familiar, like shaking hands with an old friend. He had held enough of them before to know their language. The weight told stories. This one whispered its truth clearly.
Empty magazine. One round in the chamber.
That single, heavy bullet waited quietly. Which could either end the play or start something much bigger.
Paul breathed out once, slow. His pulse didn't rise. His thoughts sharpened, clicking into place like gears. This is it, he told himself. The only way in. The only way to sink deep enough.
He knew the rules of this game. Roman's tests were never about pulling the trigger. They were about seeing how a man would do it. Fear, hesitation, control. Everything was measured. One wrong twitch, and you'd end up in the dark like the rest.
Paul raised the gun, his movements deliberate. Smooth. Calculated. The men around him tensed. Hands hovered near their own holsters.
He pressed the muzzle against his temple.
The cold metal met skin. His finger rested on the trigger, unmoving. His eyes half closed, like a man lost in thought, not a man about to die.
Then the corner of his mouth curved into a faint, crooked smile.
He turned his wrist slowly. The barrel drifted away from his head. He looked up, straight at Roman.
"Look behind," Paul said.
It wasn't loud, but the words carried across the room like a ripple in the calm sea.
Roman's brow furrowed, just slightly. The smallest break in his composure.
Paul pulled the trigger.
The sound split the air. Sharp, and instant. The bullet tore through space, passing so close to Roman's neck that a thin red line appeared just under his ear, the skin grazed by heat.
The entire room froze.
The echo of the shot bounced off the walls, then died, leaving only the ringing in their ears.
Nobody moved.
For a full three seconds, it was just Paul's breathing.
Then one of the men laughed. A short, nervous sound. Another joined in. Then another. Until the room was filled with uneasy laughter, sharp and forced, spilling over itself.
"Damn," someone said between laughs. "He almost did it! Crazy bastard!"
"Look at his face! He's serious!" another voice added.
But Roman didn't laugh.
He didn't move either. His expression stayed blank, his eyes locked on Paul like studying something he couldn't quite name. His fingers brushed the side of his neck where the bullet had kissed skin. Blood, barely visible, smeared under his thumb.
Paul stood still, still holding the gun. The smoke from the barrel curled faintly upward, dissolving in the cold air.
Roman exhaled. One long, quiet breath.
Then he spoke. "Everyone. Out."
The laughter died immediately.
"But boss—" one started.
"I said out."
No one argued again. They began moving, one by one, exchanging uneasy glances as they passed. The door opened, footsteps fading down the corridor. Roxy hesitated at the edge of the light, eyes flicking between Roman and Paul, but even he left.
"My phone?" Paul called out.
A hand reached towards Paul and handed him out his phone.
The door shut.
Silence fell.
Only Roman and Paul remained in the golden light.
The faint hum of the AC returned. The clock ticked softly again.
Roman leaned back slowly in his seat, eyes never leaving Paul.
"That smile," he said at last, his tone low. "I've seen it before."
Paul didn't answer. The gun still rested in his hand, the barrel pointed at the floor.
Roman smiled faintly. Not out of amusement, but recognition. "You really think you can play me in my own game?"
Paul said nothing.
Roman nodded to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alright then, kid. Let's see how deep you can go."
"Who are you?" Roman asked finally, his voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioner.
Paul blinked once, calmly adjusting to the glare.
Then pulled a chair from the side, the scrape of wooden echoing against the carpet floor, and sat down across from Roman. Between them sat a wide glass table with ash scattered near the corners.
Paul rested his hands on his knees. "Does it really matter who I am?" His tone was low, steady, unbothered. "What matters is where I came from."
Roman didn't answer. His jaw clenched. He studied Paul's face like a puzzle missing a piece.
He knows the codes.Not something random street trash could get right.
He doesn't look like a cop, either. But then who is he?
Paul's lips curled into a small smile. "Looks like you got it already. I was sent here by them."
Roman let out a dry laugh, leaning back. "You ain't fooling anyone here."
Paul tilted his head slightly, his voice even calmer. "There's no 'anyone' here, Roman. It's just us. You really think I came all this way to play some trashy bluff?"
That line hit somewhere. Roman's smirk faded, just a flicker. He couldn't tell if it was confidence or insanity radiating from this man.
"Then why the hell would they send someone like you?" Roman said, tone sharp. "I don't see any reason behind this."
Paul leaned forward, eyes half-lidded but direct. "Don't see a reason? Can't you see me?" He smiled faintly. "I'm the reason."
Roman slammed his fist on the table. The glass cracked down the center. "Get to the fucking point."
Paul didn't flinch. Not even a blink. "You know what they told me when they hired me? Reach him. Simple as fuck. No name, no file, no background. Nothing. I came here two weeks ago with empty hands and orders to find you."
He paused, his tone dropping lower.
"Couple days in, I started checking the warehouse runs. And found one. Bald head. Can't recall his name. But the guy was already marked. Someone else had him before I even showed up."
Roman's jaw tightened. Liam. The baldy.
"I traced his trail," Paul continued. "Found the street patterns, the subway map, those numbers. Lucky guess, simple nihilistic ciphers. After that? Patience. Got in touch with one of your boys. Roxy. Yeah, him."
He gave a small laugh. "We shook hands, he took me home, told me everything. The deals, the tablets, your little empire. When I had enough… I broke your toy."
Paul's smile widened. "And now— here I am."
Roman's temple pulsed. He wanted to tear Paul apart. Rip the skin from his bones, hang him in this room as a warning. But something in Paul's eyes froze him. A quiet steadiness.
Paul saw it too. "Relax. Your security's a little loose, but everything else is… fine. Fine enough."
Roman's voice cracked the silence. "How much?"
Paul raised his brows, pretending not to understand.
Roman's voice grew harsher. "I said, how much? What's it gonna take to shut you up?"
Paul smiled. "Getting straight to business, huh? But I'll have to decline. I'm loyal to the Company."
A cold drop of sweat slid down Roman's back. The AC hummed uselessly. His finger tapped the cracked glass table, again and again. Should I kill him now? Or play along?
Paul tilted his head. "Don't worry. I won't tell them… not yet. Maybe I won't even give them the full picture."
Roman's eyes flicked up.
"Yeah," Paul said, softer now. "That could work. I value my life more than I value loyalty."
Finally, Roman breathed out. The pressure eased.
Paul straightened his collar. "So, what do you say? I'll stay here till they show up. Until then, I'll watch. I want to know everything that moves. Every deal, every hand that shakes. I won't disturb your rhythm."
Roman thought long and hard.
The story was too perfect, but the man in front of him fit.
An outsider, sharp enough to decode what most couldn't. And he couldn't reach his superiors anyway.
Maybe… this was the message.
Maybe Paul Vaxlar was the messenger.
He stood slowly. Paul rose too.
Roman reached out his hand. "No disturbance."
Paul smacked his palm lightly instead of shaking. "Until the day comes."