The day was bleeding out. The sun, a slow curtain of fire, sank and bled a deep, metallic gold across the lake. In the distance, the sharp, broken calls of a crow pierced the heavy, melancholic silence of the late afternoon.
The opening chords of Radiohead's "Fake Plastic Trees" drifted faintly from a visitor's portable radio. The melody, thick and somber, told a story of plastic fountains and a false earth that felt achingly, terrifyingly real.
Brisky's eyes were closed. He inhaled the cool air deeply, savoring the moment. One hand stroked the head of Bomi, who was asleep in his lap.
"So predictable. The sun knows when to set. The moon knows when to rise. But people?" Brisky murmured, his voice barely audible, as if speaking only to himself.
Bomi opened her eyes, gazing up at Brisky's sharp, gaunt face. "What are you murmuring about, honey?" She sounded slightly sheepish, then offered a smile.
Brisky offered a smile. It was a precise, thin line stretched across a face that was far too calm, like a hairline fracture holding back a flood. His gaze remained distant.
"Fine," Bomi said softly. She slowly sat up, wrapping her arms around his neck. He felt the familiar, heavy weight of her arms, but his body remained unyielding. Her face was so close he could feel the ghost of her breath against his cheek.
"Why do you always feel so far away, even when I'm right here?" she whispered.
Brisky paused. The faint smile touched his lips again. "Perception. Distance is just an illusion," he answered, gently tucking a strand of Bomi's blonde hair behind her ear. "The dead feel close, a constant weight on the chest. While the living, even right beside you, can feel completely unreachable."
"Ugh!" Bomi pouted. "Sometimes I just don't understand you."
Brisky smiled. "The sun is gone. I'll walk you to the bus stop." His tone was low, almost a quiet command.
"Alright, fine! Even though I really wanted to stay longer!" Bomi countered, a clear disappointment in her voice.
Falling leaves spiraled and danced between them. The evening wind brushed their faces as they packed their few items into a brown wicker basket. They rose to leave. Bomi reached for Brisky's hand.
Stepping along the path, Bomi stole glances at Brisky's calm, almost vacant face.
She watched his stride; Brisky's feet barely disturbed the ground with each step.
"Sometimes I feel so utterly strange about this man," Bomi thought. She stared at her hand gripping his. "And yet, he is the man I love."
The grip of Brisky's hand felt warm, and that was enough.
Brisky glanced at Bomi, who had been watching him all along. A sweet smile flickered onto her face.
They walked on, hand in hand, in silence.
They stepped out of the city park and onto the strip of shops. Buildings towered overhead.
A passing scent of restaurant food mingled with the noise: people talking, engines roaring, footsteps shuffling.
The last of the golden light surrendered to darkness.
Artificial light from the pavement lamps snapped on, slicing the gloom with sharp, rhythmic flashes.
He felt the constant, demanding warmth of Bomi's hand—a tether she believed was salvation, but he knew was a chain.
***
Suddenly, as they passed the entrance to a karaoke bar with flickering neon, a sharp voice cut through the street noise.
"Bomi!"
Bomi flinched, her hand seizing up in Brisky's grip.
From the doorway emerged a man—Han Seojoon—wearing a high-priced blazer and a gleaming watch, flanked by two large men.
Seojoon's face held no anger; only a potent sense of wounded pride.
He stood on the threshold, refusing to step from the neon glow onto the filthy pavement, as if grime were a disease only fit for the trash in front of him.
"I finally found you. What are you doing here, Bomi?" Seojoon locked eyes with Bomi, giving Brisky only the quickest, most dismissive of glances.
Bomi tried to smile and failed. "Seojoon, we were—"
"There is no we," Seojoon cut her off, his voice calm but weighted with the authority of a young mogul. "Your father is looking for you. You know we have a plan. And you," he addressed Brisky. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
Seojoon finally turned, assessing Brisky from head to toe, his tone laced with contempt.
"Touching something that isn't yours… You've got nerve."
Brisky just stared back, calm and expressionless. His eyes moved slowly, cataloging the movements of the two men flanking Seojoon.
The world narrowed to Bomi, Han Seojoon, and his two muscle.
Bomi instantly pulled her hand from Brisky's. Her body trembled, her eyes flooding with panic—not for Seojoon, but for the ghost of her father, the councilman who ruled her life with a political engagement plan.
"Brisky, I'm sor—" Bomi's voice fractured.
Before Bomi could finish, Seojoon's men moved.
They dragged Bomi aside and roughly slammed Brisky against the dark wall of a narrow alley between the shops.
The air in the alley smelled of iron and grease.
Brisky didn't resist.
He slumped against the wall. He watched Bomi, terrified and weeping in Seojoon's grasp, and he watched Seojoon, who was screaming about their engagement.
He saw the two men wind up to deliver the first punch to his stomach.
The first blow landed with the sickening thud of a sack hitting concrete.
BRUGH !
Brisky simply took the hit. He wasn't fighting; he was collecting data.
His sharp brown eyes were empty, yet focused. He cataloged the cold sweat on his attacker's brow, the straining veins in Seojoon's neck, Bomi's choked gasp.
The world slowly darkened in Brisky's vision. Only four people remained visible.
The street noise dissolved, replaced by the sound of dripping sweat, shuffling feet, clenched fists, and the sneering taunts of Seojoon and his muscle.
He allowed the physical pain to flow through him, void of emotion. He was merely a passive vessel.
The blows kept landing. Brisky was shoved until he fell onto the filthy alley asphalt. Still, he stayed silent.
Seojoon, frustrated by the lack of reaction, joined in with a kick, his anger boiling over.
Bomi's hands struggled, trying to pull Seojoon away. "Stop it! Please!" Her voice was a terrified tremor.
Seojoon roughly shook her off. The punch meant for Brisky flew wide and landed hard across Bomi's cheek.
CRACK!
Bomi crumpled to the ground. Blood immediately welled from her lip, seeping into the grimy asphalt.
In that instant, Brisky's mask shattered. The world snapped shut.
All noise vanished. All that remained was the sound of Bomi's dripping blood—tick-tock, tick-tock—replacing his own heartbeat.
The copper scent of it—iron—filled the same alley air he had just cataloged. It was the only data point that mattered.
He saw Bomi, the blood, and the chaotic mess. His eyes dilated, and a single thought hammered through his skull: "MINE… SHE IS MINE…"
Then, everything went black.
***
Brisky got up. Not with human speed, but with a lethal, mechanical silence.
Seojoon's two closest muscle immediately collapsed with fractured jawbones.
Seojoon, who had started toward Bomi, spun around, his eyes wide with shock at the instantaneous brutality. He didn't have time to react.
Brisky hit him. The punch held no rage; it was trained, cold precision.
Seojoon went down, groaning in pain. His nose shattered, blood gushing onto the asphalt.
Brisky's fury was not hot, but cold and foul. He snatched a piece of rusty nail from the asphalt, and without hesitation, sliced Seojoon's face from cheekbone to ear.
Han Seojoon's hot blood stained Brisky's hand. A soundless, insane smile filled his face.
Witnessing the horror, Bomi screamed. Her body shook violently. She saw the always-calm Brisky transform into a beast sinking its fangs into prey.
Fear crawled into her deepest core, overriding love.
Bomi scrambled up, frantic, and ran, abandoning Brisky in the dark alley to find help.
Moments later, sirens wailed. Three Police cruisers skidded to a stop at the curb.
The noise immediately drew a crowd of nearby pedestrians. They quickly gathered around the alley entrance.
Inside, Brisky was still hitting and mutilating Seojoon. His face was now slick with Seojoon's blood.
His terrible smile made everyone who saw it shut their eyes, unable to witness the cruelty.
"Hands up! Stop right there!" one officer yelled.
Brisky ignored them. His eyes were fixated solely on Seojoon's destruction.
ZZT! The first taser slammed into Brisky's back. His body convulsed, but the mutilation continued.
ZZT! A second taser. Brisky gritted his teeth, yet he continued to strike Seojoon.
ZZT! A third taser. Thin smoke curled from his green flannel. He still pressed on.
It wasn't until the ZZT! of a fourth taser blast that Brisky's muscles completely froze.
He collapsed onto the asphalt beside the unconscious Seojoon, his vacant gaze fixed on Bomi.
Behind the blood-soaked face and the empty stare, Bomi could still see the man she loved—but now there was only a void. The entire witnessed incident would be a permanent trauma.
The loud caw of a crow that had landed on the rooftop mixed with the horrified whispers of the surrounding crowd.
The pungent scent of fresh blood, mixed with the air, slowly registered in Brisky's senses, jolting him back to awareness.
He saw Bomi's terrified stare, then slowly, his eyes closed.
The chaos was external now, a mess on the asphalt; inside, the core of him was finally still.
He had fulfilled the destiny Dr. Thomas had foretold.
***
The crowd watching the incident whispered to one another.
The whispers quickly spread like an uncontainable virus, until they reached—
In a towering corporate building, the Hansung Group sign glowed brightly on top, asserting its status among the surrounding skyscrapers.
On the top floor, Han Mijoo, a middle-aged woman in a dark gray suit, was reviewing stacks of financial reports.
Her gaze was sharp, her fingers expertly turning the pages without a sound.
Until the phone on her desk vibrated.
She looked at the screen briefly.
The name "Secretary Kim" appeared.
"Is this really that important, Kim?" Her voice was flat but contained a pressure that made anyone nearby hold their breath.
"Madam Han… we have a major problem. Mr. Seojoon... he's in the hospital. The police are involved… and the media has started coverage."
Silence.
The ticking of the wall clock sounded impossibly loud in the silence of the glass room.
"What did you say?"
Han Mijoo's tone remained calm, but her pupils narrowed.
"The young master was involved in a fight in the shopping area near the city park. The scene involves the son of council member Park Dae-hyun. Mr. Seojoon was attacked by… his face—"
Han Mijoo closed her phone before the sentence was finished. She moved her finger to the intercom button.
She looked out the window, toward the setting sun amidst the city's silhouette.
Her gaze was not sorrowful—it was more like someone calculating a loss.
"Whoever he is," she murmured softly, "he will regret touching the blood of Hansung."