"Don't try to piss me off. Move your head, and I pull the trigger."
The voice slid into Wen's ears like a blade of cold wind, sharp enough to make his entire body shiver. Sweat rolled down his skin in fast, nervous drops — almost like someone had opened a tap inside him. He tried shifting his eyes to the sides, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person behind him, but there was nothing. Just shadows. Just breath. Just danger.
Wen straightened his gaze again, breathing hard, forcing his lungs to stay steady.
"Who are you?" he asked.
He could hear the smile in the voice behind him — a quiet, cruel curl of the lips. The barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head. Wen lifted his hands slowly and placed them behind his head. The moment he did, he heard a small crack — metal shifting, finger brushing the trigger — and he wondered, even if for a split second, how the gun had gotten there so silently. But the thought dissolved as another voice echoed.
"Tell me… who do you think I am?"
The question bounced inside Wen's ears. It was familiar — painfully familiar — but he didn't know from where. The only way to confirm it was to turn around, but turning around could easily mean his death. His pulse thumped painfully beneath his skin.
"Is it someone I must see his face?" Wen asked, his voice shaky, throwing the question back to the unseen figure.
A soft laugh came this time — low, dangerous, disturbingly relaxed — as if the stranger wanted Wen to feel comfortable, but another part of him wanted Wen terrified. Wen's heart pounded against his ribs, loud enough that it felt like it was cutting through him from the inside.
Then footsteps approached — slow, deliberate.
"Do you know me?" the voice asked again. The figure bent down close enough for Wen to feel his breath on his cheek.
Wen forced his eyes upward. The face was too close, the angles distorted by the discomfort of the position, making his sight untrustworthy. Still… something tugged at his memory. He knew this face. From somewhere. From another time. Or maybe a younger version of it. Maybe childhood. Maybe laughter. Maybe home.
But the man before him looked changed — matured into someone hardened, someone who had crossed things most people never would.
Wen shook his head slowly, as if pushing the memory away.
"You don't even remember your son."
The words slammed into Wen like a heavy door closing. Smoke blew from the man's cigarette as he spoke, drifting toward Wen's face and sinking deep into his nose. He coughed, confused, shocked, trying to understand.
"Chun?" Wen whispered, the name escaping him in disbelief.
He could not accept it. Last time he saw Chun, the boy had been small, hopeful, dreaming of becoming a basketball star. But now the grown figure before him held a gun with the confidence of someone used to danger.
Chun turned, examining the house around them. Wen watched him — every step, every motion. His son had grown into a man who strangely resembled him. That realization forced a soft breath out of Wen's nostrils, but he cut it short as Chun continued speaking.
"Dad… I am now who you were."
Wen stared, stunned. His eyebrow twitched upward in disbelief and sadness.
Those words felt like claws ripping his chest open. Wen instinctively pressed a hand against his heart as though trying to keep it from falling out. He wanted to speak — to pour everything out — but he waited. Chun wasn't done.
"Dad, I'm now a gangster."
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket along with a lighter. He flicked it, letting Wen see the flame dance before lighting the tip. After inhaling deeply, he tossed the lighter away. It hit the ground with a small clatter that echoed in the silence of the room.
Smoke wrapped around Chun like a dark cloud as he took another heavy breath of it.
"I'm even called Ghost now. I'm sure you know what that means."
He threw himself into a chair, relaxing fully, as if this was his kingdom and Wen an unwelcome visitor.
"I'm the big mind in this gangster game, Dad." Another long inhale, another cloud of smoke drifting upward.
"I'm now the root of Raspberry," Chun added, naming his territory with pride.
Wen's legs trembled. His mind flooded with terrible realizations. To be at the top of a gang meant one thing — destruction. Loss. Death. And if Chun was at the top…
What about Luna?
What about his wife?
He had seen his son — but where were the others?
He looked toward the stairs, hoping to see someone rushing down — maybe to greet him, maybe to scold him, maybe to question him — but nothing happened.
"Mina!" he shouted, calling for his wife.
Silence.
"Luna!" he yelled again, voice cracking.
Still nothing.
Then the cold metal of the gun touched the back of his head again.
"The first question anyone should ask is how you got here," Chun said.
Wen froze. He remembered it too — the suddenness of it, the emptiness before waking up here. He hadn't bothered to think long; he had only wanted to see his family. But now, the way Chun said it… he knew something was off.
"Well, don't worry," Chun continued. "I'll show you."
He grabbed a remote and pointed it at the television. A beep sounded, and the screen turned on.
The display flickered — blurry shapes, then black and white, then color slowly rising. Chun leaned back while Wen remained frozen in place.
The scene that formed on the screen made Wen's stomach twist.
A reporter stood on a road Wen recognized too well. The same road he had walked moments after being released. But now… bodies of police officers lay scattered across it. The camera turned, revealing more fallen officers, before settling back on the reporter.
"Today has been a terrible day for wardens — or let's say, the cops," she said, swallowing.
"Today, a very hardened criminal named Wen was set free after a presidential pardon."
Wen nodded slowly. Yes… he had been pardoned. He had been set free. He remembered.
"But just after being released… he blew the entire place up, killed every officer in sight, and disappeared."
Wen jerked his head toward Chun.
Chun smiled — wide, wild, knowing.
"The question on everyone's lips is whether prisoners like this deserve freedom… or if a criminal remains a criminal no matter what."
The TV went black.
Wen stared at Chun as the truth — or the manipulated version of it — wrapped around him like choking vines. He had come out of prison to fix his mistakes, to rebuild his family… but his family had already decided his fate.
He stood up slowly, folding his hands, his jaw tightening.
He never thought he would stand against his son. His son was supposed to look up to him, not threaten him. But this was different. This was wrong. Chun had gone too far.
Wen tried stepping forward — but something dragged at him.
Hands. Strong hands. Multiple people holding him down, gripping his arms, locking him in place. He tried turning his head, but pressure held it straight.
"You want to fight?" Chun asked, rolling his sleeves as he approached.
He slapped Wen sharply — not graphic, but firm enough to sting. Then he struck again, fists landing in several quick hits, each impact forcing Wen backward as he groaned in pain. The last hit landed on his face, and Wen's breath shook.
"I hate you, Dad!" Chun yelled.
The words pierced deeper than any hit. Wen felt the pain in his chest, the sting behind his eyes, the tears that dropped softly to the floor.
"Don't you remember me… Chunny?" Wen said weakly.
Chun froze. His back turned. He remembered that name — a name from childhood, a name filled with affection and love. But that Chun was gone.
Wen knew it. Chun had chosen a path soaked in revenge. Wen wanted to fix things, to protect his family… but Chun wasn't going to let him in.
Chun turned back and lifted Wen's chin.
"It's like no one told you… Mum and Luna are long dead. And that's because of you."
Wen felt the world tilt. Was it true? Was it a lie? The confusion struck deep.
"After you left, we were attacked," Chun continued, tears slipping down his cheek. "Luna broke her leg. She couldn't run. She told me to leave. And that was how they died."
He wiped his tears and forced a confident smile — a smile that didn't match the pain.
"And let me tell you something… that name you called me? Only my father calls it. And my father… is gone."
Chun stood sharply. The bodyguards straightened.
"Take him to the First Stage."
They grabbed Wen instantly, dragging him with force. His legs scraped the floor as he struggled.
"Son! Don't do this!" he shouted, voice cracking in fear and desperation.
But his words never reached Chun.
Wen was pulled away — toward the place they called First Stage.