The hurt survival

The chamber door bursts open.

A split second later, a gunshot rings through the air.

Kenji barely registers the sound, his mind swimming in the heavy fog of pain and unconsciousness. He dangles from the chains, blood dripping sluggishly from his lips, his body swaying from the force of the last blow. His late boss turns, his expression flickering from amusement to irritation.

"Tch." He clicks his tongue, wiping the blood from his torn lip. "You’re early."

A second gunshot—this time closer. Something whizzes past his head, embedding itself into the stone wall. The intruder doesn’t speak. There’s no warning. Just death coming swiftly.

Then—

"Kenji—!"

Alexeier.

Kenji’s sluggish mind barely processes it before another round of bullets tears through the room. His late boss moves fast, pulling a knife from his belt, ready to press it against Kenji’s throat—but he’s forced to dodge at the last second as a blade whistles through the air, barely missing his wrist.

Raven steps in next, her eyes cold, merciless.

"Drop it." Her voice is low, but the weight of the command is absolute.

Alexeier doesn’t hesitate. He moves through the chaos, gun in one hand, blade in the other. His expression is sharp, ruthless—but when his gaze lands on Kenji’s battered body, something inside him snaps.

Kenji barely lifts his head, his blurred vision catching only glimpses—black hair, wild eyes, a face twisted in fury and something else.

"Kenji." Alexeier’s voice shakes.

Kenji tries to speak, but only a weak breath escapes. His body is too far gone, too wrecked to even lift his head.

Raven doesn’t wait. She fires—one precise shot aimed at Kenji’s chains. The metal snaps, and before Kenji can collapse, Alexeier is there. His arms catch him before he hits the ground, pulling him close.

Kenji trembles violently. His breath is uneven, his body barely reacting. Blood smears onto Alexeier’s clothes as he cradles him.

"I got you," Alexeier whispers, his voice raw, barely holding back his rage. His fingers brush against Kenji’s face, tucking away blood-matted strands of hair. His jaw clenches. "I got you—I'm taking you home."

Behind them, Raven keeps her gun trained on Kenji’s late boss.

"Go. I’ll handle this." Her tone is sharp, leaving no room for argument.

Alexeier doesn’t hesitate. He lifts Kenji into his arms, ignoring the blood seeping through his fingers.

Kenji’s eyes flutter open just slightly, the barest whisper escaping his lips.

"…Alex...!?"

"I’m here." Alexeier presses his forehead against Kenji’s, his grip tightening. "I swear, I’m here."I'm sorry ..sorry for breaking my promised

And as the world around them burns, Alexeier carries Kenji out of the darkness.

The room falls into silence as Alexeier vanishes through the doorway, Kenji held tightly in his arms.

Raven stands still, her gun still trained on Kenji’s late boss. Her expression is unreadable, her crimson eyes cold. The weight of years of sins, of torment, lingers thick in the air between them.

Kenji’s late boss exhales, licking the blood off his lips. "So, she finally shows herself." His voice is amused despite the situation. "Kenji’s so-called mother figure. Tell me, Raven, did you enjoy watching him shatter all over again?"

Raven doesn’t answer.

Instead, she lowers her gun—slowly, deliberately—before reaching behind her back.

A smooth rasp fills the room as she unsheathes her katana. The cold steel gleams under the dim light, its razor-sharp edge reflecting the bloodstained floor.

Raven steps forward.

Silent. Calculated.

Her movements are slow, unhurried—like a hunter circling its wounded prey. Her grip on the katana is steady, her eyes never leaving him.

"You should’ve killed him when you had the chance." Her voice is quiet. Dangerous.

Kenji’s late boss smirks. "Why would I? Breaking him is so much more—"

Raven moves.

The katana slices through the air, and he barely dodges in time. A few strands of his hair drift to the ground. His smirk falters.

"Hah. You’re serious, aren’t you?" He straightens, rolling his neck. "Fine. Let’s play, Raven."

He lunges.

Raven doesn’t hesitate.

The moment he moves, she sidesteps, her blade flashing. A shallow cut blossoms across his chest—clean, precise. Blood spills, staining his suit.

He snarls, reaching for the knife at his belt, but Raven is faster. She pivots, sweeping his legs out from under him. He stumbles, barely catching himself before the katana’s edge whistles toward his throat.

He dodges—just barely. But he’s slower than before.

"Tch—" He grits his teeth. "You bitch—!"

Another cut—this time across his wrist. His grip on the knife loosens.

He doesn’t realize his mistake until it’s too late.

Raven shifts behind him in a single fluid motion, her katana pressed against his throat.

Cold steel bites into his skin.

For the first time, his breath hitches.

"Kenji was never yours to break," Raven murmurs. Her voice is almost soft—but there’s no warmth in it. "You are nothing but a parasite. And I don’t let parasites live."

A second later, the blade moves.

A flash of crimson.

A wet gurgle.

Kenji’s late boss staggers, his eyes wide. His hands fly to his throat, but the damage is already done. Blood spills between his fingers, his body convulsing as he collapses onto his knees.

Raven watches, silent, as he gasps, chokes, struggles.

Then—

Nothing.

His body slumps forward. The last bit of life drains from his eyes.

Raven exhales, flicking the blood off her katana before sliding it back into its sheath.

"No one will ever hurt him again."

She turns, stepping over the corpse without a second glance, and disappears into the darkness.

The harsh glare of the emergency room lights burns into Kenji’s eyes. The sterile smell of antiseptic clings to the air, mixing with the coppery tang of blood—his blood.

He’s barely conscious, but the voices around him keep dragging him back.

"Multiple fractures—"

"Internal bleeding—"

"Severe trauma—"

Words blend together in a blur of medical jargon, but he doesn’t need to hear them to know. His body already tells him. Every breath feels like inhaling shards of glass. His ribs protest with every rise and fall of his chest. His limbs are weak, drained, barely responding to his own will.

A machine beeps steadily beside him, tracking his failing body.

"This isn’t the first time, is it?" One of the doctors murmurs. "These scars… He’s been through this before."

Kenji’s fingers twitch. His breath hitches.

Is this how I was before?

The memory slams into him like a bullet.

The cold floors of a different room. Shackles biting into his wrists. The sound of laughter, of cruel whispers, of a man humming as he traced bruises across Kenji’s skin. The pain, the helplessness, the shame—

His body jerks as he coughs, the force of it rattling his ribs. Blood splatters against his lips. His vision swims, darkening at the edges, but the weight in his chest refuses to let up.

Why am I here again?

He was supposed to be stronger. He was supposed to be free.

Yet here he is, hooked to machines, broken all over again.

A shadow looms over him. A voice—familiar, desperate—calls his name.

"Kenji—"

Alexeier.

Kenji blinks sluggishly, barely making out his silhouette through the haze. His lips part, but no sound comes. He doesn’t have the strength to answer.

He doesn’t even know if he wants to.

Because deep down, a question lingers in his shattered mind—

What if I can’t be saved this time?

Kenji stares at his hands.

They’re trembling—whether from weakness or something deeper, he doesn’t know. His body still aches, his lungs feel tight, but none of that compares to the weight crushing his chest.

The weight of his own existence.

He’s killed too many people. Stained his hands in blood. Watched lives slip away without hesitation.

Was this his judgment?

Was this what it meant to be an assassin? To be reduced to nothing but flesh for others to break, to suffer the same pain he inflicted?

His late boss’s laughter echoes in his head.

"You think you can escape what you are?"

Kenji clenches his teeth. His nails dig into his palms.

He remembers every kill. The cold steel in his hands. The rush of adrenaline. The way death never truly fazed him.

But now—lying here, broken, humiliated—he wonders.

"Am I really that person?"

The question sinks into him like a knife.

For so long, he’s been a blade in someone else’s hands. A weapon sharpened by pain and revenge. But now, that blade feels dull, useless.

If all he’s ever been is a killer, then what does that make him now—when he can’t even stand?

He feels sick.

His breath turns shallow, his vision blurs, but he forces himself to sit up.

Then the door creaks open.

Alexeier.

Kenji doesn’t move as Alexeier steps closer. He doesn’t have the strength to push him away, nor does he know if he wants to.

Alexeier kneels beside him. His eyes—dark, piercing—search Kenji’s face for something.

"What do you see when you look at me?" Kenji finally asks, voice hoarse.

Alexeier exhales sharply. "I see you."

"And what am I?" Kenji whispers.

Alexeier doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, his gaze flickering with something Kenji can’t quite name.

Then, quietly— "Someone who still has a choice."

Kenji’s breath catches.

A choice.

Not just a weapon. Not just a killer. Not just someone doomed to suffer.

The thought unsettles him. Because if he has a choice—then that means he has to face what he’s been running from all along.

Himself.

Kenji grips the sheets beneath him, his breathing ragged. Even as Alexeier’s words linger in the air, his body reminds him of something else—something far worse.

The pain is still there. Deep, raw, burning inside him. A cruel reminder of what was done, of what was taken.

And then there’s the feeling—that feeling.

Sticky. Wrong.

A sickening warmth that hasn’t faded, seeping from the wounds left behind. Blood. His own blood.

His stomach turns.

It’s not over. Even now, his body betrays him. Even now, the shame clings to him like filth he can’t scrub away.

He sways as he tries to move, but his limbs refuse to obey. The humiliation is suffocating.

"Kenji."

Alexeier’s voice cuts through the haze. Steady, but laced with something raw—something Kenji doesn’t know how to face.

Kenji stiffens as he feels a hand on his shoulder. Not rough. Not forceful. Just there.

But it’s too much.

"Don’t touch me." His voice cracks.

Alexeier withdraws immediately.

Kenji doesn’t meet his gaze. Can’t. If he does, he knows he’ll see something he can’t handle—pity, anger, concern. None of it will help.

Because this isn’t something that can be erased.

The pain. The blood. The violation.

No amount of revenge will take it away. No amount of strength will undo what’s been done.

He grips his arms, nails digging into his skin. If only he could tear himself apart, strip away the parts that feel dirty, that still remember everything.

"I can still feel it," he whispers.

Silence.

Then—Alexeier shifts closer. He doesn’t touch him again, doesn’t push, but his presence remains steady.

"I know." His voice is quiet.

Kenji swallows hard. He doesn’t know what’s worse—the fact that Alexeier understands, or the fact that even now, some part of him wants to be seen.

But being seen means being vulnerable.

And being vulnerable means facing what he’s spent his whole life trying to escape.

Kenji’s hands tremble. He grips them tighter, as if that will make any of this go away.

But it won’t.

It never will.

Kenji spirals further.

The weight of it—the blood, the shame, the memories—drags him down, deeper than he’s ever fallen before.

Days pass, but they mean nothing. He barely sleeps, barely eats. When he closes his eyes, he feels it all over again—the phantom touches, the suffocating pain, the sickening heat. When he’s awake, it’s no better. His own body disgusts him. Every movement, every ache, every reminder of what was done makes him want to tear himself apart.

Alexeier stays close, but Kenji keeps pushing him away.

"Leave me alone."

"I don’t need you."

"I’m fine."

Lies. Every word is a lie.

But he can’t let Alexeier see him like this. Not when his body still remembers, when it still betrays him with every shudder, every flinch. Not when he can still feel the blood seeping from him in the dead of night.

He won’t let Alexeier see how weak he’s become.

Because if Alexeier sees it—if Raven sees it—then it means they’ll know.

They’ll know that Kenji, the assassin, the fighter, the survivor, is nothing more than a broken shell.

And if they know that, then what’s left of him?

He stops talking. Stops reacting. Stops being.

It’s easier that way.

Until one night, when Alexeier reaches his limit.

Kenji is curled up on the edge of the hospital bed, gripping his stomach. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking, doesn’t realize he’s panting until Alexeier storms in and yanks the sheets away.

"Enough."

Kenji’s breath catches.

Alexeier glares down at him, eyes dark with frustration, but there’s something else beneath it. Something that makes Kenji’s throat tighten.

Alexeier kneels in front of him, gripping his wrist—not hard, not forcefully, but firm.

"Look at yourself," he growls. "You think this is what you deserve? You think I’ll just stand here and watch you destroy yourself?"

Kenji grits his teeth.

"You don’t get it—"

"No, you don’t get it." Alexeier cuts him off, voice shaking. "You are not what he did to you. You are not what happened to you. And I swear to God, if you keep pushing me away, I will drag you back myself."

Kenji clenches his jaw, but something cracks in his chest.

Because for the first time in weeks, someone isn’t treating him like he’s fragile. Like he’s something to pity.

Alexeier is mad. Furious. Desperate.

Not because he sees Kenji as weak.

But because he refuses to let him disappear.

Kenji’s vision blurs. His body is still screaming in pain. His mind is still blurry

Kenji grips the sheets beneath him, his body tensing under Alexeier’s touch. His mind screams at him to push away, to retreat into the safety of his walls—but his body doesn’t move.

Alexeier’s hands remain on his face, warm, steady, grounding.

"Let me in, Kenji," Alexeier murmurs.

Kenji’s throat tightens. His instincts fight against it—against the pull of Alexeier’s voice, the raw sincerity in his gaze. He’s spent years locking everything away, keeping his pain buried where no one can touch it.

But now, the weight of it is unbearable.

His lip trembles.

"I—"

The words won’t come out. His breath shudders, his vision blurring.

Then, suddenly, his body gives in.

A broken, ragged sob escapes him before he can stop it. His walls crack, then shatter, and before he knows it, he’s falling.

Alexeier catches him.

Kenji’s fingers clutch at Alexeier’s shirt, his body trembling as he finally lets go—of the shame, the anger, the unbearable weight of it all. He buries his face against Alexeier’s shoulder, shoulders shaking as the floodgates open.

The sobs are silent at first, then raw, gut-wrenching. Years of pain, humiliation, and self-loathing spill out in violent tremors.

Alexeier doesn’t speak. He just holds him.

For the first time, Kenji isn’t alone with his pain.

And for the first time, he realizes—maybe he doesn’t have to be.

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