chapter 2

Chief Deputy One sipped his coffee slowly. “Well, from what I see… you stirred up a bit more chaos than necessary during the mission. Not unexpected, given your... ‘style.’ But.” He shrugged. “A small price to pay to keep our intel secure.”

Scarlet rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw his past lives.

“As if they’d be complaining if I failed.”

“They're not pissed. They're testing the water.”

“They always do this shit before asking for something impossible.”

He looked between the two men.

“Wait. Why are these two even together?”

“Boss Kim and the Deputy in one room? That never happens unless…”

Kim reached into a drawer and pulled out a matte-black tablet, then handed it to Scarlet like it was a bomb. “Take a look.”

Scarlet frowned, taking it.

The moment the screen lit up—his expression shifted.

Eyes widened.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“...This...” he muttered.

Kim leaned forward. “Yes. That. It’s a recent intercept. Special intel—top-tier shit. You’re the first to see it.”

“We’ve heard whispers before,” the Deputy added, “but this is the first real evidence we’ve gotten.”

The screen showed a blurry blueprint. High-level encryption. A logo that looked like a fusion between a Greek letter and a military insignia. It was titled: Project PERSEPHONE.

Kim began to explain, his voice steady, lips curved in that predator-smile he always wore when history was about to pivot.

“Russia and Japan. Years ago. Secret alliance.”

“Both nations saw the writing on the wall—cyberwarfare, global instability, shadow governments.”

“They decided to create something… big. Something dangerous. A weapon no one could touch.”

“Something that could shift the entire global power balance.”

“PERSEPHONE,” he said. The name tasted heavy in the air.

“We don’t know if it’s the name of the weapon itself… or the operation… or the tech used to make it,” the Deputy said, still sipping his coffee like this was a goddamn brunch.

“Some say it’s already been built. Others say it’s a myth. But the intel we recovered… suggests it exists. Somewhere. And if it does—”

“It changes everything,” Kim finished. “And that can’t happen.”

Scarlet’s thoughts swirled.

“Weapon? No. This is more than just a weapon.”

“PERSEPHONE.”

“That’s not just a codename. It’s symbolic. Greek goddess of duality—death and rebirth.”

“They’re not talking about a missile or a bomb. They’re talking about something alive.”

“Something that can adapt. Or think.”

“Is it tech? Bioweapon? AI? Human?”

“What the hell did they make?”

The Deputy cleared his throat. “We don’t know what it is. If it’s in our hands, we find it. If it’s in their hands, we take it. And if neither?”

He leaned forward.

“We destroy it.”

Kim smiled again. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Ah. There it is.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Not because I ‘stirred up chaos.’ Not because they need a field report.”

“Because they want me to either steal the most powerful unknown weapon in the world…”

“Or reduce it to ashes.”

“And they want me to do it quietly. Invisibly.”

“Like it never existed.”

Scarlet looked at both men. His fingers curled around the edge of the tablet.

“They say it’s for world safety.”

“But I can see it in their eyes.”

“They don’t care if it kills ten, a hundred, a thousand.”

“They want control.”

“And they’re willing to burn everything to get it.”

Kim leaned back, smug. “So. What do you say, Agent Scarlet?”

Scarlet raised his head, expression calm. But his eyes—his eyes were cold steel.

“Let me guess,” he said flatly.

“If I can’t steal it... you want me to erase it. Off the face of the earth.”

Kim nodded. “Exactly.”

A beat of silence.

Scarlet inhaled slowly.

The office felt heavier now.

Scarlet stood stiff, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the photo Kim had slid across the polished table. A photograph, glossy and clinical — a lifeless body sprawled along the frozen bank of a Russian river. Lips blue, skin pale, eyes shut. A cold, indifferent world around him.

Scarlet’s chest tightened.

“Liam Campbell,” Kim said, his voice unnervingly flat, as if announcing the weather. “CIA. Found two days ago. Solo op in Moscow. Dead.”

Scarlet’s brow furrowed.

“I’ve traveled overseas more times than I can count. I’m fluent in English, Mandarin, Spanish… even Russian.”

“They know that. Field experience is everything in this job — I’ve got that in spades.”

“But Russia?”

“I’ve never even set foot there.”

He didn’t sit down. Just hovered there, stiff like a blade, fingers twitching as if unsure whether to snap or reach for a weapon.

“Sir… I’m not eligible for this mission,” Scarlet said finally. His voice was clipped, careful. “Why not assign someone local? Someone with existing field presence?”

Kim smiled — that same fox-smile that never reached his eyes. “Oh, we did.”

Scarlet’s eyes narrowed. “So what happened?”

The answer came with the slide of more photos.

Bodies. Cold. Bloody. Disposable.

Kim tapped one of the glossy images with two fingers. “Didn’t work out.”

Scarlet stared.

“Liam was on the trail of Persephone. Working solo,” Kim said, tone barely shifting. “We believe he got too close.”

“Too close to what, exactly?” Scarlet murmured, eyes still on the photo.

The Chief Deputy sighed, removing his glasses. “He was gathering intel for over a year. Lived in the underbelly. Got embedded. Built connections.”

“And still,” Kim added with a shrug, “he died like a stray dog in the snow.”

Scarlet felt it in his gut — that subtle churn. It wasn’t grief. He hadn’t known Liam that well. But the image still cut deep.

“Liam was reckless. Smart, but reckless. Always thought he was one step ahead of the world.”

“Guess Russia proved him wrong.”

“So what now?” Scarlet said, eyes flicking up. “The U.S. wants us to clean up their mess?”

Kim beamed, practically glowing. “You’re sharp — that’s why I like you.”

Scarlet didn’t respond. His jaw clenched.

Kim leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Since Japan was involved in the creation of Persephone… we’re at risk too. Technically. So this isn’t just about them. It’s about us. If the Americans find it first, we lose all bargaining power. And if Russia uses it... well. That’s a different kind of hell.”

The Chief Deputy, now standing with phone to ear, turned away and quietly exited the room. The door hissed shut behind him.

Kim took that moment to drop his next little mine.

“I heard you knew Liam,” he said casually. “From that international ops training exchange in Langley, yeah?”

Scarlet didn’t flinch. “That was a one-time thing.”

Kim nodded. “Exactly. Which is why you are the perfect candidate.”

Scarlet stared, skeptical.

Kim smiled. “You don’t get emotionally compromised. You don’t hesitate. You don’t grieve.”

That one landed like a slap.

Scarlet exhaled — slow and sharp.

“So that’s it.”

“Not because I’m the best. Not because I’m the most qualified.”

“But because I’m cold enough to survive whatever the fuck happens out there.”

Kim pushed the tablet closer again. “We need eyes on the ground. We need someone who knows how to vanish. Someone who can handle themselves if — no, when — things go sideways.”

Scarlet looked at the image again. Liam’s frozen face. Blank eyes. Purple fingers.

“A corpse with no country.”

“That’s the job.”

Kim folded his hands neatly. “Scarlet. I want you to continue the mission. Find Persephone. If possible, secure it. If not…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

“Destroy it. Burn it. Bury it.”

“And if I die?”

“Then I’ll be a blurry photo on someone else’s desk. Just another ghost in the system.”

Scarlet was silent for a long moment.

The air in the room tasted dry. Processed. Like recycled breath and old decisions.

“This isn’t a mission. This is a chess game with no board.”

“No one’s sure who’s the enemy yet. Not even the players.”

“They say it’s about global balance. About safety. About responsibility.”

“But they all want the same thing.”

“Control.”

Finally, Scarlet raised his eyes.

“Where do I start?”

Kim smiled wider. “Welcome to Russia.”

Kim stood up slowly, as if the conversation had been casual. Just another Tuesday.

"But first," he said, moving toward the sleek black briefcase on the side table, "you'll need a disguise."

Click.

He opened the case with a dramatic flair that felt theatrical — like he was playing spy master for an audience. Then he pulled something out and tossed it across the table.

Flop.

It landed with a wet, slapping sound. A silicon face, eerily lifelike, still and expressionless.

Scarlet stared.

“…Seriously?” he muttered, glancing down at the synthetic skin molded into the face of a man he vaguely recognized.

“Meet Mr. Choi Beom-Gyu,” Kim said, tone too casual.

Scarlet picked it up reluctantly. The face was flawless. Smooth. Slightly smiling. Almost smug.

“This is disgusting.”

“Feels like I’m holding a peeled version of someone’s future.”

“Who the hell is this?” Scarlet asked.

“Beom-Gyu is a mid-level compliance officer for Daegok Energy,” Kim replied, hands clasped behind his back. “They’ve just signed a multi-billion dollar natural gas agreement with GazEnergo — one of Russia’s state-owned monsters.”

Kim paused, letting the info sink in.

“He’s been scheduled to travel to Moscow for a series of protocol meetings. Documents, inspections, oversight — boring, bureaucratic sh*t. Very safe. Very invisible.”

Scarlet raised an eyebrow. “And how does that give me access to Persephone?”

Kim grinned like he’d just been waiting for that.

“The Moscow execs hosting Beom-Gyu have direct ties to the Kremlin’s black science budget,” he said. “One of them might be funneling resources. If Persephone exists — that’s your crack in the ice.”

Scarlet turned the mask over in his hands. It felt wrong. Like a lie with skin.

“So I’m a gas company pencil-pusher now?” he said flatly.

“You’re a ghost with a corporate badge,” Kim replied.

Scarlet remained quiet. His jaw clenched slightly.

“Disguise, infiltration, uncertain terrain.”

“Standard ghost work. Except it’s Russia. In winter. Undercover. Without backup.”

“All based on a few rumors and one dead body.”

Kim tapped the table. “But listen carefully…”

Scarlet’s eyes met his. Something shifted in Kim’s tone — just slightly. Like oil in water.

“While you're there…” Kim continued, voice low, “beware of Tsar’ Nochi.”

Scarlet froze. The name was familiar — whispered once, maybe twice. In a hallway. In a report that had no clearance level. Not a person. A myth.

“The King of Night?” Scarlet asked slowly.

Kim nodded once. “We don’t know his face. We don’t even know his voice. Only that he exists — and when he moves, bodies hit the ground.”

Scarlet narrowed his eyes. “Did he kill Liam?”

Kim’s silence lasted a beat too long. Then—

“I don’t know.”

Scarlet hated that answer.

“Bullshit.”

“You never say ‘I don’t know’ unless you actually do.”

“Or unless the truth is worse than silence.”

Kim continued, “But if he’s involved, you need to be sharper than ever. One slip, and you won’t even see your own blood before it hits the snow.”

Scarlet stared down at the mask again, then set it back on the table like it was radioactive.

“Your flight leaves at 3PM,” Kim added, glancing at his watch. “Your documents are being sent to your secure account. Get changed. Get ready.”

He started to walk away, then paused in the doorway.

“And Scarlet…” he said, turning his head slightly, “don’t die.”

Scarlet’s expression didn’t change. But something in him twisted.

“Don’t die.”

As if it were a polite suggestion. Like saying ‘bring an umbrella’ or ‘mind the weather.’”

“Don’t die. Just another line in the contract.”

“Another checkbox to tick off before your name becomes a file number.”

“I hate this place.”

“I hate this job.”

“But most of all — I hate how goddamn good I am at it.”

Scarlet exhaled, long and slow. He picked up the mask. Then the phone. Then the folder marked OPERATION: NYX.

He didn’t say goodbye.

He just walked out of the room — a shadow with someone else’s face in his hand.

The fluorescent lights in the airport washroom buzzed overhead — clinical, humming like static in his ears. Scarlet stood at the sink, the silicon mask now fully adhered to his skin. Smooth. Slightly tight around the jaw. Beom-Gyu's face stared back at him in the mirror — mild-mannered, harmless, bureaucratic.

“It fits.”

He adjusted the glasses. Nothing fancy — wire-rimmed, just the right amount of nerdy. Even his hair was styled differently now, parted neatly, controlled, polite. The perfect image of a man who followed orders, sat through meetings, and never carried a gun in his life.

Scarlet — or Rin, his real name — stared long and hard at the reflection.

“If I saw me now… I wouldn’t even flinch. That’s the point, right? No threat. No presence.”

“They always say masks are supposed to hide you. But this? This feels more like erasure.”

He sighed through his nose, then leaned down to rinse his hands in cold water. The chill grounded him.

A soft vibration buzzed in his pocket. He pulled out his personal phone — the one he kept hidden, encrypted beyond trace.

1 New Message.

From: 母さん(Mom)

「ちゃんと食べなさい。愛してる。」

(“Make sure you eat properly. I love you.”)

Rin’s chest pinched. Tight, sudden.

He closed his eyes for a second, then looked up at the mirror again.

“She’s worried. Always is. I try to hide it, but she knows.”

“She lost a husband. Then a daughter. All that’s left is me and Yuta.”

“And I keep leaving her. With nothing but another name on another plane ticket.”

He touched the edge of the mask — not gently. As if testing its limits.

“I promised myself this one would be the last.”

“Go to Moscow. Finish the job. Come back. That’s it.”

His jaw clenched.

“I owe her that. I owe Yuta that.”

“They didn’t sign up for this life. They didn’t choose to lose everything. And I won’t let them lose me too.”

His mind drifted — uninvited — to his sister. Yuri.

She’d been tall, proud, loud when she laughed. Just like their dad. Wanted to follow in his footsteps. She died trying.

Rin was twelve when the news came. Everyone in the platoon — gone. Just like that.

All they got was her blood-stained badge.

And a box of folded uniforms that smelled like gunpowder and metal.

“After that… it was like we stopped breathing for a while.”

“Mom married again. Hajime was—no. That’s over.”

“He’s rotting where he belongs.”

He wiped the water from his hands with a paper towel. Tossed it in the bin. Then fixed the collar of his coat, straightened the glasses one more time, and turned.

Gone was Agent Scarlet. Gone was Rin, even.

Only Choi Beom-Gyu remained.

The hallway outside was crowded — travelers wheeling suitcases, murmuring in Japanese and English and Korean. The announcer's voice echoed through the terminal, calm and emotionless:

“...Flight 273 to Moscow now boarding at Gate 14A...”

Scarlet walked with even steps, his passport in hand, his forged documents tucked neatly in his carry-on.

The mask didn't itch. It hugged his face. Sealed him in.

“I’ve worn worse.”

“This is just another uniform. Another skin.”

“If I can survive Hajime, I can survive Moscow.”

He scanned his boarding pass, nodded at the smiling flight attendant, and stepped through the gate. No one even glanced at him twice.

He slid into his seat by the window and looked out at the tarmac. The sky was iron-gray. Cold even through the glass.

He pulled out his phone again, looked at the message one more time.

「ちゃんと食べなさい。愛してる。」

“Make sure you eat properly. I love you.”

He typed slowly, carefully.

「分かった。俺も愛してる。帰ったら一緒に食事しよう。」

“Got it. I love you too. Let’s eat together when I’m back.”

He hit send. Then powered off the phone completely.

The cabin door shut. Engines roared to life.

As the plane lifted into the sky, Scarlet rested his head against the window. The hum of the jet engine beneath him sounded almost like breathing.

“This time... I’ll come back.”

“I promise.”

High above the Sea of Japan, Flight 273 sliced through the clouds like a whisper.

The in-flight cabin lights were dimmed — soft and sterile. The kind of lighting that made you forget whether it was day or night. Scarlet — or rather Choi Beom-Gyu — had just unbuckled his seatbelt when the overhead ding chimed. He excused himself, navigating the narrow aisle with quiet grace, duffle bag still slung across his shoulder.

The lavatory was small — barely enough space to turn around. He locked the door with a soft click, then looked into the mirror.

The mask held up well. Seamless around the ears. The brow ridge didn’t shift even when he furrowed his eyebrows. The edges of the latex were invisible, tucked just beneath the collar of his dress shirt.

He adjusted his glasses again, slightly lifting the bridge.

“Good. Still believable.”

“No creases. No folding at the corners. That guy back in Tokyo knew his prosthetics.”

He leaned in, inspecting the lip curve. His reflection stared back — blank, unreadable. Ordinary. The most dangerous kind of disguise.

Suddenly—

BANG. BANG.

The sound of something slamming against the overhead bin echoed through the metal cabin walls.

A voice — loud, male — was barking something. Slurred. Words mangled.

“Here we go…”

Scarlet blinked once. His fingers paused on his glasses.

Then a scream.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” someone shouted — high-pitched, terrified.

Another thud. A flight attendant stumbled backward, her shoulder hitting a seat as she tried to keep distance from the passenger.

From inside the lavatory, Scarlet stilled — listening.

Another thud.

Now the noise was unmistakable — a commotion, spreading across the aisle like a slow leak. Passengers whispering. Gasps. Then voices rising.

“Sir please—please stay calm!” a young air hostess pleaded, her voice taut with panic.

“No! They’re watching me! I know it! I KNOW IT!” a man shouted. His voice was jagged, desperate, cracked open by fear or drugs — maybe both.

“Paranoia. Probably stimulant-induced. Adderall? No — too manic. Maybe methamphetamine.”

Scarlet adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Then ran a hand down his tie, straightening it slowly.

Outside, another flight attendant rushed toward the cockpit.

“They’re calling the pilot. Flight crew protocol. If it gets worse, they’ll either restrain him or request an emergency landing.”

“Just great.”

He closed his eyes, leaned back slightly against the lavatory wall, and exhaled through his nose.

“In cases like this, the plane stalls.”

“Security gets involved. Flight gets grounded. Sometimes even rerouted.”

“And guess who gets to have a private little chat with immigration at the next airport?”

He tapped the back of his head softly against the wall, once. Then again.

“Not my business. Not my mess.”

I am Beom-Gyu. I’m no one special. I keep my mouth shut, drink bad airline coffee, and land in Moscow at 3 PM local time.”

“That’s it.”

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