Phoenix

39. Escape

The clinical, white-hot glare of the overhead LED arrays didn’t just illuminate the office; it stripped away the shadows they had used as a shield, leaving Jin, Arya, and Tina exposed like specimens under a microscope.

It didn’t take long for the cold reality to settle in. The air in the room seemed to thin, replaced by the heavy, metallic scent of gun oil and the static smell of high-end electronics. They had been lured to Creal-Tech’s headquarters with the promise of a master copy, but they hadn't found a cure—they had found a grave.

​Bulldog hadn't just predicted their move; he had choreographed it. He stood on the raised dais, his presence commanding the space, a master of ceremonies for their execution.

​In that split second of paralyzed silence, Jin’s mind didn't process the danger with fear, but with the cold, mechanical logic of a veteran operative. His instinct, honed through years of near-death variables, whispered the solution before his conscious mind could even form the words. Slowly, almost lazily, he began to duck, his hands moving toward the backpack he had dropped behind the sprawling mahogany desk.

​"Be careful, Seokjin!" Bulldog’s growl cut through the hum of the air conditioning. The hypocritical, fatherly smile he often wore was gone, replaced by a mask of pure, predatory focus. "Don't play tricks. Stand up straight where I can see your hands."

​Jin straightened up with deliberate slowness, his movements fluid and non-threatening. He held the straps of the backpack in one hand, his expression one of mild annoyance.

"No need to get hyped up, Douglas," Jin said, his voice a steady baritone. "The bag was slipping. I was just picking it up. A man like me likes to keep his belongings close."

​Bulldog narrowed his eyes, the barrel of his sidearm never wavering. "Do you think I'm a fool? You think I’ve spent twenty years in the Agency just to let a rogue asset pull a fast one in a closed room? You think I’m stupid?"

​"When did I ever say you were stupid?" Jin shrugged, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "If you were stupid, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You wouldn't have been able to bait the hook so perfectly. It's just that sometimes mother luck doesn't side with you, regardless of your IQ."

​Bulldog pulled a high-caliber pistol from his shoulder holster with a practiced, menacing flick of the wrist. "Shut up and put the bag on the table. Now. Move away from the desk."

​"I am not a big fan of rude words, Mr. Bullock," Jin said. The sarcasm in his tone was like a serrated blade, thin but deep. "Be gentler. If you request politely, I might just give it to you without the drama."

​"Then please," Bulldog’s voice dripped with equal parts mockery and malice, "come out from behind that desk and do me the honor of surrendering."

​"As you please."

​Jin stepped down from the raised platform, moving into the open center of the office. Behind him, Tina looked like a deer caught in the high beams of an oncoming truck—her breath coming in short, panicked hitches, her eyes darting between the armed men.

Arya, by contrast, looked almost bored. Her posture was relaxed, her weight shifted onto one leg, though the tension in her jaw told a different story. Both women were internally questioning Jin’s sudden pivot into dry wit, but they knew better than to break his rhythm.

​"Put your hands up, Mr. Kim," Bulldog instructed. "I am afraid of those two. Can’t trust a bit, you know? Especially not with the way they look at me."

​"Sure," Jin said, raising his hands until they were level with his ears.

​Bulldog motioned for Tina and Arya to follow suit. Once they were all lined up, he glanced at Melvin, the operative known as Alpha-Three. "Check the bag. Seokjin risked his life to grab it while three muzzles were pointed at his heart. It must be important. He’s definitely got some evil intention tucked away in there."