GAME ON. (JIKOOK)

5. Warning

The bar, once dimly lit and bustling with conversation, now resembled a battlefield. The air was thick with the scent of spilled alcohol and the faint metallic tang of blood. Chairs were overturned, tables broken, and bodies lay scattered across the floor, unconscious but alive. Five men stood amidst the destruction, their expressions cold and unreadable.

Two of them, both armed, stood guard near the entrance, their weapons casually slung over their shoulders as if this scene was nothing out of the ordinary. The men moved with a fluid precision that screamed military training or something even darker. Each step was deliberate, each glance calculated.

The tallest of them, a man built like a battering ram with short-cropped hair and arms that strained against the fabric of his black shirt, kicked one of the bodies face-down on the floor. The sound of his boot thudding against flesh echoed in the silence. The man didn't stir—still out cold from whatever hit had taken him down.

"Clean work," the giant muttered under his breath, almost bored, wiping his hands against his pants. His gun, now slung across his back, gleamed under the dim light as he turned to face the others. "No mess. Quick and efficient."

A smaller man with a wiry frame and sharp, hawk-like eyes stalked around the room, his footsteps silent. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, his gaze searching for any signs of life. "Anyone else hiding?" His voice was soft, but it carried an edge that could cut steel.

Another man, slim but muscular, stepped forward. He had a quiet intensity about him, his movements precise and practiced. "Everyone's cleared," he confirmed, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're alone now."

At the entrance of the bar stood their leader, Joon. A man of few words, his presence alone was enough to command the attention of everyone in the room. His dark leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders, and his hair was slicked back, a single strand falling rebelliously over his forehead. He hadn't said much since they arrived, but the tension in his clenched jaw told the story.

Joon stepped forward, his boots crunching over broken glass as he surveyed the carnage. His expression was as cold as the steel he carried, his eyes scanning the room with the methodical precision of someone who had seen too many battlefields. "They won't stay out for long," he finally spoke, his voice gravelly and commanding. "Lock down the exits. No one leaves until we get what we came for."

Two of the men immediately moved to seal the doors, their steps quick and efficient. The other remained vigilant, guns at the ready, his sharp eyes never straying from the dark corners of the room. They weren't here for a simple cleanup.

Joon reached up, pressing a finger to his earpiece. "Everything's in place," he murmured. "Waiting for confirmation on the package."

There was a pause on the other end before a voice crackled through the comms, distorted but clear enough to hear. "Package should've been delivered. What's the holdup?"

Joon's jaw tightened. "We're still waiting."

Suddenly, a sleek figure stepped forward from the shadows. He was tall and slender, with sharp features and a tanned complexion that made him look almost ethereal under the flickering lights. His movements were fluid, almost too graceful for a man who had just fought his way through a bar of thugs. "Joon, we've got a problem," he said, his voice laced with concern. "We can't get a hold of Jungkook. He's gone dark."

The tension in the room spiked. Jungkook was supposed to be the point man, the one clearing the way for their mission. His silence wasn't just concerning—it was dangerous.

The smallest man in the group, pale as a ghost with a hawk's keen gaze, took a step toward the back of the bar, where a heavy door stood slightly ajar. The unconscious bodies of two bulky guards were slumped against it, clearly taken down in a brutal fight. The pale man's eyes narrowed. "Something's off," he muttered.