The cold, air of the basement was suffocating, thick with the metallic scent of blood and rust. My wrists and ankles were bound tightly to the wooden chair, the rough fibers of the robes biting into my skin. Each shallow breath I took was a struggle, the cloth gagging me, muffling my attempts to cry out.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering light bulb casting long, erratic shadows on the walls. The concrete floor was stained, a grim testament to the horrors that had occurred here before. The smell of mildew mixed with the rancid odor of fear and sweat.
Around me stood the members of the enemy organization, their faces obscured by masks but their intentions clear in their cold, merciless eyes. The leader, a towering figure with a scarred face and an air of authority, loomed over the group. His presence was oppressive, a dark cloud of impending violence.
"Looks like we've finally got our hands on the top ace," He said, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Let's see if you're as tough as they say."
A cold shiver ran down my spine, the metallic clang of weapons being drawn from their sheaths Was a sickening sound. I could feel the tears of frustration and pain building up behind my eyes, but the gag made any vocal expression impossible.
One of the crew members, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward with a serrated knife. The blade glinted menacingly in the weak light, and he seemed to relish the sight of my terrified eyes.
"Shall we start with something simple?" He muttered, leaning in close so that his breath, acrid and sour, wafted over my face.
The knife sliced through the air before it connected with my left arm, the sharp edge cutting through flesh and muscle with agonizing precision. I felt the pain as if it were a living thing, a fiery streak of agony that made my entire body tremble. Blood seeped from the wound, warm and sticky, trickling down my arm and pooling on the floor.
I let out a blood-curdling scream, throwing my head back as if it would help me not feel the agonizing pain. Tears fell out of my eyes, dropping onto my pants. I could see the leader smiling, enjoying every moment of seeing me writhe in pain.
Sunghoon...
"Please, stop..." I tried to plead, but the gag rendered my words unintelligible. My eyes darted desperately around the room, seeking any sign of salvation.
Another crew member, this one lanky with a twisted smile, took his turn. He approached with a cruel-looking gun, the cold metal glinting ominously. The click of the safety being removed was a sound I dreaded.
"How about a little fun?" he sneered, placing the barrel of the gun against my knee. The impact was sudden and excruciating. The explosion of pain was like a sledgehammer, sending shockwaves of agony through my entire leg. I let out another ear-piercing scream. I could feel the searing heat of the bullet wound. The blood gushing out in warm, rapid pulses.
I could feel the impact of mass blood loss, the world spinning and my head feeling light. The only thought that ran through my mind was Sunghoon. Agent 023. My crush. The love of my life. I didn't want to die like this, in a place that no one could find. Hot tears streamed down my face, and I mumbled his name like a maniac, not being in the right mind.
"Sunghoon, Sunghoon, Sunghoon, Sunghoon, Sunghoon, Sunghoon, Sunghoon, Sunghoon..." I mumbled, rocking back and forth.
The leader watched the scene with detached interest, his expression one of clinical observation rather than emotion. He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing with malicious intent. His presence was almost suffocating, a heavy shadow that loomed over me, amplifying the terror of my situation.
"Let's not keep things too comfortable," he said, his voice dripping with menace. He drew a long, jagged knife from his belt, holding it up to the light. The blade seemed to absorb the dim illumination, reflecting a cold, merciless sheen.
He approached slowly, deliberately. The anticipation of the pain was worse than the actual agony as the knife sliced through the Fabric of my shirt exposing my torso. Each cut was a careful incision aimed at maximizing pain while minimizing damage. I could feel the blade tracing shallow lines across my skin, the surface wounds stinging with each new cut.
"Tell us what we want to know," he said, his voice low and threatening. "Where is the mafia gang hiding? What are their plans?"
I shook my head vigorously and my eyes wide with defiance despite the tears streaming down my face. The pain was overwhelming, a constant throbbing pulse that seemed to drown out all the other sensations. My body was slick with sweat and blood, the chair beneath me growing increasingly uncomfortable with each passing moment.
The leader's patience with spin. He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back painfully. "You think you're tough? Let's see how long you can hold out."
The brutality continued unabated. Each blow, each cut, each new weapon added to the torment. I felt myself slipping away, my vision blurring at the edges as I lost more blood, the stinging pain of the knife cuts, the burning agony of the bullet wound, and the relentless pressure of the leader's threats created a nightmarish Symphony of suffering.
My mind was a haze of pain and fear. The only constants were the searing sensations and the shadowy figures surrounding me. I could hear their voices dimly, a cruel chorus of mockery and threats. The physical agony was nearly unbearable, but the emotional torment of helplessness and isolation was equally devastating.
The darkness was absolute, broken only by the flickering light of a single, failing bulb. The room was silent except for the distant hum of machinery and the occasional drip of water from unseen pipes. My body felt like it was on fire, every nerve screaming in agony. The ropes that bound me to the chair cut into my flesh, and the gag in my mouth was soaked with sweat and blood.
I tried to focus, to keep my mind sharp despite the overwhelming pain, but it was a losing battle. Every breath was a struggle, every movement sent waves of fresh agony through my body. I had no sense of time; hours, days—they all blurred together in a haze of suffering.
