The Split PathGunfire cracked through the tunnel, deafening in the confined space. The first bullet ricocheted off the metal wall beside Clara’s head, spraying fragments of rust and dust.“Go!” Ethan shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her behind a concrete barrier. Another shot whined past, splintering against the wall.Clara’s heartbeat thundered. Her breath came in sharp bursts. “There’s too many—”“I know.” Ethan ducked, returning a few precise shots down the tunnel. The muzzle flash illuminated the narrow passage — dark uniforms, tactical helmets, moving in formation.“They’re cutting us off from both sides,” he muttered.Clara glanced over the ledge — the river surged below, black and fast. “We could jump.”“Too far. The current will drag us under before we hit the surface.”“Then what?”Ethan’s eyes flicked to a metal ladder bolted into the wall a few meters ahead, half-hidden by a broken pipe. “That maintenance shaft—leads up to the old tram line.”He fired again, buying th

The Fixer’s GameBy the time they surfaced from the drainage tunnel, the morning had brightened into a harsh, overcast gray. The city loomed ahead — Busan’s industrial edge, thick with cranes, exhaust, and the low hum of trucks.Clara pulled her hood tighter. Her clothes were soaked, her legs sore. “You sure he’ll meet us?”Ethan scanned the street before stepping out. “He doesn’t have a choice.”They blended into the crowd — dockworkers, vendors, early commuters. Ethan kept a hand near his concealed weapon; Clara trailed half a step behind, eyes darting between faces.He led her through a narrow alley that smelled of fried oil and rust, stopping at a nondescript shop with a faded red awning. The sign read Seo’s Repairs.Inside, the place was cramped — walls stacked with old radios, drones, and tangled cables. A man hunched over a desk near the back, cigarette dangling from his lips, typing rapidly.When Ethan entered, the man didn’t look up. “You’re late.”“Your clock’s fast,” Ethan

Shadows of the CityThe city never truly slept.Even beneath its glittering skyline, where sirens echoed like restless ghosts and the hum of machines replaced silence—life moved in wary rhythm. Clara felt that rhythm now, the pulse of a world she didn’t belong to anymore.It had been five days since the explosion beneath the bridge. Five days since she and Ethan clawed their way out of the tunnels and disappeared into the maze of the underground city.They were ghosts now—two names wiped from the system, living between shadows and abandoned corridors.The safehouse Ethan had found wasn’t much—one of his old contacts owed him a favor. It sat at the edge of the industrial quarter, half a floor above a forgotten printing warehouse, the kind of place no surveillance drone would bother sweeping.Inside, the air smelled faintly of oil and paper dust. The walls were lined with old file cabinets and cracked screens. It was cold, but it was quiet.Clara stood by the window, staring at the neon

CounterstrikeTokyo was alive and sleepless.Rain threaded through the glowing skyline, tracing silver rivers across glass towers and electric signs. The hum of life never stopped—hover trams gliding through midair, vending drones buzzing past alleys, the low drone of the undercity generators.Clara had never seen a place so crowded and yet so lonely.From the high window of their safehouse—a rented capsule flat tucked above a ramen shop—she could see the Shibuya district stretched like a sea of light. Thousands of faces below, each one a moving dot, each oblivious to the quiet war unfolding above them.She turned from the glass. Ethan was at the small worktable, surrounded by holographic projections. His eyes, dark and unblinking, tracked the floating streams of code and data maps.Lines of text reflected off his face like a constellation.Clara crossed her arms, watching him. “You haven’t slept in thirty hours.”He didn’t look up. “Neither has Kane.”“That’s not comforting.”Ethan g

CounterstrikeThe rain came down in sheets, blurring the lights of the city outside Ethan’s penthouse. Inside, silence stretched, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the heater and the occasional crackle of thunder. Clara sat by the window, her gaze distant. The skyline reflected faintly on the glass—an illusion of two cities colliding, one of light and one of shadow.Ethan stood behind her, his jacket still damp from the meeting he had just left. “You’re quiet,” he said softly.Clara didn’t turn. “Just thinking.”“About Kane?”She nodded once. “He’s still out there. Watching. Waiting. Every time I close my eyes, I feel like he’s behind them.”Ethan exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted—his eyes slightly red, his jawline sharper from restless nights. But there was a new steadiness in his posture, a decision that had crystallized after the last attack. “Then we stop waiting for him to strike. We go after him.”Her head whipped around. “Ethan—”“No more running,” h