Eun-jae didn't move right away. Instead, he studied Caesar's face, looking for any sign of deceit, any hint that this was a setup. But Caesar was an expert at masking his true intentions—always unreadable, always five steps ahead.
Finally, Eun-jae reached for the envelope, his fingers brushing against the rough paper as he pulled it toward him. He flipped it open with practiced ease, his eyes scanning the pages inside. Names, dates, classified notes—each one a thread leading back to the origins of Seraphim.
And then he saw it.
A name.
One that made his breath hitch for just a fraction of a second.
It was familiar. Too familiar.
He had seen it before, buried in intelligence reports, whispered in conversations between agents who spoke in hushed tones as if uttering it too loudly would summon death itself.
His grip on the papers tightened slightly. A cold sensation crawled up his spine, settling at the base of his neck.
"So where are they now?" he asked, his voice coming out quieter than he intended. "Are they alive?"
Caesar scoffed, the sound laced with amusement. "Pfft, no."
He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his smirk still present but now laced with something darker. Something knowing.
"They're all dead."
Eun-jae's stomach clenched, but his face remained carefully blank.
All of them?
His mind raced through possibilities. Accidents. Assassinations. Cover-ups. People didn't just die when they were connected to something as dangerous as Seraphim. They were erased.
His fingers twitched again. He exhaled slowly, trying to steady his thoughts. "How… how did they die?"
Caesar tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze locked onto Eun-jae's as if waiting to see just how much he could unsettle him.
"Take a guess," he said smoothly, his voice low, taunting.
Eun-jae's jaw tensed. He didn't have to guess. He already knew.
The bodies of people tied to classified projects didn't just pile up without reason. These weren't coincidences. Someone had gone to great lengths to make sure no one who had worked on Seraphim lived to tell the tale.
Assassinations. Silenced in the dead of night. A bullet to the skull, a car crash that looked just accidental enough, a sudden heart attack with no prior medical conditions.
Or worse.
People like this didn't just get killed. They got erased. Their identities scrubbed clean, their existence wiped from every system until it was like they had never even been born.
Before he could spiral deeper into that train of thought, Caesar's voice cut through his mind like a knife.
"Seraphim…" he started, dragging out the name like it was something to be feared. "It's a weapon. Or at least, that's what most people think it is."
Eun-jae's pulse quickened.
"Then what is it?" he asked.
Caesar smirked. "Something far worse."
A cold weight settled in Eun-jae's chest.
"You see," Caesar continued, his voice slow, deliberate, "Seraphim isn't just some military project, some cyber weapon you can lock away in a vault and forget about. It's not just a tool." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if the walls had ears. "It's the tool."
Eun-jae narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"
Caesar chuckled lightly. "It possesses."
Eun-jae's brows furrowed. "Possesses?"
Caesar tilted his head slightly, watching him with amusement. "It doesn't just hack, Eun-jae. It rewrites. It infiltrates. It doesn't break into systems—it becomes them."
Eun-jae felt a chill creep up his spine.
"It's not just about shutting down defenses or stealing intelligence," Caesar continued. "It's about control. Imagine this." He held up a finger. "One day, a nation thinks they're safe. Their missiles, their satellites, their networks—all running smoothly." He held up a second finger. "And the next day? Those same systems are suddenly working for the enemy—without anyone even realizing when it happened."
Eun-jae's mind reeled.
"That's why people fear it," Caesar murmured. "That's why everyone wants it." His smirk widened slightly. "Because whoever controls Seraphim… doesn't just control a weapon." His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "They control the world."
Eun-jae exhaled sharply, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
No wonder they were all killed.
No wonder no one spoke about it openly.
Because Seraphim wasn't just a weapon.
It was the beginning of the end.
Eun-jae flipped through the documents, his fingers slightly tense as his eyes skimmed over the pages. The names, the locations, the classified reports—each word carried weight, each line was a piece of a puzzle that had yet to form a full picture. But there was something here, something buried beneath layers of ink and bureaucracy. The deeper he read, the more he felt a slow, creeping sense of unease settle over him.
These weren't just files.
They were graves.
The people listed here—scientists, engineers, cryptographers—every single one of them had been involved in the creation of Seraphim. And now? They were all dead. Eliminated. Their lives wiped out like words erased from a blackboard, leaving only their names as a record of what once was.
Eun-jae's jaw tightened. This wasn't coincidence. This was a purge. Someone had made sure that the minds behind Seraphim were silenced, eradicated before they could talk, before they could even think about undoing what they had created.
He felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
How powerful was Seraphim that its very creators had to be erased?
The answer made his skin crawl.
His thoughts spiraled, scenarios playing out in his head. Was this just about security? About keeping the weapon under control? Or was this about something bigger—something beyond containment? If Seraphim had fallen into the wrong hands, then this wasn't just about information suppression. It was about domination. Whoever held Seraphim didn't just want to protect it.
They wanted to use it.
His mind raced, tracing the implications, the possible outcomes. Wars could be started—ended—without a single bullet fired. Economies could collapse overnight. Nations could be puppeteered from the shadows, their governments turned into nothing more than chess pieces on a board controlled by unseen hands.
Seraphim wasn't just a weapon.
It was control.
And someone out there was holding the reins.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Caesar watching him until he heard the man chuckle, the sound low and full of amusement.
Eun-jae glanced up sharply.
Caesar was leaning back slightly, arms folded, his expression one of mild amusement, as if he had been waiting for Eun-jae to catch up. Then, slowly, a knowing grin spread across his lips.
"If the answers are anywhere," Caesar murmured, "it's there."
Caesar exhaled, shaking his head slightly, like he was talking to a particularly slow student. "The Karpov-Troitskys."
The name alone sent a jolt through Eun-jae's mind.
The Karpov-Troitskys weren't just any family. They were a legacy, an empire built on blood and power. Generations of calculated moves, alliances forged and broken, wars won without ever stepping onto a battlefield. They controlled industries, governments, entire networks of intelligence agencies. Their reach extended far beyond what most people could comprehend.
And now, they were involved with this.
Eun-jae swallowed, keeping his expression unreadable.
"The Karpov-Troitskys and their allies will be in attendance," Caesar continued, his voice smooth, calculated. "A gathering of the world's most powerful. If anyone knows the truth about Seraphim—or has any clue how to stop it—" he smirked, "—they'll be there."
Eun-jae exhaled slowly.
That meant only one thing.
They were running out of time.
Caesar's smirk widened as he leaned in slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "So, what do you say? Feel like partying now?"
Eun-jae scoffed, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms. "Hold on. We can't just waltz into a party full of mafia bosses, corrupt politicians, and arms dealers without getting armed first. That's just asking to get shot."
Caesar chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax, HQ prepped everything for us." He patted Eun-jae's shoulder as he turned toward the exit. "Come on, let's go."
—
They drove through the dimly lit streets, the city buzzing with nightlife, unaware of the chaos brewing beneath its polished surface. Caesar took a few unexpected turns, weaving through alleys and side roads before pulling up to what looked like an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The place was barely lit, a single flickering streetlight casting eerie shadows against the rusted metal doors.
Eun-jae quirked a brow. "Really? This is where we're getting our gear? Why does it look like the setting of a horror movie?"
Caesar ignored him, already heading toward the entrance. He tapped a specific rhythm on the rusted metal door—knock, pause, two quick taps, pause, final tap—and a low beep sounded before the heavy doors groaned open.
They stepped inside.
The first thing Eun-jae noticed was the silence. The place was eerily empty, the air thick with the scent of gun oil and metal. Dim blue lights lined the ceiling, casting a cold glow over the concrete walls. It looked like nothing more than a basement—just a vast, empty space with a single reinforced steel door at the end.
Eun-jae raised a brow. "Okay, either this is the most low-budget weapons cache I've ever seen, or we just walked into a trap."
Caesar didn't respond. Instead, he walked straight to a panel on the wall, pressed his palm against it, and entered a six-digit passcode. A soft beep echoed, followed by the sound of mechanisms shifting.
Then, the walls moved.
With a low, mechanical hiss, the concrete panels slid apart, revealing hidden compartments behind them. Row after row of weapons gleamed under the dim blue light, neatly arranged on reinforced shelves and racks.
And it wasn't just any weapons.
These were top-tier.
Silenced pistols, custom-built sniper rifles, combat knives so sharp they could slice through bone like butter. There were high-powered assault rifles, grenades, tactical gear, even modified handguns with experimental attachments. Some of this stuff wasn't even on the market yet—it was the kind of gear that only people with serious connections could get their hands on.
Eun-jae let out a low whistle, tilting his head as he took it all in. "Damn. Looks like Santa came early this year." He stepped forward, dragging his fingers along the sleek barrel of a custom SIG Sauer. "What's the occasion? A VIP event, and they decided to roll out the elite murder package?"
Caesar chuckled. "Consider it a party favor."
Eun-jae picked up a matte black Desert Eagle, testing the weight in his palm before giving Caesar a side-eye. "Right. Because nothing says party like a semi-automatic hand cannon."
Caesar ignored the sarcasm, grabbing a tactical vest off the rack. "Pick your poison. We need to be in and out before midnight."
Eun-jae exhaled, rolling his shoulders before grabbing a pair of twin Glock 19s, slipping them into their holsters. He also grabbed a sleek combat knife, twirling it between his fingers before tucking it into his belt. He wasn't about to walk into a viper's den without being ready to sink his fangs in return.
Still, something about this whole situation itched at the back of his mind.
The fact that HQ had all this prepared in advance meant one of two things—either they were betting big on this mission, or they knew something he didn't. And considering how this night was shaping up, he wasn't sure which possibility was worse.
He sighed, cracking his neck before glancing at Caesar. "Alright, let's go 'party.''
The luxury car purred like a well-fed predator as it glided along the long, perfectly paved driveway leading up to the Karpov-Troitsky estate. The air around them felt different—heavier, like the weight of money and power had somehow thickened the atmosphere. It was the kind of place that didn't just scream wealth—it whispered it in a cold, calculating way, letting you know you didn't belong before you even stepped inside.
Eun-jae's fingers clenched around the steering wheel, his grip just a little too tight. He kept his expression blank, eyes fixed on the looming silhouette of the mansion ahead, but internally, he was fighting the urge to turn the car around and floor it back to sanity.
Because this place?
This place was unreal.
The mansion itself was obscene—a gothic nightmare wrapped in obscene luxury, standing like some ancient fortress against the night. It had turrets, for God's sake. Turrets. Who even needed turrets in this century? The grand iron gates they had passed through moments ago still lingered in his mind—towering structures, adorned with intricate metalwork depicting winged beasts and snarling wolves, as if to remind every visitor that they were trespassing in a world where only the powerful survived.
And he was stuck playing chauffeur in it.
In the backseat, Caesar lounged like a damn king, draped in a ridiculous black fur coat over his sleek tailored suit, looking every bit the arrogant bastard that he was. He exuded the kind of effortless confidence that made Eun-jae want to kick the seat just to knock him down a peg. It wasn't fair how well he fit in with this level of extravagance—like he belonged here among the rich, dangerous, and morally bankrupt.
Meanwhile, Eun-jae felt like an overworked extra in a period drama.
The stiff, tailored black chauffeur's uniform clung to him uncomfortably, the crisp white gloves and polished cap making him feel like some kind of dressed-up lapdog. He hated this. He hated the entire setup. The only reason he was putting up with this humiliation was because they needed to get inside unnoticed. And unfortunately for him, that meant playing the role of Caesar's obedient little driver.
I swear, if Caesar says one more smug-ass word, I might just slam the brakes and let him eat the dashboard.
Knock, knock.
Eun-jae's irritation was interrupted by the sharp rap of knuckles against his window. His jaw tightened as he forced himself back into character, rolling down the window with the most begrudgingly professional expression he could muster.
One of the mansion's guards stood there, clad in an all-black tactical suit, armed and exuding the kind of cold, detached authority that suggested he wouldn't hesitate to shoot a man dead if ordered. His sharp, assessing eyes swept over Eun-jae before shifting toward the backseat, where Caesar sat with way too much confidence for someone about to walk into the lion's den.
Without a word, Eun-jae handed over the invitation Caesar had smugly produced earlier. The guard examined it, eyes flicking over the details before cutting another glance at Caesar. The moment their gazes met, Eun-jae could feel Caesar's smirk—smug, self-assured, and just on the edge of taunting.
The tension stretched for a brief moment before the guard gave a curt nod, returning the card.
"You may enter."
Eun-jae rolled the window up and nudged the car forward, but not before muttering under his breath, "Great. Can't wait to be surrounded by rich criminals who could probably buy my entire existence with their pocket change."
The closer they got to the mansion, the more excessive the whole thing became. The pristine, sweeping lawns stretched for acres, trimmed so perfectly they looked fake. Rows of imported marble statues lined the pathways, their blank stone eyes watching like silent sentinels. A massive fountain stood at the entrance, water cascading down in a ridiculous, over-the-top display of wealth, illuminated by golden lights.
Valets in sharp uniforms rushed to open doors for the arriving guests, their movements practiced and precise. Expensive cars, each more luxurious than the last, rolled up to the entrance, spilling out men in tailored suits and women in glittering designer gowns, their diamonds catching the light like tiny stars. The entire scene looked straight out of a crime syndicate's fever dream.
Eun-jae barely held back a snort. How do people even live like this? How did they wake up every day surrounded by so much luxury without choking on their own arrogance?
His grip tightened on the wheel as the car slowed near the grand entrance, watching the opulence unfold before him like an absurd stage play.
Finally, he let out a sigh and muttered, "I'm just wondering how I'll even get inside."
From the rearview mirror, he caught Caesar's gaze—his smirk already forming, like he had been waiting for that comment.
Eun-jae immediately regretted speaking.
Eun-jae let out a long, exaggerated groan, gripping the steering wheel like it had personally wronged him. "What an unfair world," he muttered, glaring at the absurdly lavish scene unfolding before him.
Wealth dripped from every corner of the estate like gold-leafed poison, rubbing its existence in the faces of anyone who wasn't part of this exclusive, corruption-riddled club. The guests in their designer suits and silk gowns strolled up the grand staircase as if they weren't completely detached from reality, as if their biggest problem in life was deciding whether to drink imported champagne or a ten-thousand-dollar bottle of cognac.
Meanwhile, he was stuck playing chauffeur to the smuggest bastard alive.
Caesar, lounging in the backseat like he was born to be worshiped, chuckled at Eun-jae's misery. His laugh was low, amused, and far too pleased for Eun-jae's liking. That never meant anything good.
"There are two ways you can get inside," Caesar mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "Either you keep playing your role as my loyal driver…" He paused, watching Eun-jae through the rearview mirror with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Or—you go in as my lover."
Eun-jae choked.