At the far end of the ruined corridor, Choi Jisung stood over a twitching body, boots soaked in the remains of his last target. "You're just another tick," Choi sneered, lowering his smoking service pistol. "Another parasite feeding off this city's decay. I'm the cure." He spat on the corpse and straightened his badge. "One less problem. You're welcome, Jinjahan."
Sirens moaned in the distance. Gunfire crackled like fireworks across the districts. Choi didn't care. This was where he thrived. He'd become what the city needed. Judge, jury, and executioner with a badge.
"Damn right I'm the best cop this pit's ever had," he muttered to himself with a smirk. "Cleanin' house, one scumbag at a time. While the CPG plays soldier-boy, I'm doing real work."
He didn't hear the footsteps at first—too used to the screams. But the voice? That voice cut through everything like steel through bone. "Jisung."
He froze. From the fog and flickering neon, a figure emerged. Bloodied knuckles. But his stance—steady. His gaze—unshaken.
"Kim?" Choi blinked. "Rookie Kim?"
Kim stepped into the dying light, holding his pistol low, finger off the trigger. "I told you I'd be back."
Choi laughed—a dry, jagged sound. "You should've stayed down, kid. This city eats soft hearts for breakfast."
"I'm not here to save the city," Kim said, stepping closer. "I'm here to stop you."
"Stop me?" Choi scoffed. "You forget who trained you? Who dragged your ass out? You're nothing without me."
Kim's eyes didn't waver. "Maybe. But at least I still remember what it means to be a cop."
Choi's smile twisted. "You mean weak?"
"I mean human." Kim raised his pistol. "You've lost that, Jisung. You're not cleaning the city. You're feeding its hate."
Choi paced in a slow circle, hand on his hip, like a predator weighing its next move. "You know what I see, Kim? A boy playing hero in a warzone. The JPD's already too far gone. We don't write reports anymore—we write eulogies."
And then, with a snarl, he drew. But Kim was faster. Bang. The shot echoed like a cannon. Choi staggered back, blood blooming across his ribs. He looked down, blinking in disbelief.
"You... shot me?"
"I had to," Kim whispered. "For Jinjahan. For what you used to be."
Choi collapsed to his knees, laughter choking into coughs. "You think this changes anything? JPD's already on fire. The whole city's—" he wheezed, "—gone."
Kim took slow, cautious steps toward Choi, breath heavy with relief and grief all at once. The shot had landed. Choi had fallen. The blood soaked through his jacket. It had to be over.
It had to be. But then Choi laughed. Low. Ragged. Unnatural. The sound crawled up Kim's spine like barbed wire.
"You really thought…" Choi coughed, grinning as he clutched his side. His fingers dug into his jacket, gripping the torn cloth—and peeled it open.
Clink. Steel gleamed beneath: reinforced ceramic plating, blackened from the blast but unbroken where it mattered. The bullet had hit, sure—but it hadn't pierced.
"You think one bullet's enough to kill a ghost like me?" Choi growled, rising to his feet with a savage grin. "Rookie mistake."
Kim stepped back, jaw clenched. "Armor…"
"Damn right." Choi stripped the jacket off, tossing it aside. Underneath, he wore the battle-worn vest of a street soldier—patched, dented, and smeared with the sins of the city. He rolled his neck, fists clenching.
"Let's end it right," Choi spat, stepping forward. "No guns. No gear. Just you, me, and the bones we break."
Kim hesitated, hand still on the grip of his pistol.
C'mon, officer." Choi taunted. "You gonna hide behind your piece forever, or you gonna stand like a man?"
Kim stared at the broken skyline above, at the flickering neon reflected in puddles of blood and rain. Sirens still howled. Somewhere, people still died. But right here, right now—there was only this.
He holstered his gun. "No weapons," he said. "You asked for this."
And then they collided. Fists cracked bone. Elbows tore through ribs. This was no training room dance—this was survival. Choi fought like a brawler, all rage and weight behind every blow, every strike meant to kill. Kim fought with sharper edges—speed, precision, training not dulled by ego.
He drove Kim back with a brutal body slam, slamming his opponent into a rusted dumpster. The alley shook with the force. Kim gasped for breath as Choi's knuckles drove into his face again—and again.
"You think you're some damn hero?!" Choi roared. "You think this city gives a shit about heroes?!"
Blood splattered the wall. Kim slipped. Another punch. Another. And then—a scream. But not from Kim.
Choi's eyes widened as pain exploded through his thigh. Kim had driven his knee upward—hard. Bone met bone. Choi staggered.
Kim used the moment. He twisted, flipped them both. The air cracked as Choi's back hit concrete. Kim pinned him, panting, blood dripping from his lip.
"I don't need to be a hero," Kim said hoarsely. "I just need to stop you."
The moment Kim turned his back, trying to catch his breath, Choi surged up with a roar—like a demon rising from his own grave. Crack!
A brutal punch slammed into Kim's gut. The air exploded from his lungs. Before he could react, Choi followed it with a savage knee, then a spinning kick that sent Kim crashing onto the cold, blood-slick concrete.
Before he could rise, Choi's boot came down—hard—on Kim's chest, pinning him to the pavement like an insect under glass.
"You really thought that was enough?" Choi spat, blood dripping from his mouth. "You think this is some comic book ending, rookie?"
Kim gasped, struggling beneath the weight.
"You wanna know the real punchline, huh?" Choi leaned down, his face a twisted, bloodied smirk. "This is your fault."
Kim's eyes flared, confused, furious.
"Don't act surprised," Choi growled. "You think I don't know? You ran with that bastard Locke. You passed messages, helped him slip past patrols. You handed him the rope, and now you're crying 'justice' when he used it to hang this city?"
Choi pressed his boot harder. Kim wheezed, ribs screaming. "You're the reason this place went up in flames. The CPG, the JPD, the gangs, the mobs—they were always here. But you gave the Rebels hope. You lit the fuse."
Choi leaned in closer, voice like poison. "And that's why they tossed you out like garbage. That's why you were never fit to wear the badge."
Kim shook his head, fighting through the pain, lips trembling. "I tried to stop the violence…"
"No, rookie." Choi grinned wide. "You tried to choose a side. And in Jinjahan, that's the same thing as war."
Choi stepped back, raising his boot. "This city's beyond saving. But you? You were the last mistake it made."
He lifted his foot—ready to crush—"Farewell, Kim."
Chapter 21: Bloods and Chromes
The barrel of Choi's pistol hovered inches from Kim's forehead. "You should've just kept your head down, Kim," he said, calm like a teacher scolding a student. "I told you on day one—don't ask questions. Don't chase ghosts. Write your damn report, eat your free doughnut, and go home."
Choi scoffed. "The kid? The one you were digging around for? Missing for weeks—probably dead in a ditch, or worse. And for what? Some ghost in the alleys of Jinjahan? Some nobody mutant brat?"
He leaned in again, the muzzle grazing Kim's skin. "We're not heroes, Kim. We're not here to save anyone. You think the JPD pays enough to care? You think it ever mattered?"
Kim tried to move, to speak—but Choi pressed the barrel harder, silencing him.
"You were broke when you got here," Choi went on. "Starving. Lost. You remember that first week? I gave you coffee. Doughnuts. Thought I was being kind?" He chuckled darkly.
"This city's not about justice," he said, eyes glowing with bitter truth. "It's about survival. No good cops. No bad cops. Just blood and chrome. That's the real law of Jinjahan."
Choi's finger curled around the trigger. And then—"CHOI!!"
The shout cracked through the alley like thunder. Aisha. She moved fast, a blur between shadows and gunmetal. Her sidearm raised, eyes wild, voice trembling with fury. "Step away, or I swear to God—"
Choi didn't turn. He didn't flinch. He smiled. 'Ah… I was wondering when you'd show up," he said, voice smooth.
"Drop the gun.
"I'm doing him a favor," Choi muttered, almost mournful. "Spare him from becoming me."
"I said DROP IT!" Aisha screamed.
Choi's eyes flicked from Aisha to Kim—then back again. For a breath, his smile faded, and in its place came something deeper. Colder. An emptiness that only Jinjahan could mold into a man.
And then—Bang. Bang. Two shots rang out. Kim's body jerked. Aisha's staggered. The alley lit with the flash of muzzle fire. Smoke and silence followed.
They collapsed almost in sync. Blood pooled fast beneath them. The city roared in the distance—still burning, still dying. And Choi stood tall in the storm of his own making.
"You two…" he muttered, shaking his head with twisted disappointment. "Thought you were better than the filth. Thought you were different. Heroes, maybe."
He stepped closer to Aisha's body, crouching. Her eyes were still open, shocked and defiant even in death. "Look at you now," he sneered, voice dropping. "A zwarten journalist playing detective. Should've known better. Jinjahan eats girls like you."
He kicked her arm aside carelessly. "Digging around, asking questions, trying to uncover things no one wants found—how noble. How stupid. You thought this would end with truth? With justice?"
He laughed low, cold. "Tell me, sweetheart," he hissed. "How many times you let Kim warm your bed just to feel safe in this sewer? Huh? How many Lyd you spend just to keep your body from feeling like the trash this city says you are?"
He stood, spitting near her face. "You died thinking you were a warrior. Nah. Just a cheap, naughty little whisper lost in Jinjahan's gutter."
He turned to Kim's bleeding body, still twitching. "And you, rookie… Thought you could change this place. Save it. Save her." Choi chuckled, lifting the pistol once more. "But she was already dead the moment she sided with you."
Choi stared up at the sky, the neon lights above flickering like dying stars. The city raged, uncaring. "Bloods and chromes, rookie," he muttered. "That's all this city ever was."