The capital square of Noxora shimmered under the afternoon sun, its banners of blue and silver waving from every lamppost. A loudspeaker played a slow orchestral march while citizens packed shoulder to shoulder inside the fenced plaza, their faces blank, quiet, obedient. The guards lining the perimeter didn't have to shout orders because one glance at the rifles was reminder enough.
This was not a celebration born of pride; it was a roll call inside a cage.
This had been declared a national ceremony, an honor in celebration of Noxora's "great scientific achievement." Only citizens who had clean records came inside. No foreign reporters, free thinkers, nor even families who had complained about the shortages were here. Those who came had learned to clap when told, smile when watched, and never speak out of turn.
When the music stopped, an eerie silence spread. The stage at the center was gleaming under floodlights; then the curtains drew apart.
Then, President Han Seojin stepped forward.
He was a heavy man in a Prussian-blue suit, round-cheeked with the kind of smile that pretended to be kind. His shoes shone so bright they reflected the flags behind him. He lifted his right hand, fingers spread like a priest offering blessing—and in a flash, ten thousand hands froze mid-clap. In one breath, silence fell.
For a few seconds, only the rustling of uniforms was heard. Then his voice echoed through the square, amplified and slow, each word carrying the weight of command.
"My people," he said, "today, Noxora stands above the world. What others call impossible, we make real. With our discovery of Neuronium, the energy of the future is ours."
The crowd clapped again, rhythmically, automatically. No cheers. The sound was like rain hitting metal.
Seojin smiled wider; he loved the obedience. Noxora wasn't a country to him; it was a perfect system of control. It was a place where leaders didn't serve people but decided who deserved to live among them.
Behind the claps, the citizens had hollow eyes. Even the children had been taught twisted lessons of loyalty. The questioning of the government was a "sin." Curiosity was "treason." And any fool who managed to escape across the border had one punishment awaiting them: death.
Nobody needed reminders anymore. The monthly execution broadcasts kept the lesson fresh.
After almost two hours of speech-praising himself and promising dominance-Seojin motioned to a steel briefcase beside the podium. His guards opened it with theatrically exaggerated precision. Inside, resting in a molded cradle of foam, was a chunk of electric blue crystal that caught the light like a living heart.
"Behold," Seojin declared, "the core of our future—Neuronium!"
Gasps ripped through the crowd, not out of wonder, but from rehearsed expectation.
Somewhere far beyond the barricades, a low growl of a motorbike rose above the city noise.
Taesin sat astride his custom bike, the Chopper, its engine humming like a turbine. Neon signs blurred across its polished metal frame as he sped through narrow streets leading to the ceremony plaza. His gloved fingers tightened on the handlebar. Every turn, every acceleration carried the weight of something he couldn't undo.
He had been waiting for this day.
The wind smacked his jacket; the engine thrummed in his chest. He could already imagine the stage, the fat man in blue, the sparkling crystal.
As he reached the outer barricade, security drones hovered overhead, scanning plates.
The helmet Teasin wore wasn't just for protection. Inside it, a faint blue HUD shimmered across his vision, showing bike speed, heat levels, enemy car count, and drone activity. Whenever he leaned or shifted focus, small icons followed, relaying critical data in real time. He didn't need any screen on the bike every detail was streamed directly into his helmet. The machine beneath him was silent, stripped clean of distractions. All the intelligence flowed straight through the visor, where numbers, warnings, and targeting lines danced like whispers of light
Inside the square, Seojin was closing his case, preparing to step down from the stage. The limousine was already waiting at the base of the stairs, black paint glinting under the lights.
A guard opened the door for him, and the president lifted a hand to wave lazily at the citizens.
That was when the air screamed.
The roar of Taesin's Chopper tore through the ceremony like a sonic blade. People ducked instinctively. The bike shot over the railing and skidded across the polished tiles, sparks showering as its wheels locked mid-air.
In one smooth motion, Taesin reached out and grasped Seojin by the collar, yanking him several meters across the platform before the president's shoes even hit the ground.
The crowd erupted in chaos.
Seojin struggled, gasping, his gold badge scraping against the tiles. Guards swarmed forward, guns drawn. Taesin held his ground, still straddling the bike. One hand rested casually on his knee; the other clenched the president's collar, pressing him halfway against the seat.
The silence between them was suffocating.
"Drop the president! Now!" one guard shouted, voice trembling despite his training. "You're surrounded! Surrender or we'll open fire!"
Dozens of rifles were locked on him. Red laser dots crawled across his chest and helmet.
Taesin didn't bat an eye. His face remained inscrutable. Then, without even looking, he swung his free hand and smacked the back of Seojin's head with a resounding thwack. The president grunted, dazed.
Taesin's other hand reached down and pulled the metallic briefcase from Seojin's limp grasp. The latch clicked as he secured it onto the bike's mount.
"Don't you know what you're doing?" Seojin wheezed, blood rushing to his round face. "You think you can steal from me? Show me your face, you coward! I'll make sure you—"
Before he could finish, Taesin kicked him aside, hard enough to send him rolling near the edge of the platform. Then Taesin twisted the handlebar-a clean one-eighty drift-and shot forward, engine howling.
Bullets cracked through the air a heartbeat later.
The first wave of gunfire shattered the marble tiles behind him. Guards scrambled into black SUVs while others were calling in reinforcements. Sirens bled through the city's skyline, and neon lights smeared into streaks behind Taesin as he tore through the main avenue.
Glass windows exploded, alarms screaming every time he turned a corner. The Chopper's turbine core whined higher. Every detail of Chopper showed on his helmet because there was not even a speedometer on the bike.
Yet the convoy kept closing in.
Behind him, three SUVs fell into line, their engines roaring. Gunfire rained from their windows, bullets pinging off the metal railings and street signs. Sparks flashed around Taesin as he leaned low, his shoulder almost brushing the asphalt.
A bullet nicked his sleeve, grazing it with a thin streak of red.
Inside one of the pursuing cars, young officer, perhaps twenty-seven years old, calm but tired, popped the sunroof open and climbed halfway out, rifle steady in his arms. He had one bullet left. He knew the odds.
"One shot," he muttered.
He braced the barrel on the car's roof, tracking the blur of the bike ahead. The vehicle swayed violently, tires screeching. His heartbeat synchronized with every vibration of the muzzle.
He exhaled—and fired.
The bullet sliced the air and landed in Taesin's shoulder. The impact raced through him like fire. He gritted his teeth, the Chopper wobbling slightly before righting its balance. Blood seeped through his jacket, spreading darkly across the fabric, soaking the shoulder pad.
Inside the helmet, Taesin's breathing turned sharp, shallow. His pulse spiked. Sensors embedded in the bike detected the rise instantly. A small compartment on the right handlebar clicked open, revealing a sleek handgun nested therein: a matte-black weapon with a faint violet line running down its center.
Taesin's fingers hovered over it, trembling.
In that instant, his vision blurred-and the world tilted.
The room was dark, only lit by flickering fluorescent light. Blood stained the tiled floor. Guards and officers crumpled near the door. The smell of gunpowder and smoke filled the air.
A young Taesin, no older than eighteen, was standing among the carnage. His hand clutched the same violet-lined gun, still warm from firing. Across the room, a boy of about his age cowered behind a desk, tears streaking down his face.
"Please," the boy begged, voice cracking. "I can give you anything. Money. Power. Girls. Whatever you want, just-just don't kill me."
Taesin's eyes were hollow, his face pale from everything he had already done. He raised the gun slowly, his voice barely a whisper.
"Lives cannot be bought with money."
A shot rang out, final and merciless.
The boy fell, and the silence returned.
Taesin blinked back to the present, the memory dissolving into the roar of the engine and the wail of sirens. His hand was trembling on the gun's grip. He could still feel the recoil echoing through his bones.
His expression hardened—cold, almost lifeless. He quietly returned the gun to its compartment.
The city lights streaked into ribbons of color as Taesin tore through the central avenue. Sirens echoed from every direction; Noxora's night had turned into a battlefield of engines and gunfire.
The wind roared against his helmet, but all he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat, pounding in his injured shoulder. Every pulse sent another warm trickle down his arm, spreading through his sleeve. The dark patch of blood glistened under the streetlamps. His grip on the handlebar slipped slightly, but he pressed forward, jaw locked.
Behind him the column of black SUVs tightened in. Overhead the first of the military helicopters arrived, rotor blades slashing through the air with thunderous booms. Searchlights flared open, cutting white beams through the smoke and rain of shattered glass.
"Target heading east! Intercept at Sector 12!" crackled a voice over their radios.
The chase spilled into the financial district. Neon reflections danced on the wet road. Taesin leaned low and sent the Chopper veering between two buses-scraping the mirrors, sparks trailing behind him. The turbine whine deepened; the engine sounded almost alive, responding to his pain and fury alike.
He glanced at the digital mirror on his dashboard: three SUVs close, one gaining faster than the others. From its roof, the same young officer leaned out again, the muzzle of his rifle steady despite the chaos.
Yet another shot tore through the night. This one struck a signpost mere inches from Taesin's head. Metal screamed; fragments scattered across his visor. He felt the sting on his cheek-a thin line of blood across pale skin.
"You're mine," the officer whispered through gritted teeth.
Taesin exhaled a hard breath and yanked a lever underneath his seat. A small panel opened up on the rear of the bike, releasing a burst of metallic spheres. They scattered across the asphalt. The SUVs behind him didn't have time to react. The first vehicle swerved—tires shredded, metal shrieked—and slammed into a lamppost. The second crashed straight into it, flames leaping up the side of the road.
The officer's car braked hard, fishtailing through debris before regaining its balance. Smoke rolled behind him, painting the skyline red and orange.
Taesin didn't look back.
He veered sharply into an alley opening toward the river docks, the Chopper's turbines screaming as he shot past shuttered warehouses and rusted cranes. His vision blurred at the edges.
He could almost hear Seojin's voice in his head-mocking, proud, untouchable.
You think you can change anything? You're just one man.
Taesin gritted his teeth. His left hand pressed against his wound; the warmth he felt was unreal, fading into numbness.
Meanwhile, several kilometres away, in the control room of Noxora's central command tower, President Han Seojin stood at the back of a row of officers who were barking orders into headsets. Still red from humiliation, there was a faint bruise on his temple where Taesin's strike had landed.
"Shut down every exit! I want that thief dead!" he roared. "Deploy drones, tanks—everything! And recover the Neuronium. It's worth more than your lives!"
The officers moved fast. Satellite maps flickered across screens showing Taesin's location as a blinking red dot weaving through the grid of streets.
One general hesitated. "Sir, public broadcast channels are catching live footage—"
"Then shut them down!" Seojin slammed his fist onto the table. "No one sees this. Not one word leaks out."
He turned to the window. Far below, the fires from the SUV crash painted the horizon. For the first time in years, the president's confidence faltered. Whoever that rider was, he wasn't ordinary.
Taesin burst out of the alley onto the highway leading towards the old airfield. His shoulder throbbed with every vibration, but the adrenaline drowned most of the pain. The road ahead lay open, a straight line cutting through the industrial outskirts.
The helicopters above adjusted course and descended, their engines roaring. Twin beams of light locked on him.
Orders crackled over the earpieces of the pilots:
"Do not lose the briefcase. Disable the target. Confirm kill only after retrieval."
A helicopter drew closer, its gun turret spinning. The muzzle flared—ta-ta-ta-ta—tracers slicing through the night. Bullets chewed into the asphalt, exploding sparks around the bike. Taesin swerved left, then right, the world narrowing to a tunnel of motion.
He tapped a switch on the console. The Chopper's front panels adjusted, boosting speed again. Air screamed against his helmet. The wind tore at the open wound on his shoulder but he didn't slow.
Then he saw it-a small bridge ahead, crossing the river, beyond which lay the old airstrip, half abandoned, one of the few places without heavy surveillance.
He pushed the throttle harder.
The helicopter lined up behind him, gun ready for the final shot.
Inside the cockpit, the pilot's hands shook slightly as he steadied the weapon, while his co-pilot watched the readout.
"Target locked."
"Fire."
It shot out of the tube with a flash.
Time seemed to fold in half.
Taesin felt the pressure wave before he saw it-the faint hiss that became a shriek. His eyes flicked to the mirror: the rocket spiraling toward him.
He leaned hard left, grinding metal as the bike scraped against the bridge railing. The rocket streaked past him by inches, striking the far end of the bridge.
The explosion lit up the night like a sunrise. Fire bloomed outward, swallowing the vehicles still following behind. The shockwave lifted debris and chunks of steel into the air.
Taesin's Chopper swerved violently; its rear tire skidded across the shaking pavement. Flames rippled in the reflection of his visor.
Then, out of nowhere, a flash of blue cut through the clouds. A silent, precise beam of energy struck the helicopter that had fired. For a heartbeat nothing happened—then the craft erupted in a bloom of fire. Pieces of metal rained down into the river below.
Another flash followed, and another, as each helicopter chasing him was hit by the same invisible strike, each one turning into a blossom of smoke and flame that lit the skyline.
The air was filled with the thunder of collapsing machines.
Taesin slowed his bike as he approached the end of the bridge, watching as a flaming wreckage rained down from above. The reek of smoke and hot metal filled his lungs. He didn't know who had fired those blue shots-but someone else had joined the game.
Rain began to fall, light at first, then heavier, hissing as it met the fire. Steam rose from the bridge surface. Taesin parked the Chopper for a moment, rumbling softly like a tired beast.
His right hand trembled. Blood still dripped from his fingers, darkened by the rainwater running down his arm. He took a slow breath, each inhale shallow.
He eyed the briefcase latched to the bike. The violet glow of the Neuronium crystal seeped through the seams, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
"All this for you," he muttered.
He thought of the crowd at the ceremony, the silent faces that had been compelled to clap for a man they feared. He thought of the promise Seojin had made-that Noxora would rise above the world. Maybe he was right. Maybe it would. But not under him.
Far behind, the distant sirens could still be heard. Reinforcements would be arriving soon.
Taesin got on his bike again, the ache in his shoulder a reminder of the cost. He resettled his helmet, tightened his gloves, and turned to the burning skyline once more.
"I'm not done yet," he whispered.
The Chopper roared to life once more and disappeared into the night, leaving behind the collapsing bridge and dying flames.