Snowflake Reflection

It took Mira a while to realize something has wrong. She had been stationed on top of a building a couple of miles from the street where Uche was supposed to meet Snowflake. The vantage point gave her a clear view of the area, including the designated meeting spot. She'd been up there for nearly an hour now, scanning the street and its surroundings, but she hadn't seen any sign of Uche—or anyone who might be Snowflake.

Growing uneasy, she swept her gaze across every corner of the street, hoping to spot something, anything that could explain the delay. But there was nothing. She could only see as far as the street from her high-up perch; the rest was blocked by buildings and shadows. Realizing she needed a closer look, she climbed down and set out to search the entire district.

It took her nearly another hour to comb through each alleyway and side street, meticulously checking for any sign of Uche. Eventually, she stumbled upon a narrow, dimly lit alley that Uche would have passed through on his way to the meeting point. Her sharp eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, and that's when she saw it: something lying on the ground.

Heart racing, she approached slowly, kneeling down to inspect the object.

"These are Uche's glasses,"

She whispered, picking them up, her fingers tightening around the frames. A few meters ahead, she spotted another familiar item—his cap, abandoned like the glasses.

The realization hit her like a blow. Uche had been kidnapped

"Damn it,"

She muttered.

"I should've known that bastard would ambush him."

Wasting no time, her bike suddenly appeared with a soft sound and she immediately reached for the small control panel on her bike. Tapping a few buttons on the screen, she watched as a blinking red dot appeared on the map.

"He's been taken far from here,"

She murmured, her expression steely. Without a second thought, she swung onto the bike and sped off in the direction the tracker indicated, determined to get Uche back.

---

Meanwhile, in a small, sterile laboratory, a set of gleaming, state-of-the-art surgical tools lay on a tray beside an operating table. The room was cold, brightly lit, and every surface gleamed with a clinical precision that only heightened the sense of dread within it.

Three figures occupied the lab: a young man with spiky red hair and a chiseled face, a battered old man in a lab coat, and a third figure strapped tightly to a metal chair.

The man in the chair was unconscious, his head slumped forward. His body bore no obvious signs of harm, but one eye socket was empty, a hollow space where his left eye had once been.

The young man with red hair, dressed in black, leaned casually against the operating table, a smug look on his face. Beside him, the old man, a shadow of a person, stood looking dazed and worn, his hollow eyes and bloodied lips evidence of a recent struggle. Thin, gray hair clung to his head in patches, and he seemed to be fighting to remain on his feet as he stood by a white curtain that covered a large section of the wall behind him.

After several tense moments, the man in the chair began to stir, groaning as he slowly opened his eyes to the blinding overhead lights. Disoriented, he blinked, taking in his surroundings before his gaze finally landed on the young man in front of him.

"Snowflake, you bastard!"

Uche spat, instantly recognizing him. His body tensed, straining against the chains that held him to the chair.

"I'll kill you!"

Snowflake—known also as Kante—smirked, unfazed by the outburst.

"Well, I think this is the second time you're saying that tonight."

Hereplied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

The old man by the curtain flinched at Uche's shout, his gaunt face filled with anxiety as he glanced between the two young men. A thought flashed through his mind.

'Is he...really Snowflake? No, it can't. I'm doomed. What have I gotten myself into?'

As Uche's gaze fell upon the old man, a flicker of recognition passed over his face. He knew this man—the surgeon who had performed the grueling operation to remove his eye back in the organ traffickers' den. Seeing him here, in such a miserable state, stirred a mixture of pity and anger in Uche.

He turned back to Snowflake, the rage in his voice edged with frustration.

"Why did you bring me here? Is this our meeting point?"

Kante folded his arms, leaning against the table with an exaggerated sigh.

"You're such a disobedient fellow, you know,"

He sneered.

"I told you to come to the meeting point alone. But you had to bring along that little girlfriend of yours."

"Shut up,"

Uche growled.

"She only gave me a ride to the district. She didn't follow me."

"Well,"

Kante continued with a smug expression,

"it would've gone so much smoother if you'd just listened. But now you've ruined everything. In fact, you're not getting your eye back at all. As of now, you're losing everything."

Through frustration, Uche gritted his teeth, his muscles straining against the restraints as he twisted and pulled with all his strength. Slowly, the chains began to loosen, though the effort left his wrists raw and bloodied.

Kante took a step back, clapping his hands mockingly.

"Well, I knew those chains wouldn't hold you for long. But don't worry—I've planned something bigger enough to contain you."

With a smirk, he gestured to the old man, who staggered to one side, revealing the white curtain behind him. With a dramatic flourish, Kante pulled the curtain down, exposing two more figures bound to chairs. Both were older, beaten and bruised, barely recognizable beneath the layers of cuts and swelling.

An old man and a woman.

Uche's heart dropped.

"Mr. Kim… Madam…"

He whispered, his voice catching as he struggled to contain his horror, his boss and his wife, and did they get involved. He fought back the surge of emotions welling up inside him, desperate not to show weakness in front of Kante.

Kante's eyes sparkled with malicious glee as he stepped closer.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want them to die,"

He taunted.

"What do you want with me, Snowflake?"

Uche asked, his voice dangerously low, a mix of urgency and threat.

But Kante hesitated, a strange flicker crossing his face as their eyes met. For a brief moment, it felt as though an invisible force tugged at Kante's left eye, trying to pull it out. Uche also had a strange sensation as their eyes made contact, as if something was trying to crawl out of his empty eye socket.

'Got you, bastard.'

Uche muttered.

Kante looked away, breaking the eye contact abruptly, his expression returning to its usual cool arrogance.

"Originally, I planned to invite you to dinner after our little chat,"

He said, trying to regain his composure.

"But you've complicated things."

He leaned back, his tone growing almost reflective.

"You know, I've always had the urge to work with you, to become my partner and achieve things together."

He paused, tilting his head as if savoring the symmetry of it all.

"You might not know this but you and I are actually not different, and every time I look at you, it's like I'm seeing a part of myself—just in someone else's skin."

"Look at it this way, you're an art enthusiasm, I'm an art enthusiasm, you love making music, I love making artworks, drawing and crafting, you're hiding from the world because of who you're and I'm doing the same because of who I am.

The world is looking for you and sane thing goes for me, you are haunted by the cops, and they never left my own back too."

"Don't you think we have several things in common? Don't you think we are the same?"

Pacing around Uche, he continued, his voice dripping with feigned charm.

"Imagine it. You and me, working together. Think of what we could accomplish."

Uche, however, wasn't moved. He shook his head slowly, a look of defiance hardening his gaze.

"No,"

He replied firmly.

"We're not the same. We never will be."