Chapter 1 - A Last Revenge before Death

The rain was coming down hard, like the sky was really letting it all out. A drop slid off the edge of a shaking leaf and hit the ground, blending right into the storm's chaotic beat.

There was a guy standing under a crooked black umbrella, and one side of his suit was soaked where the rain had gotten in.

His face was blank, totally at odds with the wild storm around him, almost like he was separate from everything else.

At his feet knelt a woman, her body shaking with sobs.

Her hair was wet and stuck to her face, and she clutched the mud beneath her like it could somehow ground her.

"sob....Whaayy!? Why would he do this? After two years…?" she cried out, her voice breaking with raw emotion.

The man looked down at her, rain streaming down his face without any sign of emotion.

He angled the umbrella a bit more to shield her, but it meant his own shoulder took the brunt of the downpour.

"Don't cry," he said softly, his voice low and steady, sort of commanding yet lacking any real comfort.

She looked up, her swollen eyes searching his. "How can I not?" she whispered, vulnerability spilling from her. "He said he loved me….sniff... He promised me forever…"

He bent down a little, just enough for their eyes to meet, and brushed a damp strand of hair from her face in a way that was slow and intentional. "Promises," he said, his voice flat, "are only as strong as the men who make them. Some men promise forever because they're too weak to handle today."

Her lips quivered, confusion flickering in her gaze. "What… what does that mean?"

The corner of his mouth curved; it wasn't a smile, but something cold—more chilling, as if coming from a devil.

He stayed quiet, letting the silence stretch.

His hand ran through her wet hair, the movement drawn out and almost unnerving, before it landed on her shoulder.

His grip tightened suddenly.

With a quick, jolting pull, he yanked her to her feet. She stumbled forward, grabbing his soaked pants to catch herself.

Her tears blurred her sight, but she held on tight.

"Enough," he said sharply, slicing through her sobs. "You're wasting your pain on someone who didn't even deserve your loyalty."

She broke down again, her voice barely a whisper. "But I… I loved him…"

He straightened, his expression hardening as he let go of her arm. "Love," he said, his tone almost dripping with disdain, "is wasted on the unworthy. You gave your heart to a guy who didn't know how to hold it. That's not love—that's charity."

Her knees almost gave out, and she sank against him, grabbing hold of his jacket like it was the only thing left in the world.

The rain kept soaking her, but she didn't even seem to notice, burying her face in his wet pants.

She whimpered, voice muffled but filled with anguish. "It hurts... Why? Why would he do this to me?"

He placed a hand on her head, fingers threading through her hair with a mix of gentleness and control.

He tilted her face up so she had to look at him.

His voice softened, but there was something sharp beneath it. "He did it because he could. Men like him… they take and take until there's nothing left to give. You were always too much for someone like that."

She choked back a sob, tears spilling freely now as her hands gripped his jacket tighter. Her breath hitched. "It hurts so much... Why does it hurt so much?"

"Because you gave yourself to someone who wasn't strong enough to hold you," he said, his fingers still running through her hair, guiding her gently. "You need someone who can take all of you—your strength, your passion, everything—and never let go."

"Stop crying," he murmured, almost thoughtful as he tightened his grip in her hair. "You're mourning a guy who was never worthy of you in the first place. That's his tragedy, not yours."

She trembled against him, his words weighing down on her like the rain.

"You stayed loyal to him," he said quietly, "but his loyalty? It wasn't broken; it was too weak to exist in the first place."

Her hands slipped from his jacket to grip the soaked fabric of his pants as she crumpled against him, her cries growing louder.

He stood there, expressionless, like this whole scene was just a performance.

"Now stop, you idiot, or else…" he said softly but firmly, tightening his hand in her hair even as she pressed her face against him. "I'll stop your tears, but not with comfort—I'll burn them from you until all that's left is the strength you never knew you had."

"Waah... sob...." She cried harder, her tears soaking through his already drenched pants. The rain drowned some of her cries but not all of them.

He tilted the umbrella further, letting his exposed shoulder take the full force of the storm.

For just a second, his lips curved faintly—somewhere between a smirk and a sneer.

His cold gaze rested on her bowed form, his grip steady while pressing her wet face against his groins, separated only by the fabric of his pants.

-----

The motel room was dimly lit, the flicker of a faulty bulb casting long shadows on the cracked walls.

The rain continued its relentless downpour outside, muffling its beat against the windows.

The woman knelt before him, her head moving in slow, uneven motions, back and forth with a sound filling the whole room.

squelch squelch

"Uhn... mh..." Her damp hair clung to her face, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the room, broken only by the desperate, breathy whimpers she couldn't suppress.

The air was thick with the sound of her mouth sliding along his shaft, the wet, sucking noises punctuated by the occasional moan escaping her lips.

Her movements were uneven, strained, but she kept going, fighting to meet his pace.

Above her, the man with his muscular bare body stood still, his hand buried deep in her hair, fingers tightening subtly to guide her head down and control the rhythm of her actions.

His eyes were half-lidded, calculating, and detached as he casually retrieved her phone from her damp clothes lying on the drawer with the other hand, the light of the screen briefly illuminating his sharp features.

beep beep beep

The sound of a dial tone broke the silence.

She paused, glancing up at him, her breath shallow, but his grip on her hair tightened, forcing her to continue.

"Mhnn..." She whimpered, her head bobbing up and down again with renewed urgency.

"Slurp...." Her lips made a soft, wet sound as they moved over him.

"Don't stop," he muttered, his voice calm and commanding, like a ruler dictating his terms as he guided her wet lips on the swollen, reddened head of his throbbing shaft.

The call connected.

::Anna? Where are you? I was drugged that day—:: The deep voice coming from the other side of the call was desperate and clearly anxious, intending to explain a significant misunderstanding.

The man's lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk. "She's here. Right now, she's got her mouth full... of me."

'!?!'

:: W-who is this?! ::

"Come on now," he purred, his tone smooth, mocking. "You should know me by now. After all, we share something... or rather, someone."

There was a sharp intake of breath. :: Keith? Is that you? ::

"Ah, there it is," he replied, the smirk deepening as he looked down at the woman, her eyes wide and desperate, tears clinging to her lashes as her cheeks bloated whenever she gobbled the whole thing up and down.

He didn't relent, clenching his hand and forcefully tugging her head back fully, forcing her to take more of him into her mouth as there was a hint of bulge near her larynx, showing the length reached deep into her throat.

"Mmh... mphh"

Her gasp was swallowed by the rhythmic sounds of her desperate sucking. "Recognizing me must sting a little, doesn't it?"

:: What the hell is going on? Where is she?! What did you do to her? ::

He tilted his head slightly, a dark amusement flickering in his gaze. "What I did?" he echoed, his voice light, deceptively calm. "I didn't do anything. She just... upgraded to first class."

The sharp intake of breath from the other end was enough to make him grin.

:: You're lying! We love each other, you bastard! :: The voice was seething with panic and anger.

"I don't lie," the man replied smoothly. "But maybe you're not ready for the truth." His fingers dug into her hair again, pulling her deeper, drawing out a strangled moan from her throat as she struggled to keep pace.

"Haah...! Haah....! Unh.... w-wait—Mphhh!?"

He once again pushed her back, sealing her mouth to get some silence.

"Hear that?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. "That's loyalty.... something you failed to inspire."

"You bastard!" the voice roared. "I swear to God, if you touch her—"

"You'll what?" he interrupted, his voice sharp. "Yell a little louder? Or maybe convince yourself you were enough for her?"

There was a pause on the other end before the voice returned, furious, broken. ::You think you've won? You're nothing but a sick—::

"A man who knows how to take what he wants?" The man cut in, his smirk widening. "You're not angry at me. You're angry at yourself. I didn't steal her. She just realized what she deserved."

:: You— ::

"I'm sending you something," the man said, cutting him off as his thumb hovered over the camera button.

He snapped a photo, his gaze cold, meticulous.

He lowered the phone and looked down at her, his grip tightening in her hair again as she let out another soft, muffled cry, her body trembling from the effort.

"That," he said, almost whispering. "That's the sound of giving in."

The phone buzzed moments later.

When it rang again, the man answered with deliberate slowness. "Yes?"

"You sick son of a—what the hell are you doing?!"

He chuckled darkly, his voice low, measured. "Just reminding you that some men live dreams, while others... chase them."

"Don't touch her! Don't—"

"Don't what?" the man interrupted, his tone chilling. He yanked her head back sharply, forcing a strained whimper from her as he looked down at her disheveled face, her mouth still moving over him. "Make you face what you couldn't hold onto? Maybe next time, try being enough for her."

The call ended abruptly, the beep of the disconnect cutting through the room.

The man slipped the phone back in the drawer, his fingers tightening in her hair once more.

.

.

.

.

Keith was standing out on the balcony, feeling the cool morning air brushing against his bare skin.

Below him, the city was stretched out, waking up slowly in the soft light of dawn.

His sharp, detached eyes were focused on the bustle starting to pick up far below, but honestly, his mind was wandering off somewhere else entirely.

Behind him, a woman lay on the bed, completely naked except for the blanket she held tightly, looking completely spent after their long, wild night.

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes resting on the railing, he lit one up, watching the flame flicker briefly in the wind while muttering with a smile, "They can't think of anything else? Poison in cigarettes..."

He took a deep puff, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling slowly, the tendrils curling up into the morning light.

Knowing it was poisoned, he made sure to inhale a good amount of it.

He kept his expression composed, almost unreadable, but there was a strange calmness about him—like he'd already come to terms with whatever was coming next.

Then, the sharp ring of his phone cut through the quiet.

Not even flinching, Keith let it ring once more before muttering to himself, "Yeah, finally. I guess it's time."

He answered the call.

On the other end, a smooth, slightly mocking voice greeted him.

"Well, how unexpected. Agent Seven decided to skip me and head off to settle his own little revenge?"

Keith smirked faintly, the cigarette still hanging between his lips.

"Hey, before I kick the bucket, shouldn't I at least get the chance to settle my own score?"

There was a pause, then the caller let out a curious chuckle.

"Oh, so you figured it out?"

His voice was calm, with a hint of grim amusement.

"If someone can hire me to take out the President, it's pretty clear they'd want to get rid of me too to cover their tracks. I knew from the moment I took the job."

"And you still went ahead with it?"

He took another drag, letting the ember flare as he thought it over.

"Yeah, I guess I was just bored with this life."

The silence on the other end said a lot, but the caller didn't seem shocked.

"You're such an enigma, Keith. One of the best spies I ever had....."

'....' Keith didn't say anything back, and the call ended abruptly with a faint click.

The cigarette dangled from his lips as he rested his hand on the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon.

For just a moment, old memories flitted through his mind.

Years ago, right after college, he was so close to ending it all, but that woman on the phone pulled him back—she trained him hard for a decade.

Keith had gone from a broken, suicidal kid to a top-tier agent, holding power over governments and lives.

Yet, in the end, he had lost something that couldn't be replaced: a reason to keep living.

This last job, the one that would seal his fate, was to take out the President.

Planting the bomb had been easy enough.

But the reason he took the task was simply to have a final piece of rest.

Though in his way, he met some old college 'friends'... so he decided to live for a few more days to give a good farewell to those friends who had made a kid stand on a bridge with a mind filled with nothing but suicidal thoughts.

drip

As the first drops of blood trickled from his nose, Keith smirked.

He looked down at the red streak on his hand, unfazed.

Soon, the blood was flowing freely from his nostrils and mouth.

His body was shaking, revealing the effects of the toxin he had knowingly consumed in the form of cigarettes.

Still, he kept his cool.

With effort, he typed out one last message on his phone.

His fingers trembled, the blood staining his screen.

Just as his knees buckled, he pressed send, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

The message read:

:: The bomb isn't in the President's car. It's in the client's. ::

Thud

Keith collapsed to the floor with a dull sound, his lifeless body sprawled out across the cold tiles of the balcony, his eyes hollow and somewhat relieved looking towards the sky.