Rain fell ceaselessly from the gray sky, as if the world shared in a lonely man's grief. Standing before a newly carved headstone was a young man, slender yet firm in build, and a little taller than average. His dark coat hung heavily with dampness, and the wind gently tousled his dark hair—a deep blend of coffee and black, slightly longer than usual. His eyes, as gray as the stormy sky, were vacant and broken, his pupils now a dull, opaque black.
The name on the headstone was freshly carved. Beside it, a small figure also rested. Two deaths.
His fingers trembled, not from the cold, but from memory. That day...
Their home had been invaded with brutal violence. The men wore no insignia or flag. Automatic weapons. A clear instruction: Eliminate.
He had struggled against the intruders with vicious and bloody blows, instigating fear, forcing them to desist and flee. But when he turned, he saw her: a young woman, smaller than him, with light brown hair tied in a small ponytail, standing in the doorway. She was four months pregnant.
He tried to save her, but it was too late.
A burst of gunfire echoed throughout the room. The sharp crack of gunfire broke the silence. He saw her fall. He ran toward her. The floor was already red. She was barely breathing. Her eyes, gripped by panic, searched for him... and then went out.
Now, in front of her grave, neither the wind nor the rain could drown out the silence that consumed him.
Steps approached on the wet gravel. The newcomer wore dark, formal clothes that were clearly soaked from head to toe. His reddish hair with hints of brown was pulled back, long to his neck, and his gaze, usually sparkling, was now dull, as if the light had been torn from it by the same grief.
He stopped a few feet away and stood in silence.
"I'm sorry for your loss..." he said in a low voice. It wasn't like him to talk this way. He was the type of person who made a lot of jokes, but the gravity of the situation was too much.
The young man with the now-black eyes looked at him without a word. He blinked once, slowly. He recognized that voice.
"I didn't know if I should come," the newcomer continued. "But I couldn't just stand by knowing that... she..." He took a deep breath, holding back something that was breaking inside him. "I knew she was pregnant. You told me the last time we spoke. You were so happy."
The silence between them was heavy. Only the rain filled the air.
"How did you know what happened?" the black-eyed man finally said, his voice dry.
It wasn't on the news. Everything was covered up. But... you weren't the only one. Me too. Everyone on the team was attacked. Many in their homes. Others while working. Some... died.' He rubbed his face. 'Damn... they came for us one by one.'
"Why?"
"That's what we want to know." He pulled out a small white card with a handwritten address, time, and code. "Our tutor is gathering everyone who is still alive. He says this wasn't just about us."
The black-eyed man looked at him with a mix of disbelief and contained fury.
"Just us?"
"No. Also presidents, military leaders, heads of departments. People with power or... information. Brutal, well-coordinated attacks. Some survived. Many didn't. And we still don't know who is behind them."
He held out the card. His hand was trembling, but he held it steady.