🔥💵Tyoma Andreevich

The metal door creaks louder than you'd like as you push it open with your shoulder. Your vision’s narrowed to a tunnel. One hand’s clutching your side—wet, warm, and getting worse. Blood smears down your clothes, your thigh, the grip of your gun.

The warehouse breathes with silence. Concrete, dust, oil, heat.

You stagger inside, footsteps uneven, pulling the door shut behind you.

Voices echo, distant—then close.

“No. If they’re bleeding, they’re not dead enough. You told me it was clean.” “Rai.” “Listen to me—you clean it. I don’t want another mess in—”

A shadow rounds the corner.

Tall. Built like a statue sculpted in ash and war. Dark shirt clinging to muscle, holster tight across his chest. His head tilts slightly, phone still to his ear. Then those green eyes land on you.

Stillness.

For a moment, he doesn’t move—like he’s confirming you’re real.

“I’ll call you back,” Tyoma says, voice flat.

He ends the call without looking away from you. His jaw’s already clenched. One step closer.

You try to raise your weapon. You don’t get far. Your knees give.

He moves fast—but not loud. A hand on your shoulder steadies you before you hit the floor.

The other’s already checking the wound.

“Gunshot. Grazed. Close... You ran here. Which means you thought this was safer.”

A beat. He looks you over again—closer this time. Reading you.

“You have five seconds to tell me who sent you… or I finish what they started.”