L*st and Death

Isaac pinched Siron’s skin hard enough to hurt and drove the thick needle in with a single thrust, embedding the chip.

“Ahh!”

“Hold still.”

“It hurts. It hurts!”

Quickly removing the needle, Isaac gently wiped the bleeding spot with an alcohol swab, disinfected the area, and applied an adhesive gauze patch before closing up the clothing.

“What... what the hell hurts this much?”

Siron blinked back tears in his wide, trembling eyes and contorted his face. He looked at Isaac with blame and bewilderment, as if he couldn’t understand why he had to go through such pain, and then exploded in rage.

“That shot fucking hurt!”

The stinging pain in his back pushed him past the threshold of anger he’d barely held down. Yoon Siron usually forgot his humiliation easily, but today had been an especially hard day.

“It really fucking hurt!”

Like a wrongfully accused boy, he slammed the table with his fist, crying in outrage and misery. Watching Siron pound the table hard enough to break the skin around his knuckles, Isaac spoke up.

“That’s enough.”

Isaac gripped Siron’s wrist with force. Siron bared his teeth and glared.

“Why? It’s my body. I’ll ruin it if I want!”

He raised his fist to strike the table again, but Isaac blocked him.

“Let go! I said let go!”

After a moment of resistance, Isaac sighed and finally released his wrist.

“Fine. Go on. Break it. Let’s see how far you’ll take it.”

The mockery was clear, and Siron’s face flushed red with rage.

“You think I won’t?!”

“Then do it right. If you don’t finish the job, I’ll finish it for you.”

Siron glared at him for a long time, trembling with fury, before shouting with a clenched fist:

“You fucking coward!”

He shook with hatred and screamed,

“Why me?! Why the fuck is it always me?!”

Isaac leaned back against the chair, arms crossed, sweat sticking to his back, and his skull pulsing with pain. He tilted his head to one side. He didn’t fail to understand why Siron was crying, how hopeless he felt, how badly he wanted to run. Siron must have been consumed by the same question: Why did this happen to me?

But Isaac knew the answer. Over the years, he’d injected countless test subjects with viruses that integrated genetically modified cells and gene complexes extracted from his own blood into their DNA. And yet, the only one who’d shown any meaningful results was Yoon Siron.

There was no profound reason. One out of a million possibilities had just happened to work, like a natural disaster that wrecks everything without malice or purpose.

Siron’s rage slowly cooled. It was just another step in the cycle—hope, anger, resignation—repeated countless times a day. Now he had simply reached the resignation phase again.

He jumped to his feet. As always, when he couldn’t bear Isaac’s presence, he headed to the basement. Grunting, he lifted the heavy hatch, climbed down the ladder, and closed it behind him.

Isaac was left alone in silence. The quiet was so complete it felt oppressive. Silence had always been as natural to him as oxygen, but now it felt like a punishment. The density of it filled his ears like water, pressing on his eardrums.

Eventually, he escaped the stillness. He gathered Siron’s scattered belongings and threw them into the firepit outside the hideout. Then he tried to recover the rhythm of his day—shower, cleaning, return to the lab.

He booted up °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° the laptop stored in the cabinet, activated the encrypted key, and loaded the program. On-screen appeared a filtered passenger list of travelers who had flown from the U.S. to the port city of La Ceba in Belzoras. It covered passengers who had visited Belzoras at least twice between 2007 and 2009.

The data included the credit cards used for booking, card types, and preferred airlines.

It was part of the data on the laptop Martha Montot had entrusted to him the night before her death. An agent with the Belzoras Intelligence Bureau and a network security expert, Martha had been tracking a human trafficking ring to find her missing son.

Using the clustering software she built, Isaac had sorted through the vast dataset. With certain filters applied, he isolated nineteen individuals who displayed repeated travel patterns.

All of them had used ports or airports near Central America—especially Arker International Airport in Helsota State.

A long shot, but one of them might be connected to the Belzoras trafficking ring.

Before opening his urology clinic in Vargas City, Isaac had been building profiles on them. But everything had come to a halt after he met Yoon Siron. Finding Martha Montot’s son became less important than understanding Siron’s world.

Isaac moved toward the small room with the basement hatch. Every night for the past several days, he had lain on the sofa, listening to the sounds drifting up from below. But tonight, it was silent. Siron must have fallen asleep from exhaustion.

Isaac opened the hatch gently. Siron, usually afraid of the dark, always left the light on—but not tonight. Isaac descended into the well-like basement in pitch darkness.

Siron lay curled on his side on the mattress topper Isaac had provided, facing the wall. In the faint gloom, Isaac gazed quietly at his back and slowly lay down beside him.

Siron’s breathing was even, but he wasn’t asleep. Isaac scooted closer until their backs touched and rested his head on the same pillow. He could feel the tension in Siron’s body—but still, he reached out and touched what was his.

He caressed the injection site on Siron’s deltoid. No matter where Siron went, he would never escape Isaac’s gravitational field. Siron, oblivious to the chip inside him, curled in tighter as if to escape Isaac’s touch.

“If you ever get another chance to escape like today, remember a few things.”

Isaac murmured against the nape of Siron’s neck. Siron’s skin twitched, goosebumps rising.

“Don’t follow streams or rivers. They all lead to the swamp. Stay away from oak and ash trees—that’s where most traps are. If you can climb down a cliff, take it. It’s risky, but your best shot at reaching the road.”

Siron held his breath, listening without moving.

“I’ll find you anyway. But if you have to run, move like I told you.”

Isaac could tell Siron was burning his words into memory. Siron gritted his teeth and turned painfully, clutching his sore shoulder. Wincing, he finally looked Isaac in the eye. With a face full of worry, like he carried a heavy burden, he said:

“I grew up in the city. I don’t know what oak or ash trees even look like.”

Siron’s dry sarcasm earned a serious reply.

“It won’t be hard. If you see drooping willow-like flowers, or little green fuzzball flowers, avoid the area.”

“Got it. Next time, I won’t get caught.”

His bold declaration—spoken right in front of his captor—made Isaac let out a soft laugh.

The silence that followed was thick and tense. As Siron tried to steady his breathing, each breath expanded his chest and brought their bodies closer.

“I’ve been thinking about imprinting these past few hours. I’ve read a bit of Freud, so I know—imprinting is just fantasy. All of it—alphas and omegas, pheromones and heats—it’s all just a way of dressing up the same truth: you’re just looking for someone to save your miserable life.”

He paused, then spoke carefully.

“But me? I’ve always had this face, so people loved me. No matter how much you want and cling, your affection’s worthless to me—just a pebble on the road.”

“...What a thoroughly useless bit of melodrama.”

“What?”

“Of course I want you. To a certain degree.”

“...That’s one hell of a gross confession.”

Siron wrinkled his nose at the lackluster reply. Isaac chuckled low and cradled the back of Siron’s head.

“You can hate me all you want. Blame me. It won’t change anything. The point of no return has long since passed.”

Their faces were close enough to kiss. Isaac inhaled Siron’s cool breath like fresh air and exhaled heat. Their fine hairs brushed together.

Siron could barely breathe. He was tense with fear—afraid of being touched, afraid that the smallest stimulus might stir something in him, that he might want it. Somewhere deep down, it felt like Isaac’s presence was dragging him in, like a pheromone.

“...Fuck, I’m losing it.”

Siron whispered hoarsely. Isaac let out a low sigh, as if he understood the foreign language that had slipped from Siron’s lips. That sound pulled the trigger in Siron’s heart.

Almost on instinct, without thinking, Siron parted his lips and kissed him. He pressed their mouths together, wetting Isaac’s dry lips, sucking them in, sliding past his teeth to lick the tip of his tongue.

It was impulsive—but Siron wasn’t surprised by his own desire. He didn’t back away. Instead, he gave in. He let himself be taken.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!