3

In an abandoned auto repair shop in East Brooklyn, the pungent smell of rust and engine oil congealed in the sub-zero air.

I pressed myself against the freezing corrugated steel wall. With every beat, the pacemaker in my chest sent an overload warning to my brain. Through the grime-covered window pane, five armed guards were huddled around a burning oil drum for warmth.

The silver hard drive containing the IPO drafts sat on a workbench barely two meters away.

I took a deep breath of the ice-laced air, forcing down the tearing sensation in my lungs. Backhanding a rusted iron spike I'd picked up on the way, I kicked the side door open.

I drove my elbow into the throat of the closest guard, snatched the stock of his rifle, and backhanded the second one, knocking him out cold. The movements were still precise, but my damaged heart couldn't pump blood fast enough to keep up with my muscles' demands. Black vignettes began to edge my vision.

The moment I grabbed the hard drive, seven or eight glaring beams from tactical flashlights pierced the shadows on the second floor.

Victor's intel had hidden a fatal detail. These weren't ordinary street thugs; they were tactically trained armed mercenaries.

Fists, boots, and rifle stocks rained down relentlessly. I curled up on the oil-stained concrete, clutching the hard drive to my chest, letting their heavy combat boots snap my ribs.

This drive held five years of Vivian's life's work.

Bang!

The lead mercenary drew a large-caliber handgun, muzzle flashing.

Relying on years of combat instinct, I could have easily dodged sideways. But right behind me was the metal toolbox. If I moved, the bullet's searing heat would pierce the drive, destroying Vivian's business empire.

I didn't dodge.

The scorching metal slug tore through my thin shirt and precisely pierced my left chest.

With a sickening crunch of shattering metal, the military-grade pacemaker keeping me alive was utterly pulverized. A piercing critical-failure alarm erupted, echoing through the empty factory.

Using the bullet's massive kinetic impact, I fell backward, my fingers flicking a lighter and igniting the spilled engine oil from the scuffle.

A wall of fire instantly flared up, forcing back the mercenaries rushing to grab the drive. In the few seconds the fire bought me, I crashed through the louvers behind me and rolled out into the raging blizzard outside.

The howling wind and driving snow quickly erased my tracks.

I slumped against a frozen bridge pier. Blood was pumping from the hole in my chest at a terrifying rate, dyeing a large patch of snow crimson. The blood-stained hard drive pressed coldly against my broken ribs.

Trembling fingers fished a shattered phone from my pocket. My vision was largely consumed by darkness; relying purely on muscle memory, I dialed the number set as my emergency contact.

Ring... ring...

After an agonizing wait, the call connected. Vivaldi's symphony drifted through the receiver, mingled with the crisp clinking of wine glasses.

"Vivian... I got the drive..."

I spat out a mouthful of warm, frothy blood, my voice so weak it was almost drowned out by the shrieking blizzard. "My pacemaker is shattered... save me..."

The other end was silent for a second, followed by an impatient sigh.

"Arthur, are you done acting?" Vivian's voice carried an icy, alienating chill.

The alarm in my chest was growing fainter, sparks of electricity dancing around my wound. I opened my mouth but couldn't make a sound.

"Victor just cut his finger slicing steak, I'm very busy right now." She didn't even pause, her tone full of reproach. "I don't have time to play these boring games with you."

Cut his finger.

I looked down at my blown-open chest, watching my life force drain away with the blood. A profound sense of absurdity drowned out the physical pain.

"Save your playing-dead tricks for someone who cares. Don't call again."

Beep, beep, beep...

The busy signal was exceptionally grating in the silent snowy night. The phone slipped from my powerless fingers, plunging into the deep snow.

Five years of holding back, five years of endurance, risking my life to keep her safe. In the end, it couldn't compare to someone else's minor scratch.

The howling of the blizzard slowly faded away, and the sky full of white snow froze in my vision.

Deprived of its pacemaker, my shattered heart stopped beating forever in the bitter Brooklyn winter.