Hyunjin
The bar had turned into a battlefield.
It all started with the junkies who hadn't got their fix, but that was just the beginning. A junkie with filed-down teeth ran out of the door with a gun in his hand. His accomplice covered his back. Beomgyu stood behind the counter, reaching for his gun. But before he could pull it out, a bullet fired by the junkie with the filed-down teeth narrowly missed him and embedded itself in the wall behind him.
I take a step forward, but I hear a familiar voice behind me.
Taesung.
Fully conscious and ready for action. Phenomenal. Just a moment ago, he was completely useless. Now he stands with a throwing knife in his hand, which he has pulled from its sheath. There is a strange calmness in his eyes, an emptiness that I know all too well.
„Taesung, get down!" I shout, but he doesn't respond. As the man with the broken teeth runs towards him, Taesung dodges to the side, grabs his wrist sharply and stabs him with the knife just below the collarbone. There is a sharp exhalation, then blood — dark, sticky and warm. The attacker falls to the ground, struggling to breathe.
Taesung stands over the body, his shoulders rising in short gasps. He looks at the knife, which he is still holding.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the third junkie heading towards me. I send him to the ground with one shot from my pistol, where he remains motionless.
I jump over to Taesung, snatch the knife from his hand and look him in the face. And then it hits me.
The look on his face! The certainty. The absence of regret. It's the same look I have. Cyanex literally turned him into a killing machine, but its effects seem to have worn off completely.
„You should have stayed in that bathroom." He frowns.
„I did what you would have done," he replies quietly. My chest tightens. That sentence cuts into my head like a knife because he's right. It scares and attracts me at the same time.
The bar door swings open and eight men burst in.
„They're Mishimoto's men," Beomgyu shouts, his anger clear in his voice. He didn't have to say it, I recognised them myself. Some of them were at the meeting. That fucking asshole is pissing me off.
Someone grabs an empty bottle from the table and smashes it on the edge. The glass shatters like stars. The remaining bar patrons either fled or hid under the tables.
„Get out!" I only warn them once, but none of them move. Mishimoto sent his men here for one reason only. If they want a fight, they'll get one.
If they take the first step and rush at us, we will rush at them. Taesung snatches the knife from my hand and throws it forward with a sharp movement. It hits one of the men right in the chest, and he falls to the ground.
A whirlwind of broken bottles starts flying at us and we both fall to the ground. Shots ring out through the bar, accompanied by cries of pain.
A big guy spots me and charges. After a brief struggle, I shoot him four times in the stomach and he falls to the ground. I look around for Taesung, wanting to make sure he's okay. When I find him, I'm not sure whether to be shocked or grateful.
He's kneeling over his opponent, blood on his hands. He's looking down at the pen stuck in the oponent jugular vein as if he's performing a tracheotomy, watching the blood flowing out of it. I jump over to him, grab him and lift him into the air, ignoring his choking opponent. I sit him down on a chair in the corner. „Stay here!" I order him, hoping he'll listen to me this time.
The mess in the bar is quickly cleared up, and in a few minutes, it's all over. Only one remains. We secure him and tie him to a chair. The bar is now empty except for us and the dead bodies on the floor. Beomgyu locks the door. Now it's time for the interrogation.
... ༺༻ ...
In the middle of the devastated bar, surrounded by overturned chairs and broken glass, there are two chairs. On one of them sitting Satoshi Kanda tied to it. He is a low-ranking member of the Mishimoto Yakuza, whose direct superior is Nishimura — a man who may die today.
The room is lit by a cold ceiling light, casting sharp shadows on the walls. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, blood and metal — a suffocating veil that sticks to the tongue.
I sit on the other chair, opposite Satoshi, my hands folded calmly in my lap as though this were a normal business meeting. My expression is blank and rather bored.
Satoshi cringes under my gaze, moving like a snake. His legs are tied to the chair and his hands are behind the backrest, out of his view. There's a reason for that.
„Why did Mishimoto send you?" It's in his best interest to answer me immediately.
„I-I don't know." I shake my head and look at Taeju. He steps closer and places a small metal toolkit on the table next to him. The metal clinks against the wood. Satoshi doesn't need to explain what it's for. Instead of answering, however, he just swallows loudly.
Taeju pulls out one of the tools and kneels behind Satoshi. From the frightened look on Kanda's face, I know what's coming next. He knows it, too. I clear my throat, signal to Taeju, and Kanda screams as Taeju pulls the nail out of his finger with pliers.
Tausung stands nearby, watching the scene intently. His eyes reveal a strange mixture of revulsion and fascination.
„Try again," I urge Kanda, tears and snot running down his face. „Why did Mishimoto send you?"
His eyes wander to the only person who matters here — as if I didn't already know. „Him," he sniffs and spits. „He's after him. That's all I know."
„Taeju," I say, addressing him. The silence is broken by another cry from Satoshi as he loses his second fingernail. A small pool of blood begins to form under the chair.
„Please," Kando whimpers. He is literally begging for mercy.
„Then tell me everything you know." He remains silent, the only sound he makes is sniffling. „Taej...,"
„No, please. I'll tell you, but please, give me some water."
„Bring him some water." Taeju gets up, but before he can take a step, Taesung raises his hand as though he were in kindergarten eager to answer the teacher's question.
„I'll get it." I like that he wants to learn, but it also makes me a little nervous. In any case, I'm surprised he understood what I said. I nod once to give him permission.
He goes behind the bar, does something there for a moment, and returns a minute later with a dark glass in his hand. He approaches Kanda and holds the glass to his lips. Kanda gulps down the water as though he is drowning. Immediately afterwards, he starts choking, coughing and gasping for breath. Tears well up in his eyes, his head drops forward and he looks as if his entire throat is on fire.
„What did you put in there?" I frown, puzzled.
„Gochu," Taesung replies calmly, not moving a muscle. He looks at me, proudly. I am disarmed and my jaw almost drops to the floor. But I quickly recover.
„This is the moment, when you choose pain or truth, Kando." He starts to stutter, the words sticking in his throat, but fear is stronger than his determination to stay silent. He stammers, as though he is struggling with his own language. But what he says doesn't make sense to me.
„They said, that he wants him for himself and that if he doesn't go willingly, he'll kill him." Why does Mishimoto want him? What does he want with Taesung of all people?
... ༺༻ ...
BLOOD DEBT (피의 빚)