With dead eyes and butterflies
Title: With dead eyes and Butterflies
Rating: R
Pairings: slight/implied: xiuhan, kaisoo, baekyeol, taohun, rabin, suchen, neo,[.]krisho[.]
yixing is alone im so sorry yixing
Genre: au, drama, action,
Warnings:[are you ready for this]violence, lots of violence, blood, gore, mental illness/self harm mention, torture, character death, background character death, guns, chemicals, grown men acting like babies, breaking bad references, the fbi is probably gonna be after me if they find my google searches for this fic
Summary: Fun, cute stories that all tie together. Well, they would be cute and fun if it wasn't about gang wars.[.]This was a self prompt - write +1 page about each section based on doodles I did at work ( boop) I don't mention exo’s names except in the title. However, all of VIXX is referred to by their real names.
START
XIUHANXING
The evening sun had doused the whole neighborhood in a rich orange glow. It was oddly quiet for a Thursday afternoon, almost all the residents were preparing for dinner with their family or enjoying the sunlight as they drove to and from work. It was a time for pleasant medians and peace.
The evening sun was absent as the smallest man doused the body in the tub with acid. It was oddly quiet in the room: the corpse in question was the final link in a long chain of vengeance. All three of them stood around as the stench of rot filled their nostrils.
“Put a lid on it,” The brown haired man ordered after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. The smaller man capped the plastic tub, pushing it in more with his shoe.
He turned to the brunette with a squirrely grin. “You’re pretty when you’re disgusted. Your face does that thing where it gets all ugly, reminds me of this guy here.” He motioned to the corpse.
“I’m nothing like him,” scoffed the brunette, scratching his nose in a half-assed attempt to hide his smile: compliments from his colleague, no matter how vaguely sarcastic they were, were rare.
The third man, his expression as dark as his hair, stood in the back. His hands were balled up in his sweater sleeves, clearly unwilling to participate in the mutilation of something that once had a face. “We’ll dump him at the corner of Osborn,” He started to make his way to the door. “Wait,” The pretty man grabbed his wrist. “You gotta make sure no one is around, right? I mean nobody. No one at all.”
“I know,” The black hair boy said, void of emotion. The door barely made any sound as he closed it.
“Wow, someone’s a little off lately,” The brunette’s eyes lingered on the door for a moment. The blonde snickered a response. “Well,” He said, turning back to the plastic dollar store coffin, “The last person we got rid of was kind of important. It’s bit traumatic for someone so young I think.” He cracked the lid, rolling his eyes towards the pretty boy. “I love the smell of rotting corpse, it totally grows on you,” He grinned.
“You have no idea how fucked up that is,” The brunette responded.
Several hours later, the three reconvened at the corner. Several trash cans and bags were stacked there: a memorial to all the things and people gave up on. The blonde man smiled at the pileup. “It’s like they all came out to bid adieu to our friend here. Trash coming out to remember trash.” He tossed his own garbage bag at the pile, it landed with a sickening thud.
“There we go, please thank me,” His toothy smile was back and he clasped his hands together. “For I have destroyed another shitbag forever.”
“You’re always so talkative when we’re on the streets,” The brunette comments, turning to leave. “Why can’t you talk more when we’re alone?”
He stopped, noticing the black haired man. He stood over the trash bags, eyes locked on the bag. The brunette gently took his wrist. “C’mon, we have to go now.” He said.
The youngest looked up at him, his mouth a small but genuine smile. “We don’t have to worry anymore,” He said. “This is the ultimate proof Kim Wonshik is gone for good.”
His comment was met with two concerned smiles, death wasn’t always an end, especially in their profession.
The three sauntered off as the dull sunlight ebbed away, melting against the horizon.
KAISOO
The car was stationed for a total of ten minutes. The driver had turned into the crowded parking lot, pulling into a space where the streetlight would block the license plate from any camera focused on it.
The car was the same as approximately 18 others in the lot. It was crowded, it was inconspicuous, it was deadly.
The driver was a platinum blonde with copper skin and his personality was just as metallic: he was stoic and shy for the most part, quite like the coins that shared his colours.
The man in the back seat - his age betraying his young looks - was quiet in a different way. He had a sense of malice and menace in his all too wide eyes, his hair and skin rivalled the contrast between black and white.
“This is good,” He said, pulling out a sniper that was probably more than half his size. The blonde man jumped a little; it was hard for him to be so easily startled in his profession, but the overly calm and collected personality sitting behind him evened them out.
The sniper was propped up against the window and the man fixed the target on the door of the Vacuum repair store.
Wonshik’s hand appeared on the door. It swung open and he glanced around, eyebrows furrowed in frustration and fear.
“So do you think he’s actually fixing a hoover or he’s trying to get us out of his life?” The driver whispered.
He was answered by the muffled shot of the sniper, rocking the car as the bullet slid through the head of the unsuspecting man. Wonshik hit the door, leaving a trail of scarlet. The driver turned back to see the shooter’s lips curl into a smile. He shuddered.
“You’re really creepy when you do that. You’re lucky you’re so good at your job.” The driver turned away, starting the car just as another one, nearly identical, started a few spaces ahead.
They drove out minutes after the the cashier ran outside, sobbing as his coworker screamed “Jaehwan! Call an ambulance!”
The smaller boy smiled for the entire drive as he disassembled his gun and put it back into his backpack. He pulled on a plaid shirt and a cap. “Don’t forget your disguise,” He told the driver, pulling a beanie over his silver hair.
“Hey, I’m trying to drive!”
BAEKYEOL
He had started his day like any other, and he couldn’t possibly imagine it going any differently. The subway he commuted with everyday was almost entirely empty that morning, it as an oddity had barely crossed his mind until the doors opened and the barrel of a gun was inches away from his eyes.
“Get out,” a deep and demanding voice growled at him. Wonshik didn’t move. He was frozen, transfixed on the tiny void that, at any moment, a bullet could erupt from.
“Get out!” A hand grabbed his neck, throwing him against the concrete.
Wonshik turned his head, finally able to see his assailants clearly. One was shorter and darker, one was taller and lighter, but their personalities were quite a contrast to their appearance. The man with the bright red hair spoke with a voice echoing the low mumble of a car engine and the other man, with hair the colour of the subway depths, spoke in a higher, gravelly tone: “You know who we are,” He smirked.
Wonshik’s heart was running a marathon. He tried to stand up, but was kicked down by the giant. The shorter man knelt down, his weird smile felt mocking, even sadistic.
“You owe us money, like a shit ton of money, Wonshik. Do you have it?” His voice was like nails on a chalkboard: Wonshik didn’t have the money, he had no intention of giving it to them, and he knew that any amount would never be enough.
So he lied.
“I’ll have it soon,” He tried to shout as the black haired boy dug his heel into Wonshik’s face.
“When’s soon? Soon’s not good enough,” He smiled, looking more like a grimace on his squared lips.
Wonshik heard the safety snap off the gun, but he didn’t hear the blast as five bullets broke skin and embedded themselves in the concrete under his arm - Wonshik couldn’t hear over his own screams.
The smaller man tucked his gun into his belt. He turned to glance at his partner who was grinning. “Ah, kkaebsong, I’m all bloody. This fucker was a squirter.”
The tall man’s face was almost warm: it was evident they were accustomed to each other, and the violence: A dynamic duo in more ways than one. With a softness that had been absent in the minutes prior, the giant took his friend’s hand: “The cops are going to come soon.”
The two were last seen scampering out of the subway, their neat outfits stained with red. The scream of sirens howled in the distance and a man in the subway station writhed until the ambulance came. The two men were out of sight and out of existence.
TAOHUN
“We’re with the FBI,”
Wonshik winced as the man pulled out his badge. It looked real, but Wonshik wasn’t convinced. A convenience store was far too public for an interrogation.
He spoke through clenched teeth. “So, what? What do you want?”
The man’s partner scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. Wonshik looked to his right where Hongbin looked at him with a skeptical look in his eyes. ‘I don’t trust these guys,’ the boy seemed to say.
“You’re in Hakyeon’s gang, right?” The first, a thin man with the neat brown hair and narrow eyes, asked and Wonshik immediately knew something was wrong. He reached back, fingers grazing his gun hollister.
“Why do you want to know?” The boy stepped in, sticking his chest out in that way rookies did. The other man squinted, the bags under his eyes fading a little. “Back off punk,” He growled. “This doesn’t concern you.”
The thin man wrapped his hand around the other’s arm. “It’s okay Hongbin, don’t lose your temper.” He turned to Wonshik, his composure all too calm. “We understand that you lost quite a bit of money that you owe us. We’d be willing to negotiate a time, within boundaries of course, for you to pay up.”
“Hey, don’t fuck with us,” Hongbin shouted, hastily pulling his own gun. Wonshik stuck his arm out, pushing the younger man against the freezer. Hongbin pulled the trigger and the bullet shattered the cigarette case behind the counter. The cashier let out a sickening gasp.
Suddenly the blonde man’s gun was against Hongbin’s face. “Shut the fuck up, we weren’t talking to you.” He growled, his heavy accent coming through.
The thin man’s hands were in his pockets now, Wonshik’s hands were on his pistol, and the blonde man was about to make a mess of the boy.
The next minute went by so quickly. Wonshik’s gun fired, the blonde man miraculously dodging the bullet after losing his grip on Hongbin, who pulled his gun out and recklessly shot three bullets before his gun was kicked out of his hand, landing metres away. The thin man’s elbow was in Wonshik’s chest and he could feel the bruise forming already, distracted by his pain as his gun was also taken by the narrow eyed man.
Wonshik regained his composure and quickly decided that the younger member of his gang wasn’t worth it. He was out the door in seconds.
“Get back here you fucker!” Hongbin screeched. “Didn’t you promise we would di-” His final words cut off as the blonde man shot three times into his skull. “A bullet for every one you wasted, you prick,” The blonde hissed.
He kicked the body once for good measure before looking up to see where his partner had gone. The thin man was at the register, handing the shaking cashier some cash as he sipped from his cup of instant bubble tea.
“...Sanghyuk,” He observed, glancing at the kid’s nametag. “Sorry for the mess. You should request a few weeks off: this might’ve been a little more mentally traumatizing than I anticipated. I’ll also require your camera footage.”
The boy, trembling, pulled a tape out of the computer. The cameras on the screen went black. The thin man was satisfied.
“Let’s go,” The blonde said as the cashier let out a quick, shuddering sob, “I don’t want to have to deal with the police or any of that shit.”
“We are the police,” The thin man said, pushing through the door. “Aren’t you glad those are real badges? It sure beats our old job.”
“Don’t remind me.”
SUCHEN
The hallway lights revealed the most beautiful sight his eyes had taken in: his own home. Beautifully decorated but in no ways personal, it was an Ikea photographer’s dream.
He kicked off his shoes and went straight to his bedroom, lighting it up to pullion the pyjamas that had been dormant for days: It was nice to be out of a penguin suit.
He waddled into the kitchen, flipping the lightswitch as he entered. He poured himself a glass of water, pulled the box of cookies from the counter, and made his way to the dining room.
He froze in the doorway.
A man looked at him from his seat at the head of the table. His eyes were filled with a contained malice, his lips curled in a sneer. He folded his hands over the table, “Hello Mr-”
“Yes, Hakyeon, hello.” The owner of the house interrupted. He shook his head, vision now free of his blonde locks. “I suppose you’re here to discuss business?” His expression was collected. Beyond that was undecipherable.
The man at the table frowned. “I do, among other things. You realise that our deal ended with the death of two people we both hold dear,”
“I didn’t hold Taekwoon dear, Hakyeon,” said the man in the doorway, fingers tracing the folds on bottom of the cookie box. It made a gentle snap.
“Fuckin asshole,” he spat, pushing the chair back as he stood up. “My best man is dead because of you.”
“My best man is dead because of you,” The white haired man repeated, shaking his head slowly.
“We could go on and on and on, it wouldn’t solve anything.” Hakyeon stood up, tapping his fingers against the table, growing harsher with every beat. “You owe us goods. Bottom line. Two times as much as we agreed: funeral fees apply.”
“Did you really come here for this?” The man clad in pyjamas, armed with a cup and cookies, looked on inquisitively. Hakyeon’s eyes were hard and brimming with anger, maybe traces of fear too. “I think you came for something else.”
He suddenly found himself in the line of fire from the gun clasped in the intruder’s hands.
“Ah,” The smaller man sighed, “I am going to die tonight aren’t I?”
“Yes, just like your fucking partner in crime. People will think it was a suicide,” Now Hakyeon was looming overhead, “Your arms are proof enough that you aren’t happy.” The brunettes murky eyes bore into him, the gun pressed against his temple.
The door clicked open.
“I’m home!” A cheerful voice called from the hall.
“Shit!”
Within seconds, Hakyeon was against the window, his gun - equipped with one less bullet - facing the ceiling, a bullet hole made messiah on the window, shatters trailing away from it like a halo in a stained glass window. The smaller man had thunder in his eyes and a razor blade in hand, pressed against the other’s neck.
“Hakyeon’s here! He’s got a gun! Hide yourself!”
“But-” came a voice from around the corner.
“HIDE!”
There was the sound of scampering. A pair of two, wide eyes peeked out from behind the counter. Both men saw, both men acted.
The brunette fired, the blonde slashed. The gun hit the floor, another bullet piercing the blonde’s calf. He buckled, the razor tearing down the other man’s chest.
With all the strength he had left, the smaller man pushed Hakyeon, shattering the window completely as the two stumbled onto the balcony. The blonde stood up, leg shaking as Hakyeon bent backwards over the balcony.
“I guess you’ll have to wait longer to die than I will,” Hakyeon’s face was almost serene as the razor ripped through his esophagus.
“You’ll be okay,” said the blonde, sympathy escaping him in the form of a chin quiver. “Death is just another fucking adventure.”
The blonde raced into the kitchen, searching frantically for his friend. He didn’t know if the stray bullet had been fatal or if would end with another oddly set picture frame. He saw red on the floor and his heart sank.
“Please be alive, please be alive,” He whispered to himself, feeling the familiar fingers of dread wrapping around him. It had been a long time since he had been this scared.
“I’m okay,” The dark haired man poked his head from behind the fridge. The blonde wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
“Oh god,” He sobbed after a few seconds of silence. “I can’t lose you, I can’t lose anyone else.”
“You’re going to lose people, life works that way. I’ll try to stay around as long as I can though,” He smiled, loosening himself from the hug and stood up. “Now we’ve gotta clean up though, that glass isn’t safe and you’re already bleeding everywhere. I’m technically still a doctor you know, I can patch up that for you,” He pointed to his leg.
The blonde looked at the stains he had left and laughed, relieved that the blood was his own.
“I’d better call the trash guys, get them to clean up the mess out there.”
THE BEGINNING
It had started as a bar fight taken outside; it had become an old fashioned gang war.
Almost one hundred men were stabbing and shooting each other, it was a frenzy of blood and smoke, their alligences skewed by the blind violence and their bodies and lives crippled by the metals scarring them, killing them.
In a back alley, barely escaping the crossfire, a quartet stood in the shadows. Divided by tension, seething hatred, and hair colours, one man stood a few feet away. Tension filled every inch of the gap. The man standing above were clearly in control: He had the tallest, a man who’s expression was composed, under his tears and strands of honey coloured hair matted with sweat and blood, kneeling in front of the darker of the two, his gun pressed for an execution.
The other man, blending well in the darkness, held a man’s arms behind his back. Quivering and small, the other man seemed to be the only source of light, white in terror and hair paler than his skin.
His captor looked down his long nose, an uncharacteristic smile atop his lips. “I’ve waited an eternity for this,” There was marvel in his voice.
His victim’s voice came out as a breath, a tiny whimper almost lost to the warfare feet away from them: “Please,” He dropped his head, “Please,” It was the only word he could find.
The captor pulled him back, into the light filtering through the bar’s backdoor. In the thin strip of illumination, the hostage’s hair lit up like a flashlight.
The bright man was heavily dulled by stress: his knees were knocking, sobs and shivers erupted all across his body. “P-please,” The words escaped him in a shuddering breath.
“Don’t beg.” His partner finally spoke, looking up slightly, not wanting to startle his executioner. “He made up his mind already.”
“He’s right,” Hakyeon stated, as clear as the shot that sent the tall man face first into the concrete.
The red mixed well in the darkness, but the blast stood out louder than his name as his friend screamed it, louder than anything.
The smaller man dropped. Crawling over to the body, he knelt a few feet away as the life oozed from his friend. His face contorted with mourning as his eulogy came out as gasps and wails, fists clenched so hard that his fingernails broke skin.
“You’re their boss, you fucker.” The speaker stretched his arms, they were stiff from holding the blonde for so long. “You should be used to this shit.”
And suddenly the world was a whirlwind.
The gang members had heard the shot, sensed it’s importance. They were suddenly filling the alleyway, stopping at the body of both their leader and enemy. Cheers and fury were the new plagues infecting anyone who laid eyes on the scene. Phase two was violence. The members were pumping with adrenaline and reckless abandon, soon their bodies were pumped with bullets.
The pale man let fear overtake him, he clammered into the bar back door, into the light, before any more of the darkness could overtake him. The other two men were not as lucky.
A stray bullet split through the temple of the more serious man, his composed face warping as he collapsed, eyes turned in different directions after the optic nerves had been severed. The other man turned for a split second, primal wrath taking over as he open fired among the crowd.
Taekwoon lay next to the other body, a sick yin and yang created by corpses: the blonde face down, the other face up, true to their deaths.
Hakyeon eventually retreated into the same light, stumbling through as he pushed to the door and an escape.
The blonde man returned home hours later. A cheery man greeted him, his perpetual smile distorted into a frown. “What’s wrong,” It came out as a gentle accusation rather than a question. His friend battered and bloodied, but the streaks under his eyes were clear.
He looked like a boy then: not the accomplished leader of a drug cartel, not the businessman who had won millions with only his words and ideas, but a boy. A boy who had walked out of his room after an urban lullaby of bullets and blood to beg his parents if their bed had room for one more.
“Where’s…” The man asked, his upbeat demeanor abandoned.
No answer came out his friend fell to the floor shuddering violently with every breath.
“Oh no,” Is the only thing his friend could respond. He bent down, tracing circles onto the blonde man’s back. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” He murmured, pulling him into a hug.
“No, it’s not.”
The blonde pushed away. He stood up, eyes towards his friend, but not looking at him: they were somewhere else. His expression was dark, disassociated. He spoke finally, voice hardened, hollow.
“It’s the end for Cha Hakyeon.”
Rating: R
Pairings: slight/implied: xiuhan, kaisoo, baekyeol, taohun, rabin, suchen, neo,[.]krisho[.]
yixing is alone im so sorry yixing
Genre: au, drama, action,
Warnings:[are you ready for this]violence, lots of violence, blood, gore, mental illness/self harm mention, torture, character death, background character death, guns, chemicals, grown men acting like babies, breaking bad references, the fbi is probably gonna be after me if they find my google searches for this fic
Summary: Fun, cute stories that all tie together. Well, they would be cute and fun if it wasn't about gang wars.[.]This was a self prompt - write +1 page about each section based on doodles I did at work ( boop) I don't mention exo’s names except in the title. However, all of VIXX is referred to by their real names.
START
XIUHANXING
The evening sun had doused the whole neighborhood in a rich orange glow. It was oddly quiet for a Thursday afternoon, almost all the residents were preparing for dinner with their family or enjoying the sunlight as they drove to and from work. It was a time for pleasant medians and peace.
The evening sun was absent as the smallest man doused the body in the tub with acid. It was oddly quiet in the room: the corpse in question was the final link in a long chain of vengeance. All three of them stood around as the stench of rot filled their nostrils.
“Put a lid on it,” The brown haired man ordered after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. The smaller man capped the plastic tub, pushing it in more with his shoe.
He turned to the brunette with a squirrely grin. “You’re pretty when you’re disgusted. Your face does that thing where it gets all ugly, reminds me of this guy here.” He motioned to the corpse.
“I’m nothing like him,” scoffed the brunette, scratching his nose in a half-assed attempt to hide his smile: compliments from his colleague, no matter how vaguely sarcastic they were, were rare.
The third man, his expression as dark as his hair, stood in the back. His hands were balled up in his sweater sleeves, clearly unwilling to participate in the mutilation of something that once had a face. “We’ll dump him at the corner of Osborn,” He started to make his way to the door. “Wait,” The pretty man grabbed his wrist. “You gotta make sure no one is around, right? I mean nobody. No one at all.”
“I know,” The black hair boy said, void of emotion. The door barely made any sound as he closed it.
“Wow, someone’s a little off lately,” The brunette’s eyes lingered on the door for a moment. The blonde snickered a response. “Well,” He said, turning back to the plastic dollar store coffin, “The last person we got rid of was kind of important. It’s bit traumatic for someone so young I think.” He cracked the lid, rolling his eyes towards the pretty boy. “I love the smell of rotting corpse, it totally grows on you,” He grinned.
“You have no idea how fucked up that is,” The brunette responded.
Several hours later, the three reconvened at the corner. Several trash cans and bags were stacked there: a memorial to all the things and people gave up on. The blonde man smiled at the pileup. “It’s like they all came out to bid adieu to our friend here. Trash coming out to remember trash.” He tossed his own garbage bag at the pile, it landed with a sickening thud.
“There we go, please thank me,” His toothy smile was back and he clasped his hands together. “For I have destroyed another shitbag forever.”
“You’re always so talkative when we’re on the streets,” The brunette comments, turning to leave. “Why can’t you talk more when we’re alone?”
He stopped, noticing the black haired man. He stood over the trash bags, eyes locked on the bag. The brunette gently took his wrist. “C’mon, we have to go now.” He said.
The youngest looked up at him, his mouth a small but genuine smile. “We don’t have to worry anymore,” He said. “This is the ultimate proof Kim Wonshik is gone for good.”
His comment was met with two concerned smiles, death wasn’t always an end, especially in their profession.
The three sauntered off as the dull sunlight ebbed away, melting against the horizon.
KAISOO
The car was stationed for a total of ten minutes. The driver had turned into the crowded parking lot, pulling into a space where the streetlight would block the license plate from any camera focused on it.
The car was the same as approximately 18 others in the lot. It was crowded, it was inconspicuous, it was deadly.
The driver was a platinum blonde with copper skin and his personality was just as metallic: he was stoic and shy for the most part, quite like the coins that shared his colours.
The man in the back seat - his age betraying his young looks - was quiet in a different way. He had a sense of malice and menace in his all too wide eyes, his hair and skin rivalled the contrast between black and white.
“This is good,” He said, pulling out a sniper that was probably more than half his size. The blonde man jumped a little; it was hard for him to be so easily startled in his profession, but the overly calm and collected personality sitting behind him evened them out.
The sniper was propped up against the window and the man fixed the target on the door of the Vacuum repair store.
Wonshik’s hand appeared on the door. It swung open and he glanced around, eyebrows furrowed in frustration and fear.
“So do you think he’s actually fixing a hoover or he’s trying to get us out of his life?” The driver whispered.
He was answered by the muffled shot of the sniper, rocking the car as the bullet slid through the head of the unsuspecting man. Wonshik hit the door, leaving a trail of scarlet. The driver turned back to see the shooter’s lips curl into a smile. He shuddered.
“You’re really creepy when you do that. You’re lucky you’re so good at your job.” The driver turned away, starting the car just as another one, nearly identical, started a few spaces ahead.
They drove out minutes after the the cashier ran outside, sobbing as his coworker screamed “Jaehwan! Call an ambulance!”
The smaller boy smiled for the entire drive as he disassembled his gun and put it back into his backpack. He pulled on a plaid shirt and a cap. “Don’t forget your disguise,” He told the driver, pulling a beanie over his silver hair.
“Hey, I’m trying to drive!”
BAEKYEOL
He had started his day like any other, and he couldn’t possibly imagine it going any differently. The subway he commuted with everyday was almost entirely empty that morning, it as an oddity had barely crossed his mind until the doors opened and the barrel of a gun was inches away from his eyes.
“Get out,” a deep and demanding voice growled at him. Wonshik didn’t move. He was frozen, transfixed on the tiny void that, at any moment, a bullet could erupt from.
“Get out!” A hand grabbed his neck, throwing him against the concrete.
Wonshik turned his head, finally able to see his assailants clearly. One was shorter and darker, one was taller and lighter, but their personalities were quite a contrast to their appearance. The man with the bright red hair spoke with a voice echoing the low mumble of a car engine and the other man, with hair the colour of the subway depths, spoke in a higher, gravelly tone: “You know who we are,” He smirked.
Wonshik’s heart was running a marathon. He tried to stand up, but was kicked down by the giant. The shorter man knelt down, his weird smile felt mocking, even sadistic.
“You owe us money, like a shit ton of money, Wonshik. Do you have it?” His voice was like nails on a chalkboard: Wonshik didn’t have the money, he had no intention of giving it to them, and he knew that any amount would never be enough.
So he lied.
“I’ll have it soon,” He tried to shout as the black haired boy dug his heel into Wonshik’s face.
“When’s soon? Soon’s not good enough,” He smiled, looking more like a grimace on his squared lips.
Wonshik heard the safety snap off the gun, but he didn’t hear the blast as five bullets broke skin and embedded themselves in the concrete under his arm - Wonshik couldn’t hear over his own screams.
The smaller man tucked his gun into his belt. He turned to glance at his partner who was grinning. “Ah, kkaebsong, I’m all bloody. This fucker was a squirter.”
The tall man’s face was almost warm: it was evident they were accustomed to each other, and the violence: A dynamic duo in more ways than one. With a softness that had been absent in the minutes prior, the giant took his friend’s hand: “The cops are going to come soon.”
The two were last seen scampering out of the subway, their neat outfits stained with red. The scream of sirens howled in the distance and a man in the subway station writhed until the ambulance came. The two men were out of sight and out of existence.
TAOHUN
“We’re with the FBI,”
Wonshik winced as the man pulled out his badge. It looked real, but Wonshik wasn’t convinced. A convenience store was far too public for an interrogation.
He spoke through clenched teeth. “So, what? What do you want?”
The man’s partner scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. Wonshik looked to his right where Hongbin looked at him with a skeptical look in his eyes. ‘I don’t trust these guys,’ the boy seemed to say.
“You’re in Hakyeon’s gang, right?” The first, a thin man with the neat brown hair and narrow eyes, asked and Wonshik immediately knew something was wrong. He reached back, fingers grazing his gun hollister.
“Why do you want to know?” The boy stepped in, sticking his chest out in that way rookies did. The other man squinted, the bags under his eyes fading a little. “Back off punk,” He growled. “This doesn’t concern you.”
The thin man wrapped his hand around the other’s arm. “It’s okay Hongbin, don’t lose your temper.” He turned to Wonshik, his composure all too calm. “We understand that you lost quite a bit of money that you owe us. We’d be willing to negotiate a time, within boundaries of course, for you to pay up.”
“Hey, don’t fuck with us,” Hongbin shouted, hastily pulling his own gun. Wonshik stuck his arm out, pushing the younger man against the freezer. Hongbin pulled the trigger and the bullet shattered the cigarette case behind the counter. The cashier let out a sickening gasp.
Suddenly the blonde man’s gun was against Hongbin’s face. “Shut the fuck up, we weren’t talking to you.” He growled, his heavy accent coming through.
The thin man’s hands were in his pockets now, Wonshik’s hands were on his pistol, and the blonde man was about to make a mess of the boy.
The next minute went by so quickly. Wonshik’s gun fired, the blonde man miraculously dodging the bullet after losing his grip on Hongbin, who pulled his gun out and recklessly shot three bullets before his gun was kicked out of his hand, landing metres away. The thin man’s elbow was in Wonshik’s chest and he could feel the bruise forming already, distracted by his pain as his gun was also taken by the narrow eyed man.
Wonshik regained his composure and quickly decided that the younger member of his gang wasn’t worth it. He was out the door in seconds.
“Get back here you fucker!” Hongbin screeched. “Didn’t you promise we would di-” His final words cut off as the blonde man shot three times into his skull. “A bullet for every one you wasted, you prick,” The blonde hissed.
He kicked the body once for good measure before looking up to see where his partner had gone. The thin man was at the register, handing the shaking cashier some cash as he sipped from his cup of instant bubble tea.
“...Sanghyuk,” He observed, glancing at the kid’s nametag. “Sorry for the mess. You should request a few weeks off: this might’ve been a little more mentally traumatizing than I anticipated. I’ll also require your camera footage.”
The boy, trembling, pulled a tape out of the computer. The cameras on the screen went black. The thin man was satisfied.
“Let’s go,” The blonde said as the cashier let out a quick, shuddering sob, “I don’t want to have to deal with the police or any of that shit.”
“We are the police,” The thin man said, pushing through the door. “Aren’t you glad those are real badges? It sure beats our old job.”
“Don’t remind me.”
SUCHEN
The hallway lights revealed the most beautiful sight his eyes had taken in: his own home. Beautifully decorated but in no ways personal, it was an Ikea photographer’s dream.
He kicked off his shoes and went straight to his bedroom, lighting it up to pullion the pyjamas that had been dormant for days: It was nice to be out of a penguin suit.
He waddled into the kitchen, flipping the lightswitch as he entered. He poured himself a glass of water, pulled the box of cookies from the counter, and made his way to the dining room.
He froze in the doorway.
A man looked at him from his seat at the head of the table. His eyes were filled with a contained malice, his lips curled in a sneer. He folded his hands over the table, “Hello Mr-”
“Yes, Hakyeon, hello.” The owner of the house interrupted. He shook his head, vision now free of his blonde locks. “I suppose you’re here to discuss business?” His expression was collected. Beyond that was undecipherable.
The man at the table frowned. “I do, among other things. You realise that our deal ended with the death of two people we both hold dear,”
“I didn’t hold Taekwoon dear, Hakyeon,” said the man in the doorway, fingers tracing the folds on bottom of the cookie box. It made a gentle snap.
“Fuckin asshole,” he spat, pushing the chair back as he stood up. “My best man is dead because of you.”
“My best man is dead because of you,” The white haired man repeated, shaking his head slowly.
“We could go on and on and on, it wouldn’t solve anything.” Hakyeon stood up, tapping his fingers against the table, growing harsher with every beat. “You owe us goods. Bottom line. Two times as much as we agreed: funeral fees apply.”
“Did you really come here for this?” The man clad in pyjamas, armed with a cup and cookies, looked on inquisitively. Hakyeon’s eyes were hard and brimming with anger, maybe traces of fear too. “I think you came for something else.”
He suddenly found himself in the line of fire from the gun clasped in the intruder’s hands.
“Ah,” The smaller man sighed, “I am going to die tonight aren’t I?”
“Yes, just like your fucking partner in crime. People will think it was a suicide,” Now Hakyeon was looming overhead, “Your arms are proof enough that you aren’t happy.” The brunettes murky eyes bore into him, the gun pressed against his temple.
The door clicked open.
“I’m home!” A cheerful voice called from the hall.
“Shit!”
Within seconds, Hakyeon was against the window, his gun - equipped with one less bullet - facing the ceiling, a bullet hole made messiah on the window, shatters trailing away from it like a halo in a stained glass window. The smaller man had thunder in his eyes and a razor blade in hand, pressed against the other’s neck.
“Hakyeon’s here! He’s got a gun! Hide yourself!”
“But-” came a voice from around the corner.
“HIDE!”
There was the sound of scampering. A pair of two, wide eyes peeked out from behind the counter. Both men saw, both men acted.
The brunette fired, the blonde slashed. The gun hit the floor, another bullet piercing the blonde’s calf. He buckled, the razor tearing down the other man’s chest.
With all the strength he had left, the smaller man pushed Hakyeon, shattering the window completely as the two stumbled onto the balcony. The blonde stood up, leg shaking as Hakyeon bent backwards over the balcony.
“I guess you’ll have to wait longer to die than I will,” Hakyeon’s face was almost serene as the razor ripped through his esophagus.
“You’ll be okay,” said the blonde, sympathy escaping him in the form of a chin quiver. “Death is just another fucking adventure.”
The blonde raced into the kitchen, searching frantically for his friend. He didn’t know if the stray bullet had been fatal or if would end with another oddly set picture frame. He saw red on the floor and his heart sank.
“Please be alive, please be alive,” He whispered to himself, feeling the familiar fingers of dread wrapping around him. It had been a long time since he had been this scared.
“I’m okay,” The dark haired man poked his head from behind the fridge. The blonde wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
“Oh god,” He sobbed after a few seconds of silence. “I can’t lose you, I can’t lose anyone else.”
“You’re going to lose people, life works that way. I’ll try to stay around as long as I can though,” He smiled, loosening himself from the hug and stood up. “Now we’ve gotta clean up though, that glass isn’t safe and you’re already bleeding everywhere. I’m technically still a doctor you know, I can patch up that for you,” He pointed to his leg.
The blonde looked at the stains he had left and laughed, relieved that the blood was his own.
“I’d better call the trash guys, get them to clean up the mess out there.”
THE BEGINNING
It had started as a bar fight taken outside; it had become an old fashioned gang war.
Almost one hundred men were stabbing and shooting each other, it was a frenzy of blood and smoke, their alligences skewed by the blind violence and their bodies and lives crippled by the metals scarring them, killing them.
In a back alley, barely escaping the crossfire, a quartet stood in the shadows. Divided by tension, seething hatred, and hair colours, one man stood a few feet away. Tension filled every inch of the gap. The man standing above were clearly in control: He had the tallest, a man who’s expression was composed, under his tears and strands of honey coloured hair matted with sweat and blood, kneeling in front of the darker of the two, his gun pressed for an execution.
The other man, blending well in the darkness, held a man’s arms behind his back. Quivering and small, the other man seemed to be the only source of light, white in terror and hair paler than his skin.
His captor looked down his long nose, an uncharacteristic smile atop his lips. “I’ve waited an eternity for this,” There was marvel in his voice.
His victim’s voice came out as a breath, a tiny whimper almost lost to the warfare feet away from them: “Please,” He dropped his head, “Please,” It was the only word he could find.
The captor pulled him back, into the light filtering through the bar’s backdoor. In the thin strip of illumination, the hostage’s hair lit up like a flashlight.
The bright man was heavily dulled by stress: his knees were knocking, sobs and shivers erupted all across his body. “P-please,” The words escaped him in a shuddering breath.
“Don’t beg.” His partner finally spoke, looking up slightly, not wanting to startle his executioner. “He made up his mind already.”
“He’s right,” Hakyeon stated, as clear as the shot that sent the tall man face first into the concrete.
The red mixed well in the darkness, but the blast stood out louder than his name as his friend screamed it, louder than anything.
The smaller man dropped. Crawling over to the body, he knelt a few feet away as the life oozed from his friend. His face contorted with mourning as his eulogy came out as gasps and wails, fists clenched so hard that his fingernails broke skin.
“You’re their boss, you fucker.” The speaker stretched his arms, they were stiff from holding the blonde for so long. “You should be used to this shit.”
And suddenly the world was a whirlwind.
The gang members had heard the shot, sensed it’s importance. They were suddenly filling the alleyway, stopping at the body of both their leader and enemy. Cheers and fury were the new plagues infecting anyone who laid eyes on the scene. Phase two was violence. The members were pumping with adrenaline and reckless abandon, soon their bodies were pumped with bullets.
The pale man let fear overtake him, he clammered into the bar back door, into the light, before any more of the darkness could overtake him. The other two men were not as lucky.
A stray bullet split through the temple of the more serious man, his composed face warping as he collapsed, eyes turned in different directions after the optic nerves had been severed. The other man turned for a split second, primal wrath taking over as he open fired among the crowd.
Taekwoon lay next to the other body, a sick yin and yang created by corpses: the blonde face down, the other face up, true to their deaths.
Hakyeon eventually retreated into the same light, stumbling through as he pushed to the door and an escape.
The blonde man returned home hours later. A cheery man greeted him, his perpetual smile distorted into a frown. “What’s wrong,” It came out as a gentle accusation rather than a question. His friend battered and bloodied, but the streaks under his eyes were clear.
He looked like a boy then: not the accomplished leader of a drug cartel, not the businessman who had won millions with only his words and ideas, but a boy. A boy who had walked out of his room after an urban lullaby of bullets and blood to beg his parents if their bed had room for one more.
“Where’s…” The man asked, his upbeat demeanor abandoned.
No answer came out his friend fell to the floor shuddering violently with every breath.
“Oh no,” Is the only thing his friend could respond. He bent down, tracing circles onto the blonde man’s back. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” He murmured, pulling him into a hug.
“No, it’s not.”
The blonde pushed away. He stood up, eyes towards his friend, but not looking at him: they were somewhere else. His expression was dark, disassociated. He spoke finally, voice hardened, hollow.
“It’s the end for Cha Hakyeon.”