Another plot hole closed! I'm really into this one atm. Its essentially my Inhun John Wick. Here's a little snippet to hopefully whet your appetite!
Outside apartment 101, he pauses. The hallway light flickers, casting his shadow in spasms across the peeling wallpaper. His knuckles crack against the door.
Deok-su appears in the doorframe, reeking of soju and stale cigarettes, his massive body swaying like a tree in a storm. In-ho moves with the precision of a bulletāone hand shoving Deok-su backward, the other slamming the door. The gun emerges from his pocket, an extension of his arm.
Deok-su lunges, meaty fist arcing through the air. In-ho's body responds before his mindāa fluid sidestep, the gun never wavering. Deok-su's fingers claw for the weapon. In-ho twists away, tendons standing like cords in his forearm. When Deok-su turns to flee, In-ho fires into the wall. The report cracks through the apartment like thunder.
Deok-su freezes, hands rising slowly, palms forward. "The fuck you want?" Spittle flies from his lips. "Who sent you?"
In-ho peels the balaclava from his face. His eyes never leave Deok-su's face as recognition dawns there, followed by that familiar sneer.
The room tilts. In-ho's jaw locks so tight his molars might crack. Behind his eyes, memories flicker like a broken film: Deok-su firing the bullet that pierced In-hoās body. His boot connecting with Gi-hun's ribs. The wet sound of his spit landing on Gi-hun's face, and the disdain in his voice as he called him a faggot. That hateful word hanging in the air as Gi-hun's body was violated by the others. In-ho's trigger finger whitens, blood pounding so hard in his ears he barely hears his own voice.
"One chance," he says, each word carved from ice. "Who controls you? Who bought Captain Park? Who let you animals walk free?"
Deok-su's lips curl back. "Fuck you," he spits, a thread of saliva hanging from his bottom lip.
In-ho lowers the gun just enough. A flicker of relief crosses Deok-su's face before it hardens. "Another cowardly faā" The gunshot drowns the slur, the muzzle flash burning afterimages into In-ho's retinas.
Blood blooms across Deok-su's shirt as he crashes to the floor, a scream tearing from his throat. His fingers claw at the wound, coming away slick and crimson.
"That's your small intestine," In-ho says, voice cold and almost bored. "Perforated. The bacteria are already spilling into your abdominal cavity." He crouches, bringing his face inches from Deok-su's. "In about an hour, your blood will start to curdle inside your veins. DIC. Your organs will shut down one by one while you're still conscious enough to feel it."
Deok-su drags himself across the floor, leaving a wet smear. His fingers stretch toward a phone on the coffee table. In-ho's boot comes down on his hand, bones grinding against linoleum. He tosses the phone across the room.
"Your blood will leak from everywhere," In-ho whispers, squatting beside him. "Eyes. Gums. Even from under your fingernails. Like you're dissolving from the inside out." He presses the gun barrel against Deok-su's temple. "One name buys you an ambulance."
