#gcwonsik

he'd received the news through an agitated phone call with his father only moments after it had occurred, and since that moment, he'd had his attention glued to the television screen -- a look of what seemed like sheer panic written across his face. it wasn't the fact that the man mad had escaped, it was the fact that now hakyeon had a horrid feeling of what would occur now that he had found his freedom. this throne, and this kingdom would be destroyed and taken in the grasp of a man who at times haunted his dreams. "fuck --" quickly he snatched his phone again, and hit speed dial, lifting it to his ear as he glanced back to the burning images of arkham asylum upon the screen, "wonsik ! are you seeing this !"

with fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose, a cigarette balanced almost effortless between two others, hakyeon could only listen in silence to the mindless rambles that came from the out of breathless thug that had come running straight to his door. when he asked what was wrong, he had received incoherent shouts, fingers pointing each way, hands flailing. when he asked for the idiot to kindly shut the fuck up and take a moment to adjust his train of thought, he received a long withdrawal of cold air, a look of sheer panic, and an explanation involving a very favorable red headed fool that hakyeon could not bare to admit that he'd taken quite a liking to. "what do you mean you saw him with joker thugs..." hakyeon was someone who seemed to drip acid when he spoke, each word purposely coated and sharpened enough to slice through those who stood before him. with an aphotic glare piercing the thug in the door way, hakyeon pulled himself from the minute comforts of the leather chair by the ember fireplace, cigarette tapping between two fingers as the ashes fell to the ground. he closed the gap between himself and the thug, a swift hand collecting a handful of the man's shirt as he tugged him forward with surprising force, "what do you fucking mean!" the thug was a stuttering mess at the command, a look of sheer panic weeping upon wary features as he swallowed his words and found himself lost at the sudden closeness of his leader, "h-he was out with a bunch of them joker thugs, looks like he's working for 'em... and the other day, they say they saw him working with a bunch of penguin's men... he ain't as trustworthy as 'ya think!" hakyeon was gritting his teeth as he cynical toward the entire slurred mess. he knew very well that the men that worked under him were prone to a bout of jealousy, especially when it involved a new face with a sudden rank high above them. he paused for the shortest moment, actually going as far as to release the man from his grip, both hands sliding against his broad chest as gaze lowered, "yes but you should all know by now that i don't trust a god damn thing that comes out of any of your mouths," his expression wasn't one that mirrored his tone of voice, nor chosen words, instead he peered up with a glint of what could almost be taken as innocence, "you're all a bunch of fucking liars... and do you know what happens to liars..." that was when the somber morbidity washed over them, and the thug knew what would come. it was with one swift moment that the resonant crack, and the dead weight of a falling body came crashing to the ground at his feet. the bones in the thug's neck had cracked swiftly and quickly, perhaps a smooth death if hakyeon were to think about it. however, he didn't, not even a breath or blink of his time was worth the dead man he stepped over the depart the room. there was only one person worth his time, and that was the red head that was lingering on the rocks of betrayal.           *** he had wasted no time in donning the attire of gotham city's infamous cat burglar. with the zip of the leather fitting slim against his figure, he adjusted the thermal goggles atop of his head, and brushed his hair from aurous eyes. he left through an ajar window, clawed hands screeching against frozen steel as he slipped from the balcony and disappeared in the night. it was only a matter of time before he found his target. he had grown quite familiar with the attire that created deadshot -- in fact one could say he'd grown quite fond of it (yes in that manner), yet he'd never admit to it. slinking up the water tank that sat atop of one of the buildings to the south of amusement mile, hakyeon (well salem now) remained silent as he watched the figure propped up by the edge, the shine of a classic sniper told hakyeon that this was business -- but whose business was it. a flaxen glare bore down on the other as he jumped from his vantage, landing upon the ground soundlessly as he cracked the whip from his hip, holding it tightly in his grasp as he hissed through clenched teeth. he was going to do all in his power to make this fool bleed the truth.

TELL : my character confessing something to your character ,

Staying still was very hard, especially since all Ren could think about was putting his precious blades to good use. Tonight was like a giant gift to him from the boss, a mission that gave him the chance to just kill everyone in sight. Of course he had a task to complete, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun while he made his way towards the target. Tonight was definitely going to be fun.

* was it the acerbic relish of a half gone glass of a stained substance, or the laden linger of a one sided dance of a rolled cigarette perched tightly between faint fingers, that caused the overbearing sense of self pity come forth like a great wave over the dark skinned malkin? it was with a roll of stygian hues and a slumped nature upon the bare bar that allowed one to fit the pieces together and take a wild guess that perhaps it was. for once in what seemed like so long, was the thief allowed to sit and grovel in his undying abundance of self pity, hatred, and over all grief for the lifestyle he retained in the stark blizzard streets of gotham city. things were turning to shit in his hands, each slab of brisk gold, and every shine of a diamond, turned to rotten ash in his palms, that stained and brushed away in the slightest of breezes. he was heir to a throne that no longer held any meaning because a scarred face clown had laughed in their faces and burned them down completely. he pondered the chances he'd have in smashing his face against the drink stained bar, smashing the glass grasped tightly in one hand, and destroying all remnants of a life he once had. he stole a glance toward the bar tender at the opposite end -- a brute if anything else, one who'd tore himself through the hype in life, and found himself a small job in a place full of rotten souls, chances were the brute would allow it to happen and then take a bitch later at the mess he'd have to clean up. he rolled his eyes as he lifted the ember cigarette to parted lips and took a long drag of the pestilent smoke, attention falling. this place was fucked up, and he was a part of the entire god damn mess.