#jaysung

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Jay Sung. AGE: 43. PLACE OF BIRTH: Launceston, Massachusetts, United States. AFFILIATION: The Emerson Saints. OCCUPATION: Leader FACE CLAIM: Gong Yoo. AVAILABILITY: OPEN.

(Warning: Brief references to racism/police brutality.)

Talk of the French had always provoked disagreement amongst the Emerson Saints.

The deeply divisive and oftentimes violent kind...

From the inception of their now defunct representative system, Jay Sung had been Emerson’s spokesperson. Each of the three voted on issues of importance, and whichever decision received a majority was the direction they proceeded in. Without fail, and whenever the topic of a French Organization contract was brought to the table, however, Jay vehemently voted against any and all compliance; this, regardless of whether it reflected the views of those he was representing.

It got to the point where the others expected nothing less.

“They slaughtered us like we were animals, and now they want us to do the grunt work so they can keep their hands clean? No. Fuck that. I won’t be a part of it, and neither would any real Saint.”

People sympathised with his position, because none of them really wanted to be puppets for the French. No amount of discontent on their part could magic up another option, though. It was either do as they were told and be absorbed by the superior force, or head back to a war that they had barely survived the first time around. And nobody wanted that.

Launceston’s population of Koreans—the new immigrants, in particular—always seemed to be on the receiving end of the city’s mistreatment. Jay’s father told him it’d been that way even when he’d been growing up in Brenton. They’d eventually chosen to congregate around north Anderson Island, instead, and the borough’s elite viewed them as little more than a cancerous fucking growth they hadn’t figured out how to remove. The judgements of those who sat on golden thrones was a world away from the very real oppression they had to deal with on their own doorsteps, though.

Police brutality—oftentimes directed toward immigrants who weren’t doing anything wrong, purely because of the way they looked—wasn’t nearly as bad as the racially-motivated hate crimes waged against them by Krick’s African-American gangs. Both had ultimately resulted in the formation of the Emerson Saints. For decades, their communities had been terrorised by outsiders, until eventually, a group of twenty-six (of which Jay had been a part) decided that it was time to stand up and fight.

In March of 2000, their gang was formed.

In June of 2000, the French took notice.

Jay had barely been twenty years old when the Organization decided to violently remind them that those who contemplated an uprising in St. Clair territory would be dealt with. Mercilessly. And it was precisely that—the things he’d seen, the way they’d attacked, and the friends that’d been taken from him in the process—which the younger Saints would never understand. They would remember talk from around the neighbourhood, or brutal stories shared in hushed whispers…but they’d never seen all the blood. Bathed their hands in it.

And they talked over him with their ignorant majorities? It made him sick.

By the time the French Organization presented the option for a truce in 2005—tired of wasting men on a battle that seemingly couldn’t be won—all but four of the original Saints had been killed in the fighting. None were imprisoned for their unspeakable actions against their enemies, nor had they deserted out of fear. They were simply massacred and left to rot in the streets like animals, all for the crime of defending themselves. Whilst, as was the case with any war, their conflict increased the rate of recruitment exponentially, the losses were astounding. Both in terms of statistics, and personal pain.

Jay had witnessed the death of two of his best friends. Had lost his non-violent girlfriend during a revenge attack against him. A Commandant had been burned alive in very public fashion for the latter, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat…

But it still didn’t bring them back.

A channel of communication eventually opened up between the two sides, but Jay refused to have any part of the discussion, in spite of the fact many of the Saints still looked to him as an unofficial leader. The anger was too fresh. The pride and the pain too great. War had been brutal, of course, but he still would’ve preferred to die fighting them than to live on his knees.

Unfortunately for him, not all of the Saints agreed.

The French had promised to end their attacks, and as an added bonus, offered to push the African-American gangs fighting their other front out of Krick. Understandably, Jay had been hesitant in accepting that they’d be willing to offer them anything but slaughter. It might’ve been an attempt at a ‘good faith’ gesture, but it also came with stipulations, because everything with them always fucking did. The drugs they sold? French, with a portion of the profits handed back to them. The guns they used? French, imported in an attempt to dent the income of the Russians and their weapons smuggling ring. Perhaps worst of all, though, were the contracts. The remaining Saints—especially the younger ones—had been more than happy to kill and maim on behalf of their enemies given the paycheque offered for the work.

Jay wasn’t one of them.

They didn’t fucking owe them any favours.

It went on for years, his frustration growing each day, but eventually he reached his breaking point.

The French were arrogant, egotistical fucks. They always had been. Given that they were supposed to be engaged in a truce, however, Jay thought they might’ve exercised a little restraint. Very clearly, one of the Commandants had taken a liking to the Representative of Saint’s Way, Euna, and very clearly, said feelings were not reciprocated. Jay had been there when she’d turned him down, but the coward had waited until she was alone to beat the shit out of her for the disrespect. She’d called Youngbae, barely intelligible as she choked on her own blood.  

It was a miracle she’d survived.

The Commandant was not so lucky.

As he watched Seung-hyun carve their gang’s name into the Frenchman’s chest, Youngbae holding down his writhing fucking body, Jay knew that this would be the end of the Emerson Saints as they knew it. The French would not take the murder of a Commandant lightly; especially not one found in the sorry state they left him.

The outrage was damn near immediate. Those who had become accustomed to doing the French Organization’s bidding—and had profited from it quite nicely—were livid that the ‘disproportionate’ actions of a few had taken away their choice to work for them at all. Even those who had never liked the affiliation seemed concerned about what this would mean for them in the long-run. Wondered whether they would have to run from Launceston entirely. Jay had expected that this would result in another war with the French, but he hadn’t expected it to tear the gang in two.

To his horror, many of the younger members turned on the remaining Saints for the promise of French protection, and guaranteed work with the Organization.

The war wasn’t spilling French blood in the street, it was spilling their own.

Eventually, the remaining Saints, now headed up solely by Jay—the epitome of a ruthless wartime leader—scarpered to Ainsburg in an attempt to recover from the assault. They didn’t know who they could trust. Didn’t know who would turn on them at any moment for a bigger paycheque from the French. Jay had never been the type to trust easily, but aside from the few he now designated his inner circle, despite many giving up their home—and oftentimes, friends and family—to follow the Saints, the paranoia was almost crippling. He barely confided in anybody about his plans. Barely left his home for anywhere but Yongseo...

Until the Russians came knocking.

The last thing he wanted was for them to get involved with another powerful mob. Jay half expected the woman to tell them they were settling in too close to Russian territory, and to get the fuck out before they made them. To his surprise, though, they seemingly came in peace. Ainsburg had never been their territory. In fact, it belonged to the Irish, and that was precisely the problem. The Russians despised the Irish almost as much as they did the French, but hadn’t the manpower to fight the O’Reillys as well as everybody else. All the Saints had to do was keep the Irish busy and distracted from any attempts on Brenton, and the Vorshevskys were willing to arm them with all the resources they needed.

Not only to take Ainsburg as their home, but continue the fight against the French, too.

They weren’t required to answer to the Russians, nor were they required to have any dealings in their business. They weren’t forced to do anything. If they wanted to say no, then the Russians would leave them alone to fend for themselves…but both sides knew that wasn’t an option.

Not really.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she’d said.

Whilst he isn’t sure he’d go so far as to call the Russians friends, Jay knows that if they have any hope of surviving all that’s happened, they don’t really have a choice.

An eerily familiar scenario that he can only pray ends differently this time around…

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Alexandra Lee (ex-girlfriend, deceased) FAMILY: None. CONNECTIONS:

Jun Jae-sun: Best friend. For a while, he'd doubted him. Of the few remaining founders, JJ was the only one who hadn't opposed their former arrangement with the French. Jay knew he had his reasons, but it still caused massive issues between them for many years. When it came down to it, though, the French or the Saints, JJ hadn't hesitated to follow his family into Ainsburg. Reliving the war is hard for him due to his own massive losses, but Jay has never respected him more, and is determined for his pain not to have been in vain.

Sin Seung-hyun: Old friend. About the craziest mother fucker they have. Jay loves him for it. The French always regarded him as a loose cannon, and wanted little to do with him when they were working under them. After what happened to Euna, however, Jay knows he'd be hard pressed to find someone who hates the French more than him. As such, Seung-hyun remains one of the few he's fully confident would never betray them.

Lee Euna: Good friend. They're all a little bit protective of Euna, and were long before the French Commandant almost beat her to death. Jay is no different. The woman is a kinder soul than most in the Saints, and only ever strived for peace when she sought diplomacy with the French. Of all the Saints they brutalised over the years, she deserved it least. There's no way in hell he'll ever let one of them lay a hand on her again.

Kim Youngbae: Good friend. Along with JJ, Seung-hyun, Euna and Seo-jun, he is the last Jay considers to be a part of his inner circle. Whether or not he trusts the man's girlfriend, on the other hand, is another question entirely. Youngbae has been nothing but loyal to the Saints over the years, and is massively respected amongst the other members for the contributions he's made. Jay sees him no differently; particularly because many of his loved ones were those who defected to the French. Leaving them behind was difficult, but Jay makes sure he knows that his sacrifices are appreciated.

Kim Saera: Former friend. Traitor. Regardless of their former friendship, and regardless of being Youngbae's sister, if he sees her, he'll kill her on sight.