#killer jk

Tonight was one of those late nights, technically the early morning, as it held a quiet promise. The sky was overcast, hiding the little flecks we previously called stars—by now, completely artificial, as humans discovered how to preserve the earth and the universe as we know it, just before the peak of demise.

Echo was your field name, a perfect description of your work: nothing more than the whisper of a cry heard out many miles, many minutes after you’d already left. You were quiet, to say the least. You took your time with every kill, preferring to get to know a person before ending them. Strolling through their house, (be it getting through an upstairs window or simply the front door) looking through their pictures, their life, to try and get an understanding of why they were about to die.

See, you learned never to ask questions, only to take the money even if the person in question did not deserve it. Most times it was better that way. At least, it’s what kept you alive and into the profession.

A small click sounded your success, and an open window after it, as you took a cautious step inside the house. The floors and stairs were wooden, both extremely risky if the house turned out to be pretty old. Though it didn’t seem so, you still wouldn’t take any chances.

You look around. The room you entered was a modern kitchen; grey and barely lit with cool undertones. There was a room to your immediate left with flickers of dim white light portraying someone’s shadow moving back and forth, a stairwell ahead, and a little room to the back right of the kitchen. A cracked doorway at the top of the stairs catches your eye, and the desire to explore consumes you, but you did not plan on him being awake.

You’d always studied your targets, where they go, what they eat, whom they talk to but that was all with the help of social media; phone cameras. This one was scheduled to have been in bed for approximately two hours, thirty minutes and six…seven…eight…seconds ago. Of course, it was nothing you couldn’t handle, but you still felt relieved that you chose the fire escape instead of the front door. 

You gauged the distance between your side and the opposite, calculating the perfect time to cross. The archway of the room was significantly large, but his pattern of walking showed stability. So as soon as he turned his back, you made a run for the other wall and pressed against it.

You carefully poked your head around the corner. Here, you could see the man clearly: pacing back and forth holding a phone to his ear, while speaking in tones of hushed anger. The whispering tipped you off.

Someone else was in the house.

You scanned him and his surroundings, noting an elevated heart rate, (most likely due to anxiety) but otherwise healthy vitals. His profile, Jung Hoseok, age 24, blood type A, standing at 5ft. 11in. was marked for deletion. He was handsome, with brown hair and hooded eyes, and he wore a light green t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. The room, however, had an irregularly placed china cabinet, all of his curtains closed, and bank statements on his coffee table dated from two days ago. Hoseok pauses. You look away. Static fills your ears.

“…saw something.”

Hoseok is coming your way and you have nowhere to hide. His hand grips the crown molding just centimeters away from your head. You hold your breath. He passes you, heading deeper into his kitchen before glancing at the spot where you used to stand. You watch him from the shadows of the staircase, taking notice of something he didn’t. As soon as he turns back into the living room, you see it again, a quick flash of red light speeding by his head.

“Mission comprised.”

Suddenly, a target appears in your line of sight. “Execute and evacuate immediately,” it said, before dissolving into pixels.

You watch Hoseok cautiously. He was already on edge, but now you were too. Your new mission lay at the top of the stairs. Had it not already been your intention, you’d have been worried by the sudden change of course. Nonetheless, you ascended the steps silently. At the top of the stairs, there were three doors: two on either side and one that was already open in front of you. It was your first choice.

As you entered the bedroom, you noticed the open window directly across from you, the wind blowing the curtains however it pleased. There was also someone in the bed, tangled beneath the tousled grey sheets fast asleep. A woman. 

As usual, your curiosity led you to the bedside table on the opposite side where a picture frame stood. Hoseok and the sleeping figure were in it. Upon further inspection of the room, you found nothing particularly incriminating and got ready to leave, when you kicked a metal box. The woman did not move. Your ears strained for minutes in case the man downstairs heard, but there was no response.

Your attention returned to the box. In it, a pistol, two rolls of money, and a questionable substance. It seemed as if both the placement of this box and it’s contents were out of place. Could Hoseok have left it there?

Something didn’t seem right. You recall the tiny blink of red, just before climbing to the second story. Your hand takes on a life of its own, face draining of color. It grabs at the silk sheets and pulls them away, revealing the woman. She rolls toward you at the movement of the sheets, her naked body on full display. She wore a  necklace of bruises, dark in contrast to her otherwise pale white skin. Her hair was matted to her face, her lipstick smeared, and two of her red nails broken. In her previous spot, there was a dark wet stain that explained the glisten on her lower stomach. 

You sweep away the sweaty tendrils from her face. Upon doing so, her profile appears and your target list reduces back down to one. 

You back away, slightly confused; disgusted, to say the least. It wasn’t as if you didn’t feel for her in that pitiful state, but something else was at play. Was this the reason why Hoseok was your target? It did not make sense. His character did not show any signs of malice. Maybe he was just that good of a liar, but everything seemed…staged. 

It had only been seven minutes so far, but the night already seemed so long. You had to get out of there quick. Your hands reach for the blade strapped to your thigh and take it out. 

Creeping down the stairs, you were now prepared to kill. It was quieter than usual, despite the growing static. You wait at the bottom of the stairs for three beats when you hear nothing. Then, you whip around the corner and into the room expecting a struggle, except Hoseok is no longer pacing back and forth, but on the floor with a bullet hole in his head. You reach towards your mask in hopes to scan him, when you hear footsteps approaching. 

Another message appears as you crouch in the small space behind Hoseok’s sectional.  Your targets have been successfully terminated, but that is all the mask can show you: a status of death. It doesn’t know that you didn’t cause it. What it can pick up is your increased heart rate, so the mask alerts a different software to scan the area for possible threats, and sure enough, a heat signature appears on your radar.

The footsteps are a heavy, rhythmic drum against the cold wooden floors, getting intimidatingly closer with every passing second. It seems they are heading for the living room, possibly in search of you. You peek your head over the couch and weigh your options, frantically searching the four walls for any means of escape. You find none. The curtains could not be opened without giving you away, and not only that, but you’d have to jump out the window. You were six stories up.

There was only one way in and out of there, and someone else just occupied the exit. Their gait rang loud in your ears, those vibrations steadily rumbling towards you and then stop abruptly. You cradle your knees closer to your chest. For a second, you realize you stopped breathing and take time to carefully fill your lungs without alerting whomever it was sharing the room. You did not want to take the chance of looking at them, so you wait and listen, tightly gripping your knife. 

The silence is literally mutilating your ability to rationalize. You’ve never been in this situation before, what would the boss think? The head of your organization was a strict woman, she had no tolerance for mistakes. You wonder if she’d be furious at the failure of the mission, most likely demoting you or maybe even worse. 

For the sake of yourself, you decided not to imagine being back out on the streets. And just in time, because the sound of a click and a loud thud knocks you out of your previous thoughts. It has to be a gun, you think, as the long scrape of metal on the wooden floors send goosebumps racing up your arms. The person takes agonizingly slow steps, now in front of the TV, as you can see from their growing shadow. You cling to the blade, your back flush against the couch. A gloved hand reaches over the cushion, and you quickly slam your feet on the wall and push using all of your strength.

The sectional moves back with a bit of difficulty, but the person loses balance and falls forward, landing hard on their stomach. You stand and punch them off the back of the couch, toppling a few throw pillows as you jump over it in pursuit. Their knees give way to Hoseok’s coffee table and you take the chance to immobilize them.

It truly was a gun you heard. An assault rifle, to be exact. The sight of it dropping from the person’s hand while they fell confirmed it, and now, you straddle them with one hand firmly holding their shoulder as the other presses your knife to their throat. You that they must be an assassin, what with the black attire, gun and mask. They struggle in vain, caught under your weight in a near backbend against the low wooden table, as your knees dig hard into their flexed biceps.

“Don’t move!” 

Your voice resonates within the empty condo, echoes returning back to the living room. You feel some semblance of victory as you reach for their…bunny mask? But the sound of a door opening distracts you. Your head turns towards that direction, and the assassin frees their left arm, pushing you off of them in the process. You land on your butt with a grunt. The assassin whips their head towards the sound of multiple footsteps, moving only to swipe their gun and run towards the lone window in Hoseok’s living room. You scramble to get up and chase after them, but the window is open and they are gone. Still, you follow to see how they landed the tall drop, but there is no one to be found outside.

You turn to see people in white gather in the room. Clean-up Crew. Some look at you with the same confusion you wore on your face, as you should’ve been gone by now, but the rest go about their business unbothered. 

One of them walks towards you.

“Y/N, since when did you use guns?” You look up to see your good friend Namjoon inspecting the corpse before casually stepping over it, and then strolling over to your spot by the now-closed window.

“I don’t.” 

You leaned back against the glass with your arms folded, replying without meeting his curious eyes. He takes a place beside you and waits for you to continue to talk as he knew you would, always eager to get out of work, what with his clumsy tendencies.

You sigh. “I was set up.”

“But that’s not possible, the system always—”

“Obviously there is some sort of flaw in the system if someone else was here for the same kill, and me too.” Your mind goes back to the interaction. You could’ve died in that instance but that person, whoever it was, ran away.

“I’m just lucky my gut was right,” you say, pausing for a minute then pressing on. “And my mask, of course.” You remember that you were still wearing it, and with a wave of two fingers to your temple, it turns off. Your mask is holographic. To others, it looks like a pair of red visors—only needed to cover your eyes, since your balaclava does the rest. Without it, The Crew would not have been notified, and you did not want to think about what could’ve happened.

“There must be a logical explanation for all of this.” 

Namjoon was a technical man, even more so than you. He liked to know every possible outcome of a situation, but when something happens that his brain can’t calculate, he desperately searches for a ‘logical explanation’

“Enlighten me,” you quipped, ready to hear what he had in store, all while prepared to correct him at the same time.

He starts with only a breath before you rudely interrupt in a mocking tone. “The system is encrypted! It couldn’t possibly have been hacked and we wouldn’t have sent you out if we knew it was a double kill.” You glanced at him. He was not amused by your goading. “But then, considering that the other person tried to kill me,” you exaggerate a shrug before asking, “What else could it be except..?”

You’re waiting for his answer with an expectant look when he speaks up. “Well—”

A buzzer sound comes from the depths of your throat and Namjoon shoots you a glare. “Whatever you were gonna say, it’s wrong.”

“You didn’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“No, but it’s not one of your crazy ideas.”

Namjoon thinks back to the time he actually considered magic as a factor. From then on, you always took the chance to tease him. He sighs. “I was going to say that it could be an inside job.”

You opened your mouth then closed it. Your mind never leaped beyond the suspicion that it could be a rival organization after you. 

“What, you’re not going to correct me this time?”

“No… No. Actually, that sounds about right.” You turn your attention to the Cleaners, currently scanning the room. A thin blue holographic line makes sure to reach every corner of the room, paying extra attention to Hoseok’s dead body.

Carefully assessing the corpse, you make your way over to it, Namjoon following hastily. “I forgot to mention it, but what happened here?” He was referring to the mess you made. Anyone that walked in could tell there were signs of struggling. His eyes roamed the area, especially lingering over the crooked couch and the rug that bunched up under it. “Was this one hard  to kill, or was it the intruder?” The way he refers to Hoseok like he was never a “he,” but an “it,” makes you cringe. You can’t get over his use of the word intruder either, as if you weren’t one yourself.

“On the contrary,” you sigh, staring into the male’s lifeless eyes. “I didn’t kill him.” 

It does not take a while for Namjoon to put together the pieces. He knows you. He knows that you have never once used guns and how you feel about them, even. You were one of the few killers of your organization to use only one type of weapon, and those were blades. You preferred close range attacks but weren’t picky about tomahawking when needed. If it was a game of skill, you had it, and you’d win. Of course, Namjoon was sure of this, being your friend of three years.

He clears his throat and you look expectantly at him. “Penny for your thoughts?” You were transfixed on the corpse for a while and he started to worry. Silently asking for the one cent payment, you stuck out your hand, to which he responded by patting himself and shrugging when he came up with nothing. 

You giggle at his little display, musing over his exaggerated defeat when he could not find a penny and began to talk despite his lack of remittance. “It’s just that when I came, I had a bad feeling about everything.” Your gloved hand waves in circular motions over the contents of the room. “He was awake. I didn’t listen to myself and leave when I saw what was—” Your eyes widen. 

Upstairs.

You forgot about upstairs. 

“What was your assignment Namjoon?”

He quickly recites everything he read on his tablet before coming over. Your stomach lurches at no mention of the woman upstairs. Come to think of it, none of the Crew was missing. The usual number of only six members were accounted for, which meant that they didn’t even know about her.

You jump out of your rooted position and again, Namjoon trails without question. Your following increases when you tap the shoulder of one of the Cleaners and ask her to come with you upstairs.

The three of you reach the top and head inside the bedroom to see the lady on the bed exactly how you left her upon discovery. The girl excuses herself to go get some equipment to scan the area and you take the chance to inquire more about the mission.

“Did the message say anything specific?”

“Other than the target and his profile, no.” Namjoon stares at the bed. “Why?”

“Only because you guys have been here all of three minutes, and not one person was thorough about clean up like usual.” 

Routine was to wait for the all clear. 

Routine was to search the entire house. 

Routine was to dispose of the body.

It also is to empty the said house of any signs of any previous life, yet there lacked so much as a batted eye towards routine.

Maybe you were a bit impatient about it since they had just gotten there, but something still seemed off and you did not want to let that go.

Both of you waited in silence for the girl to come back. When she did, you asked her to perform a physical report. Moving to the right side of the bed, her arm hovers over the wet spot you had discovered not long ago. She then scans it, and the woman’s body after. The soft hum of her scanner fills the room for about ten seconds before a high-pitched beep is heard. 

“The results show signs of…of uh…” 

When she couldn’t speak without stuttering, you decided to try and fill in the blanks. “Was she raped?” you ask, your voice no louder than a whisper. 

Namjoon shifts uncomfortably at your question and the girl can only nod in response. 

“There's…

“There’s a box on the other side of the bed. I found it and it had some pretty questionable items.” You point in its general vicinity with a lazy wisp of your left arm. 

You seemed both bothered and unfazed by the room’s fourth presence, elucidated by its grim aura. She was rather unfortunate to have worn the dark circle impressed into the skin of her ring finger, binding her to this fate. It ate you alive to know that someone else killed your targets, and this one in particular to a much more morbid extent. Even more so, that you were not able to make it quick and easy. Not that it would have made a difference in terms of death since pain is pain, but at least you would have felt content in knowing that she wasn’t exploited in such a way. By who, you did not know. Her assumed husband, the prime suspect, was already being disposed of. The only other explanation had jumped out of the window before you could catch them.

“I don’t think this man—Jung Hoseok, was whom he led on to be.”

Namjoon had carefully read your expression as you fell deeper into thought at the mention of the box. He didn’t like the look in your eyes. “They usually never are Y/N, and it’s not our job to care.” 

“This pertains to the overall weirdness of the situation,” you conceded, watching the other crew member walk to the box you mentioned, picking it up and surveying that as well.

The latter folded his arms in protest to the ongoing plot inside your head.  He watched you open your mouth to speak, anticipating his further disapproval at your oncoming words as you swiveled towards the doorway.

“I have yet to—”

“Hold it,” Namjoon interrupted. He grabbed your arm mid haste and took you out to the hallway—where you were headed in the first place, but ultimately beaten to the punch. “I think you need to stop.”

You looked at him in disbelief. He towered over you, steady with his hands firmly curled around your shoulders. He continued to stare intently at you and when the passing minutes only held silence, he then spoke. 

“This is our job, so leave it to us.”

You felt defeat for the second time that night. That feeling quickly washed over with frustration and defiance. “if you're  suggesting that I cannot compose myself, Namjoon, I assure you—”

“You can handle yourself, I know.” 

“I have seen many bodies even worse than—”

“I know.” Namjoon, while taking his revenge from earlier, interrupted you for the second time, holding his grip even when you tried to break out of it.

“Then if you know, you should let me go.” you grit your teeth in another vain attempt to smack his arms away.

He contended with your challenging tone, simply by clipping off a sharp no at the edge of his tongue. Both of you stood in the dark hallway, two unmoving forces engrossed in each other’s burning gaze. 

“Come on.” He pulled your arm and started down the stairs, only for you to yank back. 

“Your job is not to scour the house and investigate. That’s what we do here. You came here to kill, and you did not deliver. Staying is not gonna make things better for you at the agency. Just go back, Y/N.

“You get yourself so caught up in everyone else’s life, you don’t even realize you are the one ending it. Aside from the fact that someone was out to get you, this case is no different. But, because the person is still out there, you need to get out of here instead of playing detective and putting a target on your back.”

Sometimes you hated when he was right. You let Namjoon take your hand and the two of you made it back to the first floor. He stopped in front of you to let two workers pass by. They carried Hoseok’s blanketed body on a gurney towards the front door, his left hand swinging off the side to the rhythm of their rough movements.

With your two hands still intertwined, Namjoon takes you the same way as the workers. You followed them into a maintenance elevator and went down six floors. Every corner harbored guards in grey. As for security, they made sure the building was asleep, which meant that any onlooker was oblivious, and all the cameras, if any, were off.  

Once outside, Namjoon stops. “Where is your car? I’ll take you there.”

“I can take myself,” you protested. “Its many blocks away.”

“Which direction?”

You sighed. He was not going to let up. You told him right, the direction of your car, and the two of you started walking again.

The wind was still blowing as softly as it did inside the house. Streetlights were off in your area, courtesy of Clean-up Crew, and the sky was just as dark as it had been the time you climbed into Hoseok’s window. You noted these particular details to distract yourself from Namjoon’s hand, still glued to your own.

He noticed you looking everywhere but him, and swung your arms teasingly. “I hope you aren’t mad at me, your best friend in the whole entire world,” he smiled. 

You shook your head with furrowed brows, more irritated at the killer that bested you only fifteen minutes before. 

“Good,” he said, letting go of your hand. 

At that moment, you realize he hadn’t done any of his work at all, and you were the reason. That made you feel bad for a brief second, but your thoughts rolled back to the other assassin. You were ill-prepared for such an altercation, as you had never encountered one of that nature.  Granted, every mission allows for the possibility of death, but as Namjoon said earlier, this was different. 

I could’ve died. 

“That’s why I’m walking you to your car.”

“What?” You looked up at your friend in confusion before realizing you had said it out loud. 

“Want to talk about it? We seem to have a couple more blocks since I don’t see the car yet.”

You accepted his offer without knowing where to start. Eventually, you told him exactly what happened. He listened, humming every now and then when he understood. When you finished, you waited for his insight.

“Describe them in detail.”

“I—I don't…” You didn’t think much on it since you were focused on survival, but on further assessment, you could remember more than just their clothes. “They were wearing all black, like me, but the shirt was short sleeved and they had ripped jeans on, almost as if the killing was a casual event for them.” Your eyebrows knitted at this thought, but you continued. “They…had a gun, I think it was an XT-97, but they handled it like a pistol.”

“So they’re strong,” he noted. “Height?”

“Tall. Maybe like…six feet? I can’t tell, but now that I think about it, their build was not at all feminine.” 

“Then it’s a guy, right?”

“Must be,” you said, retreating back into the memory once again.

“Don’t move!” 

You planted yourself on top of the figure, your knife digging into his craning neck. You can feel his muscles flex under the black T-shirt, veins bulging out of his forearms as your knees dig deeper into them, your intention being to further weight yourself. You’re ready to slit his throat, angling the blade and leaning close enough to hear his stuttered pants. 

Suddenly, your ears perk up at the sound of footsteps. 

They stop.

“We’re here.”

You stood on the corner of the street, the alleyway separating you from the next block over. No lights shone on your car as it sat in the shadows, and you made sure of that with the small EMP you planted on the asphalt. It acted as a cloaking device, detracting attention and temporarily deactivating streetlights in the perimeter. You picked it up as the two of you sauntered over to the black Tesla.

The car’s light illuminated Namjoon’s face when he leaned over the open door, one hand resting on the roof of the car. You expressed your temporary goodbyes and he shut the door after watching you put on your seatbelt. The ignition switched on at the sound of your voice, shifting to reverse and slowly backing out of the narrow space, careful of Namjoon’s presence.

“One more thing,” you piped up as the car idled on the curb. Namjoon was a little ways off, already on the walk back when he came up to the open passenger window. You motioned for him to get in and he did so without protest.

“He was wearing a really weird mask,” you said, trailing off while setting the autonomous car to drive in the direction of Hoseok’s apartment. 

You realized how distracted you got when you thought about the other assassin. Something about him sent chills up your spine,  yet you were entranced, just by the rise and fall of his chest. The low timbre of Namjoon’s voice pulled you out of the memory, but you could still see two unblinking black eyes staring back so vividly.

“It was a bunny mask. I remember clearly how haunted it made me feel.” 

“That sounds creepy.”

“Yeah, it kinda was.”

The car slowed to a halt and you looked over at Namjoon. He assured you that when he finished, he’d give you all the details on what he found. Then, he got out and walked up to one of the guards casually leaning against the pole of a stop sign. You waited for him to wave you away, and with it, the car drove off into the bare streets of what was now 3 A.M.

“Please input your next destination, otherwise you will be transported to the home marker.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. It would be a long ride from the outskirts of Gwangju. 

Technological advancements created self-driving cars and not long after, highways to accommodate their fast speeds, but even though this triumph sliced time into fractions, you still would have to wait an hour or so until you reached your destination. Knowing it would be so long, you groaned at the sight of your weary reflection in the visor, closing it with a slam. A note that was pinned to it fell into your lap. With light, you skimmed over carefully written cursive, the words of its author flooding the paper with waves of regret. Memories resurface from the depths of your mind and you can’t help but drown in them.

02. 17. 3049 || TWO YEARS EARLIER

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.

The smell of rosewood and kimchi is oddly soothing as you sit in the corner booth of the tiny restaurant. It was one of your favorite places to eat, also being one of the oldest and only businesses to evolve with the modernized world. The inside housed a new coffee corner, which you made sure to visit each morning. This morning was quite frigid and the café made up for the bitter weather with its warm drinks, one which you were already on your third order of.

She could be here any minute, you thought, your foot tapping rather impatiently against the tiled floor. You took a sip of your buckwheat tea, cold hands finding purchase in its warmth as your fingers desperately curled around the cup. 

Your eager eyes spot the waiter as she came to me your table, placing down a steaming bowl of naengmyun before smiling and walking away. 

How embarrassing it was for you to be seen waiting on someone else. Across from you, the table was set and empty for what would now be an hour and twenty minutes, and to that, your foot still tapped. Each ring of the bell at the door had you on edge until you saw the strawberry blonde walk in and lock eyes with you from across the way. You scanned her (an impulsive habit of yours) while she shuffled over to the table. You could tell she ran, as her cheeks were nearly beet red, and her breathing quite uneven. Everything you already knew about her appeared next to her figure as she sat down.

“Sorry I’m late,” she huffed, rubbing her cheeks and hunching over. You dismissed her profile with two blinks and smiled at her. 

“No need, I wasn’t waiting long.”

“Is this for me?” She pointed to the bowl of noodles that you pushed over to her side of the table in response. She dug in, mumbling a thank you with a few noodles hanging from her mouth.

You took another sip of your drink.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “What did you have planned for today? Anything involving outside? If so, I can order us something warm to take with us…” 

“Actually, our date started half an hour ago,” you teased, looking at the watch on your left hand. “Maybe we can still make the movie if you finish eating in…now.”

The sight of the bewildered look on her face made you burst into laughter. She grumbled as she slurped at her noodles, not appreciating your joke. Still, she asked why you didn’t order, so you lied about already being full, saying you were happy just watching her eat.

You truly had no appetite.

The rest of the day was filled with grins everywhere you went. She begged to stop by a street vendor who, upon the unexpected snowfall, gave away warm treats “on the house.” The two of you rushed to escape the weather and get to her apartment, where she’d put on a movie to replace the one you missed. 

The screen was frozen; paused.

She expressed her dire need to use the bathroom and went, leaving you where she expected you to wait: on her couch in the dim lighting of her living room. It was as she washed her hands, that she noticed you in the mirror standing behind her. There, that her confusion morphed into horror at the sight of the kitchen knife, and there, that her blood was spilled, all over the bathroom floor.

Her name never mattered.

It didn’t to whoever had opted to delete her, to the waiter, and the vendor on the street—both of whom were fellow agents, and it didn’t to the world, now that she was gone.

“Surprise!” 

You walked into the office startled, blood still tainting your boots, the girl still on your mind. She would later be erased, like all others, from your mind with the help of booze.

Maybe a party was just what you needed.

There were streamers lining the walls, balloons covering the ceiling, and a large banner that read “Congrats on 100 Kills!” hanging from either wall. You took a step further, recognizing your colleagues, some nearly foreign to you with large smiles on their faces.

It was odd for you, being celebrated for taking someone’s life. It just never seemed to matter if the right price is paid—low and behold, a large wad of cash lay buried deep in the pocket of your black moto jacket. You continued to approach the middle of the dark room, a cake with sparklers flickering it’s light on to the many bodies gathered around it. They urged you to blow them out and you did, despite being so hesitant.

Immediately, the lights switched on, and scattered claps rumbled into a thunder of applause. Soon after the cake was cut,  people conversed in small groups about the office, quick to stop and congratulate you as you pass by, searching for a friend. But someone else found you before you could reach those doors.

“Guess who?”

You recognized the familiarity of his voice, and, guessing correctly, lifted Namjoon’s hands away from your eyes.

“Hey stranger,” you said, turning to see him beaming at you with those dimples of his. He pulls you in for a tight hug, and without warning,  whisks you off, away from the party.

The music and chatter start to fade as he evades all interrogation while dragging you to the elevator, where the two of you take a ride down to the parking garage. Upon the doors opening, a chirp sounds within the concrete walls, soon muffled by the sound of an engine revving. A black car rolls in front of you, its two doors lifting like the wings of a bird taking flight. You are at a loss for words, stuttering out unfinished questions while the elevator doors continually attempt to close, but can’t with you in the way.

“She wanted to give you this,” Namjoon says, taking your arm and hooking it with his as he walks you up to the slick, black beauty. “A gift for all your hard work.”

Hard work, huh? Your boss seemed to be working harder than you, seeing as how she couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Did she no longer have time to be your friend? Watching your steady decline to less than human from behind the comfort of her locked doors?

It wasn’t fair.

“Wh—Where is—” You struggled to find the words until your questions were answered by the folded yellow note Namjoon hands you.

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.

“Five minutes until the destination is reached.”

“Make a new course for work.”

Neon lights race along the curves of your car as it exits the highway, only a few blocks away from the office. Here, everything was alive, compared to where you were last, the traffic and pedestrians still bustling as if it wasn’t the early hours of the morning. It’s true what they say about the city, that it never sleeps, especially not when you’ve just arrived at the heart of Seoul. During the lively night, it was just another building with big glowing letters, but when the light of day shines on this skyscraper, many recognize it as the number one source of technology and internet in all of Korea: Vortex.

The car door lowers with a slight hiss as you walk up to the building. This was your second home for years now, and as you look up the glass walls, you see a yellow light shine from one of the windows. 

She’s still here.

You go inside, walking straight past the startled front desk manager—tossing him your keys—and to the elevator, where you knowingly lock eyes just as the door close. There were no buttons for where you were going because no ordinary person knew about the sub-levels of the building both above and below its shell structure. That was for the business Vortex conducted behind the scenes; the business in which you thrived.

The office was on one of the very top floors, and as you reach it, you turn to face the back of the elevator and wait for it to open. Had you share the lift with anyone else, they would’ve looked at you crazy, considering no normal employee could exit through the maintenance doors. 

There were no buttons. But of course, that was the purpose of the front desk.

The doors slide open and you walk into the most familiar place you’ve ever known. The cubicles and desks hid the nature of what the assassins really did, but you didn’t have a problem with it since it made you feel a little bit more human.

There were those double doors, the ones you could never reach during the party; the ones made of glass like everything else inside the building. 

Except she wasn’t see through.

“Hey, why are you still here?”

You stood leaning in the doorway, watching her head slowly lift from her desk. You knew the answer to that, so she decided not to respond.

“Something strange happened today while a was making a kill,” you started, waiting for her reaction. She did not provide one so you continued. “You see, I was going after that teacher I’d been following for a while, and when I got to his house, he didn’t look like a teacher.”

“Is that so?” She said dryly, her eyes still glued to the computer.

“Yeah,” you replied, folding your arms. “It is, and you wanna know what else?”

“What?”

“Someone else was there too, like—”

“So what, there was someone else in the house, you take people out even with their families in the same bed, so why would it matter now?” Her voice showed a hint of agitation but you would not back down. Instead, you went up to her and placed your hands flat on the desk with a smack.

Now, you had her attention.

“Because that someone was an assassin. He attacked me and my target. Oh, and my target, ‘the teacher’ didn’t look like he was just a teacher. What do you have to say about that? Maybe the fact that your best friend nearly died could get you to at least look at me!”

Finally, she meets your expectant gaze, only to scoff. After a long silence between the two of you and your fiery stares, she speaks up, instantly changing the subject.

“Do you know what day it is?” 

“Does that even matter right now? There's—”

“Should I, perhaps remind you of the fact that you constantly break the number one rule here? Or should I continue to let you waste my time when you can clearly see how overworked and stressed I am? It’s Monday, Y/N. Three in the morning and here you are.” You wondered what she might be doing up this late, but the papers piling on her desk told you it was work. Which kind, you didn’t know. “We have class today. I hope you don’t oversleep because I won’t be taking notes for you.”

This was the problem with your job. It called for you to be awake at all hours of the night, and though most college students could say the same about their convenience store jobs, yours was more physically exhausting. You opened your mouth to say something in retaliation, as was in your defensive nature, but instead, you said nothing. Maybe it was best for you to deal with it later since you never liked when your two worlds intermingled. On that note, you waved to your tired friend, feeling a bit tired yourself at the sight of her, and headed for the double doors.

“Goodnight, Yoonji.”