YIN / YANG

i.  implied torture

he emerges from the cramp, windowless room reeking of blood and piss.  it’s not his own  ( never his own ),  but the stench is foul enough to turn heads on his way out. 

WARNINGS :  MURDER, DEATH

BANG!

        no, please don't.  please.  i'll stop, i swear i'll---

BANG!

        "where are you aiming?"

                the hand, sir.

        "which one?"

                does it matter?

        "most people shoot with their right."

BANG!

        please don't do this.  please don't, i promise i'll be loyal---

BANG!

WARNINGS :  MURDER, DEATH, BLOOD, MENTIONED ASPHYXIATION, IMPLIED SEX

𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗬 𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗥  !

        “that’s an intimate question.”  he cocks his head, his eyes staring at you, through you, without a glint of amusement.  and for some time, it doesn’t seem like he’d answer:  he stays perfectly still, his steady gaze akin to that of a bored participant, his lips sealed shut.

       he weighs the consequences, the threats.

        and decides there are none.

       “as you may have realized – or not, if you’re not keen on observation – i will trust someone until they give me a reason not to trust them.”  he leans forward ever so slightly, his fingers stringing together to rest against his chin.  "reasons such as my intuition, your affiliation, or if you decide to betray me . . which would not be in your benefit.  that, i can guarantee.“  he speaks softly, slowly, and with unrivaled eye contact.  ( has he blinked?  you’re not entirely sure. )  "my method of operation comes with a high risk.  a lot of us here on myeongcho would betray, given the opportunity to.  morale is substandard.”

       he stops, his eyes flickering down your form before returning to your curious gaze.

        “took your time, didn’t you?”

        he slides off the bathroom’s countertop and hits the floor with a soft thud.  his lips are all but sealed, his darkened eyes flickering over jisu’s formal attire -- an unfamiliar sight, really.  it doesn’t fit too well either:  the cuffs extend beyond the wrists, and the shoulder padding is far too apparent to look flattering on boyish shoulders.  of course, the quickest fix is to remove the suit jacket all together, but they had the jacket custom-made to include hidden pockets---pockets that jisu would surely need in order to do this job.

        and the necktie.

        he has never seen anything worse.

        “you’re the son of a wealthy businessman.  this---”  he loosens the knot with a few harsh tugs.  “---would’ve given you away.”  for someone whose closet primarily consists of plain tees and faded jeans, his fingers are rather quick and precise as they move to fix the tie, almost as if they’re familiar with the action  ( and they are;  he’s tied ties for yixiang more times than he can count ).  he finishes by adjusting the knot to a slightly loose but still acceptable position.

        better.

        but jisu still looks stupid.

        “there are twelve of them -- ten men, two women.  five of them are executives, the other seven are bodyguards.  assume they’re all armed and skilled.”  he pauses for a moment.  “eight of us, including me and executive song, excluding you.  i won’t tell you who’s on our side, in the event that you can’t act.”  he raises his fist to jisu’s face, a rather threatening gesture, but instead of swiftly delivering a punch, he turns the inner part of his wrist to jisu’s nose.  “sniff.”  it’s a subtle scent of cardamom and fresh bergamot, and if pressed, cedar.  “you can identify us this way.  i’ve asked them to spray it around your nose level.  it won’t be a strong scent, but it’s there.”  he lowers his hand.  “do you have any questions?”

        asshole!  

        that's the first thing he hears when he picks up the phone, so naturally, he hangs up without uttering a single word in response.  unfortunately, this doesn't sit well with his counterpart, who calls him again, ten seconds later.

        oi, what---

        "you're wasting my time."  a delightful pause.  "and my minutes."

        bitch, you got unlimited calls.  there's a distinct sound of tires squealing in the background, followed by a string of curses.  his eyes narrow just a bit.  "what's going on?"  he hears a loud clang! then i'm being followed, asshole!  rich bastard must've had a tracker on him or some---

        he hangs up a second time, tucks his phone into his back pocket, and slinks out of the washroom.  the atmosphere is different, that's the first thing he notices.  it's a subtle shift, unnoticeable to those ignorant, but he feels it:  the eyes pinning him in place, the gradual shift of champagne glasses from right to left hands.

        so they want a war.

        his steps are brisk, curt, as he weaves his way through the crowd.  no one stops him, and while this could be perceived as a good thing, he knows it's anything but.  they're waiting for a signal---a reaction from the perpetrator.  and for once, he gives it to them.  as he reaches the door, his eyes find another hydrus member's own.  "no one lives."  that's all he says before he slips outside, the door closing quietly behind him.

        it doesn’t take long.  BANG!  BANG!  BANG!  a quick succession of gunshots rings out, but he pays it no mind.  in a delirious moment of adrenaline, he finds hyerin's car parked on the other side of the building and dives into the passenger seat, chest heaving once, twice.  "bulldog's being chased.  fifth ave---"  

        BANG!

        right rearview mirror down.  hyerin's going to bitch.

        BANG!

        lucky miss.

        "don't slow down."

        he pulls a gun, lowers the window, eyes flickering toward the darkened figure standing at the far end of the alleyway.  brave one, huh?

        "run him over."

        for a goddamn rookie, kyungsoo sure as hell makes his life bloody difficult.  and that says a lot, considering his job is tracking and extraction.  if not for kyungsoo’s invaluable hacking, he would’ve made a fuckin’ spectacle out of him.

        of course, he’s pissed.

        his stoic expression and lax demeanor may not show it, but there’s a reason why he’s here, sitting in the dark, perched on kyungsoo’s desk, arms folded across his chest.  he hasn’t moved in nearly thirty minutes now, and in truth, he doesn’t intend to until he gets answers.  satisfactory answers.

        the seconds on his watch tick by.

        his eyes trail to kyungsoo’s drawers.

        he has already looked through them and had the mind to leave one slightly ajar.  if kyungsoo asks, he’d keep quiet, but the truth would be evident to anyone with intuition.  this is nothing more and nothing less than setting up chess pieces.

        finally, the door creaks open.

        he slides a pawn forward.

        “kyungsoo.”  no need for honorifics;  they’re not equals.  “have a seat.  let’s chat.”  his arms relax, drooping across his thighs, as he leans forward ever so slightly.  “we were ambushed.”  a pause.  “what happened?”

+  TW :  MURDER, DEATH, ASPHYXIATION ( STRANGULATION )

        the boar writhes beneath him:  lips blue, neck surely to bruise in ten streaks.  it thrashes one, two, three times before sinking back into the mattress.  its breath wavers, its gaze glazes over, but he knows this is not surrender.  with the bit of strength it has, its grip tightens on his forearm, and the corners of its mouth widen to a devilish grin.  the boar then whispers its final words:  a wheezed and wounded i like your eyes.

        it wants to taunt.

        so be it.

        he leans down next to its ear, smirk tugging on his own lips, and breathes a cruel farewell:  “what a shame, i don’t like yours.”  he draws up then, and in the same motion, lifts its neck ever so slightly before driving it back into mattress, hard.  the grin fades, as does the twinkle of amusement in the boar’s eyes.

        disgusting.

        to be so accepting of death, to hold no fear in one’s gaze.

        he climbs off the lifeless body, his feet hitting the ground with a soft thud.  and that’s when he hears it:  another thud.  and another, and another.  shit, the bitch is early.

        the knob turns.

        he slinks into space behind the door, his eyes narrowing.  if he takes the bitch out, then it’ll be evident that there’s a third party involved in the murder.  that’s risky.  but it’s also risky to show his face.  there’s absolutely no where he can hide in a split second, so he makes his decision.

        the door creaks open.

        he’s quick.  the moment he catches glimpse of the intruder, he grabs their shoulder and shoves them against the wall, kicking the door close in the process.  his left hand hastily collects their wrists, pinning them firmly against the spine, as his right reaches up to keep their forehead pressed hard into the wall.  and it’s only then, when his body’s slotted against their back to hold them in place, does he realize it’s a guy.

        his grip tightens.

        “i’m only going to say this once.  i will let you go, but you will stay in this position.  if you move, if you make one sound, i will slit your throat.  understood?”

        “sharkbait.”

        his attention perks at their code word, but he doesn’t raise his head.  instead, his eyes flicker upward, and he asks,  “trouble?”

        she purses her bright red lips, her long acrylic nails drumming steadily against the wooden table.  “doesn’t look like it,”  she says after a bit.  her gaze then swivels to the nearby wall.  “young man, mid-twenties, probably, not terribly dressed if you’re up for comparison.”  the corners of her mouth twitch into an amused smile;  it’s her second jab at cheng’s simple and ‘unfashionable’ attire tonight.  “he’s alone, though.”

        the low purr of her final words tells him enough.  go check him out.

        he reaches for one of her cigarettes, places it daintily between his chapped lips, before finally raising his head to lean forward.  she lights it for him, clicking her tongue in disapproval.  it’s his third cigarette of the night, and they’re from her stash, at that.  he ignores her and gives himself a moment to allow the nicotine to filter through his system.  ( he should really cut back. )  after a few counted seconds, he removes the cigarette, parts his lips, and lets the smoke dissipate into the dingy air.

        and then he moves:  he rises from the booth strategically tucked away in the farthest corner of the pub and makes his way to the bar where the ‘sharkbait’ sits.  it’s only when he slides into the seat next to this stranger that he realizes it’s . . not quite a stranger.  he knows this man.  remembers him, even though this is the one and only face he has sworn to forget.

        what a coincidence.

        he doesn’t allow the brief recognition to seep into his features.  it’s too soon to play that card.  instead, he leans against the counter-top, his left arm resting on the bar, his right hand cradling the cigarette.  he gestures the bartender over.  “can i get you a drink?”  he turns to face the man now, his eyes narrowing just a tad as he scrutinizes the other’s features.  there’s no mistake:  it’s that stupid medic.  “or are you waiting for someone?”

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs:  implied sex, asphyxiation ( choking )

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑 ?

        he wants to say that he hasn’t given this much thought, but truth is, he has—at least, to some degree.  it’s a collection of ‘not this’ and ‘yes that’ experiences he has amassed over the last several years, and when assessing them, it becomes quite clear that he does have a particular type of personality he’s drawn to.

        age fifteen.  he made his way through the corridors of his new home, his eyes prickling the floor, brow furrowed in deep thought.  that’s when he ran into her – shoulder to shoulder, hard.  he didn’t apologize;  she made him.  later on, an auntie with a frivolous matchmaking streak pulled some strings to have them train together.  he kicked her ass, then she kicked his.  he decided he liked that.

        “not too weak, but not too strong.  a challenge.”