Compensation Down to the Minute

With Celnar's commission wrapped up, Kang Do-seok walked out of the Blood Gang's warehouse. His fee: 1.35 billion Relics. Throw in the earlier job that had ended with him looting Beckman's office, and he'd pulled in 2.35 billion Relics in a single day.

That had gone past a fat payday — this was the kind of number that left him feeling full just glancing at his account. One last check of the terminal, and he started toward the sedan.

Rain was coming down, streaming off the neon signs and seeping into the cracks of the alley. Kang Do-seok thumbed his coat collar up and looked ahead. Two young punks were hunched beside his car.

"Aw, hyung! We're supposed to do this fast and bolt before he comes back!"

"Hold on. How does this thing even work? They said you just plug it in right here and—"

One boy was crouched at the driver's-side door; the other was keeping watch around them. In the grip of the one working the lock hung a shoddy hacking device. Kang Do-seok stood over the scene for a moment, taking it in.

"Touch that again and you lose the wrist."

"Holy shit—!"

The lookout toppled over backward. The boy at the driver's door — thirteen, maybe — snatched up the hacking device in pure reflex. What he thought he'd accomplish with that stick, who could say; for now he was pointing it like a weapon.

In that instant, Kang Do-seok's figure blurred. A whisper of steel. Between one blink and the next he stood at the boy's nose, sword already falling.

Thock.

The hacking device dropped to the ground, sliced clean through. Kang Do-seok looked down at the wreckage. The severed end gaped open, baring a cheap circuit board inside — no real waterproofing to speak of. Rainwater seeped in, a blue light flickered twice, and it died for good. He studied it a moment, then spoke.

"Use your head. You think junk like that can actually hack anything?"

"...Fuck. Run!"

The boy with the device turned tail first.

But Kang Do-seok was already moving. He drove his foot into the flank of the fleeing kid.

Wham!

"Gwaah—!"

The boy flew and slammed into the wall.

"F-fuck! Hyung!"

"Uuunngh..."

"Spare me the theatrics. I barely tapped you."

The remaining kid was screaming his head off. Kang Do-seok gave the blade an easy spin in his grip, walked toward the one sprawled against the wall, and swung.

Shhk. The concrete split like paper — right beside the fallen boy's face.

"Eep!"

Rebar showed through the crack, and rain trickled down into the gap. The faces of both car thieves froze solid. Blade tip drooping, Kang Do-seok spoke.

"Move and you die."

"Answer."

"W-we won't move."

"Good."

He nudged the severed chunk of the device with the toe of his boot.

"Who are you two."

"J-just... passing by..."

"Just passing by, trying to hack into someone else's car? Packing gear like that, no less?"

The boy swallowed hard. Eyes screwed shut, he forced it out.

"Lotus sent us."

"Lotus?"

Kang Do-seok's eyes narrowed.

"What kind of outfit is that? Gangsters?"

"Not just gangsters." The boy faltered through it. "They're in the car business. On the surface they buy up used vehicles — repairs, tuning..."

"And?"

"Behind the curtain, they have kids like me steal cars, swap the plates, gut them for parts, and sell everything off."

"And that's who sent you to jack my car?"

"Yes, sir. Said it was an expensive car... said they'd had their eye on it for two weeks. Said if we brought it in, they'd wipe our debt clean."

Kang Do-seok turned it over in his head. This hadn't been a car noticed in passing. Two weeks of watching — confirming the model, confirming where it parked, confirming when its owner stepped away. Which meant—

"Not a crime of opportunity. A premeditated one. That makes it especially heinous."

"W-wait, hold on! Today's the first time we've ever even laid eyes on that car! That bastard just ordered us to tail it and bring it back no matter what! P-please spare us, boss! Spare me and I'm your man for life!"

The younger brother's desperate wail pulled an incredulous laugh out of Kang Do-seok. Was the kid even nine?

The one pinned against the wall looked three or four years older. Both were soaked to the bone — threadbare jackets, trashed sneakers, faces that hadn't seen soap in days. Back-alley kids, through and through.

"Hmm."

He studied the two of them for a moment, then slid the sword back into its sheath. Both boys swallowed at the same time.

"Get in."

"...Huh?"

Beep. The turn signals flashed twice and the sedan's locks popped open. The boys could only gawk at him. Kang Do-seok pulled open the driver's door.

"We're going to go see that man."

"U-us too? Wait — if we go with you, we're dead."

"Dead to who."

"To Lotus!"

"Then stay behind, and you're dead to me instead."

"Eep."

The younger brother gulped. The first to gather himself was the older one. He staggered upright with an arm clamped over his side, breath still ragged, but he grabbed his brother's arm and tucked him behind his back all the same.

"I'll take you there. Just spare me and my brother — that's all I'm asking."

"Get in. Now."

Kang Do-seok lowered himself into the driver's seat.

At the rear door, the older boy hesitated. He glanced down at his rain-drenched clothes, his mud-caked shoes. The black interior of a luxury sedan looked far too clean for back-alley kids like them.

Kang Do-seok spoke through the rearview mirror.

"What are you waiting for."

"I'll... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠get it dirty..."

"Get in."

The older boy pushed his brother in first, then eased himself onto the back seat after him. The door shut, and the smell of wet clothes spread through the cabin. The younger one sat rigid, hands flat on his knees, barely daring to breathe.

Kang Do-seok started the engine. A low growl settled under the hood.

"Address."

"G-Sector, Sector 12. Lotus Auto Repair."

"How many usually inside?"

"Ten or so real mechanics who actually touch the cars. The rest are just muscle. Thirty, all told?"

"Efficient little operation. Their books must be in decent shape."

With that, he stepped on the gas, and the sedan slid off into the rain.

On the surface, Lotus's under-the-table car business passed for an honest repair shop. Beneath a weathered neon sign, vehicles one tow away from the scrapyard stood in a neat row; deeper in, the workshop floor was a tangle of cutters, lifts, and every tool of the trade.

In the office at the back, the Lotus representative sat slumped in his chair, scrolling vehicle auction prices on his terminal. On the table before him: a liquor glass, a pack of cigarettes, and a loose scatter of forged vehicle registrations, the ink not yet dry.

Just then, one of his men came sprinting in from outside.

"Boss."

"What."

"A car's pulling in."

"A car pulling in. That's worth bursting in here to report?"

"It's an RS-623."

The rep's hand stopped.

"RS-623?"

"Yes, sir. Black. The one with the sixteen-cylinder internal combustion engine."

The corner of the rep's mouth curled upward.

"Those ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠little punks actually bagged it?"

He rose from his chair.

"What would that thing fetch?"

"Exterior looks mint — we won't know until we crack it open. Budget, say, 100 million for the work through the title wash, and we'd probably clear a billion. It's a rare model. You can't even source one on the market these days."

"Good."

He looked out the window. A black sedan was rolling into the workshop, its rain-slick body awash in blue neon. The rep beamed.

"Those boys have earned themselves a treat."

He came out of the office and strode into the middle of the shop. The car stopped, and the rear doors opened.

The two boys climbed out. The rep's eyebrows twitched. Both of them had come out of the back seat — which meant somebody was in the driver's seat.

"What the hell. Who'd you bring with you?"

The driver's door swung open before the words had finished leaving his mouth. At the sight of some blade-for-hire stepping out, the smile drained from the rep's face.

Kang Do-seok took a slow look around the shop. Torn-off car doors. Chassis frames stacked under the cutters. Fake license plates hung wall to wall along one side.

He nodded.

"Impressive little shop. You must move a fair amount of money. Plenty of cars, too."

"...And who might you be?" the rep asked carefully.

In answer, Kang Do-seok drew a card from inside his coat and pressed it flat against the man's chest. The rep took it and looked down. His eyes wavered.

"Kang Do-seok...? A Player?"

"That's right."

He swept his rain-wet hair back.

"You're the one who sent kids after my car?"

The rep's gaze jumped to the boys. They flinched.

"Eyes off the kids."

The rep turned back to him and managed a smile.

"I believe there's been a misunderstanding. We run a completely legitimate vehicle business—"

Kang Do-seok raised a hand.

"Save that speech for the city's regulatory office. I couldn't care less. I'm here for one reason."

"Which is?"

"To get paid."

The rep's face went stiff. Kang Do-seok pulled out his terminal and opened the calculator.

"Now then. Let's do the math."

Deadpan, he tapped at the screen.

"You cost me forty-eight minutes of my precious time — a million Relics a minute. 48 million. My car nearly got stolen, and that upset me — 50 million."

The rep's mouth twitched. Whether he liked it or not, the tapping went on.

"Pointing that bargain-bin hacking tool at my car was an insult — 20 million."

"Insult—"

"Bringing the boys soaked my back seat — dry cleaning, 10 million."

The two boys watched him, dumbstruck.

"And since I made the trip here myself — house call, 60 million."

"Ha— no. Just— no."

The rep let out a hollow laugh. Kang Do-seok turned the terminal toward him.

"Grand total: 188 million Relics."

The rep stared at the screen — and finally burst out laughing.

"Ha. You're a lunatic. Acting like some big-time fixer. You think being a Player means anything goes?"

"So you're not paying?"

"Pay? Like hell, you half-wit. You're a dead man."

The air in the shop went cold. Clack. The sound of a round chambering echoed at Kang Do-seok's back. Both boys' faces drained white. He turned his head, slowly.

"Good."

"Good? What the hell is good about it?"

"Negotiations have collapsed. I'll just have to reopen them."

His hand settled on the hilt. At the same instant, the rep's roar shook the shop.

"Fire!"

Gunfire split the air. Tang! Tang! Tang!

Kang Do-seok's gaze flicked — behind the left workbench, under the right lift, at the office door dead ahead. Three shooters, all told.

Assessment complete, he drew his sword.

The blade tore through the air in a flash of light, and the ring of bullets striking steel ripped the workshop open.

Kraang!

A deflected round punched through the throat of the man who'd fired it.

"Kgh—!"

One gunman dropped his weapon and crumpled backward.

Kraang! Kraang!

The remaining rounds sheared along the blade and bent away. One buried itself in its shooter's chest; another skewered the forehead of the man aiming from the rear.

Whump. Whump.

All three went down nearly together. Blood spread across the wet floor and crept slowly toward the workshop drain, thinning into the film of oil.

The rep stood frozen, mouth hanging open. Kang Do-seok hadn't shifted an inch from where he stood. He'd simply knocked the bullets aside with his sword — and somehow the only ones dead were his own men.

Whish. A light turn of the wrist, and the blade sang.

"Round two of negotiations. You've now robbed me of fifty-one minutes of precious time — two million a minute this time. 102 million."

"Pulling guns on me upset me — 100 million."

The rep's Adam's apple bobbed hard. He looked once at his men on the floor, then back at the sword in Kang Do-seok's grip. The smirk that had hung on his lips was already long gone.

"That hacking tool waved at my car still offends me — insult fee, 40 million."

"Wait, that was 20 million a minute ago—"

"House call for coming all this way in person — 120 million. The seats are damp now, so dry cleaning — 20 million."

Kang Do-seok raised the terminal screen again.

"Grand total: 362 million Relics. Pay up."

"...Are you insane? Fine — I apologize for moving on your car first. And I'll grant you're one hell of a fixer. But doubling the bill—"

"Or would you prefer a round three?"

The rep's mouth shut.

He hesitated, then looked again at the three men sprawled on the floor. The ones who'd pulled the trigger. Kang Do-seok had killed all three without taking a single step.

"For the record — from round three onward, I accept payment in things other than money. Organs, for instance."

"...Give me your account number."

Cold sweat slicking his hands, the rep fumbled out his own terminal. Kang Do-seok turned his screen toward him without a word, and the man punched the transfer in with shaking fingers.

Kang Do-seok didn't rush him. He simply stood waiting, sword tip resting against the floor. A moment later, his terminal chimed.

He confirmed the deposit, then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looked at the rep and jerked his chin toward the two boys.

"Leave those two alone. Bother them again, and I'll come back for you."

"U-understood."

The rep nodded over and over. Satisfied, Kang Do-seok tucked the terminal away. Money received — nothing left to look at here.

He turned to go.

The two boys were still rooted to their corner of the workshop. Gunshots had rung out, three men were dead, and the man who'd killed them had done it with a sword — had swatted bullets out of the air with a length of steel. Nobody in that room failed to understand what that meant.

It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠meant a caliber of killer you could walk the streets your whole life and never cross paths with. The kind who could, if the mood took him, wipe out every person in this building. Whatever their shortage of life experience, even the boys understood that much.

Thud. Thud. Kang Do-seok walked toward the sedan.

"Get in."

"...Sir?"

"Don't make me say it twice."

This time the older brother moved first, seizing his sibling's arm. The younger one piled into the sedan as if dragged along by the collar.

Kang Do-seok took the driver's seat and started the engine. The black sedan backed out slow. Not one of the Lotus crew inside made a move to stop it.

The sedan pulled out into the rain.

For a long while, nobody in the car said a word.

In the back seat, the younger brother was hiccuping through held-back sobs. The older one spoke first.

"...Fixer, sir. Are you going to kill us?"

"Yep. Kill you, then sell your organs, too. Waste not."

"P-please spar—"

"Kidding."

Kang Do-seok turned the wheel, his face a blank.

"I don't kill kids."

The older boy swallowed and dipped his head.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I got paid, so we're square."

The car ran slick over the wet road, neon signs drifting past the windows. In the back, the two boys sat pressed shoulder to shoulder.

Kang Do-seok checked them once in the mirror. Haggard faces. Rain-soaked clothes. Even scared out of their minds, each one looking after the other first.

He faced forward again.

"Don't ever do this again."

The older boy raised his head.

"Don't get caught."

"...Don't get caught, sir?"

"That's right. Steal cars, kill people, shake down whoever — how you survive is your business. Just don't get caught. You lose your head. And if you die, you think your brother lasts long out here alone? Keep in mind there's another life riding on your shoulders."

The older boy's face went set and still. The younger one had stopped crying, gazing up at his brother.

Kang Do-seok drove with his eyes forward, neon signs sweeping past on either side.

The car stopped before an old underpass on the edge of G-Sector. There was a roof to get out of the rain, and nearby a handful of cheap diners kept their lights burning through the night — the smell of fried synthetic meat bleeding into the damp chill of wet concrete.

"Out."

The boys glanced at each other for a moment. Then the older one opened his door first, and the younger climbed out after him, clinging to his sleeve.

Rain hammered down beyond the underpass.

Before closing the door, the older boy bent at the waist.

"Thank you for sparing us."

Instead of answering, Kang Do-seok fished a business card and a few banknotes out of his coat and held them out.

"What's this... why would you give us—"

"If I go to the trouble of sparing you and you starve to death anyway, that leaves a bad taste."

He said nothing more and climbed back into the driver's seat. The engine rumbled, and moments later the black sedan slipped away into the rain.

The two boys stared after it until it faded from sight, then looked down at the bills in their hands. And it wasn't only bills. Something white was tucked in between them. The older boy's fingers moved.

A small card settled in his palm. This is what it read: