A Good Deal (2)
"A good deal."
The corners of Han Si-yeon's eyes on the screen twisted. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes weren't.
I'd clearly warned him—if they find out we handed over those files, we're both dead—but Cheol-woo acted like he hadn't heard a word. Well, what did it matter if the GeumMyeong Group's pursuit was joined by the Oriental Group's in the middle of all that? If anything, it might make the pursuers crash into each other, giving us a chance to play them off. From his perspective, it was a win.
Even the executives commanding hundreds or thousands of troops trembled at the thought of Oriental headquarters' punishment, but Min Cheol-woo? He probably didn't give a shit.
Crazy bastard, but not insane.
The good news was, he was someone reason and logic worked on. With someone like Yu Sil-jang, you never knew if she'd stab you in the back or not—but with Min Cheol-woo, you could see he always weighed the consequences before acting. He only pulled off jobs he could handle; it was just that his "handleable" range was so damn wide it made him look unhinged. Sanity intact.
This was a guy I had to team up with, no question. By now, GeumMyeong had probably thrown every offer at him—team leader, manager, you name it—but he was holding out, which meant they'd screwed him over big time. An S-rank asset up for grabs for free. No funny business, no leash—just treat him like a partner. How easy was that?
"9mm Parabellum and 7.62mm NATO standard rounds."
The core of any business was relationships. Even the sweetest deal could sour in an instant if you pissed someone off, but play nice and you could close impossible contracts with ease.
At Han Si-yeon's signal on screen, a staffer brought a small case to the laptop and click—opened it.
"Heard of 'em, but never fired any."
"Yeah. Rifles are heavy and bulky—too inconvenient."
"Huh..."
Cheol-woo couldn't hold back a dry chuckle. Wasn't this a bit too on-the-nose? Handing it over already screamed you're gonna face tons of mutants. Hong Kong crawling with them? Now they were admitting it outright. With the files already handed off, nothing left to hide, huh?
Made sense, though—beef up the bodyguard's firepower, boost her own survival odds. Or just building goodwill? Either way, no downside for Cheol-woo in taking it.
"Mm..."
Click-click—he racked the slide, hefted it. Felt weird. Size like a P226, but polymer made it way lighter. The unfamiliarity was throwing him off, but not in a bad way.
Mag was slimmer than 9mm or .45, for sure. Penetration rivaling rifle rounds was reassuring, but stopping power from something this small? Doubtful. Still, smaller rounds meant more per mag—spray and pray style might work fine.
"Thanks for the thoughtful gift. I'll take it."
"Of course. And please review the files thoroughly, then burn them."
Viiiing—the fax spat out papers, which the staffer bundled and handed to Cheol-woo.
With everything received and delivered, Cheol-woo and Yuri stood to leave. Mi-young, now untied, was glued to the laptop, grinning like an idiot. Leave her like that? Hope she didn't charge out to die again.
Yuri felt uneasy, but there was nothing more to do. Live or die, her fate—best to wash hands of it for mental health.
"Those people live such exhausting lives. Even if they fall, rich is rich. They could just head back to mainland China and live comfortably—why the desperate flailing?"
"People get addicted to the top air. Once they breathe it, they can't go back."
That so? Cheol-woo half-bought it, half-didn't. He'd take a hundreds-of-billions lotto win, dump it in the bank, and live off interest. Yuri shot back that was 'cause he was the ultimate country bumpkin—no comeback there.
Just born different? Some breed that had to claw to the top to survive. He'd chalk it up to that.
Back at the car, Cheol-woo flipped through the fresh files.
"I-I don't wanna see. Doesn't that make me a target for Chinese assassins?"
"Won't help. They see me and sis as a package deal."
"Fuck..."
Hong Kong meant going together. No safe way to leave sis in Korea alone, and against druggies, a swordswoman would shine. Guns had that pesky noise issue, no matter the penetration. Sword? Slice—quiet throat slit. Damn, should've picked up kendo instead of gaming—Cheol-woo regretted a bit.
"Hey... this ain't just fucked. Hong Kong's royally fucked."
"No wonder no news. Ha..."
Flipping through, Cheol-woo and Yuri let out endless dry laughs.
Hong Kong—umbrella revolution central—made global headlines for protests. All eyes on it, yet zero leaks? Meant total blackout.
"Gonna lose my mind. Not 300 mil each—400 at least."
"400? Small-timer raise. 500 or bust."
This was straight to hell.
United States. Langley, Virginia, the "Company."
Suit-clad men filed into a small conference room, took seats, waited. Finally, a middle-aged man in jeans and slippers shuffled in.
Outfit totally mismatched. Everyone else wore Company employee badges; his screamed civilian.
But no one dared give him a weird look.
"This is the contractor cooperating with our 'Company' to dispatch an investigation team to Hong Kong."
"Call me Max. Ask away."
"What form did this team take? What cover?"
"LA think-tank policy research students. Identities clean—no blowback."
Company spies in Hong Kong? Nah. Just suspiciously gun-savvy grad students sourcing black-market arms like pros.
Questions flew—survival status? Escaped?—Max cut them off. Keep going and he'd spoil the whole presentation.
"Key points first. Team arrived Hong Kong a month-plus ago, set up base. Three weeks back, first quake severed undersea cables—comms dead. Two weeks ago, jamming killed sats and radio. One staffer smuggled out docs—delayed report."
"Hong Kong status now?"
"Hell on earth."
Max hit the remote without hesitation. Screen showed Hong Kong downtown: bustling streets ablaze, crumbled, chaos. Far from China's daily "All good in Hong Kong."
"You know the blue drug. Hong Kong origin, right?"
Suits nodded. Mystery drug exploding worldwide from HK. 90% turned monsters, sanity gone; rare few got superhuman boosts. Nicknamed "super soldier serum."
"HK tap water contaminated—third of pop dosed."
"...Holy shit."
"Most survivors slaughtered by addicts. Outside pockets, mutant hellscape. Only holdouts: our team, foreign PMCs."
"..."
No accident dumping serum in the water. Deliberate. Chinese turning citizens into super-soldier gacha? Jamming made sense now—exposure meant graduating from routine human rights abuses to "rights don't exist."
"HK coastline pic."
"What's that pile?"
"Black jelly-like organics: blue drug raw material. Washed ashore on HK Island like trash. Red minerals too, stacked everywhere..."
Thud—Max set a red pebble on the table.
"Tests show near-zero electrical resistance at room temp. Superconductor."
"And HK beaches are buried in that...?"
Blue drug alone was mind-blowing; now superconductors like garbage? What the hell was brewing offshore, spitting new Earth matter?
Company didn't care. HK was a treasure trove of world-shaking resources. Let China swallow it whole? Hand them monopoly? US hegemony flips to China—no shock.
"Chinese military in HK?"
"Entry failed. HK gov blocking? Or addict casualties too high? Unknown."
Lucky HK still nominally autonomous. One country, two systems—Chinese soil, but independence wiggle room. Returned from UK just 30 years ago; why not flip foreign again?
PLA push? Cede New Territories, Kowloon—aim for HK Island.
"Good work. Any route for reinforcements?"
"Of course. I'll guide personally."
Max grinned.
US ready to go to war. And business in Uncle Sam's wars? Always profitable.