Beast Hunt (1)
In this line of work, factions never split peacefully. That's especially true for street gangs before they go fully corporate. Most of these neighborhood punks lack the means to leave their turf behind. They're stuck fighting it out right there in their corner of the world, win or die.
The relationship between the White Guard and American Front is no exception. Shabby houses and cheap rent are the strongest chains keeping these beasts penned in. Even if the Chief's hunch about the White Guard having a backer is spot on, that backer sure as hell didn't buy them houses. So these two recently split knucklehead groups are bound to have overlapping territories. No need to dawdle hunting for the upstart White Guard's base.
That's why I rerouted to Oakland, the American Front's stomping grounds. Delaying the original schedule sucks, but when you've taken a job, best to wrap it up quick.
On the flight to Oakland via L.A., Kyung-tae next to me was hooked into the in-flight Wi-Fi on his laptop, digging for info. He cupped a hand to his mouth, leaning in as he spoke.
"Man, never thought we'd come all the way to America for a hunt."
The domestic first-class cabin at this awkward hour was dead quiet, empty of passengers. I kept my eyes on my phone screen and tossed back a casual reply.
"Easier than what you were doing in China."
"Pfft, anything's easier than China. Their surveillance is no joke."
Grinning like an idiot as he said it, this guy's a natural-born talent at tracking, torturing, and killing people. He'd closed nine long-stalled human hunts for the organization, raking in about 2.3 trillion won in profit. No wonder I think of him as a dog—he's the kind of hound even hunting dogs dream of being.
Kyung-tae reminisced about his biggest score.
"That time in Jinan when I bagged 1.9 trillion in one go? Second-best moment of my life. Took half a year just to launder it all, hyungnim."
"Yeah."
"The bastard wouldn't cough up the cash even after I yanked his nails and crushed his toes. Cried that he'd blown all the Korean money he brought and tried scamming me to the end... Man, gotta respect that work ethic. Even I, Kim Kyung-tae, had to tip my hat. Guy was a con man down to his bones."
"You worked hard back then."
"Nah, all for you, hyungnim."
"...Right."
His tall tales get old since I hear them so often, but what can you do? Praise makes the hound dance. And his pride wasn't just in the kill—it was in how much more he'd helped me than any other hunter. Without him, those eleven-year, 870 billion won pursuits would've been busts.
As he said, human hunting as a business targeted scammers fleeing overseas. Nail one, and you'd uncover assets they'd laundered to the tune of tens or hundreds of billions. His 1.9 trillion monster was in a league of its own.
These prey prep hard to live as ghosts—already "nonexistent," so erasing them fully dodges legal headaches. At least from official cops, if you clean up traces well.
Only imperialists are more profitable game. 'Though we caught some flak once...'
With so many in my org who'd been screwed over, one hunter even suggested—idiotically—donating some profits to victims.
I shot back, "Why should I?"
Then doubled down: "The ones who should pay are elsewhere. Why risk blowback on me?"
Ponzi schemes like that leave trails everywhere—they need fresh suckers nonstop. And from wrap-up to flight, you've got months. Plenty of time to snag the con before they cash out. That's how my hounds sniff 'em early.
Anyone with sense spots the scam when some fool promises fixed 10% monthly returns. But few report it right away. They just gripe, sneer, and walk. The marks are idiots.
Bystanders don't even see their complicity. They'll laugh later, clueless.
Even honest reports rarely get real action. "Why bother if it's not you?" is the best you'll hear.
'Or they eye the kickbacks the second it's filed.'
Take Jo Hee-pal: a Seoul High Prosecutors' Office chief took bribes to stall warrants, buying his crew escape time. He did time eventually, but as he whined, he was just the tip.
Better me than those clowns—I at least take the bastards' throats.
Cops catch 'em? Korean penal code maxes at a few years—more like a legal pardon than punishment.
I drill defense logic into my hunters' heads and jacked up budgets for our org's orphanages to boost morale across the board.
'Mexican cartels don't run hospitals and schools for nothing.'
It's community buy-in and ideological armor. Unless you're a psycho, even the ugliest crook wants to see some good in himself. Miss that psychology, and you can't run a big org stable. Mine especially.
"Huh."
Kyung-tae spun his laptop toward me. A P2P chat app for internal comms glowed on screen.
"Message from Suyeon noona. Needs approval on something."
"Tell her we're on a plane—talk later."
"Got it."
He hammered a quick reply. No further input from her. Smart—America, encrypted packets mid-flight? Red flag city.
Rain greeted us at the rundown airport, humid sea air seeping into the terminal. We hopped our ride north to the port.
Hong Young-sik booked a mid-size hotel by the ferry dock. Its blue roof gleamed watery under the gray sky.
Wave-close digs? Street gang biology. They're bottom-feeders in the smuggling pyramid. Their go-to racket: bulk drugs cut with junk, portioned into ounces. Protection rackets, theft, robbery—pocket change.
Entry point? Sea lanes, easiest. Airports scrutinize hard, roads risk busts mid-haul. Ships? One offshore handoff, and you're ghosts.
That's bulk sea smuggling. Why my org packs ocean-going trawlers and freighters.
Budget-strapped Oakland cops? Smuggler's paradise. Those quiet yachts bobbing by the hotel dock? Some pack heat in hidden holds.
Suspicious? Sure, but no warrant, no search. Find something? Poison fruit from a poison tree—illegally seized evidence gets tossed.
While some security grabbed tools, I called Korea. End-to-end encryption—no wiretap worries.
Suyeon picked up instantly, like she'd been waiting.
"Hyungnim."
"Heard you need approval."
"Yes. Guangdong Triad wants bulk U.S. military surplus."
"U.S. stuff? Bulk how much, what kind?"
"Just a timeframe—no specifics on types or caps. Basically unlimited buyout."
"..."
Bad luck. Hoarding unlimited means buying unlimited.
"Sorry, hyungnim. I pushed back hard, but—"
"Of course you did."
Triads? Can't outright refuse—it's an insult. Chinese face and all. Diaspora branches are milder; mainlanders suck. Especially Guangdong—Communist Party's dirty hands.
Unless ditching China ops entirely, gotta play nice. Best play: haggle price to stall. Offer insane terms without screaming "no deal."
Suyeon walks that wire fine. Her "best effort" meant jacked margins to absurd levels.
"What's the margin?"
"Assault rifles at 3,800% stock."
Ridiculous.
"They took that?"
"Yes. See the rest yourself—sending file."
Phone buzzed. Kept the line open, opened it. Margins ran 3,800% low to 12,000% high.
Normal black market baselines off legit dealer averages. Typical markup: 1,000% max. Varies by route, buyer; retailers jack more.
Example: $800 MSRP auto-rifle sells black for ~$8,800 (1,000%). North America to South America haulers get that—covers shipping, risk.
Buyers ain't legit. My acquisition's way under MSRP, so 3,800% nominal? Real profit doubles that. ~$20k pure per rifle.
Tells me: real buyer is Chinese gov. Not outsourcing to Triads routine—Party borrowing their shell for deniability.
International heat? "Who, us?" Clean hands.
Why else overpay a black dealer like me? They're watched; subcontract to third-party off Western intel radars.
Happens occasionally.
"Where's it headed?"
"Phase one: Laem Chabang port. Final undisclosed."
"Laem Chabang... southern Thailand?"
"Yes."
"Backing a coup?"
"Or overland to northern Myanmar."
Suyeon assumed gov buyer too. Northern Myanmar: United Wa State Army (UWSA) rebels. Wa independence flag, but CCP puppets from day one.
China's game: arm rebels to bleed Myanmar economically/politically, then dangle Belt and Road cash. Irresistible for Naypyidaw.
Political/economic takeover gains dwarf black market premiums. Peanuts.
'Else they'd order Pakistani knockoffs.'
Handmade Pak copies: cheap, if iffy durability. Local M1911 Colts at ~40k won each. Bulk: 30k.
China's fading but not broke enough to skip. Demanding premium U.S. gear? Means caring about recipient combat edge, morale. And relations.
Asked her take.
"Your odds?"
"Myanmar 90, Thailand 10."
"More to squeeze from Myanmar?"
"Less squeezing—more soothing Myanmar elite/public backlash to past Wa support. Post-democratization, can't just gun down protests anymore."
Wa gear: Chinese from rifles to SAMs (bar self-made AKs). Her theory fits—launder image via U.S. kit.
Peace deal or not (à la Philippines), Wa's top threat.
"Pro-China regime not enough cover?"
"My read: yes. Long-game PR. Stakes like ports ain't minor. Don't want weak spots for friendlies."
"Hm."
Myanmar elites lapped Chinese cash ages ago. Unchanged post-election—military ceded power but holds key posts. Who's Beijing's lapdog? Only they and masters know.
"Here's the play."
Good idea hit.
"Let's do some laundering of our own while we're here."