El Munissioneer (1)
The seasons shifted, and autumn arrived. November in Seoul was chaotic. The world-class public safety the city once boasted had deteriorated sharply. Children could no longer play late into the night, and even back alleys became places to avoid in broad daylight. The frequency of patrol cars racing through urban areas with sirens blaring had noticeably increased as well.
Every other day, headlines screamed about criminals displaying superhuman physical abilities. They outran pursuits not on roads but through impossible paths, committing crimes of a nature once rare or inconceivable. The shadows of this metropolis of ten million grew ever darker and deeper with each passing day.
Yet Seoul remained one of the safest cities on earth. This was because global public safety had plummeted even faster than the city's own decline. And it wasn't just safety—humanity's entire systems were utterly unprepared for the new era. The severe recession sparked by the plague from China only exacerbated the chaos.
In this world, I found myself facing a young punk.
"Hey, mister."
The kid sucking on his cigarette glared at me and exhaled a puff of smoke. The word "mister" came out more like "miss-ter" in his sloppy drawl. A faint lipstick stain marked the filter. He took another drag and peeled himself off the wall he'd been leaning against.
"What're you staring at? You got business with us?"
His crew, lounging alongside him, stirred lazily and circled me. Hands jammed in pockets, shoulders slumped, postures cocked at cocky angles—they thought it looked cool, these immature kids. Barely legal by age, but mentally still in school uniforms.
I ignored them and called out my target's name.
"Do Won-hee."
A flinch. The cigarette's glow dimmed as his lips dried out.
Today's prey, Do Won-hee, narrowed his eyes fiercely.
"Who the hell are you, mister? How do you know my name?"
"Baek Seung-yeon. Remember her?"
"...Hah, fuck."
The target let out an incredulous laugh. Four years ago, then a third-year middle schooler, Do Won-hee had teamed up with this very gang to drive classmate Baek Seung-yeon to attempt suicide. Beatings, isolation, extortion, prolonged forced prostitution. Yet when Do faced court, he got probation and a suspended sentence—for just one year. Even accounting for his youth, it was a slap on the wrist.
This was because Baek had clung to life in a coma at the time, thanks to the power of Do's upper-class cartel parents and the vast hierarchical gap between Do's uncle and Baek's father.
"This is bullshit, fuck."
Do flicked away his cigarette and ground it underfoot, staring me down.
"You know that bitch's dad? How'd you find me here? You been tailing me or some shit?"
"Say I have."
"Say my ass. That's fucking hilarious. Hey, mister. That's a crime, you know? Crime. Wanna take a trip to the station with your buddies? I can make it happen right now."
The gang snickered. Emboldened, Do stepped closer, chin jutted out.
"What, her dad send you to beg for more cash? If he needs money, that cripple should crawl here himself. Sending a friend instead? That's no sincerity. If the gimp knelt and begged, maybe I'd ask my dad to pull some strings, out of respect."
I shook my head.
"Not that."
"Then what?"
"He wants me to kill you. With his own hands."
"...Huh?"
Beep-beep-beep-beep.
A large truck's reverse signal echoed from the alley's far end. Its white trailer side swung in, blocking the late afternoon sun. One of our organization's mobile workshops.
Sensing the ominous vibe, Do's face hardened.
"What the— what what what."
The opposite exit was blocked by a screeching van and the heavy footsteps of men piling out. Five suits, hands neatly clasped: Kyung-tae and the security detail.
Do backed away from me.
"You fucking... Do you know who my parents are?"
"I do. But do you know who I am?"
"Who gives a shit!"
His fierce shout carried clear fear as he retreated further. Backed against the wall, Do called out to one of his gang who hadn't retreated as far.
"Hey! Ppum-gyu! Do something!"
The one called Ppum-gyu glanced around like a cornered animal, then yelled, "Fuck this!" and whipped out a butterfly knife. Park Beom-gyu. Like the rest, a punk with connected parents. As the princess's lackey stacking karma, his reaction was sharper than average. Still just a kid, though.
The handle and blade spun with metallic flashes and clicks. Trendy these days. He thought it intimidating, a street trick—but to me, it was like a scissors dance at the market. Flashy gimmicks had no place in a real fight.
This bookish-looking guy snarled, swinging the knife.
"I'll kill you... Fuck, I'll kill you!"
"Try it."
His unrefined slashes aside, the raw power and speed were off the charts. Signs of physical reinforcement. Impressively so.
Click-click-click.
Meanwhile, Do frantically thumbed his pager. Too bad—the driver and guards meant to respond were already taking an acid bath in the mobile unit. Lives built on dirty bonuses beyond mere protection; they'd braced for such "accidents." Like how I never forgot fear.
Even lions die gored by gazelles sometimes.
Do shrieked, clutching the pager.
"Ppum-gyu, you idiot! Grab a hostage! What're you all doing, not helping him!"
Then, cupping hands toward the wall beyond: "Help! There's a psycho killer here!"
That was why I'd come personally. Do's screams couldn't pierce the telekinetic barrier I'd deployed. Low-density telekinesis dispersed sound waves. Inspired by the Trembling Giant's mist damping noise, a new application.
Killing was simple enough without me, but I needed one alive. Caution was key. Plus, a strong impression for the new recruit. Debts were to be owed to me. As Do said, sincerity matters in relationships.
"Raaah!"
The knife-wielder charged, aiming to stab and hostage. I batted aside his wild swing and seized his exposed throat, twisting hard.
Crack.
Neck bones shifted under my grip. His tensed body went limp, dead weight.
Witnessing death, Do's gang's eyes filled with terror.
"Let go, you bastards!"
"Aaaah!"
"Sorry! Please spare us!"
The security team easily subdued the fleeing punks, snapping necks bloodlessly. Kyung-tae grabbed Do's leg as he tried scaling the wall, yanking him down.
Thud.
Do hit hard, scrambling on all fours before Kyung-tae's kick doubled him over.
Gurk.
A pathetic groan as he clutched his gut. Kyung-tae yanked his hair, dragging him like trash. Do's frantic kicks just propelled him along the ground.
I picked up the dropped knife and chimed in lightly.
"Easy. Fragile merchandise."
"Aw, hyungnim. This is premium customer service. Baek'll love it."
As we bantered, the truck's cargo door whirred open. Inside: hazmat-suited subordinates and a man who'd monitored via screens. Leaning on a cane, one leg lame, he rose and glared coldly at the dragged Do.
This was the client and new organization member: Baek Young-hoon, former Navy sergeant, father of the Baek Seung-yeon Do had killed.
Why "former"? Dishonorably discharged under pressure.
Soo-yeon had found him at a homeless shelter near Seoul Station. Valuable asset: once chief electrician on a Dolphin-class sub.
Following Kyung-tae aboard, the door sealed. Only then did he release Do, dumping him at Baek's feet. I dropped the corpse—Park Beom-gyu—crumpling beside.
"...Hic!"
Locking eyes with Baek, Do paled and crawled back. Hand still in pocket.
Click-click-click.
His hostage shout earlier showed precocious judgment. Left alone, he might've amounted to something.
"Dispose."
Hazmat crew moved the fresh corpses—Park included—to the tubs with the dead guards. Six sealed tanks on dual-axis stabilizers dissolved bodies stably on the move. Venting systems handled corrosive gas safely. Cruising quiet roads dispersed odors—no complaints.
Tears welled in Do's eyes.
"Please spare me."
No room left to retreat.
"Please, just once. Forgive me."
Couldn't even look at his gang entering the tubs.
"I... I really messed up. One chance, okay?"
Ignoring the sobs, arms crossed, I eyed Baek.
"Sergeant Baek Young-hoon. Can I consider you my subordinate now?"
"...Yes."
"Good. Speak freely from here on."
Baek's gloomy gaze shifted from Do to me. Sunken eyes like dried emotion wells, brimming only cold intent and murder. No regret—small satisfaction. Blind loyalty unlikely, but betrayal improbable. Eyes of a man without purpose or desire.
"Remember the deal?"
A faint nod.
"Life owed, life repaid. Right?"
"Exactly."
"When do I start?"
"After you recover."
A month and half ago, a homeless wreck from malnutrition and alcoholism. Building sub-endurance seaworthiness meant prolonged rehab. Circuit etching? Too early. Unless natural awakening forced it.
First sub acquisition would take time anyway. White Chief's contact on the "network salesman" just three days ago. Houston flight day after tomorrow, but hurdles galore to fruition.
Faint sobs from the workshop end.
"Spare me... Dad'll pay anything..."
Do Won-hee. Outwardly just a terrified coed, but no one bought the shell. Core was murderer. Adult or not, killers' tears are crocodile tears. Mine too, if I ever shed any.
"Could arrange privacy. Take your time venting."
Baek slowly shook his head.
"Here'll do."
"No regrets later?"
"Fine. Just clean up her parents proper."
"Done."
Parents who covered the crime would pay soon. Traffic "accident," simple. Uncle in military exposed for corruption later. Scandals would buzz, but alibis airtight.
"What're you talking about?"
Do, sobs halting, asked frantically.
"What're you planning for my parents!"
Loves them deeply, apparently.
"Tell me! Tell meee!"
Limping forward, Baek pinned the shrieking wretch violently. Frail ex-soldier or not, he was trained. Do's screams turned to grrrk gurgles.
Manicured nails clawed his forearm; sneakers thumped the floor briefly. Limp arms flopped to the cold deck. Blood seeped from burst vessels in her eyes. Like red ink dots on sclera.
The ex-soldier kept squeezing long after.