[AN: wait, how do I have subsribers before I've even posted the first chapter Well thank you for subscribing everyone! ^ ^  (I hope the finished first chapter doesn't turn out to be a disappointment for those asking for update... O.O )  So here is the first chapter of Point and Shoot.  It is from Hyuna's POV, which is why 'Hyuna' is in parentheses next to the heading.  That does not mean the first target is Hyuna.  1st, 2nd, 3rd Target is just how I'm going to name the chapters...

Before you read on (who knows, maybe you've just skipped over this and gone to the fic xD), please note that I am trying to juggle many different projects right now.  The count is at probably 5 or 6 and as I'm trying to work on working on them all equally, that means updates may not come out every week.  I can probably guarantee that they'll be this long though every time, so look forward to that?

I'm just going to shut up now.  Enjoy!]

            My name is Kim Hyuna and I’m a killer.

            Think I’m lying?  Piss me off and I’ll show you.  I’ve killed twelve people in the last month and I’m not afraid to kill you.  Why would I be?  You’re just a puny, normal person.  I bet you don’t even know how to kill, neither correctly nor effectively.  Why don’t you get your miserable face out of my life and I won’t need to prove it to you.  You’re nothing like me.

            Because you’re normal.

            What?  Why are you still here?  My god, some people just won’t quit…  Why are you bugging me, again?  You’re definitely not my target and I’m pretty sure I’m not yours.  So what do you want?  An explanation?  You want me to tell you why I’m a killer?  Seriously?  Well, you’re an odd one.  The only one who knows my past is my boss.  No one else tries to ask.  Alright, I’ll give you your explanation.  What exactly made Kim Hyuna the contract killer.  You’d better listen because I’m only going to tell you once.  I hate repeating myself.  So, here I go:

            My birth name is Kim Hyun-a and I was born in Daegu, Korea.  My parents were Kim Jeaki and Park Ae Sook.  They were a lawyer and a nurse.  As far as I was concerned, they had the ability to be the most irritating people on earth.  I wouldn’t have minded having them take a hop off a cliff…

            I can tell where you think I’m going with this.  No, I didn’t kill my parents.  I said they bored me, not that I hated them.  That’s all part of the story, so just wait for me to explain it.  You’re not very patient, are you?  Patience is a good quality to have, especially for a contract killer.  So is persistence.  A shame that you’re lacking in one of those or maybe I could have recruited you.  I was kind of starting to like you, too…

            But I digress.  Back to the story.  So, my parents could be a little irritating.  They were always saying things like “Hyun-a, do this, Hyun-a, do that, Hyun-a, why isn’t your schoolwork finished?”  Having the classic case of teenager rebellion syndrome, I didn’t listen to them very much.  I was always out playing or going on dates with boys.  I was pretty popular, you know?

            It all started when I started dating this boy named Sung Tae Jun.  He was the “bad boy” at my school and every girl around was dying to date him.  I was no exception.  I just about died when he asked me out.  I spent days upon days planning how I would do my hair for the date, what I would wear, what I would say, all of that.  It was going to be perfect.

            Little did I suspect that that date could ruin everything.

            Everything was going along great when

            “Hyuna!  God dammit, where are you?”

            I immediately slam the notebook I’m writing in shut, shoving it under the desk right as the door opens.

            He’s standing in the doorway, the person who you could say is my biggest annoyance and potentially my biggest rival.  It’s one sided rivalry, you could say, because as far as I’m concerned, there is no competition.  Simply put, we’re both in the same division and he has this habit of throwing a tantrum when I receive a particular assignment over him.  I’m good at what I do, can you tell?  But make no mistake, I’m not that arrogant.  I’m sure there are maybe a couple people around that are better than me…a couple.

            “The Boss wants you in his office,” the idiot (of course, that’s what I call him) informs me, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.  The idiot’s real name is Yun Kibum, but he goes by Eryk.  Why?  Because Yun Kibum was originally born in America and thinks that going by his American name will make girls fawn all over him.  Do you see why I call him the idiot?

            But an order from the Boss is something that you ignore only if you’re suicidal.  I stand, the metal chair of the desk I sit at scraping against the floor loudly in the silence that the idiot has induced while he waits for my reply.  It produces another grinding shriek as I push it back in and it bangs against the metal desk.  Metal, metal, metal.  My room is like a miniature prison.  I’m surprised its designer didn’t add bars to the windows or chains on the walls.

            I’m not required to answer him, but I can’t resist a chance to goad the idiot.  “How does it feel to be passed up for another job and sent as the messenger instead, Kibum?”

            His face says exactly how he feels as he glares at me, but he fails to comment on it.  Even if he is “the idiot,” any one of my colleagues have enough self-control to not physically react to something like that.  “My name is Eryk,” he only replies coolly, unmoving even as he stands in my way.  He probably thinks the implied threat can make me rescind my statement.

            “Sure it is, Kibum,” is the only thing I say as I push past him into the hall.

            My heels clink along in the empty hallway as I walk past a row of doors.  Doors that look exactly like mine, if not for the number plate on each one.  509.  508.  507.  506.  505.  504.  503.  502.  501.  500…

            At the end of the hall is the elevator, and my shoes stop clinking as I reach mouldly gray carpet.  This carpet has probably been here since I came to BREAK 8 years ago.  Probably since the organization was even founded.  The building used to be an asylum for the mentally insane, or so I’ve heard.  Who knows how old this carpet could be?

            The sound of running makes me turn.  Kibum is running after me.  I reach out and push the button for the elevator as he comes to a halt before the carpet.  Well, where is he going?  Surely he’s not following me.  I arch a single eyebrow, waiting for him to explain his presence.  “What do you want?”      

            I don’t know where Kibum’s been for the past week, but his appearance is similar to that of someone who’s been crawling through a dumpster.  A dumpster with broken bottles in it.  He’s grimy and bloody.  It makes me wonder what kind of assignment he could have been on.  (Then again, I also wouldn’t put it past Kibum to go dumpster diving if he thought it was necessary—oh, if he dropped something in there on accident?)  I’d ask just out of curiosity, but I get the feeling that Kibum won’t give me an answer, anyways.

            “Going…with…you!” he gasps, heaving as if he’s run 20 miles instead of 20 feet.  I heard Kibum has some respiratory problem, so maybe that’s why.  I might actually feel sorry for him if he didn’t look so ridiculous.

            “Well, why?”

            Ding.  As the elevator doors open, I walk in.  Kibum follows.

            “The boss says this assignment is important,” he manages without gasping like someone fit to die.  He leans back against the railing as I press the button for the ninth floor.  It’s the last and highest button because it’s the highest floor.  “I wanted to see why it was so important.”

            So he’s just spying and trying to figure out why he wasn’t chosen for the assignment.  I roll my eyes at his antics.  “Of course you do.”

            “6^th floor,” the mechanical voice in the elevator echoes as the metal box starts moving.  “7^th floor.  8^th floor…”

            “I was just curious.”

            “9^th floor.”

            Ding.  The doors open again.  I step out.  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

            He doesn’t say anything to that, but I see the irritation that crosses his face before I turn around.

            Our boss’ office lies at the end of the hall, room 900.  It’s a special room, you could say, because it’s the only room on this floor.  It’s also the only room that no one would dare to enter without permission.  There’s a rumor that someone tried once, a few years ago, and that was the last anyone saw of him.  Since then, everyone (even me) is careful to knock and wait for acknowledgement and approval before opening the door.

            It’s this door that I now stand in front of.  Even though I’ve been here dozens of times (while most minor assignments are given by section heads, major assignments are given directly by the boss.  Obviously I’ve had a lot of major assignments), my heart still pounds.  I swallow hard.  I raise my hand and knock on the door.

            Tap tap tap.  Me and Kibum wait a few moments in silence.  No one answers.  The door doesn’t open.

            “Well, that’s anticlimactic,” I hear Kibum mutter under his breath.

            I look at him.  Did the idiot drag me on a wild goose chase or what?  “He’s not in.”

            “He was in five minutes ago when he told me to go find you…”

            I’m about to point out in exasperation that his explanation is from five minutes ago and that it is actually possible for him to have left, but then a voice from inside speaks the necessary words.  “You may enter.”

            Forcing down the anxiety that rises at this (does he sound particularly…angry, for some reason?), I do.

            The man himself sits at the desk, his blacker than pitch hair glinting in the light the outside lets in.  His office is always dark.  I have to squint to see anything.  Eyes are supposed to adjust to dim light, but mine never do in here and as far as I’ve heard from others of my rank, theirs don’t either.  Could it be the fact that there is little to see?

            Before I continue, it is best to explain what exactly makes up our organization and how that attributes to our leader.  BREAK is an organization with merely one purpose; to do what either we want or what others pay us to do.  Most of the time those two overlap into one single thing: killing.  A disliked corporation head?  Competition?  Some sort of undesirable demagogue?  For the right price, we can take them out.  They can be the most corrupt executive or the most innocent child—to us, a face is just a face.  A target is just a walking heart and lungs.  Does it matter who that heart and lungs belongs to?  Not at all.

            The organization itself is made up of four divisions.  There’s the trainees, who are only recruits to be weeded out for use.  There’s the minors, more of the small time contract killers to do the little jobs.  There’s the majors, the people like me who take out the important ones.  And there’s the ones who do just about everything else.  Every division has its own specific head.  People in the division respond to their division head and the division heads respond to the boss.  And the boss responds to no one.  He calls the shots.  We listen whether we want to or not.

            The boss only has one title and that’s, well the boss.  No one knows his real name.  No one knows anything about him despite the fact that he’s our leader.  No one’s ever dared to ask.  He could be anywhere from 20-40.  His age is almost impossible to guess because he always wears this mask that covers the upper half of his face.  The only thing visible is dark eyes that stare through the eye holes and his mouth.  His face is lineless.  He never laughs.  He never smiles.  He’s kind of like a human robot.

            Rumors, ones that attempt to explain the mystery surrounding him, can always be heard whispered in the halls.  “He has scars all over his face.”  “Half of his face is made of metal, like a machine.”  “He’s actually really ugly and doesn’t want anyone to see it.”  The ideas have ranged from ridiculous to plausible, and we’ve heard them all.

            But no one’s brave (I would say stupid) enough to ask if any of the rumors are true.

            Absolute silence.  He doesn’t appear to be intent on explaining why he’s summoned me here, so I take the initiative.  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

            His name might as well be “sir.”  Nobody even calls him “Boss.”  It’s too familiar.  And I don’t think anyone wants to familiarize this man.

            “Miss Kim.”  He speaks with shocking formality.  Normally he’ll jus refer to us by last name and skip the titles.  I’m honestly not sure if his new habit signifies good or bad.  But his face remains expressionless.  I think I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it could be a trick of the light.  He nods to Kibum, making no comment on his presence.  “Mr. Yun.”

            He doesn’t continue.  I’m starting to get irritated but I have enough sense not to show it.  DId he bring me in here just to waste time and walk in circles around my assignment?  “So…”

            The eyes turn to the desk.  A pale hand picks up a gray file.  That’s one of the only parts of him that’s visible; the black suit he wears makes him blend into the walls.  “I assume you’ve already learned that you’re being given a new assignment.”

            “I have.”

            He holds out the file, and I take it, studying its contents curiously.  It’s the same routine as always, but this time the picture provided of the target catches my eye.

            Obviously it’s a candid shot, but there’s this look in the man’s eyes almost like he knows what’s going on.  In the picture he’s alone.  I wouldn’t say he looks like a commoner because he’s dressed in formal wear, but he’s walking with the sort of ease you only see from normal people.  The tranquility of the unsuspecting who don’t think they’re ever in danger is all over him.  Perhaps he’s some sort of businessman…?

            “Jang Hyunseung,” I read from the top of the page.  The top is where information on the target is supplied, but surprisingly I only see the basics.  Name, age, appearance.  Nothing like preferences, hobbies, locations most likely to be found in…the ones missing are the ones that are usually the most crucial to finding and eliminating the target.  But still, the name sounds familiar.  “Where have I heard that before?”

            The boss has no reaction but I see Kibum stiffen.  “Jang?” he asks, but any further words are stopped abruptly with a glare from the boss.

            “Jang Hyunseung is the name of a SIJ agent,” he supplies dully with no other explanation.  The explanation itself comes from Kibum, who mutters, “He’s also the son of their head and has been known to take out five of our agents at once—“

            One look from the boss silences him.  Kibum gulps and shoves his hands in his pockets.  “Sorry.”

            But with the explanation comes realization, and I can swear my blood suddenly runs cold.  Jang Hyunseung.  The last person who was assigned to a job involving him came back insane and mumbling gibberish and had to be put down.  From what I’ve heard, he’s crazy lethal.  Even my division leader (someone I would attribute to be the ‘couple’ of people better than me) is afraid of him.  He can’t seriously…

            “Your assignment is to find him.  And kill him.”