I know not why there is such a melancholy feeling attached to the remembrance of past happiness, except that we fear that the future can have nothing so bright as the past.

Press your thumb there, overlap fingers there. Don't touch this, but always hold that. Don't keep your finger on the trigger when not aiming, and align the barrel with your target. Get a good feel of the cold metal in your hands. Her second shot fired threw a hot shell into her face, tapping the plastic safety goggles and making her jerk back in surprise, but not drop the gun.

Jongdae was shooting targets in the next stall, his aim on point as he gauged out the hearts of his enemies. Zitao repeatedly tries to straighten her arms out as she slouches in position, hands shaking. If she was to look on the future a few months in the past, she'd laugh in the fortune teller's face for saying such nonsense. But this was all real, she was feeling it's effects. The targets aren't real people, she tells herself, but they might be one day.

What difference did it make? She already shot a man once - almost killed him - yet she felt nothing about it. Maybe because he was endangering her life, and it's always a human's first reaction to survive. Whether it will be fight or flight is the question that flows through the synapses in nanoseconds to respond to whatever situation you're in. It's just thousands of constant electrical charges induced by moving sodium and potassium ions, yet it saves lives or endangers them more.

Whatever her first response was, she acted on whim and instinct, and that attracted the people that once wanted her in jail. She tried to go for their request, but one sassy man stopped her from paying for her mistakes the old fashioned way. Why she went along with it was still a mystery she had to figure out about herself. Maybe it was just all part of fight or flight; maybe part of her brain sent a message out that said taking this job would result in her survival. Everything was about life.

But, if that was true, then why did people enjoy death. Why stop on the side of the road when there's been a car accident? Why watch a horror movie to induce adrenaline? The world feeds off of the fact that we lived, despite those who have died. It's our basic response to a tragedy, and that's how we get over them.

Seung lived, her mother didn't. She wasn't going to be like the rest of the world and celebrate her survival; she was going to think about how it would've been better if she died instead. If only the current was stronger, maybe she could've, but then her mom would have been swept away too. Maybe she should've believed for a slower river, then neither of them would have been in danger. She couldn't say it was her fault when it was the water that struck it's hand - the same substance that provides life - but it didn't feel any different.

But, now was not the time to reflect on her past. She'd done enough of that for today. Her finger tugs on the trigger and she aligns the barrel of the gun, finding the little markers on the top that told her where to point. Zitao watches from behind, crossing his arms as she takes the shot.

The target's head receives a hole in the center and Seung blinks, lowering the firearm. She can't hear Zitao's words as he speaks, probably a comment of approval, because of the thick earmuffs that served as protection from the loud, booming sound the pistol gave off after each try. But, in reality, it was the white noise that wouldn't stop buzzing in her brain that stopped her from processing his words. They were a faint muffle that she didn't want to pay much attention to as he spoke.

She knew the white noise was there, but she embraced it. It served as a fine tuning like a radio, as if she could twist a knob and decide what to think and do. She's already been forcing herself to contain her emotions once more, so it's purpose was well served. It was a process that caused Jongdae to hurt for her as he watched her threaten to tear apart by the potential energy she had stored away. One day, it was going to kill her, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Instead, the agent plans his husband's birthday party. Most of the time they only had small events between the two of them, but maybe he could amp it up for a third wheel to try and join the fun. It wasn't much, but he wanted to bring a smile back to Seung's face somehow. This desire was fueled by the months they spoke to each other strictly through online chat, but it was enough.

Whether she liked it or not, Seung made friends in odd places, and, like last time, the new arrival was impossible to shake off. Unlike the other, however, she was in no danger this time, and it brought her a heavy sort of peace. She shakes off the white noise and begins to listen once more as Zitao concludes that day's work, telling her how to put the gun away and disarm it. Before she goes, however, he hands her a thick booklet that holds the basics for her short-term learning perio