Chapter 6

Jongdae had no idea what he made of Kang Yena, or what to make of her.

The largest issue at hand was definitely the fact that she didn’t seem affected by his touch, and following close to that, the fact that she looked pretty much identical to Yujin. The first in itself was confusing enough—even people in the Sicari avoided him because they knew that one scrape meant death—but she’d been completely fine, and he was dead certain that she had touched his hand that day in Beijing. It had been ninety six years since he’d had the curse, and not one person had ever been immune to it.

If that wasn’t enough, the next was far from coincidental. Maybe it could’ve been as a standalone—there were some subtle differences, so they weren’t exactly identical—but coupled with the first, he started to wonder if the Sicari was messing with him.

It didn’t seem possible, though. Even if they had the technology or ability to create a person immune to his touch and at the same time look like Yujin (which he wasn’t sure they even knew about), Yena seemed far too normal a person to be part of anything like that. There wasn’t nearly enough information about both her and his own powers for him to dig deeper, and going to the Sicari for information was a last resort that he was determined not to use. Still confused about the two things, he trudged towards the direction of his apartment.

The streets were empty, the only light from the flickering street lamps, some of which were threatening to go out. The night sky was too cloudy for him to even see the light of the moon, much less stars. Sticking his hands in his pockets, Jongdae hurried on. The last time he had checked, his watch told him it was nearing twelve, and that was a while ago.

Thunder seemed to rumble in the distance, clouds condensing even though it was already dark. He glanced back at the alley he was in. Being alone in the dark didn’t exactly bother him, but there was something that made him quicken his steps, wanting to get out of the alley. It was irrational because nothing could happen to him even if he wanted it to, but there was an inkling about something that wasn’t quite right, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it either.

The answer came two other turns down, just a couple of blocks from the main road where his apartment would be. Jongdae normally didn’t stay out so long after dark unless it was a hit that required it (normally it didn’t—touching someone was subtle enough), and coupled with the fact that he hadn’t eaten dinner yet and had meeting with the Sicari had turned the day downright horrible.

And then something moved behind him.  Jongdae whirled around, turning towards the shadows, but he couldn’t see anything in the dark, and just at that moment, a droplet of rain splattered down. He stood still, staring at the spot behind him as the rain started to fall harder, splashing onto the pavement beneath his feet. He turned back. Maybe it had been a mouse.

Slipping off his gloves, he held a hand out. The water was cool, and a wind had picked up with the storm, snaking through the alleys, bringing the droplets down at a sharp angle. He squinted through the rain, clothes already soaking through. There was still at least another ten minutes of walking if he was fast.

He didn’t make it even three more steps before he caught sight of movement behind him again. Jongdae whirled around, and the moment he did, a gunshot sounded right behind him.

Fifty years ago, he still had trouble controlling both speed and strength, especially in situations like that (the first time his senses had kicked in and he’d ran into a wall because he’d been going too fast), but years of practice made it easy. The bullet sped past him, a blur. He hadn’t even had time to think about what was happening when two things happened at once—the attacker had fired a second bullet and the one behind him lunged, taking advantage of the momentary distraction.

Caught off guard, he managed to evade the first bullet, but the second man had tackled him to the ground, a knife in hand. Jongdae managed to twist to the side and throw him off, but it wasn’t before the knife caught him on the side, cutting hard. Whoever the attacker was—his only glimpse was that the man was completely dressed in black, face hidden—knew what they were doing, because the singular blow they had managed to land was deadly accurate, fatal for a normal person. The second bullet struck somewhere on his back—he felt the impact and then pain for a second, then it was gone and he shook it off, turning towards the direction of the gunshot.

Jongdae got to his feet. He was pretty sure he had grabbed the man who had tackled him when he’d thrown him off, but it was only for a brief second, which meant that his power would’ve taken longer to come into effect. His suit was completely soaked from being tackled to the ground, and apart from that, it was ripped completely at the side where the man had tried to knife him.

He wasn’t bleeding (hadn’t really in the past ninety four years), but it was still unpleasant. He turned towards the direction of the shooter, who had stepped out from the pile of cardboard boxes he’d been standing behind, gun aimed at Jongdae’s head. He was at least fifteen paces away—he didn’t particularly want to let anyone leave unscathed, even if one of the two was already dead.

Jongdae folded his arms, scanning his surroundings. There was at least a hundred more feet towards the main road, which was sufficient time for him to catch the man, but he wasn’t sure if the two were operating alone. The last thing he wanted to was unleash his power in case there was people inside. “What do you want with me?” he asked, taking a step towards the man. His hand tightened, finger moving towards the trigger.

The gun dropped towards his chest. “Don’t move,” he heard him warn.

“You can’t shoot,” he replied, taking another step forward. The man must’ve known because his arm shook, but he still didn’t pull the trigger. “Who sent you? The Sicari?”

The next gunshot was deafening amidst the pitter patter of rain.

The bullet grazed past his shoulder, barely more than just a nuisance, and then Jongdae sprinted towards him. The man had the same idea because he turned around to run, gun forgotten.

He was fast, Jongdae noted, at least for a normal human. Less than a couple seconds later he had caught up, reaching for the exposed part of the man’s wrist, yanking him to a halt.

A less accurately aimed bullet was shot, missing by at least half a meter. He kept his grip on the man’s wrist until he stopped struggling, and the moment he let go, he collapsed, gun dropping to the ground too.

Three seconds, Jongdae estimated, staring down at the attacker. He had slumped on the ground, barely supported by the brick wall behind him. He was still breathing, but it had turned laboured, weakly scrabbling for the weapon just an arm’s reach away, as if he still clung onto the hope that somehow the gun would work even if he could raise it and shoot, despite the four other bullets that Jongdae had already evaded and the failed attack with the knife.

He kicked the gun away before the man could grab it. It landed around ten feet away with a splash and without another moment of hesitation, reached down and yanked the mask off the man.

He couldn’t have been over thirty five, maybe even in his late twenties. Through half-lidded eyes, the man glared up at him, though he was already having trouble keeping his head lifted. Fear was obvious on his face, pain, but on top of that, anger. “Who sent you?” Jongdae repeated. “Was it the Sicari?”

A cough tore at the man. “What the hell are you?”

“I’m not the one who attacked a stranger when he was just going home,” Jongdae snapped. “Why did you do this?”

The only thing he got was another weak cough before his head completely dropped, lolling to the side. Cursing, Jongdae bent down next to him and reached for his wrist to check the pulse, even though touching him again meant hurrying the process if he weren’t already dead.

There was nothing. Irritated, he stood up again, scowling at the figure dressed in black, collapsed messily against the wall, the gun a couple of paces away. There was nothing he could do there, so he turned back towards the alley, where the one with the knife had been.

The black figure on the ground wasn’t where Jongdae had left him. The man had crumbled in the middle of the road, most likely in the process of trying to get away.

The last thing Jongdae wanted to do was linger, but he forced himself to go check. The face behind the mask was just as foreign as the last one had been, the knife still clutched in his hands. Disgruntled, he stepped away from him.

The alley was still empty, and it was still raining. Apart from the fact that suit was torn on the side and he was a bit more soaked than he would’ve been before, nothing was really different. He wasn’t hurt, but, mood considerably worse than he had started off, Jongdae started his walk towards the street again, passing by the shooter in the process. There wasn’t anywhere to hide the bodies except behind piles of garbage, and it was probably a good idea to get away from the scene before someone came, especially because there had been at least four gunshots.

It wasn’t exactly something that frightened him—he’d been attacked before, and it had never been an issue for him when it came to getting hurt, but it was still annoying. Especially when he had no clue where both came from, or how they even knew of him. Staring at the unmoving figure, he paused, anger boiling. It wasn’t as if he chose to do what he did. The curse was bad enough, but to be forced to use a power he hated…

Turning away, Jongdae forced himself to calm down, mentally taking a screenshot of both the men’s faces. He was a couple paces past them already, trying to figure out if it was worth trying to improve his mood when the glimmer of something on the sidewalk caught his eye.

The handgun the man had. It was black, the polished metal reflecting the minimal light of the flickering streetlamps, but what really stood out was the small emblem at t