⁍•⁌

As soon as Chen steps into the Ely’xion bar his heart starts pounding, the tense sound reverberating from his chest to his ears.  He’s never run a job solo before. He’s never had to—EXO has always had his back.

But Chen is tired.  Tired of the lies, the deceit, and the slow erosion of his soul.  He has to get out, and he’s taking the kingpin down with him.

He stops in the middle of the crowded room, braces himself, and pulls both signature Glocks from the holsters inside his black leather jacket.  He’s already torn the EXO patch off the back of it, leaving holes piercing the leather just as they’re about to pierce the boss’s impeccably-tailored sport coat.  His gaze darts around constantly, keeping an eye on all the lowlifes getting drunk on a Saturday night. Most are too tipsy to interfere, but Chen won’t take any chances.  This is a job he must not fail.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Chen spits into the hush that has fallen over the bar.  

The silence is eerily absolute—someone must have unplugged the jukebox since VIXX are cut off in the middle of deciding if they should stay or go.  It’s a dilemma Chen can too easily relate with.

“I’m sure I don’t know to what you are referring,” EXO’s leader says casually, continuing to polish his precious bar like a wild-haired livewire isn’t training two guns on him.

Of course the ice-cold er is calm.  Chen has always admired and detested that about him.  The man known only as Xiumin is always cool and collected, merely blinking those huge almond-shaped eyes when something goes awry.  

And things have been going awry a lot lately.  Botched jobs, members incarcerated, some of them even killed.  Chen refuses to hang for someone else’s mistakes, which means taking matters into his own hands to eliminate all of his stress.

“That’s a pity,” Chen snarls.  “It would to be executed for an offense you don’t remember committing.”

A movement to Chen’s side causes him to point his left-hand pistol in the direction of the VIP table used by EXO’s higher-ups when the boss is playing at bartender.  Today it’s occupied by Xiumin’s second, a man called Suho whose angelic face hides a truly rotten soul. Next to him is EXO’s head enforcer, a compact, always-glaring man who’s almost as good with a gun as Chen himself.  His street name, D.O., is an abbreviation for “don’t offend,” but Chen is about to do just that.

D.O. was only doing his job when he went for his gun, but Chen isn’t letting anyone interfere with his vendetta.  The head enforcer might have a reputation for being vicious, ruthless, and fearless, but Chen knows his weakness. He’s EXO’s intelligence officer, after all—it’s literally his job to know.

“Tell your guard dog to stand down if he doesn’t want a hole in his pretty little plaything’s chest.”  

The plaything in question—a leggy dancer who’s about as dangerous as a kitten—is standing behind the bar as well, making it easy for Chen to threaten all four men at once.  But while the dancer’s dark eyes are wide with terror, from the gang leader Chen merely receives a placid blink.

“You wouldn’t,” the gang leader states, voice soft as velvet.  “You’ve never been able to harm innocents, Chenny—isn’t that why we’re having this conversation?”

“So you do know why I’m here,” Chen accuses, then squeezes off a shot  to his left that plows into the plaster between the heads of the second and the head enforcer.  “Lucky for me, no one in this bar is innocent.”

“Neither are you,” Xiumin points out, still rubbing conditioning wax over the already-gleaming wood.  “What’s the life of a punk- street rat to someone who already has so much blood on his hands?”

“He’s a child,” Chen counters.  “Nobody lives forever—especially around here—but everyone should at least get to drink and before they go, preferably at the same time.”

“I can assure you that Mark has done both.  He refuses to do wetwork or move product for us, and there aren’t many other ways for a slender pretty boy to feed himself.”

“He’s barely a teenager,” Chen shouts.  “I understand you putting out a hit on me, but taking out a kid is low even for you.”

Xiumin only shrugs.  “I made my bones when I was thirteen.  There’s no such thing as childhood on these streets.”  

He rests his right elbow on the bar, setting his perfectly-pointed chin into the cradle of his hand.  “I’ve been a very patient man, ChenChen. I tolerated the kid hanging around even though he wasn’t contributing, but it was way past time the boy started pitching in or disappeared.  Since he repaid my charity with betrayal, I’m not sure what else you expect me to do.”

“Call it off,” Chen demands.  “Take me out if you must—I know somebody’s gotta die for the gang to redeem itself after that cluster.  But let the kid go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Chen.  You know how Zitao operates—once he takes the money, the hit can only be canceled if the original contractor dies.  You really think you can walk into my castle and take me out? Please.”

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Chen spits.  “But you’ve left me no choice.”

“There is always a choice, Chenny.  You of all people should understand that perfectly.”  The gang leader gives Chen a knowing smile.

That ethereal smirking face will be seared into Chen’s mind forever.  His eyes threaten to water, so Chen takes his shot while he can still see well enough to do it.

He takes three shots, actually.  The gun in his right hand belches fire at the boss, who crumples with a surprised little grunt.  At the same time, the gun in Chen’s left hand sends two more bullets toward the dangerous men lounging at the VIP table, one after the other.  It happens so quickly that there are only two bangs for the three shots. Chen isn’t called the Lightning Kid for nothing, after all.

It takes an entire heartbeat for the bar to erupt in chaos.

“ing stand down or I’ll end all of you asswipes,” Chen screams over the noise of the crowd.  

The tipsy hoodlums quickly decide they’d rather sip their beer than eat a bullet, though there’s still an uneasy murmur rumbling through the bar.  Chen turns to the two men slumped against the VIP table to his left, each clamping one hand tightly over gushing wounds to their right biceps. Chen made sure that they’d have to choose between attempting to shoot him with their non-dominant hand or keeping themselves from bleeding out, knowing that the pair of calculating bastards would save their own skins rather than avenge a man no longer alive to reward or punish them.

“You’ve each saved my once, so this is your thanks—a life spared for a life saved.  I promised Xiumin’s mama I’d lay him to rest somewhere beautiful if anything ever happened to him, and you know I never break my promises.”

“You promised your life to EXO,” Suho grits out between clenched teeth.

“And I’ve given it,” Chen says, holstering the gun in his right hand as he walks to where Xiumin’s form is draped over the bar.  “Xiumin was my life—without him, I’m nothing. As soon as my duty to his mother is fulfilled, I’ll be following him to hell.”

A massive pool of blood is ruining all of the gang leader’s obsessive polishing, lurid red overflowing the channels in the bartop meant to corral spilled beer.  It drips onto the toes of Chen’s shoes as he hoists the limp body over one shoulder, grateful to his burden for insisting he keep him company at the gym. He’s grateful to Xiumin for a lot of things, and he rubs the tears from his eyes with the back of the hand still holding a pistol on the stunned crowd.

Leaving a trail of blood spatters behind him as he crosses the room, Chen pauses by a trembling man near the door who’s evidently sober enough to be freaked the out by the turn of events.  “Call Zitao right now and tell him the hit is off,” he commands, gun aimed at a place that encourages a man’s ready cooperation.

The guy immediately fumbles with his phone.  Chen waits until he hears Zitao answer but he doesn’t need to stand there while the man stammers out an explanation of EXO’s change in leadership.  Chen’s mildly curious as to whether Suho will lead the gang to new heights or if the information Mark provided to the police will take the gang apart, but Chen isn’t going to stick around to see it happen either way.

⁍•⁌

Chen’s bike is in the lot but he needs a bigger vehicle to carry his burden.  He raps a bloody knuckle on the window of a beat-up sedan, startling the baby-faced kid about to head into the bar.

“Pop the trunk,” Chen demands, flashing the gun at the guy to distract him from staring in horror at the red smudge on his window.

The kid hastens to comply and Chen unceremoniously drops the ex-gang leader into the back of the car, ensuring all the man’s limbs and clothing are tucked inside before slamming the boot shut.  He doesn’t want anything suspicious hanging out.

He wrenches open the passenger door and folds himself into the seat beside the trembling kid.  “Drive,” he commands, gesturing with the gun still in his left hand. “And don’t ing speed—the last thing we need is to be pulled over.”

The kid nods and carefully pulls out of the parking lot and into the flow of traffic, driving like a senior citizen until they’ve left the lights of Seoul far behind them.  The passing landscape is growing more and more pastoral, and when they come upon a knot of trees standing regally beneath the star-drenched sky, Chen decides they’ve gone far enough.

“Pull over,” he instructs, getting another anxious nod.  

When the vehicle comes to a stop on the side of the road, Chen gets out and goes around to the trunk, reaching inside to grab the man he once swore lifelong loyalty to.

“,” Xiumin says as he lets Chen haul him out of the cargo compartment.  “Those squibs really ing hurt. My ’s going to be ing purple for weeks.”

Once properly on his feet he shrugs out of his ruined sport coat, tossing it back into the trunk on top of the empty blood donation packets that the man had filled weeks before.

“Sacrifices must be made,” Chen chuckles, pulling the man he loves into a tight hug.

The bruised man yelps but hugs him back, pressing bloody lips to Chen’s cheekbone to earn an answering squawk.  “So they must,” Xiumin agrees, releasing Chen and using his cleanest sleeve to wipe the worst of the blood off his face before heading around to the driver’s side of the car.

Chen tosses his own bloody jacket on top of Xiumin’s ruined clothes along with both firearms, hoping to have no need for either blanks or live rounds in the future.  He slams the trunk shut and strides around to the front passenger seat, sighing as he settles into the vehicle. He’s the only one in the car since the kid has evidently vacated the driver’s seat.

“Good to see you, Mark,” Xiumin greets the lanky kid.

Mark collapses into Xiumin’s arms.  “You’re driving now, right?”

“Of course I am—you don’t actually have a license and Chenny’s driving makes me anxious.  I’ve had enough heart pounding for one day.”

Relieved, the kid happily wedges himself into the back seat beside the giant pile of luggage as Xiumin adjusts the seat and mirrors to suit his shorter frame.

“I’m Kim Minseok, by the way,” he says, meeting Mark’s eyes in the mirror and giving the kid a smile.

“Kim Jongdae,” Chen says, twisting a little to nod a greeting at the kid.

“Lee Minhyung,” Mark introduces.  “Nice to meet you, hyungs.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Minseok grins as Jongdae nods acknowledgement.  “Ready to start genuine lives to match our real names?”

“Absolutely,” Mark smiles.  “That was like a thriller movie.  Don’t mind me as I sit here quietly, trying to get my breath back.”

To Jongdae, it’s more like a romance.  He can’t stop smiling at the man who is his whole world, even if his beautiful face is still smeared with his own blood.  Noticing the scrutiny, Minseok gives his lover a few bashful glances, smile blooming as he reaches to twine their fingers together.

Jongdae smiles back at the man his life belongs to.  He may have turned his back on gang life, but he's still a man who keeps his promises. 

⁍•⁌