P.O POV

Idiot. 

I mean, there are a lot of idiots here. Most are dead. But this one is new. A handsome face, blond hair. Strong bones. Blank expression. Tied to a pole. B-Bomb only managed to snag this one as the three sweets ran, and the the only reason he was able to get this one was the other blond, the giant one with a weird look on his face tripped on a barrel and this one stopped to help him. 

Well, this is what you get when you follow me to my crib and then try to get away without being seen. I mean, I'm not blind and B-Bomb hyung isn't blind. We both know this place a lot better than a random streeter. Zico will be happy that we at least got one, even though this one looks a lot harder to torture than the others. But the screamer might have been a lot more annoying. This one just sits here, eyelids lowered and eyes blank and bored. 

He looks like a gunner; long limbs, steady hands. He looks like he's survived a long time, in this brutal world. I can see a scar, just under his right ear, that traces its way to just under his chin, hidden from revealing light by his chin, but visible when hyung jerked his head back. He looks cool, composed. He can see him readying himself, shutting down his pain, clasping the locks on his mental, and physical armor. But we have to do something. 

So hyung walks up to the gunner. I hang back, leaning against the wall. No one is here, and the Block B crib is silent. B-Bomb slids over a chair and sits next to the gunner?

"What's your name?" He asks, and the gunner blinks open his eyes and turns his head to face hyung. His eyelids are still lowered, but I can see his cold hazel eyes in pieces, separated just barely by thin, light eyelashes. 

"Why?" He speaks for the first time, and his voice is cold, detached, indifferent, and hyung stretches himself back in the chair, a snake coiling up before a strike. 

"Just 'cause." 

The gunner looks, expression unreadable, his thin lips flat. "I'm okay." This is when hyung lands his first strike, a blow right to his jaw, but the gunner takes the hit silently, his expression still flat and bored. 

"Are you sure?" B-Bomb hyung asks him, and I can tell he's adding steel to his words. We don't have much time. We need to get out, today, before the two come back for the gunner. If we weren't expecting them, B-Bomb could take a week to derail them, but right now, we just don't have the time. 

"Yes." The gunner looks to me meet my eyes, and stares at me, even as B-Bomb, effortlessly, lands another punch to his cheek. 

"Keep going," the gunner continues. "You'll be dead before I am." Something in his unreadable eyes gives me pause. It's almost liek he knows something we don't know, and he thinks we should. I know B-Bomb catches it to, and he presses the gunner, searching for information. 

"Who? Who's gonna kill me?" He asks, now letting his tone get aggressive. 

The gunner lets a wry smile invade his otherwise motionless lips. He's somehow untouchable, this one. "Well, hopefully the trigger will come. Then it would just be a big party."

The trigger? This guy isn't making sense, to me, and to B-Bomb, from the look of it. The trigger? The trigger of what? 

B-Bomb's eyes fasten to the gunners, and the blond returns his stare easily with his heavy eyes. 

"I think you might wanna take a hit at 'im instead of me. After all, you started this whole death-thing because of it, didn't you?" The blond gunner said, and I had to remind myself to keep my face blank. I had no idea what this guy was talking about. 

Just then, as B-Bomb drew back his hand once again, a thud and a whispered curse shot through the silence, and I froze, as did B-Bomb. The gunner smiled a wry, sarcastic smile then.

"Look who it is. The carge." 

And then I saw a boot coming straight at my face, and out of the corner of my eyes, I see a streeter with wide eyes running in. 

I duck, twisted as I do, reaching in to snag my gun. I had it cupped in my hands, finger wrapped on the trigger, before I straightened. A young-looking streeter with messy black hair and dark eyes stared defiantly at me. I recognize him. Poker. With D.O. D.O here now, circling with B-Bomb. Hyung wore a snarl on his face, eyes alight, muscles loose and ready. Another one was running in, and I recognized him as the giant with the face from earlier.

The nailer reached up and twisted the gun so it was pointing at me, and at the same time, used the momentum from grabbing onto my gun to vault himself up and land a kick to my gut. I dropped to avoid the blow, and as I did, yanked the nailer forward to slam the heel of my hand into his unprotected neck. His head snapped back, but as he recovered, he drew back his arm to my stomach. I twisted to the side as he did, and a split second after the first blow, the nailer slammed a hand with ringed fingers into my mouth, and I reeled back, tasting blood. 

As I did, I heard the thud of something heavy hitting the floor, and a responding snarl that didn't sound like B-Bomb. We were outnumbered, 4 to 2. But it sounded like one of them was down, and I wasn't about to lose to a couple of rookies. I brought my knee up, my gun gone, but missed, and the nailer used to opportunity to swing at my head. I ducked and then reached up, locked my fingers around the slim wrist above me, and clasped my fingers around it. Unfolding, I drew back, trapping the writhing nailer, and landed my fist straight into his face, knocking him off balance. 

I drew back, preparing for a blow that never came. The nailer was backing off, eyes thinned to slits. I could see his eyes dart to B-Bomb, who had one in a headlock. The other was on the floor, and the gunner was busy biting through the rope that we had tied him to the chair with. He snarled at me, eyes dark and dangerous, and to me, it looked like if he wanted to, this nailer could go to another gang. Us, even. He was that good. So why did he stay? 

I spat to the side, blood. And then I met the eyes of the nailer, and B-Bomb let go of the one he had in a headlock, pushing him back. The gunner smoothly sat up, and the strode to the door. He tilted his head sharply, signaling them to go. At least he knew when he was beat. 

The nailer his lips, but stayed still. The one on the floor groaned and got up, and as he did, I recognized him as the carge. D.O. I snarled at him. 

"You wanna go again, brast?" I spat at him, and I could see recognition dawning in his wide eyes. He snarled back, but the other one, the blond gunner, snapped his fingers at him. 

"Come on," he said to D.O and the nailer, cool voice even. The nailer sent me a smirk, his eyes hooded and dark, and spun around, with easy grace, and loped to the door and vanished. D.O connected his eyes with mine, and his face twisted. 

He pointed at me, and then, movements clear, drew his finger across his throat. And then he ran out the door. The gunner let out a little sigh, shaking his head tinily. Before he left, he paused, and turned back to us. 

"It's perfectly understandable to hate the carge," he said evenly. "But do you really have to make war?" 

And then he vanished.

~~~~~

Okay. So I'm sorta running out of inspiration for this fic. It's just, literally no one comments. I mean, I try on my updates and I at least want to hear how I did. I don't think it's incredibly unreasonable to ask you type a sentence or two. Okay?