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hesloaded · 4 years ago

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Vulnerability is a state of being he wouldn’t ever again fail to recognize. Or underestimate.

12:11 AM.

Lately, Jiwon considers himself to be a liberal. Or at the very least—with the intention of abandoning such unequivocal labels—an open minded and able-bodied adult who is conscious enough to make serious decisions, and confidently speak up for himself in any given situation. Therefore the whole conundrum of politics has never been his cup of tea.

The idea of practically kissing at the feet of another person, simply because they are the chosen one to momentarily hold all the power and favour over his life and many others alike them, was a concept he deeply execrated. He believes that he belongs to no one but himself, and he will always do anything within the power he owns himself, as a solitary standing against a plethora of pretentious cowards, to keep it that way. And clearly so.

Which is why the uniform he is dressed in now feels like an infinitely itchy second skin. And it gets more unbearable to handle with each passing night he's had to sit by past midnight silence and do this shit. There were no exceptions, and any times after finally completing his task, he would return to his apartment half dressed and cold, due to him not being able to withstand the amount of restraint required to keep the thing on any further past the two hours it takes for him to do his job properly. And honestly, stripping in the car while in stop lights or speeding on the highway home was oddly satisfying to him. It felt right.

Tonight, though, is supposed to end immensely different than the rest. That's his only consolation as he settles lower into the thick leather of the car seat with a gaping yawn, and brings the gloved heels of his broad palms to his tired eyes–the hazel coloured contacts he has on shifting out of spot only slightly. A faux habit he doesn’t forget to perform almost every night since after getting hired. Everything he’s been doing has simply been just methodic performance. The way he behaves, walks, does his hair, and even his skin is inauthentic—he covers his tattoos with time and dedication before leaving when needed, in case anyone decided to inspect him so close they would notice that he wasn’t who he's claiming to be.

There’s camera surveillance peppered all around the looming, sky-scraping building, and a few more pairs of eyes stationed around the property’s perimeters and corners, respectively. Jiwon has been studying them for the past few weeks, expertly noting patterns and even memorizing schedules in relation to the structure’s entire anatomy. All of the men were usually armed and equipped enough for the kind of modest work that they do, yet to him, they looked like amateurs.

Jiwon reckons he can take them all down in about six minutes tops if he could risk touching any gun now, though he doesn’t have to. They prance around in the chilly dark with their hands seemingly stuck to their pocketed flashlights and loaded arms, or tucked inside their thick puff-vests to keep the frost away from their fingers. Some sneak out of sight to have a quick smoke, or use the toilet. Really, there was next to no fun to have there. If he were lucky, two of them would stand long enough against him to force a gap between him aiming and pulling the trigger.

“Jung, come in. This is Baek. Are you there?” The walkie talkie starts buzzing from it’s mount, statics active as the firm speech of his co-worker comes in from the other end. Jiwon reaches for it immediately after the second message. “Jung, this is Baek. Come in.”

“Yes, sir. Jung here. Go ahead.” He responds with the press of a button, weaving a convincing American accent around his Korean as he speaks his mother-tongue.

He’s careful to keep his expression as flat as his tone, as cameras and possibly recorders might be catching all of these mundane interactions while they speak. After what he will do in just under an hour, he knows that once the awareness of it dawns upon the people, he will be the very first suspect and they will deeply analyze all pieces of evidence they can find against him, since he’ll be the last person this man will ever see—or at least Jung Sydney will.

But the catch is that Jung Sydney doesn’t quite exist.

“Bring the car. He’s on his way down now, stand by.”

Jiwon checks the time again, and it’s close to one in the morning. Unfortunate for his sleep schedule, but the perfect time to get in and out of action without too many distractions. “Roger, sir.”

Tonight he wears the most minimally designed harness he owns over his bare flesh, strapped tightly enough to dig like claws into his ribs and induce a subtle delay through the otherwise silken flow of his blood. It pinches and burns so good on his thick shoulder muscles as he straightens in his spot and brings his arms up to start the car, drawing his hands to the wheel and briefly gripping so hard it’s a miracle his gloves don’t rip on spot. Anticipation flushes hot-red inside him, and the thirst for a bloody fight rings painfully in his ears.

The uniform he wears had been customized with dedication for him after getting hired, created with precise measurements and experienced attention to detail by the same seamstress that designs his employer’s priceless suits. It’s almost like a unique suit on it’s own—a tasteful button up jacket that molds perfectly around the shaping of his back, over a warm turtleneck top for the winter time, and some long dress pants that fall at ankle length. Even the gloves were personalized to fit his long fingers. So fitting, yet the jacket is still loose enough to hide the outline of a gun nuzzled against his left side of his ribcage, and a short-knife sheathed on the right, especially when seated.

He’d sneezed during the first fitting and purposely bent into a position that would surely rip through the tightness synched across his back so that the seamstress, who didn’t complain once, would add some extra centimeters of breathing room for him when she mended it back together. Perfect for him to hide his weapons.

Jiwon pulls up to a smooth stop precisely in front of the main staircase of the building, and steps out of the luxurious ride to respectfully fold with great depth from the hips, regarding the nearing presence of the dead man approaching with plain approbation and obedience. He can only speak when spoken to, so when his boss dismissively steps past him and comes to an abrupt stop in front of the car, the irritating clacking of his shoe heels making contact with the concrete floor quieting too fast, Jiwon remains bowed over in silence, muscular thighs squeezed flush together to hold him up rigidly. Acting as if he were oblivious about what to do next, except fulfill his boss’ every wish, of course.

In actuality, contrary to what his body language might have suggested in these moments, he was boiling up like a frantic whistling kettle inside, and extremely tempted to find his knife a living sheath. He should’ve gotten used to this by now, but that’s the thing. He wasn’t.

The man sighs sharply, his guard slipping, and spits when he speaks. “I’m tired. Let’s go.”

Jiwon quells his pulsing rage and finally straightens up to let his boss inside the car, not meeting his eye even once. “Of course, sir.”

1:24 AM. Every second that passes counts tonight.

They are now on the highway, and just like every night he’s done this before, he wills himself invisible behind the wheel and between the dark leather seats, and pretends not to observe the man in the back through the rearview mirror. Every time he yawns, stretches taut limbs or tugs his expensive tie looser from around his neck. Or lowers his exhausted gaze to check his phone—texts from his concerned wife he hadn’t the chance to answer during his late night meetings. This is easier than showing the bastard any ounce of respect.

He isn’t much older than Jiwon, no older than fourty, but when they pass bright streetlights that draw dramatic contrasting shadows across his face and illuminate the flare in his eyes, he appears to be younger. He allows himself to become honest in these moments of presumed safety. Vulnerable, and entirely so in front of someone he hardly ever bothers to heed any mind. Someone he’s grown to believe is harmless as a docile sheep, insignificant, but trustworthy enough.

He barely seems deserving of punishment for a sliver of a second—more human than a monster of a man. But then Jiwon remembers the provided reports and documents he’d read on him a while back, all more or less backed by research he’d done himself afterward.

His name was Bang Wonho, eldest son of a well known trading corporation CEO and recently one of the most recognized and active snake heads in the underworld’s black market business; apparently he was well respected enough for his expert management of one of the largest underground prostitution rings in the country. Even foreign detectives couldn’t yet crack entirely through its complicated structure—which was constantly changing—let alone figure out who exactly ran it, with concrete evidence at that.

And on the rare occasions when they did get too close, Bang would save face by paying the sleaziest cops he could find handsome sums to destroy whatever lead they had, because he knew how easy it was to seduce men with money. The ones who refused him would never live another day to tell the tale.

To say the least, the man was an insufferable asshole who’d do everything possible under the sun to keep power in his pockets. He would slither through the most turbulent depths of the dark to get what he wants. And for someone who already had it all, he still wanted a fucking-lot more. That’s when his greed lead him straight into politics.

The bruised face of a young lady Jiwon had seen in the file reports gradually materializes under his eyelids with each blink that follows the thought, and he finds himself biting his tongue until he tastes the sweet tang of warm blood, to keep himself from bursting into flames at the mouth. She was an orphan, abandoned and hardly of age when she’d been taken in he middle of the night, and sold off to die an appalling death she didn’t deserve. And this man was responsible—he’d done it many times before her, and after. To him, it was simply business.

The gun pressed to Jiwon’s side is suddenly no longer prohibited for him to reach for and draw anymore. His trigger finger twitches, visibly, but before he could succumb to his flaring urges, the GPS indicates a change in direction as they finally near their destination. He takes the turn.

The wrong one.

It was late evening when his private phone rang that night of the past. He was sitting cross-legged on his massive leather couch, casually lounging in his boxers, and in the middle of reading one of his favourite Japanese authors. It rang three times, and a woman’s voice sounded on the other end of the line when he’d finally answered. His clients were usually men, and he could count on his fingers how many women he’d worked for that weren’t somehow already associates of the underworld. Most of them wanted their husbands killed for petty and invalid reasons; so they could inherit his fortune or position, or wanted to be rid of their husband’s mistresses and sometimes even the mister’s. They weren’t any different than the men, who regularly wanted their peers or family killed so they could assume his position, or even their wives, so he could marry his mistress without defiling his reputation. He refused them all.

But what kept him engaged with this one’s offer, though, was that she’d managed to slip the proposal of a challenge towards him unawares—and she complimented his skillset. He couldn’t help but entertain her.

“I know he is a very powerful man, but I hear you are worse. It should be easy for you.” She said, unyielding and matter-of-factly, “Therefore, you are my first and last option. I couldn’t draw too much attention to myself. If you reject my offer, then I will do the deed myself.”

All in the name of peace—which he thought was straight up bullshit, even told her so. But in the end she still had managed to successfully provoke him into this, even move him to some extent if he had to admit. The best thing about her, though, was that she was Bang Wonho’s wife.

“He found me and got me off the streets. Payed off all the debt that I had on my name and told me that I should be grateful for his generosity. And I was, until I wasn’t anymore.”

She told him the entire story when they’d met in person for the first and last time a few months later, somewhere by the water on the outskirts of Busan. She was her husband’s first victim, though it didn’t seem like it to either of them back then, because he hadn’t harmed her in any way. Instead of forcing her into prostitution, Bang had only guided her away from an unfortunate trap called poverty, to walk her right into another one, this time guised by the ostentatious comforts of wealth.

He was fresh onto the corporate throne his father had left behind after he died, all but still a generous man. Then he’d wedded her despite his mother’s disapproval, and was good enough to her until he was forced to pay closer attention to his work, as their wealth suddenly started to multiply and their social class skyrocketed. That’s when he’d went from generous to greedy, and then became downright odious.

She claimed she had subjectively willed herself blind when it came to her husband’s private affairs, even the literal ones, because she thought she would be deemed ungrateful if she pried. But it had gotten to an extreme point where she had no other choice left but to risk it. That’s when she’d found out about him working with men who dressed like businessmen but undeniably moved like criminals. She discovered the years worth of trafficking and the prostitution. Then the actual reason why he’d saved her, and how his father really died.

“He didn’t marry me because he loved me, but because he needed someone who knew absolutely nothing about his world, to keep at his side as an ornament. That explains why he never bothered to have children with me; it was not a part of his plans." The wife explained.

"Before that, though, he made sure to first establish his position in the underworld to back him, then used his advantages and killed his own father to take his place. A few years later, now, he’s trying to worm his way into the government by taking up politics. I can’t just stand by and let this country be led by a tyrant. I’m not interested in his dirty money. I just want to play by his own rules, as I believe it’s what he deserves.“

It was crystal-clear that she meant every word she spoke. Jiwon believed her, so he wanted to help her and in extent, many others before and after her. So in the end, he agreed to satisfy her request.

“I got it.”

They are still in the city despite having driven for about over half an hour, so there are CCTV’s installed everywhere the car could turn, the system a complex and highly effective powerhouse that could eventually bring Jiwon in were the police lucky enough. He just needed to make eye contact with one of them somewhere, and they would pin that second down as suspicious behaviour. It was nothing short of impressive, admittedly, but contrary to popular belief, it was also not perfect. Not even close.

There were blind spots everywhere—dead cameras, defected ones and entire spaces that had none of them installed at all. And there were a plethora of them that few knew about in this direction, which meant plenty of opportunities to accomplish his work and disappear without a trace.

Jiwon starts to perform again, pretending to nod off in front of the steering-wheel as the first of many blinds spot he’d memorized through weeks of planning this execution is imminent. Then he does something he’d never done to this extreme before; willingly places himself right on the defense. Abruptly spins the wheel as he slams his forehead into the horn and the car jerks sideways aggressively, entering the road with oncoming traffic a few miles ahead, where that blind spot ends. Intentionally making himself vulnerable.

“What… the hell is wrong with you?! Collect yourself this instant!” Bang is immediately furious when he finally realizes what’s going on, jerking upright and lurching himself towards the front seats from where he confidently rested with his eyes closed.

He grabs Jiwon’s limp arm and nervously starts to joggle him out of what he believes is sleep, incoherently yelling for him to wake up and turn the car around or move otherwise he’ll have him killed.

Jiwon counts through three seconds before he does as told one last time, but he doesn’t pretend that he’s surprised nor horrified as his boss—he doesn’t scream. He hardly even sits up, obviously aloof and unafraid as he checks the distance between them and the approaching headlights as they pass the start of the blind spot. He’s got approximately 12 more seconds to act before it’s over.

10…

“Do something now, you useless piece of shit!” Bang reels back and forcefully shoves both feet with all his might at the back of the driver’s seat, and the sheer force sends Jiwon forward into the wheel again. “Or I will rip you apart with my bare hands! Do you hear me!?”

The car in front of them starts to blow their horn repeatedly, frenetically flashing their headlights, equally alarmed as the man on his shoulder that’s squirming from the back seat. Jiwon doesn’t notice Bang’s phone is gone, calling a private number on the car floor.

8...

"Can’t hear you if you keep kickin’ the damn chair, you fucking prick.” It feels absolutely liberating for Jiwon to drop the fake accent in exchange for his usual filterless complacency back up in front of Bang. The man visibly freezes.

Initially, Jiwon thought about taking the easier route towards completion. Since his clients never really requested anything specific besides a good old hit, he’d quickly developed a really basic and adaptable approach towards the fast money his clients were willing to pay—for something they could easily do themselves, for free.

For this one, all he had to do was break into an empty room in the building adjacent of their luxury penthouse, set up his sniper in the window, have his wife somehow guide him to said window if he didn’t do it himself, aim, and shoot. Shooting him on the doorstep of one of his mistresses was also on his list. The goal was to not get his hands on anything else other than the trigger of his weapon, to leave his dwellings devoid of any sort of finger print whatsoever.

But the Bang couple had inspired him to challenge himself do something entirely different this time. He wanted to become part of the snake to be able to sever its head the way it bit off those of the innocent. And it needed to be this difficult, and fucking terrifying.

6…

Jiwon deftly reaches for his trusty gun with the opposite hand and upon withdrawing it, gingerly removes the safety, cocks it, then angles it under his other bicep, all in the same breath. Before he pulls the trigger, he’s suddenly met with Bang’s steady attack from the back. The man pounces to the frontside with a pocket knife in his hand, and swings it with expert precision towards Jiwon’s shoulder–the latter compressing himself to the side of the car before it tears into his flesh.

“You think you can win this fight? We will both die tonight.” The ringleader rasps out and slams himself into the drivers seat again. Jiwon loses his aim, but simultaneously musters a vice-like grip strength on the wheel, and drags the entire vehicle clean into the right side of the road, barely escaping oncoming traffic. Bang loses his balance in the back, slams his head into the tinted window glass. Jiwon doesn’t bother to keep the course of the road as they careen straight into the crash barrier, and hard. It all happens too fast for him to take it back.

2:02 AM.

He’d just barely managed to pull his legs up at the last minute before they crashed just shy of the blind spot ending, with his gun tucked in his lap, to avoid getting his limbs stuck in the car wreck and losing his weapon in the same accident. It’s the airbag and seatbelt that keep him from earning some serious injuries that would render him utterly helpless, but the unforgiving impact into the hard stone still did rattle his stars.

He unintentionally smacked his face onto his knees first, then his head back against the hard headrest, then his left temple and arm into the side window, and it all made him see black for a few moments. It felt like his head was being pounded into three different directions. And then the relentless throbbing on his nose, his temple and left shoulder starts to settle into his body.

“Fuck!” Jiwon cries out after realizing his shoulder has been dislocated, and there’s blood from his broken nose all over his upper lip, some more trickling to his upper left eyebrow. He begins to panic, aggressively thrusting his good arm all over the cramped space as he pats on his right side for the button to release the seatbelt. It takes too long, as the gloves water down his sense of touch and his head spins as if it’s screwing off his shoulders, and he’s running out of too much time too quickly for his liking. He has to leave, now.

Once the belt comes off, Jiwon stills as he remembers that he’s not alone.

”’m… going to have you s–skinned alive… Fuckin’… fool…“ Bang can barely speak, his jaw sitting slightly crooked under his face now, while blood gushes from his temple where he’d vigorously slammed into the window. He should’ve been unconscious, but instead was pointing up his knife again. ”Die!“

Jiwon finds instant gratification and consolation in the warmth of the loaded weapon he proceeds to retrieve from his lap, solid motivation that instantly gets him moving as Wonho thrusts himself forward and sweeps the weapon down on him with deathly force, intending to make his second blow the last. It skewers into the steering wheel as the younger unfolds his limbs and shoves his door open to release his upper body outside, then in the same heartbeat twists his torso with a swift movement and extends his arm out into the perfect aim. He pulls the trigger before the serpent could sink its venomous fangs into him any further, and he hits the concrete floor outside. Bang Wonho collapses in the back with a gaping hole in his temple.

Jiwon can barely keep himself from shrieking as he slips out onto his dislocated shoulder, raw pain exploding so deeply inside of his core he starts to tremble. Still, he holds tightly onto his gun. It’s the only anchor of encouragement he’s got left in moments of agony and uncertainty.

Bang is dead and his job is done, but this isn’t exactly the ending he’d envisioned in his head before. Nowhere near comparable to the ideal climax planned. This is really fucking bad.

With his bottom lip gripped between his teeth, Jiwon forces a deep centering breath through his nostrils while he slowly rolls onto his back and sheaths his gun. You’ve been here before, relax.

He smells his own blood as he takes in a second belly-breath, holding this one in so he could push himself up without disrupting his shoulder too much, pulls his legs under him to stand. And like a drunken man he moves, his legs not as weak nor injured as he is from chest up, but still overly shaken from the crash, the constricted seating position and the fight he’d won. Not that it feels like he did at all, given the overwhelming tremors tracing every detail along the length of his limbs, triggered by each step he takes.

Cold wind clips at the shells of his ears, but this has nothing to do with the state of the weather but rather the state of his nerves within. And he has no clue how to make it stop.

2:23 AM. Fuck being vulnerable.

#i added more on the old blog but never saved it off tumblr so yea #para.

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hesloaded · 4 years ago

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roleplay/fake. krp oc. n/sfw. tw: dark and mature themes. all profile information remains undisclosed unless plotted otherwise. faceclaim: ㅋㅏㅇㅣ written by rae.

code name: BULLET. birth name: 김 지 원 / kim jiwon. birthdate: 1994.12.21. birth place: seoul, south korea. korean age: 28. zodiac: sagittarius sun.

occupation: independent hitman, sniper. skillset: tactical shooting & combat (experienced with carbines, shot/handguns, sniper/rifles, machines under extreme circumstances. & hand-to-hand), boxing, krav maga, filipino stick/knife fighting. first aid.

weight: 76kg. height: 182cm. physique: fit. lean overall. languages: fluent korean, english. conversational japanese, mandarin, russian. religion: none. hails from a christian background. tattoos: example > arm sleeves, chest, back, and on his left hip to thigh. description of some pieces below;

nunc illas promite vires (now put forth that strength, in latin), in thick font, a vertical line on the left of his side, stops above the hipbone.

Buddha on the inner bicep of his left arm sleeve.

a gun on his right hip.

a large dagger on his left upper-wrist, the tip of it’s blade reaching for his middle finger.

‘i deeply belong to myself’, horizontally arcing down his left hipbone.

other mods: pierced ears, all basic holes and hooped silver rings. main earring holes are both gauged at 3mm, though he doesn’t wear them often anymore as he currently prefers earrings. sexual orientation: n/a.

Jiwon had been born with a well polished silver spoon in his mouth, which had remained wedged there until the day he’d personally witnessed his father’s murder. Their wealth had been abundant, but abundance did not always equal lawful, and Jiwon so happened to learn that the hard way. His father had been dabbling with the underworld for many years, and thus put him and his family’s life on the line since the very first contract he’d ever signed with the dons, the chiefs and the clans. After crossing certain boundaries of such dangerous people, as consequence, the father’s life had been taken away from him right in front of his only son, and the son had since been left in abandon while growing up with that gruesome memory, which never seemed to leave room for other nightmares in the night.

Quickly, the silver spoon grew rusted. Their family name had plummeted below the surface of the social class, and Jiwon had been forced into the other end of the spectrum without much time to grieve, or to adjust to his reality. They were suddenly dirt poor, as everything they once had was taken away from them upon the findings of his father’s illegal dwellings, and there was nothing they could say, or do about it. Jiwon, 15, and his younger sister, 7, getting by alongside their sickly mother on scraps and pity. Before they knew it, the hospital bills began to pile up in the drawers, court debt left behind by the father too much to handle, as well as basic expenses like food, education and rent.

At 17, Jiwon had voluntarily dropped out of school and decided he’d simply leave home, never to return again until he’d found a job that allowed him stable income. Enough cash to at least sustain his mother, and his younger sister. But there was also something else carried in the back of his mind, something poisonous that lead him astray along the way. He’d started with simple jobs in convenience stores, food delivery, the odd job here and there that could add at least an extra won for the month. But the greedier he got, the odder did the jobs as well. As if this was a sort of calling in his blood, he'd ended up at the edge of an industry where his late father had once been before. Maybe out of grief, and surely for revenge.

He knew he could never go back to the day after he had come across a certain individual he knows nothing of in present, who’d introduced him to a variety of "temp" jobs; mostly hands off at first, to prove he were trusty enough, before he’d graduated into the hands on part of the lifestyle where he’d learn how to fight, throw a knife, and shoot a gun. Professionally groomed by a veteran towards serious temporary positions and better money, by sparring until he were caked in bruises and blood, and shooting empty beer cans by the beach waves (trained in Jeju). And sooner than he'd thought, beer cans became human beings.

His initial aim was never to fall too deeply into dangerous affairs that had gotten his father killed in the first place, but there was something about it that was much too seductive to ignore, much too thrilling to escape- and so by the age of 19, Jiwon was engrossed. And he was really good.

He began working with the man who’d basically recruited him after seeing the talent and hunger for something dark in his eyes, and through him discovered some parts to the puzzle of what had lead his father to such a cruel fate some years ago. Then after reaching a certain point in his investigation and a number of paychecks (which he often sent home to his family rather than keeping all to himself), and with the (forced) help of a mysterious woman he’d met named Kim Yuna, Jiwon had disappeared. Gone to lay low (and train more/hone other skills) in Auckland, New Zealand, and had come back shortly after turning 22, to put his research and skillset into practice.

This is when he had come to surpass his father’s footsteps; solidified his place in the underworld, established as an independent hitman after finally reaching and murdering his father’s killer. Spilling the rage and thirst for blood that had slowly welled up inside him over the years. Known as Bullet, and despite his young age, wanted and feared simultaneously.

location: established in seoul, south korea; works worldwide. direct address: undisclosed. license: LvL 1, general korean license. drives a harley davidson motorcycle, his car a revamped vintage ford mustang. pets: none. takes care of stray cats in his neighborhood. relationship status: n/a. family: mother (alive), younger sister (alive), father (deceased). had severed ties with them and doesn’t talk about them.

hobbies: cooking. reading. sports (lifting, boxing). watching movies. gaming. optimist or pessimist?: neutral. introvert or extrovert?: introverted extrovert. "describe yourself": well-rounded. intelligent. versatile. worthy. surprising. creative. best-shot. "describe jiwon": precise. observant. intimidating. unpredictable. humorous. aggressive. cross. dreams/goals: learn how to properly wield a japanese sword, going drifting with his car in tokyo, sandboarding in the desert dunes, visiting the stray cats in italy.

— being an independent assassin would mean that his business exists sans any form of contract to whatever company or illegal organization at all. a lot of these do exist both in South Korea and overseas, but Jiwon is strict about steering very clear from all attempts of recruitment made his way. signing his life away with blood is something he never plans to do, unlike his father had.

— the underworld's presence also lingers within certain hotels, bars, offices and theatres; as well as underground establishments like boxing ranges and clubs of all natures. simply because people like him are everywhere, though only few of them could ever compete.

— his associates range broadly from Triad bosses to ballerinas, and everything else in between. police chiefs, escorts, seasoned veterans, boxers, racers, butchers, hotel managers. all associates of his, and the below surface's, of course.

— he values taking care of himself very highly, as it contributes to his work at times it matters. when he'd first gotten into working within the industry as a rookie, he could be often found doing small missions like escorting, as he'd been recognized to be visually appealing, and taught to wield it as though he were holding a sharp blade.

— he'd lived and trained in a secluded countryside farm in Jeju island for nearly four years, before packings his bags and disappearing to Auckland in the midst of night.

— owns too many pairs of sneakers, belts, button ups and turtlenecks. he's an expressive dresser; usually loves wearing pieces that stand out or glitter. his closets consist mainly of blacks, reds and whites, some greys, blues, purples, and plaid. when it comes to accessories, he will try it all but prefers simple rings and thick necklaces. finally, his cologne selection ranges broadly of fresh, pine and woody scents.

— surprisingly loves babies and kids. might or might not suffer from perpetual baby fever.

— believes in consequential punishment, global warming, ghosts or spirits, and aliens. the usual.

— not very keen on haircuts. enjoys dyeing his hair. sometimes find his many tattoos burdensome as he regularly has to cover up for the casual public (though he doesn’t try much anymore, really).

— he absolutely despises being lied to, have his skills doubted, being suspected, accused unjustly and seeing entitled pride in other people. it might sound obvious, but it’s all particular triggers for anger and hostility in him.

— can’t keep promises. a bit lackluster when it comes to romance. prefers relationships without titles, and sometimes emotions. but when he does fall, he falls hard enough to break bones.

— he wants to look into going to live in japan for a while in the future, to study kenjutsu, and acquiring a japanese katana of his own.

— he has a habit of getting new tattoos whenever he’s out of the country. or when he’s stressed—he refuses to destress with smoking.

— despite his job and the occasional requirement to travel overseas to rigorous tasks and obscure locations, or stay in Seoul apartments; living off scrap for months in both predicaments, he’s still a homebody. Appreciates when he can return home and sleep with a corn-chip in his mouth.

— his home is prepared for any kind of assault at any hour of the day, carrying hidden weapons hiding in plain sight.

— collects silencers/suppressors simply because he enjoys using them on his firearms.

#ㄱㅈㅇ

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