art of the kill || chensung

quatre

Jisung left the building as soon as he could. He had sorted out a couple of documents that had been handed to him with an empty smile, and looked down at his plain desk for a few minutes. Then he was heading back home, kicking stones and bumping into as few people as possible. Still, crowds pushed against him and pissed him off. He wanted to kick something. He wanted to kill something.

He had wandered into a café on the way home. He hadn't gone to get any groceries yet so he was just eating whenever he was hungry. One might think it was a waste of money, but he had been provided all the money he could possibly need by NCT, and he wasn't one to live or spend carefully, obviously.

His phone started buzzing upon leaving the shop. Jisung spent ten seconds seriously contemplating the pros and cons of just ignoring it, and then maybe tossing it down the drain. Nevertheless, he did the mature thing and answered it. "Yes?"

"It's Huang."

"Really? Goodbye."

"I take it you found out absolutely nothing? Damn, you're really underwhelming for being a prodigy." Jisung grit his teeth.

"You do realise your ridicule does nothing to me? Why are you even calling me?"

"Your youth makes you liable to betraying the plan or going off it for unrelated issues so I just have to check up on you every day."

"Every day? Youth? That's absolutely ridiculous. It's unnecessary and idiotic. I won't be answering your calls." Jisung took the device in his hands and went to end the call, but the phone suddenly went on speaker, despite him not pressing the button.

"I'll reach you in other ways. I have a job too, Park. Although I might just lessen these little reports to once every three or four days, if you can actually get something fucking done."

The call ended and Jisung fantasized about crushing the phone with his bare hands, even though he didn't have that kind of strength. I'll go to the gym, he thought. When this is over, I'll feel the glass break beneath my fingers.

Nevertheless, this was an immediate problem. And this annoying motherfucker really did know how to inspire progress. Jisung's feet changed course as he found himself plotting a break-in.

He knew it would be simple. He figured that Zhong would be home by about seven, eight, so he had plenty of time to find the house, get what information he could, and leave. He'd be back home by the time Zhong left the office.

He inconspicuously entered the work building and looked around for anyone who might recognize him. He didn't want anyone knowing he'd left then come back. He took some time to scope out where the other interns would be, and any other people who might be easy to talk to. (Sure, anyone was easy to talk to when there was a gun in your hand, but Jisung had left his lovely pistols at home.)

"Hey," said Jisung, bubbly-as-never, leaning against the desk of another intern. She was younger than the others, probably only three or four years older than himself, and she had paid him some amount of interest. She'd be easy to crack and fry for info.

She looked up at him slowly. Definitely.

"Hello. What brings you here?"

Jisung grinned and straightened his papers against his leg. "Well, I wanted to get to know the people here. You see, I'm from Korea, and I don't really know anyone. I kind of just wondered if you'd like to talk."

She smiled in a kind of stifled awe. Fuck, thought Jisung. I'm way too good at this.

"Sure! I mean, is there anything you'd like to talk about?"