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“Oh hey, have you heard?! Samuel’s getting pretty big in Seoul lately. They say he’s got a tight grip on Gangnam,” Goo yells at the mic.
“I knew he could do it.”
“Wait, you knew about him?!” The tie hanging around his head is a bit too tight.
“We should head back to Seoul soon too. I need to pay Samuel a visit,” Gun says, noting the pleased tone creeping into his own voice. He gets like this. A little giddy.
Goo still hangs on his microphone singing a word here and there, but most of his attention keeps straying to Gun who finally lays the fire extinguisher down by the gangster beaten out cold, just like the dozen of his friends tossed around the karaoke room.
“Why?! I was just starting to have some fun! One more song! Two more!”
“You don’t have to come. Actually, better if you don’t.”
“Rude! Oh shit—”
While Goo is stunlocked by the catchy chorus he absolutely needs to sing, Gun reaches for his coat. Through black lenses he gives last glances at the crime scene bathing in blood and colorful beams from the disco ball. It really was fun.
“Later, Goo.”
“DON’T STOP, MAKE IT POP —”
Lip quirking, Gun’s lights a cigarette as he goes.
“DJ, BLOW MY SPEAKERS UP—”
Gangseo union is scattered around like roses on a bed. Blood oozes from their faces and at least a hundred singular eyes stare blankly towards the sky as Gun walks among the bodies. His blood churns excitedly for the violent sight, but it’s overpowered by a growing dread that tells Gun he should be getting ready to be disappointed.
And disappointed he is, when Samuel faces him with handfuls of hair that belong to his underlings. There’s blood on his knuckles, and zero regret in his eyes.
“Gun? I didn’t know you were coming. I would’ve prepared something for you if you’d called…”
Samuel was resourceful, unafraid, thriving to get his hands dirty. On his knees he seemed obedient. Gun thought he’d do well with his second chance he so begged for, but now as he looks at Samuel's innocent head tilt, he's hit with the cruel truth: Samuel is a motherfucking idiot. Obedient or not, Gun has absolutely no need for a dog who doesn’t understand why it’s not okay to eat its own shit.
“I just decided to do some spring cleaning.”
"Is that so..."
Gun finds no joy from this. Samuel doesn't even fight back aside from trying in vain to stop the violence. He's just wide eyed and confused. Between the blows he grasps Gun’s arm begging to know what he did wrong and how to fix it. This stupid man.
Gun can almost hear the shards of Samuel’s heart rattling as he throws him to the ground for the last time.
“Samuel of Gangnam.”
He lights a cigarette. His body screams for more violence, but mind tells him it’s just not worth it. Samuel isn’t worth anything Gun can give, and yet again, he has already given too much.
“You’re out.”
Goo gets a big fucking kick out of the news. His hyena cackle bends him over the rickety couch’s backrest next to Gun, who’s busy chain-smoking and staring at the stained wall of their temporary apartment.
The man is harboring his one last smidge of self-control so he wouldn’t have to inform the chairman about his recently passed bodyguard, who met with a horrible end by drowning in the washing machine of the cheapest local laundromat.
“You’re so fucking picky!” Goo manages, wiping gleeful tears from his face and shoving Gun’s shoulder.
Gun just grunts, tight lipped and moody. Goo sighs as he finally regains the control of his muscles and pulls himself up, but the laugh is still in his voice.
“At some point you just need to accept the problem isn’t them, it’s you!”