Chapter Text
For anyone else, being chased by armed thugs through the seedy back streets of the Urban slums would be a little concerning. For Jeongguk, it was a weekly occurrence.
It was part of Jeongguk’s expertise to know the streets like the lines on his palms, so outrunning men with guns was not a difficult task. His boots pounded the pavement as he sprinted down a narrow alley, his path to escape playing out in his mind. Behind him, a gunshot rang out and Jeongguk heard the bullet ting as it ricocheted off some metal spouting nearby. The alley had a sharp corner, which Jeongguk darted around with ease, and found a tall wire fence bisecting the alley ahead of him. He saw the larger dumpster beside the fence, a couple of plastic crates piled next to it, and then Jeongguk was vaulting up onto the crates, onto the dumpster, and leaping over the fence. He landed in a crouch, the impact rattling his bones, but sprung forward without missing a beat. Another bullet was fired, punching into the bricks Jeongguk dashed past, and then Jeongguk was out of the alley and engulfed by the traffic of Urban’s busiest street.
The night market in Urban was buzzing with energy and activity, despite being the poorest precinct in Nova Regna. Holograms hovered above rooftops to advertise goods and services, though some flickered and faltered, and a few shop stalls lining the street were doing well enough to display their wares and prices holographically instead of written across physical signboards.
Due to the level of poverty, money wasn’t the only currency in Urban. It couldn’t be when there was so little of it, so instead people haggled and bought by swapping or selling their wares and belongings. It was rudimentary in comparison to the glittering shopping arcades in the wealthier precincts, but it suited the citizens of Urban just fine because the only rules in place were those of common sense and courtesy, which most abided by. Those who breached the rules were swiftly dealt with by whichever gang was paid for protection, which was why Jeongguk kept himself perfectly polite as he casually moved through the flow of people, careful not to draw attention to himself in case his pursuers were still searching. Jeongguk knew which syndicate controlled the night market here, and it wasn’t the same gang those thugs had belonged to – which meant they wouldn’t be stupid enough to cause a commotion here just so they could chase him down.
Slipping his hands into his pockets, Jeongguk curled his fingers around a small hard drive to reassure himself it was there. He’d feel like a proper idiot if he had let the device fall out of his pocket while running from the very people he had stolen it from.
Content now, Jeongguk rolled the tension out of his shoulders and continued to meander through the crowd.
The smells and sounds of sizzling street food rose above the cacophony of voices, tempting Jeongguk to buy something, but he had a deadline to meet and he was already cutting close to it. So he picked up his pace, passing through the food vendors and the little alleys where some people huddled, either to have private conversations or exchange goods that were a little less legal than everything else on offer. He glimpsed a few guns holstered under jackets, and some doors with blinking red lights above them to represent the adults-only type of establishments, but despite the variety of activity around him there was one commonality between the people of Urban – brown eyes.
Urban was a slum precinct, created by first-generation refugees and then expanded by their children and grandchildren until it was almost a city in itself decades later. This meant Urban was populated by people of varying nationalities, hailing from countries no longer in existence after a devastating world war a century ago. But at some point in time, after the upper-class began voicing concerns about Urban, the government decided to take control by creating a class system that was based on eye colour.
It didn’t matter what eye colour you were born with; only what your lineage was. Jeongguk was born in Nova Regna just like his parents were, but his grandparents were refugees and so at birth Jeongguk received a serum that changed his eye colour to brown. Blue eyes, therefore, were reserved for the “pure-blooded” citizens of Nova Regna which Jeongguk believed was utter bullshit. Being pure-blooded meant you had no other lineage other than from those who originally settled and founded Nova Regna, with no dilution from other nationalities. Yet Jeongguk had never once seen anyone provide such proof of that; their money, however, was tossed about often enough that people didn’t bother asking for anything else.
Jeongguk spotted a small sign dangling from a broken chain above the entrance to a narrow side street and so he turned down it, the sign being the marker he had been looking for. The street was quiet, only occupied by one drunkard trying to stop his head from spinning as he crouched over a half-empty bottle of beer. Jeongguk came to an unmarked steel door and rapped his knuckles across it, the sound loud enough to make the drunk man swear and clutch his head a little tighter.
A small hatch opened in the centre of the door, level with Jeongguk’s waist. A gloved hand appeared, palm open in waiting, but Jeongguk wasn’t an idiot. He coughed once, loudly, and the hand disappeared only to return a moment later with another gloved hand; one remained open and empty, waiting, while the other held an envelope.
Jeongguk dropped the hard drive into the open hand just as he took the envelope, completing the exchange. The hatch slammed shut and Jeongguk turned away, peering into the envelope to see a wad of cash waiting for him. He didn’t know what the hard drive had contained, or why he was hired to steal it, but even the brief threat of being shot in the head with a bullet was worth the money now safely in his hands.
After returning to the night market to buy himself a lamb skewer with roasted vegetables and a small bag of sweets, Jeongguk made his way home. He tossed his finished skewer into a trashcan at the entrance to his apartment building and let himself inside. The building was narrow, three apartments on each level that were small and tightly packed together, but the rent was cheap, and the landlord asked no questions. The wooden stairs creaked as Jeongguk ascended, and through the walls he could hear murmured conversations on one floor, the sounds of pleasure on another, and on the top floor where Jeongguk’s apartment was he heard the familiar raucous coughing of one of his neighbours.
‘You should see a doctor!’ Jeongguk called through the walls.
‘Mind your damn business, kid!’ came the reply, though it held a certain tone of affection. It was their daily exchange of pleasantries, after all.
Jeongguk unclipped his key from his belt, but as he slotted the key into the lock he heard the subtle creak of movement from inside his apartment that made Jeongguk freeze.
He had spent almost four years living in this apartment; he knew how long of a shower he could take until the hot water ran out, he knew which lights flickered as they turned on and which windows needed an extra shove just to wedge them open – and he knew which floorboards creaked when walked on.
Caution rippled up Jeongguk’s spine as he took a careful step back, mindful of the floorboards beneath his own feet. He retreated from the door and headed back to the stairs, his gaze dropping down for a moment as he reached for the switchblade concealed inside his jacket.
And then something slammed into his gut, his vision flashing white as he crumpled to the ground at the top of the stairs. He rolled onto his side, curling into the pain that throbbed through his abdomen.
‘A bit excessive, Taehyung.’
‘Did you expect me to stop him running with a hug?’
‘That would have been preferrable,’ Jeongguk wheezed, head lifting to find his switchblade had skittered across the hallway when he dropped. His gaze landed on a pair of leather boots outside his door, but the owner of those shoes stepped back into the apartment before Jeongguk could look up.
Jeongguk’s attacker hauled him to his feet, a vice grip around his bicep, and Jeongguk stumbled as he found his feet underneath him.
‘Just give us a few more minutes, yeah?’ said his attacker, sounding amused. ‘We’re not finished searching your apartment.’
‘Searching my—?’
Something smacked into the back of Jeongguk’s head and he felt his knees buckle, vision fading out, but his attacker caught him before he hit the ground.
It felt like only seconds before his eyes were opening again, clearing, head throbbing, but as he slowly came to he found himself bound to one of his own chairs, ankles and wrists restrained. The low, warm light of his lamp spilled over him.
With his back to his kitchen, Jeongguk’s gaze swept across the small space of his living area where one of his attackers was rummaging through his belongings. Another was in his bedroom, the sliding door that separated the two spaces only half-open since it always jammed on the metal tracks. He could see one of them pawing through the chest of drawers by his bed, while the other rifled through the duffle bag he kept by the door.
‘Can I help you find something?’ Jeongguk called, and when the two men paused to look at him Jeongguk raised his eyebrows in question.
One of them unceremoniously dropped Jeongguk’s duffle bag onto the floor, a grin spreading across his face that had crazy written all over it, and then came forward with a hand resting on the pistol casually slotted through his belt. Despite the threatening gesture, Jeongguk kept his focus on the man’s eyes as he approached and the lamp light better illuminated his appearance, hoping that the colour of his eyes would give Jeongguk an idea of which gang he was dealing with. Brown meant it would be an Urban-based gang, and blue meant he was fucked.
Jeongguk saw brown eyes, offering some relief, the shade matching the man’s haphazard hair, but as the second man stepped into the light Jeongguk realised his eyes were blue.
Well, fuck.
They couldn’t be more opposite; the brown-eyed thug was dressed in an open-collared coat, dark jeans and heavy-soled black boots with tanned skin, while his partner was pale, raven-haired and wearing a tailored blazer, black shirt and matching pants over dress shoes. His expression was neutral, contrary to the grinning man beside him.
‘My name’s Taehyung,’ the grinning one said pleasantly, and with a gesture to his partner he added, ‘This is Yoongi.’
‘Jeongguk,’ said Jeongguk in return, ‘but I suspect you already know that.’
Yoongi held out his hand, a mobile phone in hand that had a slim metal frame and transparent glass screen. He tapped it with a finger and the surface lit up, right before it projected a photo of Jeongguk into the air above. It wasn’t a posed photo though; in fact, it looked as if someone had taken it in passing, as if they had been following to get a glimpse of his face.
‘I’m more photogenic from my left side,’ Jeongguk quipped.
Yoongi’s brow quirked just as Taehyung said, ‘Do you recognise this, Jeon Jeongguk?' confirming that they did, in fact, know Jeongguk’s name. His photo was replaced with a different image, one of a restaurant’s entrance.
Jeongguk regarded it, remembering the night he had snatched a computer tablet off a barstool surrounded by smartly dressed men as they shared a round of drinks. They had been waiting for one of the private dining rooms to be made ready for them at a restaurant that bordered the Habitat and Urban precincts, one that looked very much like that in the image, and as a round of drinks had been brought to them by a pretty waitress Jeongguk had the perfect opening to steal what he had been hired for.
‘Should I?’ Jeongguk replied indifferently, his eyes flicking back to Taehyung.
Taehyung’s grin widened, a knowing look in his gaze as if he could tell Jeongguk was deflecting. ‘I suppose not, considering your line of work. I guess you’ve lost count of how many organisations you’ve stolen from, yeah?’
He wasn’t wrong. Jeongguk’s job was a runner, hired to run errands and do odd jobs for the gangs of Urban who didn’t want their own members doing the same; it had started as a simple message and document courier, and then increased to confidential parcels – some of which had photos for blackmail, or amputated fingers being sent as warnings – and then it changed to stealing, or planting hidden cameras, and suddenly Jeongguk was being chased by armed thugs once a week.
‘It’s just business,’ he replied, shrugging.
Taehyung and Yoongi exchanged a look, the photo disappearing as Yoongi put way his phone. Jeongguk still wasn’t sure whether he was about to be killed or hired, but that was somewhat of a regular dilemma he faced in his line of work.
‘It is not just business when it is our business which you steal.’
Jeongguk flinched, surprised by the response because it hadn’t come from either Taehyung or Yoongi. He mentally cursed himself for not realising someone was behind him in the kitchen, but when he craned his next to look over his shoulder the person was already walking around his other side. He faced forward again, gaze landing on the back of another man with styled blonde hair.
Oh, thought Jeongguk. It was his only thought, actually, when the man turned around and revealed himself as none other than Park Jimin, the heir to the most powerful tech company in Nova Regna – and the most lethal criminal syndicate of it’s underbelly.
Shit was Jeongguk’s second thought.
Jimin’s sharp, unblemished jawline and piercing sky-blue eyes were no different to what was pictured in news articles or gossip columns. He was dressed as if he had just finished a long day in the office, though the light-grey suit and open-collared white shirt were likely more expensive than an average office worker could afford. It was Jimin’s height that surprised Jeongguk though; even with the slight heel of his polished dress shoes Jimin was shorter than Jeongguk. It was a testament to how Jimin held himself, the proud shoulders and arrogant tilt of his head, that he could appear to tower over people when being interviewed or posing for photos.
Jeongguk’s usual instinct to read someone’s body language was halted by the sheer stillness with which Jimin regarded him. There was something quietly dangerous about Jimin, something that Jeongguk would have noticed even had he not known who he was. Jimin’s expression may have been impassive, but it didn’t disguise the edge in his gaze that threatened to cut anyone who challenged him.
It was hard to believe he was only twenty-five years old.
‘It is never a wise idea to steal from the Park family,’ Jimin warned, his eyes sharpening in such a way that even though Jeongguk may not have been within Jimin’s reach, it felt as though his gaze held Jeongguk at knifepoint.
‘I didn’t know it was from Park,’ said Jeongguk; he never questioned the intent behind the jobs he had been hired to do because he had always been of the belief that the less he knew the better. What was the term? Plausible deniability.
‘Relax, Jeon,’ Taehyung chimed in. ‘We’re not here to kill you. In fact, we’re here to offer you a job.’
Jeongguk’s jaw dropped open, confusion poised at his lips as he processed the words. ‘I steal from you and you seek revenge by hiring me?’ he said, bemused.
‘At first, I was curious,’ Jimin said, eyes sweeping Jeongguk from head to toe. ‘The men you stole from didn’t even realise what was missing until you were likely halfway down the street. My colleague eventually sourced your identity and when she learned it was Jeon Jeongguk, the runner with a reputation amongst gutter dwellers, she recommended we make contact.’
It didn’t surprise Jeongguk that Jimin had referred to the petty gangs of Urban as gutter dwellers, because that was exactly what they were to him. In the hierarchy of Nova Regna’s criminal underbelly, Jimin sat at the top and was second only to his father.
‘But I am not just hiring you for one job, Jeon Jeongguk,’ Jimin told him. ‘I am offering you employment.’
That was worse, in Jeongguk’s opinion, because he knew exactly what employment Jimin was offering. If it had been for something minor like becoming one of Park’s low-level drug runners or messengers Jimin wouldn’t have come here himself.
Jeongguk was about to become Jimin’s personal errand boy.
Skin crawling at the thought, Jeongguk said, ‘Is this even an offer? One that can be refused, I mean.’
Jimin cocked his head, giving Jeongguk a pointed look. ‘I believe you are smart enough to know the answer.’
Given Taehyung’s hand still absently rested on the pistol through his belt, Jeongguk could guess what the outcome would be if he refused the offer.
Jimin seemed to know the exact moment Jeongguk relented, because he leaned back against the windowsill behind him with a cool arrogance that could only come from someone who was used to getting their way. He gestured to his bodyguards with a lazy wave of his hand and then they both came toward Jeongguk, Taehyung grabbing for his hand while Yoongi reached into his coat.
Panic stirred in Jeongguk’s chest, his mind assuming the worst – cutting off fingers and hands was a common occurrence amongst gangs – and his hand clenched into a fist as Taehyung removed the cable binding his wrist to the chair. But Taehyung held Jeongguk’s hand down as it was freed, turning it over just enough to show the underside of his wrist, and then Yoongi was coming closer with a square, palm-sized silver device that he pointed down at Jeongguk’s wrist.
A red light flashed across his skin, and then Jeongguk flinched when he felt a sudden zap at his wrist. Yoongi removed the device and Taehyung stepped back too.
‘Ow,’ Jeongguk said pointedly, giving them both a glare.
‘Wuss,’ replied Taehyung, grinning.
Jeongguk brought his wrist to his face, finding a subtle red rash made up of tiny welts now decorating his skin.
‘It’s a tracker,’ Taehyung told him, ‘so don’t go running away from us, yeah?’
Wouldn't dream of it, he thought. ‘Can you untie me now?’
Taehyung and Yoongi, in unison, looked to Jimin who nodded his permission in return.
When Taehyung released all of Jeongguk’s restraints Jimin headed for the door, Yoongi a pace behind him. Jeongguk stood from his chair, idly massaging his reddened wrists. ‘What now?’ he asked.
Jimin paused, casting a slow look back at Jeongguk over his shoulder. ‘You wait. I will contact you when I need you.’
Yoongi followed Jimin out of the apartment, but as Taehyung stepped through the threshold he said, ‘And this should go without saying but I’ll say it anyway, don’t accept any other jobs. You work for us only now, got it?’
‘Right,’ Jeongguk replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
Taehyung grinned again. ‘Welcome to Park Enterprises, Jeon Jeongguk.’