02:30
I'm coming back home from my friend Lina's. We celebrated her eighteenth birthday together. Since when did eighteen years become so special? As if they just add another candle to the cake to mark that you're one year older, and along with it comes the burden of responsibility — by law you're now an adult, who must take care of their own actions, their own life, and how to survive in this huge and often unfair world. No more mom and dad to protect and save you. Already then you start paying bills, for food, clothes and everything else on your own. My eighteenth birthday is still seven months away, so you could say I still have time to think about the future, about my life and what tomorrow will bring for me.
The flow of my thoughts was interrupted by an ad that suddenly started playing in my headphones, where only a few moments ago my favorite song had been playing. That made me look a little more closely at the streets around me. They're empty. Not a single passerby, neither in front of me nor behind me. Strange, almost frightening. Still, I continued walking. I took my headphones off to listen to the world around me and at that moment I heard a gunshot — then another, a third… and so on continuously. The sound was coming from the direction of the building I had to cross to continue my way home. A chill overtook me, but I kept walking, although in the distance I could hear the continuous echoing of bullets.
When I reached the end of the building, I should have turned, but the feeling of fear paralyzed me for a moment. Just in case I stood by the wall and peeked out slowly. What I saw left me completely shocked: more than fifteen people, surrounded by cars, were standing on the street. They were shooting at each other with pistols, but not all with the same intensity — one side fired bullets with precision, while the other shot rarely, only occasionally. My gaze stopped on the side that shot rarely, but my eyes couldn't take their focus off one man in the middle.
Long black hair, large build, glasses on his head, a cigarette held between slightly fuller lips. One hand in his pocket, while with the other he precisely aimed the pistol — bullet after bullet, not a single "target" survived more than one or two shots, they fell like dominoes. I watched in disbelief until he knocked down the last target, yet he left one man alive — only wounding him in the leg. That man collapsed in the middle of the street, helpless, vulnerable.
The man in black glasses took his gun out of his pocket, threw the cigarette on the ground and stepped over it, then pressed forward a few steps toward the wounded man.
"I left you alive so I could show my boss that he can't go against me, even if he sends thousands or millions. I always win."
"You… you think you're invincible, Kim Namjoon… but… my boss…" he murmured, barely speaking from the pain.
"Your boss? Him? Han Ji-hoon? Who killed his best childhood friend, Kim Hyunwoo, a man who was ready to sacrifice his life for him no matter what… He ended up killing him, as well as his wife?! He killed my father and my mother!" — he shouted, his eyes burning with a rage I had never seen before.
"Your lack of parental love is not my problem. But once I heal, you will suffer for this leg."
At that moment, the man in glasses grabbed the wounded man by the hair and lifted his head to look him straight in the eyes.
"I disgust people like you," he hissed through his teeth. "You should be grateful I spared your life. Next time I'll make sure your life ends where my eyes first see it." He lowered his head, stood up, and adjusted his glasses with his fingers, crossing his arms over his suit. I wondered how there wasn't a single drop of blood on his suit after this massacre.
"Just wi—" the wounded man tried to say something, but received a strong kick to the face. The pain stunned me so much that I dropped the bag with the piece of cake Lina had packed for me as a morning treat. The piece of cake fell to the ground with a rustle, drawing everyone's attention toward me.
"Jungkook, hold her!" said the man in glasses. I tried to run, but the man with the tattoos on his right arm was faster. He threw me to the ground, held my hands behind my back with one hand, while with the other he pointed a pistol at my head. He bent down and whispered:
"If you want to see the day tomorrow, you'd better cooperate… or you won't survive."
I nodded gently, terrified for my life. I considered myself too young to leave this world in such a way.
He helped me to stand, but still held my hands behind my back and the pistol to my head, pushing me in front of five men and the man in glasses.