The wind was ripe with the stench of blood—but whether it wafted up from another bounty of the sea dragged up onto the rickety Wharf, or the rotting corpse left by a poor fool's debts catching up to them—no one seemed to care.
Or was it that no one stopped to look?
After all, violence was natural, and the stench of it more so. Residents of Nagwon, the so-called Riotbanks, had long decided to ignore it, smiling, laughing, arguing—living as they were.
In response to the same breath that they took to laugh and shrub it away, a visitor would throw up.
It was a matter of what a person could stomach.
"I had to..."
A young boy stood over a fresh corpse, muttering those words repeatedly as if to convince himself of their truth; seeming all but ignorant to the dogs the putrid stench had attracted. The strays—one limping on four legs rather than the usual six, and another so thin that its bones had imprinted onto its skin—watched the boy and the corpse, but didn't dare to move closer.
"Didn't I have to..?" The boy asked the darkness, and the shadows of the alley that shielded him seemed to writhe in response.
But it was not a response that he could hear. He could not hear. But he could sense.
The malnourished boy looked to the dogs, the stubs of his ears twitching in agitation as if they had not been trimmed down for the sake of his humanity, as if they could still hear as they once did. He felt anger, sudden and consuming, directed at the dogs whose ears resembled his birth defect, the defect that had left him in the trash for an alley sweeper to find.
Was it the dogs, who cursed him with disgusting features? Cursing him to look like them out of spite for his father, who was paid to shoot strays and clean the streets?
Did the dogs make his father hate him? Was it the dogs who had made his father hurt him?
"No...dad hated monsters. So he hated me..." The boy looked to the dogs, who ran on sight, the sounds of their yelping echoing across the narrow walls and registering in his ears as the barest of whispers.
The boy stared towards the empty alley's end, at a trashcan left spilled and oozing rotten fish and maggots, and smiled.
His gaze then fell on the gaping mouth of his victim, at the teeth that were yellowed and crooked from the addictions that the man had maintained at the cost of everything else.
Human trash, that's what it was.
"Monsters should die, so die, you worthless monster..!" He parroted the words that he'd seen those vomit stained lips scream, just before swinging a bottle at his head; a family tradition on a morning like this. The glass shards that had scattered around him as he ran out the door—they had cut his feet, his hands, his face.
But the pain he endured for so long had been repaid.
Someone had helped him. And now the real monster was dead at his feet.
"Heh…hehe" The boy laughed, a loud sound unhindered by a hand that would slap him for it.
It was only when he felt the warmth of the blood under his toes that he realized that he was left all alone.
Alone in a world that hated him.
That fact hurt him, more than the kicks and punches, more than the cuts.
"D-dad..? I didn't mean it...get up...wake up..."
[This is what you desired. ]
A string of words took to the air, the boy's own breath feeding the attempt of the shadows to communicate without a voice to carry that burden. It was only lucky that the poor boy knew how to read the letters that appeared in front of his face.
"...I didn't, I didn't..! I didn't want him dead..!! I..I don't want to be alone...I don't want to be a monster–"
[You, child, are no monster. You are a boy. A lucky boy...that you found me, is lucky.] The letters dragged another breath from his lungs, making him cough into his hand, his own blood mixing with the evidence of his crime. For a moment, he stared at his hand, the muscle writhing and festering with the growth of claws straight from the bone of his knuckles, jutting out in a way that made his stomach turn.
Monsters had claws. Monsters were unnatural. They deserved no kindness, no friendship, no love.
Matron Clara had said so, so it was the truth.
He was a monster who was dangerous, violent, and hideous; like the bounties dredged from the sea and chopped up for profit, like the creatures that his favorite Hunter protected humanity from.
To kill a monster; It was the kind of killing that was celebrated. Revered.
The boy had once dreamed of a future, before he had given up on the notion. It was a common dream, being a hunter. Every hopeless kid at the orphanage had claimed they'd be the next Lucius Veincliff, or Hojo Tatsuya; bragging that they'd be legendary, important, loved.
He had been blinded by dreams when a father showed up, claiming to want him back.
He hadn't known yet that dreams weren't for boys like him. Only humans could dream, only human boys could become hunters.
Hunters protect the weak.
Monsters only kill, they can't protect.
He was a monster.
A monster who had killed his family. His father.
Because he had to. Because he was promised help, because now, he could, no he would-
[Survive. I'll help you...as I promised. All you must do is let me.]
Tears hit the cement, indistinguishable from the rain that marred the streets in puddles of grime, the morning rush unhindered by the trail of crimson that seeped through the cracks and splashed under ignorant soles and rusted tires.
In that moment of sorrow, the boy wanted to beg and plead someone, anyone, to help save his father. But that moment slipped away when he felt the cold stab of eyes, bearing witness to his crime.
"Darn...that's not coming off..." A mutter unheard, as the witness tapped his heel on the edge of the sidewalk. A tall man, intimidating, if only to a small boy like him, stood across the way. He couldn't tell if the man had noticed him, because his tired gait was guarded and hard to read under the shield of a black umbrella.
The boy's limbs twitched, poised to run, as he watched the dark man's gaze shift from the red evidence of his crime under the soles of his dress shoes, then up to the source.
For a moment, tired brown eyes met cloudy blues from across the road, the angry traffic allowing only glimpses of the small figure that stumbled off into the maze of rusted pipes and haphazardly strewed junk.
It was a child, who had left a corpse in that alley.
So Hajoon looked away.
He knew that the law was not kind, nor was any officer dispatched to the scene if he were to report the incident. In fact, reporting it would only incriminate him, and he had no intention of spending the rest of his short life in a jail cell.
The alley sweeps will get to it eventually...or the dogs will. I don't know which is worse.
Hajoon folded his umbrella, watching the excess water cascade into the cracks of the tiled sidewalk and down a malformed drain a foot away. Even as the raindrops clouded his glasses and eventually obscured his vision of that tainted water, he just couldn't shake the stench that pricked at his mind through his nostrils.
That kid...was it an abuse case? Terrible parenting isn't odd around here, but killing your own family...? A kid won't be able to deal with that kind of mental burden...
"Hey..! Don't block the street!" An older woman pushed past him, giving an annoyed look as he stepped back, letting the gathering crowds go ahead of him as he stood by the barely legible bus stop sign. It was early morning, and the average person was antsy to get to whatever work that kept their lives afloat.
No one had the time for distractions.
Going to work and slaving away, that was his fate too. It didn't matter what he thought about tyrannical managers and his lack of sleep, he couldn't exactly stop being an office worker over petty complaints like that. Not when the alternatives would have him dropping dead in some alley.
There really wasn't much a man could do when missing a payment would have sharks biting at his heel. In fact, they'd left a letter this morning, wedged between his apartment door and the mossy cement wall.
Like clockwork, a week from the end of every month, his door was suddenly popular for such things. It was almost flattering.
Lazy prick, hand over the money before I hit you with a brick.
—Your personal debt collector.
The terribly written serenades often went something like that. It was poetry, truly.
Hajoon chuckled under his breath as he blinked against the water droplets that gathered on his eyelashes. It was a prime moment to shed a tragic tear for his fate; better now than later, when he inevitably failed to procure the money by next week.
But it was rude to cry in front of a fresh corpse, even if he could barely see it past the rain and crowd. He was sure that at least one other person would have noticed it by now, the slumped figure across the road.
A lifeless body, sagged against the narrow space between a junk shop and a butcher's that had more fish and squid than any real meat. If you decided to ignore it, and squinted hard enough, it could have looked like another drunkard that pissed themselves.
But a witness didn't have that option.
What did that kid stab him with..? It's…a lot of blood…
Hajoon exhaled through his mouth, his nose crinkling.
Would he end up like that corpse? Ignored, unnoticed as his pathetic little life got thrown in with the trash?
He hoped so. There were worse fates for fools indebted to the local mafia. If you couldn't pay, they always had ways to make back the losses. Organs were worth quite a lot in both legal and underground markets.
Desecrating the dead isn't wrong if it makes quick money. That's the reason they fund alley sweepers, better to take the working organs of corpses then let the dogs eat it.
"Ghk-" Hajoon blinked as someone pushed past him, the narrow street filling up to a bottleneck with people of all walks of life. The lucky group, who had managed to secure a work permit within the city, and the unlucky drifters, who made their disdain known by pushing, shoving, and stealing an occasional wallet.
Both shared these streets, crammed into whatever corner they'd fit.
"Oi–! That fucker— Catch that pickpocket damn it..!!" A yell rang out as the crowds rippled, two people running through what was akin to a vat of drying cement.
Hajoon patted his chest, confirming that his wallet was safe and sound in the inner hidden pocket of his coat.
A stolen wallet like that ended up either sold, or passed around until it reached the Red Snakes, the Jeoksa, who had a business refurbishing the official certifications found inside. Losing that certification was the equivalent of losing access to any job that wasn't controlled and extorted by the Jeoksa, so it was also a way to get someone to come begging on their knees, willing to pay anything to get it back.
Some third rate villains in there would happily tear that little card in half just to watch you cry. In fact, they would pay a guy to pickpocket it, just like Hajoon was currently witnessing.
Easy enough way to make a quick buck.
…Was that kid paid to kill? I couldn't hear what he was saying over the traffic…
Ah, I'm jumping the gun again. I don't have any clues to go off here…
But how do I know I wasn't wrong assuming that that was his dad? Could have been any random stranger…which leaves the explanations as robbery gone wrong, or just plain murder…
…Did that man piss off the Jeoksa? Would they use a child for their dirty work..?
Is that why they fund the orphanage by the old factory? Exploiting children..? I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but what can I expect from scum really?
"Don't worry beyond your means..." Hajoon muttered to himself as he stepped in line for the bus; which groaned to a stop along the railway tracks that webbed across the main streets. Cutting a path from one end of Nagwon to the other, it provided the only viable transport into the guarded city that had long decided that the Riotbankers were scum.
Scum, the definition of impurities drifting along on their pure waters. They had cleaned up a few times over the years, so the sea still stank of blood, or so they say. A couple decades were enough for most people to forget who did what.
Apparently my grandfather was lost during one, but he was a soldier.
I don't feel bad for him really.
Hajoon gripped his briefcase as the crowd shifted around him, backing away as the great hunk of metal blasted a cloud of steam and exhaust onto any poor fool within a five foot radius.
He had thought that he had gotten the knack of standing just far enough away to avoid the heat without being left behind by the fast moving bus and the irritable drivers that helmed them, but he was wrong. As per usual, he was seeing through a fog until he sat down and the heated interior thawed his glasses.
He knew that the warmth pumping in through the vent under his seat was just a byproduct of the steam engine running this miniature model of a train, but he was grateful nevertheless.
He was never made for the cold, and the changing of the seasons had him dreading the fevers that were to come.
Late autumn isn't great for air quality either, it's not like dead trees can clean up the smog...
Oh well, at least the view isn't terrible...
Hajoon stared out of the window as the grime and stench of fish slowly drifted into the distance, the puffs of smoke from the rumbling bus giving way to the sparkling sea and the crowded horizon of a port city.
It was a vision of utopia, and as such, it was rotten to its roots.
Holding the title of unofficial capital to the Eastern fort, Jeokjo Port's international acclaim was held up on the shoulders of the slums that it generated like sewage waste.They had once tried to clean their messes, but eventually settled on using the labor of the lesser men born from the wastes.
It was why a free bus like this existed, carting the workforce into the city in the morning, then kicking them back into the outskirts of livable land along where the Nakdong River spilled into the sea.
A train system did exist, connecting Jeokjo to the northern cities that fell under Nawian rule, as well as the mainland of Nawia and Buxiu beyond them, but Hajoon wasn't legally permitted to travel so far even if he did manage to secure the ticket funds. It would take several permits and a visa to do so, but a childish dream of seeing the world wasn't worth all of that.
Simply put, he had the knowledge to jump the legal loopholes, but not the money.
All he could do was curse his father for hopping on a boat when they broadcasted this place as a utopia of opportunity around half a century ago. If he hadn't landed in the Eastern Fort as a foreign labourer, Hajoon could have happily ceased to exist.
'In the dying light of the calamity period that reduced thriving old world cities to rubble and ruin, leaving monster infested dungeons in their place, the Forts were heralded as a beacon of hope and a defense against the dangers outside of their ever-expanding borders.'
'The last defense against ruin and corruption'
That was what he remembered from his high school History books.
Factual or not, it really was the greatest sales pitch of the century, having caused the largest immigration seen in the eastern belt—directed towards the island nations of the then newly established Eastern Fort. Officially registered as Redtide Port on the world map, Jeokjo Port was a central trade hub off the coast of the Akai Sea, the location of which allowed the Eastern Fort to honor its trade alliances with the Northern and Western Forts.
The Northern Fort, Nawia, the vast blue nation of ice and steel, wanted steel and white coal; extracted from the eastern fort's vassals Hwanryeo, Ashihara, and the Insulinde archipelago.
The Western Fort partnered in that import as well as export, having the largest and only (legally speaking) fleet of freighter ships in the world.
USUN—united in states, united in nations—the military might of Amarca and Albion kept the cargo safe from sea behemoths and pirates.
Not that the word pirate meant anything more than a ship not registered under USUN.
Annexation and trade alliances were the reason for the growing northern and western presence in the heart of Jeokjo. it wasn't so strange to see inner city dwellers walking around sporting hair the color of ash, or eyes as blue as the sea.
It was a simple fact that Expats earned citizenship easily. In fact, they were the only ones to have a path to citizenship without betting their life savings on shady deals or having to join the army.
Why? Because their nations funded defense forces for any vassal state, which included Hwanryeo, the fallen country he was born to.
Hajoon had failed to fight for his state. He was too sick, so he failed as a man.
It was his birthright to be treated as a lesser man.
He was glad that his grandmother was no longer around to tell him those words.
Judgy old twat would have laughed in my face if she heard what bright future I got going for myself right now.
"–Endorsed by the Thunder Dragon himself..!" The theatrical words coming from Hajoon's left caught his attention, snapping him out of a dazed state if only due to the mention of a name he knew against his will.
"For only 20pax a pack, you sir can have the electric energy to slay your paperwork like Hojo-sama fells behemoths with a shrug of his wrist!"
He turned his head to catch a salesman flaunting a pack of low quality instant coffee at the face of a pudgy man, whose receding hairline wasn't helped by the stupid look of delusion on his face.
The man thought himself a hero on par with Hojo Tatsuya, top hunter and director of the Hunter Tower; so he paid the money in full.
It was a common sight on buses, with several salesmen of various overpriced products cycling through during Hajoon's morning commute alone. Of course, the man that was in front of him now was especially desperate, as the bus was approaching one of the bridges that separated Jeokjo from the slums of Nagwon.
If he were to cross while selling products on a bus, an illegal activity to which no permit existed, arrest would be the least of his concerns.
"You, Handsome Sir, look like the respectable sort! I'm sure an Intelligent man like you can appreciate the value of Liquid Thunder! Only 20pax a pack, but especially for you, I'll make it 15!"
Hajoon smiled, taking the offered pack of the caffeinated drink, dropping a bronze coin into the outstretched hand.
"This is only 5pax..." The salesman's smile dropped slowly as his frown lines became more prominent, but Hajoon simply smiled as he stabbed a straw into one of three containers.
"Yes, it is." He said as he took a sip of the strong coffee and energy drink mixture, enjoying the small sting it left on his tongue.
"...Hey. You bastard, what is this..?! Pay the full price or don't buy it! Do you get it?? I'll report you–"
"It's overpriced." Hajoon interrupted the salesman, who had started to sweat as he noticed the attention he was drawing, his eyes darting to the bridge coming into view through the maze of telephone wires and haphazard architecture.
"Hey, ajussi? Do you know about this little thing called the fraudulent sales punishment act?"
"What..?"
"15 years"
Hajoon smiled at the man, watching the rage on his face mix with confusion, then ultimately fear.
"What in the burning hells—?! This bastard thinks he's funny..! Talking in riddles..!!"
Hajoon paused at the outburst, wrinkling his nose at the aftertaste of the factory produced product that a middle aged man had bet his life on selling.
"If they're feeling generous like you and your discounts, that's what you'll get in jail. But you know they're not nice like you, uncle."
"Would you risk your life for a few extra coin?"
Hajoon didn't get an answer, only a glare as the man rushed to the doors that opened at the last stop before the bridge, and the last chance to avoid jail time. Hajoon's jaw clenched as he caught the last mumbled words of goodbye from the man.
"Fucking Roach....huh? What a flattering nickname..." Hajoon sighed, leaning back into his seat as he used the strong coffee to alleviate the side effects of his habitual insomnia. But he was soon forced to stuff his purchase into his briefcase, stiffening as two bridge guards climbed aboard the bus, their rifles held to attention.
"Worker ID, now." They went straight for the balding man, whose unkempt attire signaled him as a lower rung labourer. He hadn't managed to hide the overpriced drink in his hands, and it tumbled to the ground, a few excess droplets splattering on the ash haired guard's boot.
"...Disgusting." The foreign words spelled doom for the fumbling man who couldn't understand them, the guard's eyes dark under the shadow of his peaked cap.
Hajoon glanced away as the stock of the rifle connected with the man's jaw.
"D-don't do this– I'm sorry I– I'll clean it up for ya sir please..!" The man's bleeding mouth begged as he was dragged off by the gloved hands of the so-called Fort Defence officer; leaving the other guard to harass each passenger extensively, one by one.
Hajoon was forced to look into those cold blue eyes when it came to be his turn, so he chose to smile, as politely as he could manage.
"Good day sir."
The guard seemed surprised, his eyebrows darting up before he smiled back in false respect.
"Heh..! Good day? Is it?" He drawled in a distinctly Nawian accent as he returned my aenglic greeting. It was the wrong call, to assume the blond man would appreciate manners Hajoon had learned from Albion's popular detective serials.
The difference between blonde and the signature ash of Amarca, it was sometimes hard to tell. But it was too late to correct it now. Hajoon didn't know the soldier's native tongue, nor did he want to attempt butchering it; so he simply smiled.
"It could be, it's too early to say…ah– besides that point, the day is what we make of it right?"
Hajoon felt a trickle of nervous sweat slide down his back as the soldier laughed in response.
"Ya! And you? Going to make it good?" He extended a hand, into which Hajoon placed his worker Identification card.
"I'll try my darndest! Haha…"
"You speak it better than me, his language." The Nawian soldier gestured mildly to his Ash haired partner, who had returned with a bloody fist, a spray of red on black fabric.
"Ah…do I?"
Hajoon didn't want to find out why it was red, so he looked away when that guard glanced their way.
"For the slums? Ya. You sound posh, if that's the word. Heeh…what is this…oh? Got a cushy job?" The Nawian soldier huffed as he inspected Hajoon's ID card, pinching it between two fingers as if it was trash he had picked up off the street.
"Ah…yes?"
"At GenCure? That big place? How did you get a job there?" He scoffed, pocketing the small card and staring at Hajoon, who only waited patiently to have it returned. The soldier thought the card to be fabricated on the basis that GenCure Pharmaceuticals was too high class and influential of a company for him to be an employee of. It had a choke hold on the lucrative medical field of the East after all, rivalling the figurehead government of Hwanryeo in influence.
But a scam company needs scammers to fill the roles. How else would they convince the masses to buy overpriced cough drops?
"Merit, sir." Hajoon responded, keeping steady eye contact with the pale blues that glared at him. "And a bit of luck of course, haha…" He chuckled to deprecate himself, which he had noticed that officers liked to see. It gave them an ego boost, and put them in a better mood for negotiation.
"Lucky guy huh?" The soldier laughed as well as he glanced at Hajoon's work bag. "You have anything there? For luck..?"
Hah…Do I look like I have money to bribe you, bastard?
"Haha…if I kept a mystical talisman at the bottom of this for luck, I don't suppose you'd be interested?" Hajoon laughed awkwardly, unbuckling the cheap leather bag and staring at the contents; at the top of which were the coffee packs he'd hid before.
"Talisman? I don't care for pagan fantasies!" The guard snorted, his laugh making the others who sat nearby flinch.
"Ah, well you never know when you need a mystical tissue when it's this cold out..!" Hajoon joked, keeping the nervous smile plastered on his face. He knew well enough that a bootlicker was better off than the dead, so he wouldn't pretend to be above it.
He didn't particularly have to try hard either, if he managed to appear nonthreatening, kind, and somewhat unassuming. Being a doormat by default had its benefits, which were proven by the relaxed guard who only laughed at him.
"Heh..! Heh heh– Funny Zver! Hm…I'm thirsty, from laughing!" The guard covered his grin with a hand as he eyed the coffee in Hajoon's bag.
Ugh. Stealing cheap shit from the poor? Really?
"Please drink this, sir." He stood up and held the unopened packs of coffee out with both hands, bowing habitually. Making coffee for his betters was his job after all, even if he had nearly two years of seniority over the newest hires.
Hajoon didn't straighten up from the bow until the soldier walked off with the coffee he'd extorted, tossing Hajoon's Identification card to him over his shoulder. He didn't manage to catch it midair, so he stared at the card that was left on the dirty floor for a moment.
With a few less passengers than before, the bus rumbled back into motion, trudging past the line of security that seemed comically extensive on a random weekday morning. Hajoon tucked his ID back into his coat pocket, watching the men in black uniform mill about in the distance, before they disappeared from sight as the bus took a turn into the dense architecture of Jeokjo.
Hah…that didn't feel like the usual random inspection…
But it's fine, let's move on. I lost my breakfast to that bastard but that was all I lost. Thinking about it will only make my head hurt.
It's not my place to ask questions.
As they say, a freshwater fish couldn't survive in the ocean. Either they find the flow of the current and adapt, or they drown.
Of course, the fish will slowly die in the acidic waters, but the choice was between prolonged death or an instant one.
He had to remind himself of that as he stepped out into the well-maintained streets of the business sector, falling into step behind the morning commuters that would fill up the towering building that blotted out the sky. It was all very uniform and clear cut, designs made to optimize space above all else; but the large building where his cubicle was waiting for him looked as if it was dropped there from a different time.
The ground floors looked like an asylum, built of red brick and tile, while the glassy extensions to its height looked wildly out of place.
Hajoon found that the crowd had trickled out by the time he reached the security gate. The guard barely looked his way as he took his Worker ID, then handed it back with a click of his tongue.
"Riotbankers, lazy fucks…" Hajoon heard the muttered words as he walked through the gate and into the elevator.
He was late.
He was the only one who was.
It took approximately thirty minutes for the publicity team leader, Mr. Wright, to realize he was in fact Mr. Wrong for screaming at Hajoon over that fact, as it did nothing but disrupt work and waste his own precious time.
That's right. I'm not worth your time.
Not that he uses his own time well…
Why can't they just ignore me? I do half the work around here, just let me do it quietly without grating my ears every few–
"Good morning Mr. Park!" A cheery voice greeted Hajoon as he took his place at his desk, startling him out of his thoughts. Looking up at his co-worker, who's bright smile didn't match the look in her eyes, he couldn't help the childish wish to turn invisible.
"Ah, good morning Ms. Lee..."
It never worked in his childhood, but at least he wouldn't stumble out of this interaction with a black eye. Hopefully.
"You were a bit late…did something happen?"
She slid a cup of coffee onto his desk, and he shifted away from it.
I don't need your pity, Hyejin.
"No, not at all. Don't worry about it."
"Mr. Wright looks a bit…stressed these days. He took it out on you, so, don't dwell on it, alright?" She glanced at the coffee cup, and the stream that curled from it, before sighing and taking it back, downing it herself as if it didn't burn her tongue.
Hah. Classic.
"Ah, right. I won't. Enjoy your coffee, Ms. Lee." He smiled, before focusing on the stack of work his lazy teammates had dropped off for him.
Being a doormat had its advantages, but cutting back on workload wasn't one of them.
Having the looks of an actress on the other hand did just the trick. By the laws of pretty privilege, Lee Hyejin, his desk mate to the left, had a much easier time.
Hajoon glanced down as a pinprick of red landed on the edge of the paper as he read through a document. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and sighed.
Haahh...well I'm no fair maiden, better get to work.