time for the main event

An Nam Il

The noodles smelled divine but the entire place was so shifty that Nam Il felt uncomfortable with even making eye contact with anybody, let alone placing an order. Still, he had been bullied into buying a cup of tea as soon as he had entered. The lady who had all but pushed him into a seat had spoken to him in fast, dialectal Chinese. Nam Il had saved himself with a bilingual menu from a nearby table, its occupants already chowing down on what looked like bean sprouts. He had pointed at the cheapest listed tea three times, each time with the woman apparently trying to convince him to try a more expensive one. Out of desperation, he had thrown the exact change at her, shoving it right into her calloused hands.

The teahouse scam was a pretty famous one, even if he couldn't be sure somebody was trying to pull one off on him right then. It involved luring unsuspecting tourists to a place for tea. Then, after a few cups, a big, scary man or two or three or a dozen would come up with their bill. Normally, it would be hundreds or even thousands of dollars. All for one or two cups of tea. And Nam Il knew that he looked like a lamb in a lion's den right then. He had tried his best to blend in with the crowd but inevitably, he was just too clean looking. At least she had eventually gotten the message. He didn't even end up drinking the tea, though. It had come out cold, so who knew what bacteria might be breeding in there?

When a familiar feeling of deep despair washed over him, Nam Il let himself fall with it for a moment before brushing it back off in pure relief. It was getting easier to ignore Gen's aura of "You're going to die and your little dog, too, ooohooooo." Maybe in some more time, they wouldn't be there anymore? Nam Il dared to feel hopeful for a moment because the despair came back and crushed the sentiment.

Okayyyyy... Yeah, not the time for it, huh?

He laughed a bit nervously as he followed Gen out. "Nah, it wasn't too much trouble. I think people already know I'm not a regular around here." That weird-eyed guy, though. Nam Il had to keep looking back to make sure he wasn't following them.

Once they got to the fence, Nam Il breathed out. "Okay, so what's the plan?"

An Nam Il

In some abstract way, Nam Il was perfectly aware of the existence of guns. The army used them, after all, and since South Korea was a country which had an active drafting age, that meant pretty much everybody would eventually learn how to handle one. It was a simple fact of life, and then the knowledge went into a little box in the backroom of a person's mind to blissfully collect dust for the rest of their life. It was through this track of logic that Nam Il took passing note of a certain related point of interest - that "eventually."

The pistol was in his hand before he could really even register it. He stared at it for a moment, scrutinizing. Safety on, safety off, safety on, safety off. Whip, shoot, whip, shoot. Don't drop the gun, you damn moron. The little switch clicked incessantly in his head. From police dramas, Nam Il theoretically knew what to do with the weapon. The application of that knowledge, however, was suddenly proving to be distressingly transient, dissipating with the foreign feel of the weight in his hand. The familiar cold dread from Gen's aura swept over him.

Oh my God, I'm going to get somebody killed, Nam Il thought, smashing down his look of fear into a twitchy grimace. He followed after Gen as quietly as possible, tracing the lines of the gun in his mind. Only once did he dare to actually put his fingers against the switch that stood between normal Nam Il and Nam Il with a live firearm. Safety on, safety off. The safety was on. But, as if some mysterious force might change that fact at any moment, his fingers ghosted over it. Just in case. Oh my God, he thought, this is a loaded gun and I could take the safety off in just two seconds.

The sick feeling of Gen's aura made the relief of actually having Gen feel as if hidden eyes were on the back of his neck. He twitched towards the flash of shadows, trying to use stable, earthy logic to reassure himself. Gen was used to doing this sort of thing. Obviously, if there was an issue, Gen would know first. Of course. Of course. On, off, on, off. Nam Il was sure to stay out of his friend's way as they started to beat on stuff, trying to avoid looking over his shoulder at the sound of each shuddering crack of wood.

When prompted to, Nam Il peered into the crate to come face to face with a whole load of white powder. All this trouble for that? It looked like plain old salt but he did as Gen told him, slipping the backpack off his shoulders to start really packing the stuff in. As package after package of drugs disappeared into his bag, Nam Il felt mesmerized by the sight. Sure, unlike China, nobody was executed for drug dealing in South Korea but the subject was so taboo that even smoking vanilla pot could ruin a person for life if caught.

It felt so surreal. First the gun, now the drugs. It made Nam Il feel. Well, cool. It was dangerous as hell but it kind of felt nice in a terrifying sort of way.[/i]