Ego: Hit and Run (Taekook)

Train to Busan

"Is that so?" Taehyung clicked his tongue, keeping at that lightness. "And what if I am unable to provide the type of labor are you requiring, sir? I am sure I am not qualified enough for a man of your... caliber."

"Worry not, child. You are just the man for the job, from what I've gathered." Jeon rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "The only man, perhaps."

"I wasn't aware I had such fond spectators of my career, sir." Taehyung attempted to jest, his fingers curling inwards as they trembled with the insinuation. This man in front of him was dangerous, and Taehyung knew that joking could take him down the wrong road; one leading to ditches and severed limbs.

He knew this, yet he couldn't help it: he rambled when he was nervous. Sue me, he thought.

"Ah, yes! Your career is precisely why you are here, my son. You, Mister Sparrow, have quite the reputation from your clientele, nothing but glowing reviews and commendations," he said, inching his brow up as if he were impressed. "I respect that in a man. Loyalty. The ability to perform, time and again, with no mistakes."

"It's always good to meet fans of my work." Taehyung would have been pleased, if he didn't feel like falling to his knees and trembling at the feet of this dangerous, dangerous man. The look in his eye, whether smirking or just thinking was unhinged as his son's had been, yet more reserved, as if keeping the violence at bay. More controlled.

"You are just what I need for this position," he continued, as if he either didn't pick up on or simply didn't care to acknowledge Taehyung's audible gulp of terror. "You see my son, Jeongguk, is the inheritor to the empire of Gwanlija arms and weaponry. He is only eighteen, at the moment, but he has been getting the proper grooming to step up to be my successor when the time comes." Jeon spoke slowly but surely, as if expecting Taehyung to be absorbing this intel.

But Taehyung had lost all ability to keep up after the mention of the word Gwanlija. Protectors. That is what it meant in its pure linguistic form, but the connotation, the sheer power that came attached implicitly to the namesake was enough to make the blood drain from his face.

"Sit down son," Jeon ordered, gesturing to the chair opposite his own on the other end of the expansive desk. Taehyung obliged, although it wasn't really up to him with the way the command had been phrased. He was thankful for the opportune concealment the desk provided for his trembling legs as they sunk in to the leather of the arm chair.

"Now tell me, what do you know about the Gwanlija, Taehyung?" Jeon asked, his body leaning forward as if unable to contain his curiosity in stillness.

"I know only the essentials, sir," Taehyung began. "They are the biggest supplier of all artillery to the underground gangs of Seoul, although they also maintain partnerships with government agencies in Korea and Japan. Their importers range from Dubai to the United States of America, with a stock market cap of roughly 150 trillion won. (read: About 135 billion USD) They maintain a familial hierarchy, and are most closely affiliated with the Busan and Incheon Kkangpae gangs." That concluded his concise pretense of knowledge, his tongue withholding any further incriminating details.

"Some essentials, those are! You have certainly done your homework Sparrow. You must have had some prior knowledge of our existence for such a colorful description," he interrogated, his praise raking disconcerting shivers over Taehyung's spine.

"No, sir. Someone of my, erm, position, has to be well informed in all matters pertaining to clientele and their ventures." Taehyung defended quickly, unwilling to rouse suspicion from the cutting eyes across from him.

"You know enough to get yourself in trouble, young man, but you remain correct on all accounts. We are the supplier of all artillery on this turf, but we also represent something money and ammunition can't buy... We protect the streets. How do I put it?" His voice trailed off, as if lost in a maze of his own thoughts. "That creature you were looking at on the door earlier, do you know what it is?" he posed the question, voice slow and insinuating.