Gunpoint Brave // Markhyuck

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Was he really that sharp and attentive..?

Donghyuck continued to sit through the night uncomfortably, not knowing what to say, but also feeling an underlying sense of comfort with the quiet older male.

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[Mark POV]

Worthless.

The documents revealed amazing improvements. But still, it wasn't perfect.

They needed to get to the top.

And fast.

Mark felt the need to run.
He wanted to run to someone, to something, or at least somewhere for help.

But that was impossible.

Everyday his life was facing the enemy on the battle grounds.

The wounds and perishes were endless. They became routine, going from riptides of pain to tiny waves of feeling.

The new secretary sat in his seat stiffly.

Mark found this boy quite annoying. He didn't understand what it was, but he didn't want to either.

It felt dangerous.

Trying to understand someone.

Maybe it was because he once had hope in his understandings.
But all of that crumbled to dust.

The phone blared, suddenly.
Making the secretary jump a bit.

Mark payed him no attention and picked up.

"Sir, the cargo is ready to ship tonight. The Psycho League is up to distributing this one. Is that affirmative?"

"Yes," Mark made no effort to sound like he had any emotions behind his voice. "Are they ready?"

"They're ready to ship the cocaine sir," the man on the other line responded. "They're one of the biggest gangs of the city. We're bound to get from this one."

"Do your job. Proceed with routine," Mark secretly observed every movement the secretary in front of him was making.

"It'll be done, sir."

"Good."

Mark hung up the phone.

He wanted badly to run away and scream what they were doing to someone, anyone. But that wasn't possible.

He was a slave.
He was a puppet.
And he was willing to be for as long as she lives.

Mark felt sorry for not coming home to her today. It was all the more dangerous for her as that man wanted her dead anyways. But Mark wouldn't let that happen.

Mark sat back down and read more files.

Work work work.

He wanted to be free but was chained by a life.

He would do anything for her.

Anything.

So that's why he was here, commanding something despicable and doing despicable things.

It wasn't her fault.

It was never her fault.

And Mark knew that she blamed herself because his hands weren't clean.

But they didn't need to be.

As long as she smiled, he would continue to dye his hands red.

His hands would get redder and redder as he made his way to the puputeer.