Ego: Hit and Run (Taekook)

Hands Up it's a Stick Up

Kim Taehyung hated parties.

He was reminded of this fact as he sat surrounded by the heavy incense and dirty cash reeking of underground Seoul night life. The dull crimson of velvet cushions and bright amber of single malt screamed bling and coveted exclusivity. To make it worse, he had come during a season prime for festivities: Korean new year.

Instead of honoring ancestors or whatever pious bullshit Taehyung pictured about this tradition, Seollal for the filthy rich meant one thing and one thing only: gambling.

At least they're doing it in hanboks thought Taehyung as he took a swing of his iced virgin. Colored to mimic the heavy ambience of hard liquor, Taehyung liked ordering apple juice on the rocks to keep up appearances. It was a game of charades that left his targets none the wiser.

What he really wanted right about now was a gallon of vodka to black out with the ridiculously made-up showgirls that were approaching his corner. He resisted that temptation. Drinking on the job was the one rule he would never break, he thought bitterly, recalling that one weekend in Bora Bora that almost cost him a kidney with a wince.

Taehyung came to from his reverie by catching a glimpse of the tacky grandfather clock amidst the twirling bokjori and paper lanterns on the wall.

Zero o'clock.

He made his way up the burgundy (of course they were burgundy, how more cliche could this place get?) staircase, hugging the shadows and sliding along the walls to attract as little attention as possible. He caught sight of a set of ruby curtains separating individual VIP playing rooms from the main hall of the second floor. This was the place in the memo, he was sure of it.

0:00 in the VIP room.

That was the message that brought him here, along with a photograph of his target, and getting past this very checkpoint brought him one step closer to getting the hell out of here. And a sweet bounty of three hundred million won, but currently Taehyung was more interested in the former incentive.

Something danced around his periphery before vanishing as quickly as it came. Taehyung came to a halt. Making no sharp moves to alert whoever was sneaking up on him, he reached down to tie his shoelace-less boots. His fingers itched for the concealed dagger hidden there as he left his back exposed to what he assumed was a lingering enemy.

Peeking underneath the cover of his eye-length bangs, Taehyung saw nothing out of sorts on his flank, but his senses told him otherwise.

Someone was tailing him, he was sure of it.

His instincts were telling him to run, save his ass and abandon ship for survival, but his pride and arrogance pushed him forward. Three hundred million was enough to blow him over for a month or two, and he was never known to back down from a premium.

With dollar signs in mind, he trekked across the thick red carpet and shrugged his way past the deceivingly hefty curtainage and into the playing room.

As predicted, the room was velvet clad from floor to ceiling, with dim LED lights paving the ground and a refreshments bar decked on the far-east corner. The centerpiece of the room was the enormous ivory marble casino table surrounded by plush reclining chairs for the players. It sat ostentatiously under a brilliant chandelier; an object for the sake of opulence more than the dim silvering light it cast down to bounce tangentially against the marble.

Taehyung surveyed this main feature rather disinterestedly, with his focus waning from the structure of the room in lieu of searching for exits or potential hiding spots. There were none, he observed with a flare of annoyance. His inner scavenger hissed in displeasure at being cornered with no apparent paths to escape.