Yoongi's hand around the handle of the black case with money, Namjoon had given him to get the tool, clenched. This was the part of his job he did not like, the part he never liked. The blonde was walking down a dark and filthy backstreet, old and dirty cobblestone under his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw a prostitute with her hook-up. Her skirt did barely cover her ass and the fishnets did not change her appearance to the better. Seductively she leaned against the gray wall and tried to shove her pushed up boobs into his face from what the blonde could see. He felt sick when he looked at them from the corner of his eye.
He was on his way to do the shopping, how he liked to call it. When he had passed some shabby, dark-grey garbage bags, he saw the little familiar door and went over to knock on the rough, timeworn wood, that was bleached from rain and dust. The bumper, a giant with a scarred face and bare skull, had been informed and let him pass. Zico liked to impress. His bodyguards all looked like the man in front of the blonde. Scary but dumb. Watchdogs, that would kill for their owner.
He had found the old business card of his former contact at the bottom of his desk's drawer. Not that he needed it. The phone number and address of the man who owned the biggest underground network in the city were still burned into his mind. The other had been delighted to hear he was back in business. After he had been shot on his last job, Yoongi had decided to quit safecracking. He had enough of incompetent and ruthless people, who worked with their muscles and guns instead of their brain.
The stuffy air inside the room made the barista crunch his nose. It smelled like alcohol and sweat. But how could it not? After all, he was walking straight through a strip club. The barely clothed bodies of the mostly female dancers were wound around the shiny poles, spreading their legs. Yoongi would like to call it seductively, but it was not. Salacious and slutty would be the fitting terms. Well, a shitty strip club was a better hideout than one of the high-class clubs. Who would expect The King to sit behind such an ugly front?
The red and blue neon light hurt the blond man's eyes, and he tried to ignore his surroundings and went straight to the bar. Unfortunately, Zico only was at his office after midnight, for he preferred to reign his empire by checking on everything personally at day-time.
"I've got an appointment. Tell him Suga's here," he growled at the bar tender.
After two seconds of checking him visually, the man went through the black door behind the counter. When he came back, he gestured the blonde to follow him. Yoongi walked behind the bar and pushed through the wing door, entering the storage room. At the back was a simple concrete stair, that lead up to the next floor. He could walk the way in his sleep. In the next room, a plain hallway with black walls and illuminated by white neon lights, he was greeted by two more watchdogs. This time, they wore black suits. One of them had decided to put on black sunglasses. Yoongi had to hold back a snort. Ridiculous.
One of the men took his briefcase and examined the content, the other checked his body on anything that could be used as a weapon. The barista had to restrain the urge to pull back from the touch of the thick hands. Even though there was the fabric of his t-shirt he felt the need to shower after the examination. Last, they made him take off his shoes, a rather pointless action, for he wore sneakers with flat soles and not some leather boots where you could hide something in the heel. However, there was no point in complaining, and he continued his way barefoot.
The black door on the end of the hallway finally led him into the office, he had longed to visit. Zico could have chosen any front for his office, but he had not only decided to take a cheap strip club but the shittiest of all his strip clubs. The barista still thought he did it for the effect. Because what followed next was the opposite of the room beneath.
The first thing that every intruder was confronted with was the giant painting across from the door. From a canvas of three times two meters (yes, the room was five meters high) stared down a grotesque mask of insanity and hate, painted in black, violet and red. That face, if you could still call it that with the wide, wild eyes and the gaping mouth with missing teeth, took the whole canvas. Even after innumerable visits, Yoongi could not get used to it. It fulfilled his purpose perfectly. He felt small and vulnerable.
Underneath the painting sat the real monster, the one who controlled everyone and everything that lived in the shadows, untouched from the light of the normal world, his empire growing like cancer in the heart of the city. He leaned over some documents on the three meters, wooden table. His white fur coat hung over the giant backrest of his wooden chair, more throne. Behind him and next to the canvas stood two majestic shelfs. Each of them had a ladder attached, that went up to something that looked like a balcony and allowed to walk in front of the boards above two meters. The wall could be straight out of a palace's library, if it wasn't for the painting.
The right wall held a fireplace with a black leather couch in front of it, on which the barista could get a glimpse of a cat's head. Of course, not any cat's head, no. Zico possessed a black panther. Because, hell, why not? The left wall displayed three paintings, one of The King himself, one of his father and one of his grandfather. But Yoongi knew, behind the frames were three massive safes with varying content.
The man looked up when he heard the door.
"Suga!" he welcomed him happily. Yoongi nearly believed his delight, but the cold, dead eyes told him better. There was no joy in The King's eyes, never had been as long as he knew him. The only emotion he had ever seen was insane excitement. This had been when he had visited at the wrong time and had to watch two of the dogs-in-suits carry out a dead body, who's face could no longer be called a face. Back then, he had been close to vomiting. The memory of the red liquid coloring his bare feet made his stomach harden.
"Zico. I see, you still have the ugly, red carpet floor," the barista greeted back, thankfully his voice did not show his emotions.
"Yeah, it's still less work when cleaning. You should know." The dealer had come around the table and shook his hand. As strange as it sounded, Zico had the best manners he had ever seen on a man.
"What brings you into my realm of darkness?"
"I need The Tec's work." Yoongi could have gone to any underground technician to ask for the tool he needed, but he wanted The Tec (a man who might have had forgotten his own name by now, for everyone just called him that), because he knew, the man would give him exactly what he asked for. Unfortunately, he worked under the wing of Zico and only took orders from said man.
"What do you need?"
"Give him this. He'll know what to do," the barista answered and handed his opponent a piece of paper. It contained the safe model's serial number, a mix of letters and numbers no one else would understand. He did not need Zico to know about his job.
"An' please ask him for two pairs of license plates."
"Like you wish. Now, for the payment. You know I charge 25 percent for provision, so depending on what he has to say, I'll calculate my price. Do you want to wait here or come back later to pay me? You know-"
"You charge before and not after the job. Yes, I know," he interrupted the other, "I'll wait."
The King nodded and went back behind his table to scan the piece of paper and sent it to The Tec.
Yoongi knew he played with fire in being this cheeky, but he also knew Zico liked people like him, for he enjoyed having an eye-to-eye talk once in a while. He strolled over to the couch and put his case on the coffee table, kneeling in front of the panther. He was a beauty.
"Hello, ma dear Azazel," the barista quietly greeted the cat and started stroking him behind his ears. Over his many visits of this office, he had come to like the animal. Stroking him always had calmed him in the intimidating presence of The King or his father, god may let him rot in hell.
Lazily, Azazel opened his eyes. After the big cat recognized him, it resumed dozing.
"I feel ya, ma friend," the blonde said, continuing to stroke him.
"He likes you more than me," Zico growled. "By the way, how's your café? Business is running well?"
Yoongi froze. Why did The King know about his café? No, wrong question. Of course, he would know, because you never escape the dark spider's net once you're in, and Yoongi had practically lived half his life under the wing of this man's family. The question should be, why he was interested. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to look at the man behind the table. The latter's expression made him relax. He was not interested, just asking to keep the conversation going.
"Good. People like coffee, especially students."
"I hate coffee," the other uttered, caught up in the files in front of him, "I prefer tea."
"That's 'cause ya get the morning-kick from something a little harder," the barista mumbled, but Zico had heard him.
"You used to do that, too. I know, you still long for the kick. No one deposes Adderall and does not miss its hot embrace."
Embarrassed, Yoongi lowered his eyes. Sadly, the other was right. When he had been about eighteen, he had started to take Adderall to enhance his concentration on jobs. It had not taken long to get addicted to the rush. But he had quit that together with his job after the injury.
"I don't do drugs anymore."
"Too bad, I found something you'd like very much."
The barista ignored Zico and propped his head on the couch in front of the panther's head. The carpet under his knees was cold, but he did not care. Pushing Azazel off the sofa was something he'd never do. Not because he was scared of the animal's teeth, but because it felt disrespectful.
A soft beep indicated the income of a message on Zico's computer.
"Three thousand, he says. Plus 750 for me than. Dollars of course. So, it'll be..." the blonde heard the clicking of a calculator and Taehyung popped into his mind, "4 226 250 Won with the current exchange rate. Let's make it 4 225 k. See it as a welcome-back-present."
"4 230 k and you'll never hear from me again," the barista replied and got up with his briefcase. The last thing he needed was owing the king.
His opponent's eyes sparkled knowingly, "Call. Give me the money."
Yoongi put the case on the table and counted off the sum.
"I suppose, I should call you when I get the plates?"
"Yes, please."
"Well, then," The King surrounded his table once again to shake the blond man's hand, "have a nice night."
"Same."
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This morning, Yoongi had gotten the call from Zico for the license plates. He should get them at the same place as always. So, right know, he sat on his Kawasaki on the way to 'the post-office'. It actually was a post-office, but it also was a front for the exchange of illegal goods. Zico possessed about five percent of all post-offices in Seoul. The one Yoongi would go to, was the one he had always visited for his tools. He did not know any of the others.
"The package for Suga," was all he had to say to the old man. The latter knew him already. One minute later, he was on his way to Namjoon's, the plates in his bag.
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"Hello," a grinning Taehyung greeted him at the door. God, how he had needed that smile. The tension of last night finally seemed to fade away.
He followed the youngest inside and went to Namjoon's room.
"I've got the plates."
"Perfect. Then let's go and continue prepping the car." The black-haired went over to his small closet and pulled out two pullovers. "Come on. Move," he said and rushed to the exit.
"Chill, man!" the barista growled.
Back in the warehouse, Namjoon gave further instructions, "Min, could you make us a flipping number plate for the front and the back? I need a button on the dashboard for the flip. Is that possible?"
"Sure."
"Perfect. Tae, put that on and follow me." The programmer handed the crimson one of the pullovers from his closet.
"Long sleeves? Do you want to kill us?" the younger asked with raised eyebrows. It nearly was 30 degrees outside, and the concrete walls did not change much about that.
"We need to weld. It's for your arms, so you don't get burned by the sparks."
"Oh..."
The black-haired had already grabbed the masks and the welding machine.
"You'll hold the cable to where I tell you, and I'll fixate it," he explained while he put on the heavy gloves.
"Yes, Sir," Taehyung's standard phrase echoed through the room when he saluted.
Two hours later, they had linked up every part of the car's surface and gathered the endings of the cables in the middle of the car. Taehyung was sweating buckets but he would not cry about it. Showing weakness next to Yoongi and Namjoon would be embarrassing, especially because the programmer never seemed to lack energy. How could someone be always focused?
"We need to tape the cables to the floor, so they won't get in the way later," the black-haired said and brought armor tape. The two started fixing the cables to the car's body, until they could bring them into a thick bundle, one half blue, the other red. Namjoon jumped out of the car once again and came back with a little black box that had a red switch.
"Clamp the blue ones in the lower row and the red in the upper," Namjoon instructed the crimson and left to look for the barista.
Taehyung looked at the box. On the side were two times eight spots to plug in the cables. He took the screwdriver and started to connect the contacts. When he was done, he pulled the switch.
"Yah! Taehyung!" he heard Yoongi's voice and twitched. What had he done?
The crimson climbed out of the car and froze. The vehicle was no longer black, but silver-gray.
"Namjoon? please explain," the youngest requested and walked to the front where the other two stood, Yoongi holding his hand to his chest.
Before the black-haired could say anything, the blonde started cursing at the mathematician, "Damn bastard! You gave me an electric shock. How dumb must one be to turn random switches? Man!"
"Oh..."
"Oh, my ass! Fucker!" The barista turned around, his shoulders tense from anger. "Smart boy, yeah?"
"Sorry, Min. Should have thought about telling him earlier," the programmer said and looked at the cowed Taehyung, "The material we sprayed on the surface yesterday changes its optical characteristics when it's connected to a power source."
"That's damn impressive," the youngest admitted.
"You know what's even more impressive? Turn it off and remove the letters."
The crimson did as he was told and afterwards turned on the power again. Now there stood a gray van with the black advertisement for a mold removal company. He was amazed. Namjoon seriously knew cool stuff.
One hour later, the barista had finished his work, too. Now the license plates flipped when one pressed the big, red button on the dashboard.
"Wow, did you copy the idea from the mechanic movie, Joon?" the crimson asked, grinning like a child on Christmas day.
"Yes, I admit that. I found the idea pretty clever, so I copied it," the taller answered, "Why not learn from movies?"
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