A tall, six-and-a-half-foot shadow stood with arms crossed, weight shifted to one leg. He looked indifferent despite his partner nearly getting decapitated. There could only be one person, and it was Zhenya. By his feet, there were silhouettes piled up—probably the bodies of the mafia. He was done having fun, but didn’t bother hurrying over to help his partner.
And at that brief moment when Taekjoo’s mind wandered, a knife was coming at his stomach. He slammed the blade with his Colt then fired a shot at the opponent’s knee.
“Argh!”
The man screamed in pain as he went down. The voice was quite similar to Boris’s. Taekjoo, catching his breath, took off his goggles. Blood dripped steadily from his arm, gathering into drops at his fingertips. As time passed, the bleeding got worse. It had to be stopped immediately.
Taekjoo, digging around his pocket, let out a sigh of exasperation. He just remembered he’d given his handkerchief to Zhenya. Well, he didn’t have much of a choice. He took off the jacket, filthy with dust, and started unbuttoning his shirt. That was when Zhenya came over slowly.
“That was a close one. Get yourself gutted like that, and it’s a month without sex.”
Yes, what a nightmare that would be.
Taekjoo shook his head and returned to the buttons. It must have bothered Zhenya that Taekjoo was taking forever with only one arm.
“We’ll be here all night,” he said, slapping Taekjoo’s hand away and unbuttoned the shirt himself. When Taekjoo actually needed help, Zhenya just sat back and watched. Then, here he was now, helping with the most unnecessary thing.
Taekjoo lifted his left arm and mocked Zhenya.
“Look who finally decided to be helpful,” said Taekjoo.
“You’re welcome.”
Zhenya simply grinned at the open mockery, and it didn’t surprise Taekjoo at all.
“How much longer?” Taekjoo asked him in a sulking tone, but Zhenya didn’t respond. In fact, he was so quiet that Taekjoo had to take a good look at him. He saw that Zhenya was distracted by a button. He was so focused that his eyes were glued to the tip of his fingers, delicately working the button through the hole.
“This is fine.”
Taekjoo pushed away the bothering hand and flung the shirt off his body. The motion caused the last button, which wasn’t undone, to rip and fly away. Taekjoo didn’t care. He proceeded to wrap his shirt around his bleeding left arm. He bit the end of the sleeve to hold it and tie it up. For those who were often sent on one-man missions, it was common to do first aid on themselves, by themselves.
Taekjoo quickly stopped the bleeding and walked over to Boris. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle as he dragged it on his way to pick up his gun. Taekjoo snatched him by the neck and sat him on the chair earlier. He also pulled his wrists to the back and cuffed him before knocking the chair down backward.
Thump—the chair hit the floor, and so was Boris, letting out a pained groan. Then, Taekjoo brought the chair back up. He repeated the process several times.
Boris’s spirit was unaffected despite having been knocked down again and again. He even laughed at Taekjoo. Taekjoo grabbed a good chunk of his hair and pulled his head back. Boris simply let out an unpleasant chuckle.
“You can’t make me talk.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Taekjoo put on a smile just as fake as Boris’s and walked toward the broken computer in the corner. He rummaged through the parts and got out a keyboard. Taekjoo smashed it against the wall, and the keys fell out. He grabbed a fistful, walked back to Boris, forced his mouth open, and shoved them in.
Boris’s cheeks were full. Taekjoo didn’t forget to tape his mouth shut, making sure nothing would spill out. Zhenya found all this very interesting as he watched from a foot back.
Taekjoo was done preparing. He began slowly circling around Boris.
“A North Korean engineer is coming over to fix the issue with SS-29. He’ll be here in a day or two. Where do I have to go to meet him?”
“...”
Boris didn’t react at all. Taekjoo lowered himself and looked at the man directly in the eye. There was no emotion in Taekjoo’s jet-black eyes, and Boris returned the glare as well, his eyes bloodshot. Taekjoo slapped the man unannounced. His once-confident expression twisted in pain as the keys inside his mouth dug in. If a slap hurt this much, a punch would be unbearable. But Boris was stubborn. His lips were sealed. He deserved his position within Sonchev. He straightened his body, which had been leaning slightly to the side. He caught his breath, and at that moment, Taekjoo slammed a fist in his face. Boris’s whole body quivered at the blinding pain. There was no space in his mouth, yet somehow, pained moans still escaped.
Taekjoo grabbed Boris’s cheeks, and the man’s face turned pale.
“Feel like talking now?” Taekjoo asked. Boris shook his head. His eyes were filled with unwavering determination. Taekjoo’s face turned cold as well. Zhenya huffed out a laugh.
Taekjoo’s brick-like fists showed no mercy. After enduring for so long, finally, his head slumped to the side. Even with his mouth stuffed and taped, blood and drool still trickled out. Taekjoo tore off the tape. The lips parted on their own. From the gap, bloody keys and teeth fell out.
“Let me ask you again. Who is the engineer coming over to fix SS-29, and where is he heading?”
Boris grinned through the interrogation and spat straight into Taekjoo’s eye. He didn’t wipe off the bloody spit. Taekjoo just picked up Boris’s knife, which had fallen to the floor.
“Why don’t you step out for a moment?”
Taekjoo asked Zhenya. It was his way of being considerate and giving advice.
“Don’t mind me. Pretend like I’m not here.”
Zhenya chuckled at Taekjoo’s kindness, and as he did, his eyes were filled with excitement, anticipating what was to come.
Suit yourself—Taekjoo muttered as he stepped toward Boris. Boris breathed hard while glaring at Taekjoo. The look in his eyes said he would’ve killed Taekjoo ten times over if he had his way. His spirit remained unbroken, despite all of Taekjoo’s taming and torment. Only one last thing to do, then.
“It’s said Native Americans hunted as many enemies as they could to prove their bravery. And their chosen method was notorious for its cruelty. It subjected their victims to pain until the very last breath. Decapitation would be a kind and humane way of killing compared to that, since it only entailed brief, momentary pain. You know what Native Americans did? They scalped their enemies alive.”
Taekjoo mumbled as he gently touched Boris’s forehead, pushing the hair off it. Then, Taekjoo drew a straight line above the skin with the knife.
“...Ah!”
Boris, tied to the chair, flinched at the pain of his skin being sliced open. But it was still tolerable—for now. The slit began bleeding.
“First, make a small incision on the scalp, just wide enough to hook two fingers in. Then, slowly start tearing off the scalp. Most victims never survived the full skinning—they went into shock long before it was over. I read that the pain was incomparable to being shot, sliced, or breaking a bone.”
An eerie smile crossed Taekjoo’s face. Things couldn’t get any more interesting than this for Zhenya. For the first time in his life, Boris felt fear. He felt fear from what he’d just heard.
“AAAAAAAAAHHHH!”
Not long after, a blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the empty building.