"People hating me doesn't faze me. People loving me...that would be concerning."
A group of criminals with supernatural powers are getting ready for the biggest heist of their lives, but for it to work they need Kimhan the Executioner.
However, it'...
— there's an order in the chaos, beautiful, calming order —
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Only the weak are asking for help.
Something about asking for help never sat right with Kim. He used to do that when he was a child, long before he realized that no one would ever help him, no one ever cared enough to help. No one cared at all.
Help yourself or rot in helplessness until your decaying body ceases to exist; it was simple as that.
Kim could count on the fingers of his one hand how many times he had asked for help his entire life.
Three.
Once when he was still a little naive child expecting the nuns to be kind and loving to him. He remembered it clearly, it was a rainy season and the children were playing outside just moments before the second storm of the day brought the heavy rain once again on their little bodies. All the children ran back inside but Kim slipped in the mud that was left from the storm early in the morning. It was an unlucky fall, his ankle was twisted weirdly and he could feel the stinging pain creeping all over his body. He couldn't get up, the mud was getting all over his clothes, mixing with the rain wetting him from head to the toe.
Sister Ann was standing under the roof of the convent, warm and dry, a rosary hanging from her hands. She was watching him quietly, her lips curved into a cunning smirk, the wrinkles around her eyes distinct even from afar. Her eyes, usually tender and caring to other children, were looking at Kim with disgust and hatred, it would be to no avail even try to search for a piece of kindness in them.
And yet, the naive little Kim didn't see that, so he reached out his tiny hand to her and called, "sister Ann, please can you help me, sister Ann?"
He never asked her again.
The second time was when he was escaping the convent when he asked God to help him open the door.
The third time was an hour ago.
Big wasn't Kim's friend. Kim didn't have friends. He had acquaintances at worst and enemies at best. And in the last three days, he had Sparky.
Big belonged between Kim's acquaintances, his oldest one — the kid with the warm blanket. And now, fifteen years later a renowned surgeon at the BNH Hospital in Bangkok. If someone was to help Porchay it was Big. But Kim didn't drive to the hospital, that would be too risky, no, he drove to Big's home instead. Big was never supposed to know that Kim knew where he lived, but there Kim stood, in front of Big's house, with unconscious Chay in his arms. It was in the middle of the day and chances were 50/50 whether Big would be home. Kim wasn't in the mood for surprises so Big not being home would be a pretty annoying one.
Tongue poking the inside of his cheek, Kim pressed the doorbell and waited.
Big opened the door in less than ten seconds, he had a dark blue suit on and his hair styled with a very concerning amount of hair gel. Most likely he had somewhere to go.
