The Snake's City

1 - Enter, My Killers

"Shit, Yugyeom! You gotta confirm the kill! Did you hear me? Confirm. The. Fucking. Kill! You know the big boss has zero tolerance for experienced fucking practicians like yourself playing around with their damn food! For fucks sake, do you want me to set up a goddamn dynamite stick of dynamite up your-"

"Shut the fuck up, Bambam. I've got it. Who has the eagle-eye vision? Not your ass. Let me do my sniping work in peace; and keep your damn sticky bombs and dynamite in your duffel bag. Causing a stirrup of attention is the last thing we want smearing our fucking objective." 

"Okay, Big Boy. Don't get your body all in a twist. I won't distract the expert while he's clearly fucking up the mission and going to cost us both our balls and gain us an unnecessary scolding from Youngjae." Bambam grumbled, puckering out his swollen lips that he got from gnawing at them in anxiousness; he twirled a piece of his autumn-colored, wispy hair in his long finger and leaned against the one of the ventilators on the sky-high, outdoor rooftops of the building. He fiddled with his iPhone, whistling some sort of moronic tune that was playing on one of the pop stations in his car when they both drove over. 'God, can he just take the fucking shot so we can haul ass out of here? These girls on Grindr are looking especially good, and maybe if Jackson is back from his conference in time he could give a few pointers before I get it on', He thought impatiently, boring his wide, doe-like eyes into his companion. 

The world-league hitman was hunched over the ledge of the outdoor rooftop, peering down into the the nighttime streets of the Seodaemun district of Seoul, South Korea. He was wearing an edgy, black leather jacket with studs on the tassels, hanging off haphazardly to the side. Underneath the open jacket was a sensually-unbuttoned, spartan white shirt that exposed the young man's rather toned chest. Tight leather jeans with ribs on the thighs sculpted his legs, splayed flat to accommodate to his sniping position; A Gucci belt that supported two high-class marksman pistols and some white, Nike running shoes with black checks made up the other parts of his outfit. He was glaring into the reticle of his sniper rifle, his cheeky, snake-like, and ebony eyes peering into the scope with eerily unbreakable concentration. His pale face was not coated with an inkling of sweat, even his raven-colored mop of shaggy hair and bangs not sticking to his face. The sniper's rosy lips were pursed in focus, thick eyebrows furrowed as well - he was waiting VERY patiently for the kill, and his annoying sidekick couldn't understand that. 

"I can feel you staring at me," Yugyeom remarked coldly, body not moving and eyes still looking endlessly into his sniper scope, "And it's not fucking helping time pass by faster. Neither will the objective come to the hotel any quicker. Find something to entertain yourself with instead of looking at me like I'm on one." He bitterly spat, toying with the blunt dangling off the corner of his mouth - the young man was not one to leave for a mission without some sort of high in his mouth. 

Bambam frowned, throwing his hands behind his hand and extravagantly yawning, "You are on one. I can see your blunt off the side of your mouth from here. Isn't it somewhat disappointing that Got7's peak marksman likes to kill people while he's fucking baked out of his mind? I sure as hell think so." The chipper young man snickered, "You think your hot shit." 

"And I think you're a little shit." Yugyeom quipped back, smirking devilishly through his high; he could feel Bambam's temper soaring, the latter launching into a tangent about how he was far from little and that he was 6 months older than him and that he should be much more gracious and kind to his superior. He could even picture the explosive man boisterously thrashing his arms around everywhere. However, before he could zero back in and care to hear Bambam's anger, he spotted their intended target. 

"Bambam, Target's here. Shut the fuck up and argue your case about why your not a piece of shit later. Coordinates are 85 Northwest, emerging from Seundeol street in a sleek, white limo with multiple bodyguards present and armed with machine guns. Match the coordinates with the description I gave you and look for nearby explosives you planted." In a split second, Yugyeom's voice changed from the playful tone it carried to the deep-voiced, authority-figure voice that barked orders and demanded results. He focused his reticle onto the figure - the client - that they needed to kill. His name was Ji-Seuk, a grubby mid-level mafia boss that had gone back on a couple of druggie deals gone wrong and even sent in a brothel army that OD'd on narcs, costing Got7 a dent of a loss (according to Mark). He was nothing but a scumbag that wore vintage designer suits too puffy for his already obese body and minx coats; the stereotypical mafia boss dropped in South Korea. The leader was walking into the Gangnam hotel, a prestigious, elitist hotel in the heart of Seoul's bustling district at the wee hours of the morning to meet with another greasy boss that was playing to enterprise on Got7's mafia empire. Bambam and Yugyeom were here to thwart it; Jackson was also there to help, inside the Gagnam, currently negotiating with the other greasy boss unbeknownst to Ji-Seuk, with a bottle of imported sake and his charming, extroverted, and conniving personality.