"I don't do shit halfway, sweetheart. You step in my flames, you'll burn to ashes!"
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The Kings of the underworld are in a bit of a predicament; their rule over the city is challenged as an old enemy...
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Lightning makes no sound until it strikes.
Martin Luther King Jr.
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Busan, two days ago
Three dark shadows loomed over the docks.
The night was starry and warm. The early days of June heating the weather, while chasing away the usually cloudy nights of the city.
The lack of wind caused the water to be unusually calm with only a few barely-there curls on the surface, whenever a mild gust of air decided to relieve the heated port.
If you looked in the distance, you could get lost into the infinity of the stars mirrored in the steady waters so much so, that it was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the water began.
As it was expected the serenity of the night didn't last long. For it is known that the calm is only the anticipation for the storm.
The water started to curl up into waves and the three men turned their heads up to face the storm they anticipated. The ship had come.
The men waited for their acquaintance to appear, which was delayed for some reason. They waited until one of them grew frustrated and shouted.
"Ay! We don't have all day!" Yelled the man.
Right at that time, someone appeared. A young beardless male around early twenties with raven hair and strong strides.
"I apologize for keeping you waiting," he said as he neared them.
The black baseball cap hiding the better part of his facial features, except for the shit-eating grin spreading like wildfire.
The men looked at each other and then at the approaching young male.
"Hey, kid, where's David? He's supposed to be the one delivering," said one of the men.
The boy slowed down as he approached them, coming to a stop a few steps away and dropping his voice down to a whisper.
"About that," he said in a hauntingly low voice. "He won't be coming anytime soon."
The two men in front of him looked at him puzzled while the third one, standing farther away from the docks and the men, placed one hand on the gun he probably had hidden inside his suit, not quite taking the weapon out to shoot just yet. It was a warming that made the boy's smile widen.
"What do you mean he's not coming?" asked one of the men in front of him.
"I'm afraid he's indisposed at this moment," he said raising his head to reveal his face. "Since I killed him!"
They never saw the knife that slit their throats with one swift move.
The man farther apart snapped the gun out of the hostler and shot the young boy. He dogged and threw the knife. The cold metal sliced right in the middle of his forehead. The flesh cut in two, and the man's eyes widened.
