Double Junk - 112

Whether they were dying or hiding, the members of the Taeho Faction mercilessly took lives, dragging out sinners without any mercy. Bullets were lodged in the back of heads, and knives were thrust into necks. Dull screams erupted here and there.

Seokju, using those screams as background noise, ascended the stairs slowly with his long legs. Deokjae and a few others followed him.

On the second floor, there were several private offices. According to the information, these were used by the powerful figures within the Jung Ho Faction, including Kiheon. Seokju walked confidently down the corridor. The members following him checked each room one by one. Some searched for exits like back doors or emergency exits, where Kiheon could escape.

Occasionally, screams from those hiding in rooms could be heard, followed by the sound of rubber bullets. Seokju wasted no time on them, solely focused on moving forward. At the end of the corridor was Kiheon’s space, his office.

Finally, Seokju reached the door. He tucked the gun into his pocket. He had no intention of killing Kiheon easily. He didn’t even consider killing him easily. The gun was too light of a punishment.

Before grabbing the doorknob, Seokju lightly caressed his side. It was the side where the florist had pricked him. Blood oozed out. He had hastily bandaged it on the way, but it seemed to have soaked through.

With his thumb, he lightly brushed the finger stained with blood and turned the doorknob. The well-oiled door opened silently. Simultaneously, bullets began to fly out from inside. Bang! Bang! Bang!

“You bastards! Die! Die!”

Seokju turned his body to the side and hid behind the door. He peeked inside through the crack. The one firing the gun wasn’t Kiheon but someone else. Kiheon’s right-hand man. The one who had sat next to Kiheon when the Jung Ho Faction had visited Seokju’s house. The one who had scolded him to study harder and had hit him on the back of his head.

Deokjae tightly held the rubber bullet gun in his armpit. He briefly met eyes with Seokju, then slid the muzzle through the crack of the door. Then, he pulled the trigger.

Tadadadang!

The long burst of bullets pierced the man’s abdomen and chest. With the impact, the man fell backward.

Deokjae quickly rushed into the office and kicked the gun out of the man’s hand. Then, bang! He blew the man’s head off. Blood splattered roughly on the floor. Deokjae, who had been scanning the room with the gun barrel, called Seokju softly.

“Please come in, sir.”

Upon hearing that, Seokju stepped into the office.

There was nothing to search for Kiheon. He was sitting listlessly in front of his desk. The nameplate on his desk, “President Park Kiheon,” was slightly crooked. He was holding a phone in his hand, seemingly just finishing a call.

Did he call to ask about his family’s well-being? Or did he call someone who could save his own life? Or perhaps it was another puppet?

Seokju gazed at Kiheon with indifferent eyes. Kiheon awkwardly smiled, raising the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, President Kang. You’ve come?”

Blood splattered on Kiheon’s cheek from the burns. It didn’t seem like his own blood but perhaps the blood of another Jung Ho Faction member who had died from the machine gun. Seeing that there were no injuries, it was possible that he had used that member as a human shield.

Seokju walked across the office and stood in front of him. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arm around Kiheon’s neck and slammed him down onto the desk. Thud! Following the sound, Kiheon groaned, “Kuk…”

“I think we’ve talked enough.”

“President Kang.”

“Why do you like to blabber so much? Did you forget what you originally were because you want to be called ‘president’?”

Seokju forcefully grabbed Kiheon’s hair. Then, with each sentence, he repeatedly slammed Kiheon’s head onto the desk.

“A thug.”

Thud!

“Kuk…”

“Like a thug.”

Thud!

“Ugh!”

“We gotta fight. Huh?”

Thud!

“Gah…”

In an instant, Kiheon’s forehead turned a sickening shade of red. He had hit his nose wrong, causing it to bleed. Despite that, Seokju, unable to contain his anger, repeatedly pounded Kiheon’s head onto the desk. His nose flattened, his eyebrows sank, and his cheekbones contorted. The desk shook violently, covered entirely in blood.

Seokju released Kiheon’s head as if throwing it. Kiheon collapsed limply onto the desk. He intermittently writhed and groaned, showing signs of losing consciousness.

Not good.

Seokju took out a syringe from his jacket pocket. Inside the thin syringe was a clear liquid. Seokju, after pulling the cap off with his mouth, pressed Kiheon’s head down and inserted the needle into his neck. Soon, the cold liquid flowed into Kiheon’s body.

After tossing the syringe aside, Seokju swept back Kiheon’s disheveled hair with his palm. Despite not moving vigorously, sweat had soaked through due to excitement. His heart raced, and his body heated up. Even in a mess of emotions, the urge to act surged in his already chaotic mind.

Within seconds, Kiheon’s eyes snapped open. His white sclera was heavily congested, and his pupils had dilated significantly, indicating the drug’s effect.

The substance Seokju injected into Kiheon was a type of narcotic. It wasn’t for sale but was used within the organization, commonly employed for torture, interrogation, torment, or revenge. It ensured that no matter what pain was inflicted, the person would not lose consciousness.

With his face flattened, Kiheon looked around with a bewildered expression, as if struggling to determine whether the current situation was a dream or reality.

Regardless, Seokju stepped onto a makeshift stool with his long legs and ascended onto the desk. Then, bending one knee and squatting down, he grabbed one of Kiheon’s arms and firmly pinned it to the desk. Seeing this, Deokjae gestured to the organization members standing behind him, who busily prepared something.

Meanwhile, Seokju casually picked up one of the poems neatly placed on Kiheon’s desk and bit into it.

He didn’t particularly enjoy the thick taste of paper, but he asked out of curiosity. Bringing over a lighter haphazardly lying on the edge of the desk, Seokju ignited the end of the poem. It wasn’t just a matter of lighting it like a cigarette; it had to be evenly lit, which was tedious.

Seokju deeply inhaled and then exhaled the smoke from the poem. The taste of the smoke entering his mouth was oddly unfamiliar.

At that moment, Deokjae reached behind and handed over a thick axe. Then, firmly gripping Kiheon’s wrist, he pressed it down onto the desk. Another organization member pushed Kiheon’s body against the desk, ensuring he couldn’t move.

Seokju shifted the poem to one side of his mouth and held the axe, switching its grip from left to right. Seeing this, Kiheon belatedly regained his senses. He jerked his body with a gasp.

“W-what, what are you doing?”

“We cut off the arms of thieves.”

“…What?”

“What was his name again? Ah, Changdu. Changdu mentioned it, so I guess you knew.”

“What is this…?”

“Anyway, since President Park, you stole our drugs and our clients, you should pay the price, right?”

Seokju clicked his tongue at his own reflection in the axe, then swung it down. Kiheon gasped in horror and screamed, his face contorting grotesquely as it repeatedly wrinkled and stretched.

“Is anyone else out there? Huh! Is anyone there?”

“No one. Everyone’s dead.”

Seokju grinned slyly. Then, with a swift motion, he brought down Kiheon’s arm with the axe.

Seokju placed the bloodied axe on the desk. Blood poured profusely along the edge of the desk. At the end of the flowing blood, body parts that were barely recognizable writhed. There were fingers, wrists, elbows, and parts of flesh stuck to who knows where. They were all detached from Kiheon’s body by Seokju, bit by bit, from fingers to forearms, meticulously and gradually.

Cutting off the forearm at once would be boring, and the pain would be too straightforward. So, bit by bit, Seokju meticulously and gradually sliced from the fingers to the forearms.

Seokju dropped the remaining poem onto Kiheon’s blood. He then wiped the blood splattered on his cheek with the back of his hand. Deokjae handed him a clean handkerchief. Seokju chuckled as he took it and wiped his face.

Having cleaned his face thoroughly, Seokju looked at Kiheon. With one arm almost completely gone, he slumped in the chair. While he had been struggling and thrashing when his elbow was being cut, by the time Seokju got to his forearm and ear, he was twitching aimlessly, like someone who had given up on everything.

For Seokju, who had painstakingly cut Kiheon’s arm for his suffering, it was a tiring task.

After wiping off the blood from his hands, Seokju took out a cigarette from his jacket and lit it. As he took a long drag, the familiar taste tingled his palate.

While sucking in the smoke, Seokju pressed firmly on his side. Blood gushed out. It was the moment when the carefully wiped blood turned into a mess again. He seemed slightly excited from cutting Kiheon’s arm, which made the wound reopen.

Seokju clicked his tongue. That was it. He didn’t complain about the pain or rush out to get treatment. He felt Deokjae’s concerned gaze but ignored it.

He picked up the axe he had momentarily set aside. Next time, he planned to chop off a leg, then split the body in half.

As he wiped the blood and flesh off the axe,

“Boss Kang, give me a cigarette too.”

Kiheon, covered in blood, spoke softly. In response, Seokju burst into laughter.

“Ridiculous.”

At that short response, the Taeho Group members simultaneously chuckled. The expression drained from Kiheon’s face. Even as he was dying, his pride seemed to be wounded.