Content Warnings for full story: descriptions of depression symptoms; mentions of alcohol abuse; peer pressure; social manipulation; references to real world events; violence

Do you know the darkness of a dark house? A dark house. One that has seen things. Things that seep into the walls and tell tales long after the blood has dried.

This was a dark house. The police officer who pushed open the door knew it the moment a crack of black spilled forth from the house. There was a smell of death, and a distant weeping of children.

The officer turned his flashlight down a corridor. It was narrow, and his torch served more to pull up strong shadows than illuminate anything. It winked blue in amidst the angles of strewn crisp packets and a fallen jacket.

"Hello?" he called. His voice sounded strangely flat. He stepped further in, then turned to his partner. "Keep those eyes peeled; this is the place alright. I can feel it."

He still jumped when his torch lit up a small, pale face in the doorway. The child's eyes were dark, and their cheeks grimy, save for clear paths tracked by tears.

"Hey, little one," the officer said gently. "Are you alone here?"

The face only looked at him. After a moment, they shook their head in the negative, then pointed down the hall.

"Tend to the kid," he murmured to his partner, and check out that crying. I'll go this way."

The officer continued on alone. He opened the door onto a kitchenette with tiny windows that let in scraps of yellow streetlight. His torch flashed over stacks of plates piled high in the sink, cartons and plastic pots strewn over the counters. He turned the light to the floor. Instant noodle packets, empty juice bottles, and polystyrene takeaway boxes were crumpled here too. The officer turned to a door off the kitchen that led deeper into the warren. He pulled it open.

The smell was strong in here, but the room was pitch black. He felt for a light switch, but pressing it only yielded a futile click.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

His light swung first through the mid layer of the room. On finding nothing, it dropped downward. A fallen figure lay face down on the floor. A man, probably, with straggling hair all matted, form spindly and weak, wearing an old coat over what looked to be standard issue prison trousers. Likely an intruder, maybe homeless, possibly an ex-con. The flashlight moved over the man's head, highlighting a reddish-brown pool that stained the floor.

There was a sudden screech like an animal. It sent shivers careering down his spine. The officer swung his light in time to see something hurl itself at him: a pale, gaunt face, frenzied, and covered in what looked like splashes of blood.

The officer received a sharp kick to his gut, then a set of nails raked across his cheek. He brought his arms up to cover his face as those nails lashed out again. The screaming was haunting to hear. It was feral, curdling, unearthly. His partner came running and her silhouette burst into the door frame.

"Wait-!" The officer shouted. He shone his torch at the attacker, who instantly retreated to a corner. Under the hard, white light, the creature seemed smaller. "It's a kid."

A boy looked at him from over arms raised to block out the light. The officer could see one dark eye leering out at him – a ferocious, terrible look was in that eye.

"We're police," he tried, as gentle as he could. "We're here to help. Got a call about a commotion in this area. You're safe now. You got little siblings here, right?"

The child only stared up at him, furious and silent.

"You're probably feelin' a lot now, kid. It's okay. You hungry? You want to come down to the station for some food?"

The child said nothing. He didn't move. He only looked at him with that black, deadened stare.

The officer thought back to the state of the corridor and kitchen. "What about the little uns? Do you look after them? Think they might be hungry?"

The boy lowered one arm so that he could look at the police officer with two dark eyes.

The officer nodded as though they were having a conversation. "Yeah, thought so. How's some tteokbokki sound? There's a nice place not far from the station. Let's take a trip us all together, okay? I'm Officer Choi Su Yeol, this is my partner, Kim Ji Won. Is it okay if we leave now? Can you show us the way?"

Officer Choi gave the boy another smile, though he wondered how much could be seen in the darkness. The child's limbs slowly unfolded like a pale spider. He was lithe, well-muscled for a kid his age, which would explain the nasty kick that was still smarting Choi's stomach and giving him faint waves of nausea. Choi bent to check the pulse of the body. Very dead. Cold even. Dead for some hours. He motioned with his other hand for Officer Kim to go on ahead. The last thing they wanted was the boy bolting on them.

The boy didn't bolt though, and soon he'd collected up three younger siblings, all tiny and ragged and clinging to his bloodied shirt. All four were quiet once they were out of that cursed house and under the streetlights. Two more police cruisers had pulled up and officers were taping off the part of the street. Red and blue turning lights cast alleyways into moving half-shadows.

"So many of you!" Choi exclaimed, glancing Kim's way as the children shuffled closer together. "Some of you are going to have to ride with Officer Kim. Will you let your big brother come with me, and the rest of you all go with Officer Kim?"

The boy glared at Choi and curled a protective hand around his siblings.

"Just to get the precinct," Choi reassured him.

He'd been hoping a car journey away from his siblings might open the kid up a bit, at least get him a name, but the boy remained silent the whole journey. His blood-spattered face and soul-piercing gaze occupied the rear-view mirror, unmoving for the duration of the drive.

The four children fell upon the food they were given the moment it was placed before them. Choi and Kim had to keep setting more takeaway tubs of steaming tteokbokki down, well into the night. It was close to midnight when the three younger children – two boys and a girl – finally fell asleep on the precinct waiting chairs, with an assortment of borrowed police issue jackets piled over them. The eldest boy sat apart, still covered in blood, but now with a little more lethargy in that piercing gaze.

Choi sat down heavily next to him.

"Mind if I smoke?"

The boy said nothing. Choi lit up a cigarette. He blew out smoke along with a heavy sigh.

"They IDed the dead man." Sometimes it was just better to be blunt with children. "He was an escaped con. You know what that is? A prisoner."

Silence.

"Did you know him?"

Another predictable silence. Just when Choi was about to break it though, a small voice came from next to him.

"Yes."

Choi sat out the silence that followed, just leaning back, looking at the precinct with its skeletal night staff. Stacks of paper were piled on desks. A blackboard with case details chalked up on it was over on the left. A dying pot-plant Officer Kim's boyfriend had brought in to cheer the place up was next to it. The lights all had a cheap yellow glow to them and would flicker sometimes and make Choi's eyes ache. He had worked under them so many nights that the moment they were turned on he would start yawning out of habit.

"He was my father."

Choi looked down at the boy. He was still, collected, and his voice monotone. There was something a little frightening about him, a little unnatural. But then, not many children have seen their father dead on the floor before them.

"So that makes you Baek…"

"Doo San."

"Like the mountain? That's a real important place, you know. Holy, they say. I guess you probably know..."

Silence.

"Uh… It's a strong name, I guess, I mean-" The officer corrected. "A good strong name. Say, there's some officers going to come by in a bit, Doo San: ones who are good at chatting with people your age. They're going to ask you about what happened. Do you want to clean up a bit first? I've got this nice leather jacket in my locker, and I reckon you'd look real cool in it. What do you say? Want to wear a cool leather jacket?"

Silence. Then a slow nod.

"Right," Choi said. "I'll show you where the men's room is and you can change out that t-shirt. Wash that face up as well, okay?"

The boy nodded again.

At 1AM their officer who was good with traumatised kids came out of the interview room with a grim expression.

"Nothing?" Choi asked.

"Not a peep," the officer answered.

"Damn."

The officer looked on the younger kids still sleeping. "Think any of them saw anything?"

"Not sure. Best let them sleep til morning. I'll have a crack at it with the oldest kid again then."

Baek Doo San sloped out of the interview room in the borrowed, oversized bomber jacket and a deep scowl. The scowl lifted fractionally when he saw Choi.

"You tired?" Choi asked him. The boy shook his head. "I'm gonna stand outside for a bit, get some fresh air whilst I smoke. Want to join me?"

They sat on a bench outside the station watching the city at night. The precinct behind cast long lights into the dark, but beyond that there was only occasional movement – a lone car or two passing up the road, a few windows lit in distant buildings. Choi blew out a ream of smoke.

"So, your old man's been gone a while in the lockup. Bet he looked real different when he came home, huh?"

The boy had drawn his legs up so that they fitted inside the oversized jacket. He'd wrapped his arms around them.

"Who else came with your old man?" Choi probed. "Maybe a fellow inmate, or a friend of his? Someone you recognise?"

Nothing.

"What about your eomma? She about?"

The boy shook his head. "She left."

"'Kay. So it's just you looking after the little uns, then?"

"Yes."

"Been like that for a while?"

The boy shrugged.

"'Kay. Can you tell me about when your old man came home? Did someone else come with him? Or come to see him?"

Another quiet. Then, "No."

"Right. You saw what happened though, right. You got that blood on you from the fight. You were there."

The boy looked out into the night from under his mop of unkempt hair.

"… I was there."

Choi reached into his pocket. "And what did you see?"

He thought for a moment the boy would clam up on him again.

"He looked different. He didn't look like my father. It was dark. I thought he came to hurt my brothers and sister. When people found out we lived alone, some would come to try and trick us or demand things of us, but I never let them in. I know taekwondo. I protect my family."

"Uh huh," Choi said. That would explain the trained power behind those kicks. "You protect them tonight, too?"

The boy fell silent. Choi looked at him. His gut twisted; one of those instinctive things.

"Yes," Baek said quietly.

Choi took his cigarette out his mouth. He tapped a thumb to his lip.

"Did you do that to your old man?"

He looked down at the boy. His shoulders were tense and his arms wrapped tighter around his legs.

Then, very quietly, "Yes."

Choi's eyes closed. For a moment there was absolute quiet. Not even a car passed on the street. He could have heard the ash fall from his cigarette.

"I didn't know it was him," Baek whispered. "He was so weak. He just crumpled when I kicked him. When he got back up, I thought he was going to attack me. It was just instinct. I landed a head kick, and he fell down, and when he hit the floor, it was so hard that-… I heard this noise. This gross crack. And then there was warm on my face. He didn't move. And when I went to check him-… They turned off all the power to the house six months ago – I couldn't see properly. I didn't know, and then I went to see why he wasn't moving and- it was my Appa. That crumbly old man was my Appa and I didn't recognise him. I killed him. I killed- I-…"

Choi reached into his pocket again. Then he leaned back and craned his head against the brick work. He flicked away the stub of his cigarette.

"Shit, kid. I'm no good with this. This is why they called in the special officer for kids. I don't know what to say."

The boy looked up at him, and the deadened look was gone from his eyes, replaced with terror and confusion and pain.

"What do I do? What's going to happen to me? How could that be my Appa? He was so strong! He was the strongest in the world! He could do anything. How could I-…? I don't understand. Will they take me away? What about Ki San, and Ji San, and Jeong San? What will happen to them?"

Choi sat in silence for a moment.

"You tell anyone else about this?"

Baek shook his head.

Choi let out a heavy sigh. "Well, it was a mistake, weren't it. And you got an important job looking after your siblings. What good does it do them if you're stuck in juvenile, huh? What good does it do you? That place is a pipeline for making real perps out of young'uns. You just trust Uncle Choi here, I'll sort it all out." Choi leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. "You listen here, Doo San. Don't breathe a word of what you told me to anyone. We're gonna look after you and your little ones. Gonna get you out of that mouldy old house, keep you here in the precinct if we have to, okay? We'll make this all go away."

The kid looked up at him. There was such sorrow there, too much to be contained on a face so young. "But I killed him. I killed my Appa. I have to go to prison or something."

"Hush, hush." Choi glanced around. First the kid wouldn't talk and now he wouldn't shut up. "Weren't your fault, was it. No one has to go anywhere. This sort of thing happens all the time. We got unsolved cases going back decades. You just leave it to your Uncle Choi, okay? Let me hear you say it."

There was a hesitation. The young face looked up at him, steady and solemn despite its haunted fear.

"I will leave it to you,… Ajusshi."

"Doo San-ah! Just the fellow I wanted to see!"

Choi groaned as he stood and put a hand to his lower back. There was iron grey in his hair, and he still refused to cut it any different from how he'd worn it in the 80s.

Baek moved through the precinct, bright with late morning light. He handed Choi a brown paper bag.

"What's this?"

"Those sandwiches you like. Potato salad."

"From that place on the other side of town?"

Baek shrugged.

"Ah, you shouldn't have gone out of your way! These are my favourite!" He clapped Baek on the shoulder. "Can't wait to eat these in front of the boys at lunch, they'll be so jealous. They all wish they had a son like you: diligent, thoughtful-"

"Ajusshi…"

"Haha, I won't embarrass you. You said you were headed out of town when I called you?"

"Mm."

"Another tournament?"

"Yes, up in Seol."

"Seol, eh? This place getting too small for you? Say, you haven't spoken to Ki San, have you?"

Baek hesitated. His siblings were all of age now, and whilst the younger two still held him in adoration, his brother closest in age was too similar to him for them to see eye to eye.

"Ah, Doo San-ah, you still haven't talked to him? You should! You were always the only one who could talk any sense into him. Do you know the strings I had to pull to get him transferred here when he got picked up last week on the other side of town? Talk to him soon, okay?"

Baek sighed. In the silence that lapsed, the hum of the precinct swelled around him. The place had become a second home over the years, or maybe even a first home. He knew its clutter, its damp marks, the stutter of its fax machine, and the ring of its phones like they were the earth his roots were planted in. A radio was catching the news on the reception desk. Choi was walking towards his office at the far end of the room, expecting Baek to follow. Baek had frozen.

"~ 'joined by politician Kang Moon Shik. Kang Moon Shik-nim, you've been tough on vagrants for a long time, would you say that your hard stance on crime is what you want to be known for?'

'Thank you, it's a delight to join you. In fact, I'd go further than you and say that my legacy is tied to the fate of crime statistics in Busan. I'm so committed to our city, that when I see that line go up even for a moment, that cuts me, that hurts me, on a personal level.'~"

Baek was quivering. His eyes were large, staring at the radio. His fingers had curled until his knuckles were white. In a sudden explosion of force, he lashed out, swiping the radio from the desk. It flew to the floor. Baek brought his heel crashing down into it. Plastic splintered under his foot, and the words emitting from it became garbled. He brought his heel down again and it crackled, springs of metal flying from under the impact.

"Doo San!" a sharp voice barked. A hand latched onto his arm, dragging him away from the wreckage. Baek's vision was tunnelled, abrupt, and focussed on destruction. He pulled at the grip, lip twisting, intent on continuing the damage he was wreaking. "Doo San," Choi said again, more calmly. Baek saw Choi motion with a hand. The precinct receptionist approached, wary and glancing at him. She bent to the wrecked radio and turned it off so that its static airwaves fell to silence.

Baek blinked out of his rage like a light had turned on. He looked blankly at the radio, then at the uncertain expression on the receptionist's face. Finally, he looked at Choi. He seemed weary. Something cold and ashamed blossomed in Baek's chest. He turned slowly to follow Choi to his office.

Choi had done well for himself over the last fifteen years. He was the captain of his local precinct now and comfortable ruling over his own little kingdom. He'd become portly in his old age, with lines in his face that immortalised all the times he'd smiled. He wasn't smiling now though. Baek hovered in the doorway.

"The radio-…" Baek begun.

"Close the door," Choi said.

Baek did. "That politician – that Kang Moon Shik! He was one of the ones pushing hard for that 'purify the streets' policy back then! How is he still in politics?! How are people like him- If politicians like him hadn't been pushing for just anybody to get picked up off the streets, by-passing the law and trials, then-! He should be the one in prison! Piece of-"

"Doo San," Choi interrupted. His voice was still sharp. "There's always something ticking off your temper, and you always find someone to blame for-"

"I'm not blaming anyone else!" Baek snapped. "I'm just saying if people like him hadn't decided that looking at those with less than them was an offense to their eyes, then maybe-"

"Maybe what, Doo San-ah? Maybe you wouldn't flip out and bust up the station radio? Do you hear yourself?"

Baek came and slumped down onto the corner of Choi's desk. The politician in question, one Kang Moon Shik, had been a young man twenty years ago, just starting his career. Baek had been too young to know his name then, but he'd certainly learned of it since. Politicians had lined up to get behind measures that swept Busan of any who looked like they might cause trouble, regardless of offence or laws broken. People vanished off the streets, rarely to be seen again. It was a miracle he and his siblings hadn't got swept up in the same furore that had incarcerated his father. Trying to understand the circumstances that had brought him to this place and time didn't mean he was denying his own culpability in that death. Baek was just trying to understand-… to understand what? Who else was to blame? He turned his hands over slowly. There was a tremble in them.

"Doo San-ah…" Choi spoke to him gently now. "It's time get rid of all that bottled-up anger. You're a keg waiting to explode. So, I've got a little something for you: a request from a friend of a friend." Choi pulled an instant coffee to him that he'd picked up on his way through the precinct. He cracked off the plastic lid and drew a long sniff of it. He sipped it and smacked his lips when it was too hot. He wiggled a finger between the back of his neck and his shirt, then rolled his shoulders.

Baek shifted, impatient, and folded his arms over his chest. "What do you mean, a request from a friend of a friend?" he asked. He was wary and still simmering, though a flicker of shame was starting to smoulder as he thought on his recent outburst. It was true his temper broke open often these days, but it was also true that every time he expressed an intention to leave town, Choi seemed to find some urgent work for him around the station that he 'just needed a hand with'.

"Doo San-ah, hear me out. This isn't police work. Like I said – friend of a friend asked." Choi was opening the window behind him. He had to lean his weight into it and the pane squeaked all the way up as it squealed open. Choi sat down heavily afterwards at his desk, a little out of breath. A cool breeze cut through behind him and Choi closed his eyes a moment before turning back to Baek. "It's actually more up your alley. Martial arts. Yeah, that's right, thought that would light up your eyes. How does a fully funded trip to the USA sound?"

Baek's momentary enthusiasm was curbed. "The USA? Why would I go there?"

"Well, I overheard a friend saying he wants someone to check out the martial arts schools out there, and I jumped in for you! You're always saying this place's too small for you, that you want to make it big like your old man did."

Baek stiffened at mention of his father.

"My bad," Choi said, "But it's true, right? You've always dreamed of making it big, and what's bigger than the USA? You'll be able to go over there, then show them who's boss! Give taekwondo a good name!"

Baek frowned. He drummed his fingers on his biceps. "I don't get it. Someone wants to fly me out to talent scout American dojangs or something?"

"No, no, no – they want you to go out there and make a name for yourself! Put some Americans in their place! You know, show them up in their dojangs, rough things up a little, cause a little chaos, your kind of thing."

"I-…" Baek stood and turned round to face Choi. "Ajusshi, you know I'm not always-… My temper just got the better of me. I didn't really mean to-"

"Hush hush, I know, but this time your temper won't be a problem, okay? I've got a list of the places you need to go right here."

"A list? This sounds like –" Baek's expression ticked to fury. "I'm not some hired thug! If someone wants muscle to go around-!"

"Hush, hush, hush – it's nothing like that, okay? You can do it all properly, challenge the students in a good and proper way – just make sure to send a message, you know? A dose of humiliation; mess things up a bit so their reputation is in tatters."

"Just who is this 'friend' who wants such a thing, and why do they care about martial arts schools in America?!"

Choi sighed. He turned his swivel chair to Baek, and, for the first time, Baek thought of how old Choi looked. This man had practically raised him for the last fifteen years. There had been a time when Baek would leap on every opportunity to show his gratitude to him. He was twenty-six now though, and sometimes these walls felt like they confined him more than they supported him.

"Doo San-ah," Choi begun, emphasising the suffix in a way that made Baek feel like a child again. "You're a grown man now. You need to understand how the world works. You do a favour for a friend, and your friend does a favour for you. Sometimes it doesn't have to be any deeper than that. Just networks of friends looking out for each other. Someone important to me really needs this favour done, and I know you're the perfect man for the job. Won't you do this for me? As a courtesy?"

That cut deep. Baek owed Choi a lot more than just a courtesy. His throat dried up. There was something sharp in Choi's eye. Something serious that Baek had only caught glimpses of before.

"But you said I should work on my temper…" Baek said, subdued now and cautious. "That I should lash out less and use my taekwondo as a way to build my self-control…"

"Sure! But we can also put all that aggression to good use, can't we? No point looking a gift horse in the mouth. Come on, I've already got the tickets in your name, check this out, you ever seen a plane ticket before?" Choi opened a draw and slid out an envelope. He pushed it across his desk it towards Baek.

Baek shook his head and backed away.

"I don't want to. Sorry, Ajusshi. I'll do anything else you ask, but I won't use my taekwondo to-… Not again. Never-… It-… I don't want-"

Choi's eyes went sympathetic. "I understand. But you can't hide behind the past forever, Doo San-ah. It's time to embrace this part of you. You're good with martial arts. There's a lot of people very interested in that and in how you choose to use it. Isn't it better that you make a name for yourself roughing up a few household names in the USA, than to get stuck with the labels here from the past?"

Baek shook his head in confusion. "Labels…? I don't understand. I'm just fine here. I don't need a world stage yet. I'm fine in South Korea with what I have. I'm sorry, Ajusshi, I truly am, but you know what this means to me. I'll fight in controlled environments with a referee, but I won't use my martial arts as a weapon again. I won't let the past repeat itself."

Choi sat back irritably. "For God's sake, Doo San, I'm not asking you to kill a man, just scare some people, trash the place so that even if they rebuild, their reputations are ruined. You can even wait until the dojang masters are out, or whatever they call them over there. Doesn't matter, just do a good job, okay?"

Baek's eyes went hard; as hard and as stubborn as they'd been when he'd been alone. He held a stony, absolute silence. Choi lit up a cigarette. He closed his eyes faintly.

"Look, I didn't want to do this – but this is important. I already said you'd do the job: my reputation's on the line, so let's make this simple, and put your reputation on the line too."

Baek's heart pounded in his chest. Despite the cool breeze, the collar of his jacket seemed to be sticking damp to the back of his neck. Choi pulled out a cassette player, like the kind the precinct used for recording witness testimonies. He took a small key and unlocked a draw to his desk. He flicked through lines and lines of tapes. Tapes that weren't in the evidence lockup. Tapes that were off the grid. He selected one and pushed it into the tape player.

Baek stared at him. Choi hit the play button. There was a crackle, then Choi's unmistakeable voice came over the cassette player:

"And what did you see?"

Baek's pulse was pounding in his ears. There was a pause on the recording, then a small, voice answered:

"He looked different. He didn't look like my father. It was dark."

His voice from then sounded vulnerable, confused. The sound of it brought a thundering rush of fear and guilt bubbling into Baek's chest. His ribs felt like they were clenching tight over his lungs, crunching them back into the size they'd been when he'd said those words.

Choi gestured with both hands and shrugged.

"You were so small then. And so furious that day. I could smell death on you. Suspected you were the perpetrator from the moment I saw you. You can see it in the eyes. When you've been a cop as long as I have, you know a killer by his eyes."

He wound the tape on a bit.

"– I couldn't see properly. I didn't know, and then I went to see why he wasn't moving and- it was my Appa. That crumbly old man was my Appa and I didn't recognise him. I killed him. I killed-"

Choi stopped the tape. He filled up the air with cigarette smoke, then looked up through the silvery wreathes to meet Baek's eye.

Baek was still. A fury was burning in his soul. A fury and… this terrible pain. This loss. His fists clenched and quivered. His breath seemed to have forgotten how to move in his lungs.

"I know that temper on you, Doo San-ah, so you better know I've got back-ups of this tape stashed elsewhere."

That hadn't been what Baek had been thinking though. He'd been thinking of how Choi Su Yeol had become… something like the man he'd lost. Not exactly- but… And it was gone again. Shattered in a moment by the weight of betrayal. Or maybe it had never been there at all, that something, because for fifteen years that tape had sat in a desk draw next to others. Many others. What did that mean? What did that mean?

"This doesn't have to get complicated, alright?" Choi was saying. "You do this thing for me, we never talk about the tape again, okay? No one knows about it, everything stays intact, the way it should be. Honestly, Doo San-ah, I'm disappointed that you pushed me to this. I thought you'd leap at the chance to show off your skills; I certainly can't shut up about how proud I am of you! I really think this US trip will help you make an international name for yourself, and help you blow off some of that steam you've always got kettled up inside."

Choi stood. Baek backed up against the bookshelves full of case files. His chest was rising and falling fast. Choi slipped the plane tickets into the breast pocket of Baek's jacket and patted them. Then, he sorted out the jacket collar.

"Just think of it as a thank-you, okay? Is it so hard to do one favour for me after all I've done for you?"

Baek said nothing.

"Hm?" Choi rested a hand on his shoulder. It was weighted, calculated.

"No, Ajusshi," Baek said very quietly.

"Good lad. When you get back here, this'll all be over and done with, okay? It's nothing personal, Doo San-ah. First rule of police work, you know? - Always carry a tape recorder in your pocket! That's all it was. Oh- almost forgot." He reached for a scrap of paper on the table. "These are the marks you need to hit. Make sure you visit each one, alright?" He tucked this into Baek's pocket too. "And just ruin them, alright? Keep a lid on that temper and make sure there are no fatalities."

Baek swallowed. Choi expected him to kill. After all these years, he'd always seen a killer. He saw that temper for what it really was, for who it really belonged to: someone who had killed and would do so again if the opportunity arose. Baek had seen that judgement in the eyes of more senior soldiers when he'd done his military service. He'd never thought to find it in Choi Su Yeol though.

"Oh, hm- one more thing." Choi reached passed him to the bookshelf behind. Baek stared straight forward, shutting down the last avenues of care in his heart. Choi pressed a tiny book to his chest. "An English phrasebook! We both know how terrible you were at it at school. I'm sure you'll get by though, Americans are very friendly."

Author Note: I decided to write this story as I am an avid fan of recent Korean thriller TV dramas, many of which are set or reference this time period. So, this story is a homage to crime shows and gangster revenge dramas, with many of the characters named in reference to characters in shows, and the plot loosly inspired by lots of the themes and arcs from those dramas, whilst staying true to Baek's Tekken 2 story. The story itself will run up to the start of, but not include, Tekken 2. (So I guess this is happening at the same time as Zen Gardens, hadn't thought of that.)

In the process of writing this, I included themes that I picked up from dramas that led me into research on parts of South Korean history I'd been unaware of before. I've chosen to make some brief reference to those real world events, as they fit well the political frustration that I chose as a theme in this story and highlighting them could help people today:

Victims of illegal and inhumane incarceration in the 70s and 80s in South Korea under measures to "purify the streets" of vagrants by government officials (under the then dictatorship) are still looking for restitution today, especially those who were subject to the 'Brothers Home' near Busan, owned by Park In-keun. Awareness of what victims were subject to may help them in their fight for justice today. Please take care when looking up reports, as victims were subject to much physical and sexual violence.

I also wrote this story partially as a therapeutic one. Please heed the warnings about themes and descriptions of depression. The story is an uplifting one however, about working a way through these feelings.