Chapter Text
His breathing is ragged, pain ripping through his side with every step he takes. He can feel wetness seeping through his jacket, coating the hand pressed to his ribs. It’s warm, too warm. Sweat drips into his eyes and the voice in his ear is strident, pleading.
“Gold, listen to me,” the voice in his ear beseeches. “We’re gonna get you out of there. I’m sending help, hold on. I -” the voice breaks off and there’s a burst of static. “Fuck, I’m -” more static, “- interference.”
He ducks down an alleyway, the earpiece is all static now, no voice coming through to reassure him. There’s a bare orange bulb under a door set into the brick wall. Knees buckling, he slumps against the brick and slides down the surface to the ground. He can feel his jacket tear under the jagged rock. He peels his hand away from his side, it’s sticky. Under the light he can see the deep red coating his skin. His side is on fire, burning, throbbing.
His head swims. He can’t tell if the static is from the earpiece or just in his head. Where is he? How much blood has he lost?
He hears a sound from the end of the alley, he turns his head, squinting at a silhouette bathed in a streetlight’s glow, a flash of silver. Stiff limbed, sluggish movements, he feels like he’s moving through molasses. Trembling fingers slip under his jacket, find his holster empty. He doesn’t remember losing the gun. The knife in his boot won’t do him much good, he can barely lift his hand and it’s shaking so bad he’ll probably just cut himself. He flicks the blade open, light reflecting on the polished surface.
Footsteps. Close, approaching down the alley. “Here you are,” a voice, deep and raspy. Not one he recognizes. The knife feels cold against his skin, his fingers tremble, he tightens them around the handle, thumb hitting the latch at the bottom to lock it open. “Looks like baby has a boo boo,” the voice purrs.
He looks up, there’s a man standing over him. Silver hair shines under the orange bulb, luminous, nearly too bright for Gold’s aching eyes. The other man appraises him, his eyes are sharp, cat like, dangerous.
“Did Chimmy send you?”
The other man raises an eyebrow and squats down. “I haven’t heard that name in a while,” he murmurs, cocking his head. The man leans in, bringing up a long-fingered hand to cup Gold’s chin. He jerks under the touch, trying to raise his knife but it’s easily batted out of his hand. “None of that, now.”
There’s a gun in the man’s other hand. He taps it against his leg almost idly. The hand on his chin trails down his chest and flicks open his jacket, exposing the wound on his side. The man clicks his tongue and slides two fingers over it, pressing.
With a choked moan Gold’s vision goes white and he passes out.
The heavy bag swings with each strike, his knuckles burn under the hand wraps. Sweat drips into his eyes, his bangs sticking to his forehead. He can feel the rest of his hair slipping from his bun, hanging in damp strands against the back of his neck. He grits his teeth, squaring his shoulders as he redoubles his efforts, the sound of his fists on the leather fills the room.
He’s been at it for a while now, his muscles burn and his throat is dry. He doesn’t want to stop, not ready to give up yet. There’s a lot of frustration he still wants to work out, and sometimes this is the easiest way. Things have been going well lately; good jobs, good pay, few problems. But the last one...the loss of that painting had pissed him off. When he got to the room there was just a picture of a cat holding up the middle finger where the Rembrandt should have been. They hadn’t even known about the other team, and nothing was disturbed, there were no signs that anyone had gotten there before him. It still irked him. The scrawled Gloss in the corner had Gold fuming. He had used that stupid picture for target practice for nearly a week.
So he has some frustration to take out. Fifty million down the drain. Even split three ways it was a good amount, a nice reward for dodging guards and motion sensors. And then all that work for nothing. His team had been furious, the enraged shrieking and argument he heard through his earpiece had him cringing.
The sound of a chime freezes him mid-punch, fist halfway to the bag. He whips his neck to the side, staring at his phone on the counter. The chime doesn’t come again and he returns his attention to the heavy bag. He’s just getting back into his stance, bouncing on the balls of his feet and ready to start again when two more chimes come from the other side of the room. Dropping his hands, he rolls his neck back so he can stare at the ceiling. This better be important.
Two phones side by side, one white and one black. But he knows which one it came from, the black one is the only one with that chime. He picks it up and sees a new message.
[Chimmy]
We have a job
It’s big
Stop jerking off and answer me
[ME]
Fuck off I was training
[Chimmy]
Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
[ME]
The job
[Chimmy]
Right. Are you feeling lucky?
He’s been itching for a new job since the last one fell through. A big job. And this is it. Gold sinks to the floor and begins unwrapping his hands as the line connects. “I’m feeling pretty lucky today,” he says by way of greeting.
Melodic laughter greets him from the other end of the line. “That’s our boy.”
“Our?” Gold echoes.
“Vante is here too.” A pause. “He says hey.” Gold grunts in response and Chimmy continues. “Anyway, big job. Big. 150 million job, plus whatever you manage to win.”
Gold tilts his head, pausing from unwinding the wrap on his left hand. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever been to a casino?”
Gold blinks. He honestly doesn’t think he has. Gambling doesn't appeal to him. He doesn’t like situations where the deck is rigged against him. House always wins doesn’t sound good if he’s not the house. “I don’t gamble.” He hears a bark of laughter on the other end of the phone, Vante.
“You gamble every time we have a job,” Chimmy argues.
“That’s not the same,” Gold replies evenly. “Why do casinos matter?”
Chimmy clicks his tongue. “The client wants us to infiltrate a certain casino, win a bunch of games, clean out some of the money.”
Gold finishes unwinding his left hand and drops the wrap to the floor, moving to his right. He glares down at the phone on the floor. “Casinos are rigged, Chimmy. How are we supposed to win a bunch of games?”
There’s an affronted snort from the other line. “Did you forget who you’re talking to?” Gold doesn’t answer and Chimmy continues. “I’ve already hacked into their cameras. It was ridiculously simple, honestly they should be embarrassed.”
Gold rolls his eyes at Chimmy’s smug tone. He knows he’s lucky, Chimmy is probably the best hacker in Seoul— well, he thinks the other man is in Seoul— and Gold gets to work with him. Chimmy can have eyes anywhere, hack into anything, get him out of any sticky situation. Gold has never met him in person, doesn’t even know his real name, but he trusts Chimmy, and their other partner Vante, with his life.
Vante is information, recon, disguise, weapons, back up, distractions, a chameleon. He does a little of everything. Gold has only heard his soothing baritone over the phone or an earpiece, never met him in person, or at least he doesn’t think he has. He can never be sure. Chimmy and Vante have both said things a few times that make him think he’s being followed, watched. That they keep tabs on him, maybe have been inside his apartment. He thinks it should bother him more than it does.
They met suddenly, when Gold was still lifting car stereos and slipping into villas, leaving with jewelry and valuables. It was orchestrated, Gold knows, the cell phone conveniently placed into his coat pocket that rang when he got home. Chimmy’s voice on the line with a proposition to team up, to expand his talents. It’s been two years and he hasn’t looked back. Chimmy’s voice in his ear on missions is his lifeline, Vante’s intel and various gifts fill in any holes or problems he might encounter. They work as a perfect team, synchronized, well oiled. Until the last mission.
It had been unexpected. Vante’s recon and intel said the mansion had been empty for weeks, the owners on holiday in Greece or Spain or somewhere. It should have been simple, a few sleepy guards, a few easily discovered motion sensors. But Vante had missed something. Had missed the fact that another team — Gloss — got their first. Maybe just hours before them.
“Anyway,” Chimmy’s voice snaps Gold back to attention. “Vante and I are working up a table layout and floor plan as well as all intel and logistics. Are you in? It seems simple enough.”
Simple enough. It still sounds like a gamble. But he trusts Chimmy, and if he seems to think it’s a good idea then Gold is in. “When?”
“Two nights from now. Gives us the opportunity to have everything ready. I’ll send you most of the details tomorrow and we can do a briefing the next morning. Vante should have all of his information by tomorrow night.” Gold hears a murmured conversation on the other side of the phone then a scoff and what sounds like a smack. “He says he’ll have it by tonight, but he’s just being egotistical.”
Gold rolls his eyes. Chimmy’s one to talk about ego. “Fine, send me what you have when you have it then text me what time you want to do the briefing.”
"Got it," Chimmy replies, "Later Goldilocks."
Gold receives a text early the next morning.
[Chimmy]
On your hard drive - Ocean
Gold pushes himself away from his kitchen counter where he's been leaning drinking a protein shake. He makes his way to his laptop and opens the lid. Sure enough, on his desktop is an icon of a smiling yellow dog, tongue poking out, Chimmy's calling card. The icon is named Ocean, he double clicks and a folder opens. Maps, videos, soundbites, pictures, documents, all neatly organized and labeled. Gold clicks and scrolls, skimming through a few of the files.
He's long since gotten over the shock of files appearing on his computer or his phone, of envelopes slipped under his door while he's asleep. He thinks Chimmy takes enjoyment in surprising him like this
[ME]
This is in the middle of the city
[Chimmy]
Yeah?
[ME]
Why Ocean?
[Chimmy]
Haven't you seen those heist movies with George Clooney?
Gold doesn't dignify the message with a response. He sips his protein shake as he leans back in his chair, scanning the files. It's pretty straight forward, he reviews the documents first: write-ups of key staff, Vante's notes on the entire building and operation, security documents and memos. He listens to the soundbites while he scans the maps and layouts, reviews the pictures. Vante's deep baritone, interspersed with comments in Chimmy's higher tenor, walk him through the images and floor plans. The information is exhaustive, detailed, just like he's come to expect.
[Chimmy]
Vante wants to go in one more time
Talk tomorrow at ten?
[ME]
Sounds good
Gold is leaning back on his couch when his phone rings. He immediately accepts the call, hitting the speakerphone button. "Why don't we ever do these in person?" he asks. It's not that he really wants to do the briefings in person, though that might be easier, but he's curious. Vante and Chimmy know everything about him, probably down to his exact height and weight, his full schedule and routine, and he knows nothing about them. He can't help the curiosity, the itch at the back of his mind to know what they look like, who they are.
There's a snort from the other end of the phone, Chimmy. "You wish, Gold. This is easier. Safer."
Gold rolls his eyes, watching as his TV turns on and a 3D layout of the casino is suddenly shown on the screen. "I'm assuming you must be horribly disfigured or something since you won't let me see what you look like."
Chimmy huffs and clicks his tongue. "I'd blind you with my beauty, Gold. Both of us would."
There's a rumble of laughter from Vante. "He's not lying," the other man purrs.
Gold hears what sounds like a slap and then the unmistakable sound of a kiss. He frowns, rolling his eyes again. He's managed to intuit that his team are a couple. From the teasing comments he hears, the playful slaps and smacks, the sound of lips and giggles on occasion. "You're both disgusting."
"Don't be jealous, Goldie," Chimmy chides, "You just need some better pictures on your Grindr profile and you can get a date too."
"How do you know I have a Grindr profile?" Chimmy doesn't respond and Gold sighs. "You've probably seen all my nudes, haven't you?"
He hears Chimmy giggle and then Vante's voice, "They're very artistic," he offers conversationally.
"I really hate the way this conversation has gone," he deadpans.
Chimmy giggles again. "You started it, love, now, can we focus?"
All laughing and playfulness evaporates and the Chimmy he knows best appears. Serious, focused, brilliant. Gold's eyes are fixed to the screen as the images shift and move, Chimmy explaining the layout and the path through the tables, all exit routes. The screen shifts to footage from security cameras and Vante's voice replaces Chimmy's, explaining the security protocol, loopholes, blind spots.
Gold interjects with occasional questions that are answered with ease, detailed and precise. No irrelevant information, no missing pieces. Everything unfolds before him like a picture book, his eyes take it all in, committing everything to memory. He'll have Chimmy and Vante in his ear during the job, guiding and leading him, but he doesn't want to go in blind, he likes to be prepared.
Then they move to the actual plan. "We're going to stick to slots and three tables," Chimmy explains, "You'll move between them. Here's how they each will work..."
Gold leans back, watching the screen as each table or machine appears and Chimmy goes over the plan for each. Poker and blackjack are simple enough, not much can be faked there. But Chimmy can watch through cameras, tell him his next moves, at least to a point. He'll probably lose the most money at these tables, but that's good, he'll need to lose some to keep it believable. Chimmy assures him he'll more than break even, he'll get a good profit out of the games and be able to walk out the door after a good time. "Plus, they give the players free drinks," he quips.
"I don't drink on a job," Gold grouses, annoyed. Maybe he could get free juice though...
Chimmy goes on after his interruption, moving onto the roulette table. The wheels are rigged, of course. Chimmy found this out very easily. "They're idiots, really," he intones smugly, "They use electronic weights and magnets. It's so easy to override I could have done it blindfolded."
"I thought it was illegal to rig casino games?"
He hears a peal of giggles. "Goldie, sweetie, do you think they care? Didn't the intel tell you enough? These aren't good people we're going after here, these are bad men."
"So are we," Gold counters, fisting his hands in his lap.
Chimmy hums. "I don't think everything we do is bad. Plus, with this one, think of yourself as Robin Hood. You're stealing from the rich to give to the poor."
"We're not poor."
Chimmy huffs. "We are comparatively poor, Gold, these guys are the richest of the rich. And it's all dirty. This will barely be a drop in the bucket."
Gold is quiet for a moment, considering. "Why are we doing this then?"
"You think I ask our clients why they want us to rob and steal?" Chimmy's tone is annoyed. "If they don't tell me, I don't ask. I only get the information we need. The client, someone called J, just said they wanted them to feel a pinch. Got it?"
"Alright," Gold agrees, "we can pinch them a little."
"Good,” Chimmy snaps. “Now stop interrupting me and let me continue."
Gold stays quiet as Chimmy explains how he can easily manipulate the wheel. He will make a good amount of money here, but not on every turn. They'll keep his winning rounds low and throw in some misses. But he'll have a couple of larger wins with some better bets, all guided by Chimmy of course, and one larger one that he can make a big fuss over.
"Work on your surprised face," Chimmy counsels, "You'll need to be convincing when we get you a big payout."
The slots are just as easy to manipulate. All Gold will need to do is push a button. "It's going to be mind-numbingly boring," Gold complains.
Chimmy clicks his tongue. "You just need to sit there and look pretty, we'll get you some small ones and then one big one. I was thinking the jackpot but that'll draw too much attention."
"They always take pictures of the jackpot winners," Vante's voice cuts in. "And sometimes bring them up to a special room, probably for vetting or the like. We don't want to risk the publicity or some kind of trap."
"I'll have eyes on you through the security camera," Chimmy explains, "so I'll be able to guide and warn you. Also," he pauses and Gold hears a murmured conversation that he can't make out, "go check your door, there's a package outside."
Gold shoves himself off the couch, he doesn't even question it anymore. He flips the multiple locks on the doorframe and opens the door, staring down at a small package wrapped in bright pink paper, sealed with a sticker of Chimmy's little yellow dog. "Cute," he says as he returns to the couch, "and it's not even my birthday."
"Very funny," Chimmy deadpans, "New earpiece inside and some glasses."
"What's wrong with the old one?" Gold asks as he opens the package and pulls out a small rectangular box. He opens the lid and sees a tiny flesh colored earpiece nestled on a piece of cotton. It's smaller than his old one, but looks mostly the same otherwise.
"This is lower profile, it'll be completely undetectable if anyone looks at you," Chimmy answers. "Though it's a bitch to take out, you might need tweezers."
"Lovely," Gold huffs, picking up the tiny device.
Chimmy giggles again. "This one is also a tracker."
Gold feels his blood run cold. "Excuse me?"
"Don't freak out," Chimmy says evenly, "I want to be able to see you. I don't think this will get shady but it never hurts to be prepared. This is something new I've been working on, it'll be good to test it out."
Gold turns the object over in his fingers. "I don't like the whole idea of it, you knowing my every move."
"Oh, baby," Chimmy purrs, "I know your every move already. But this is more sophisticated. I've built 3D blueprints of the building, I'll be able to see you in real time while you're in there, and I'll be able to see you on a map if you need to get away or anything, I can guide you more easily."
"I don't like how you're making this sound," Gold says uneasily. "You make it sound like this is high stakes, like it could go belly up at any second."
There's silence for a moment and then a sigh. "It's not like that," Chimmy begins, "There's just a lot of security and these guys are trained, they're serious. I just want to take every precaution we can. I don't want you getting hurt. Trust me, yeah?"
"Yeah," Gold echoes. He does trust Chimmy, and he knows he has his best interests at heart.
He opens a second box to reveal a pair of sunglasses. He lifts them, staring at the lenses.
“I thought these would be good for your persona, very every-man,” Jimin drones.
“Are these some kind of fancy spy sunglasses?” he asks, twirling them between his fingers.
A snort from the other end of the line. “You wish, dickbag, I got them at the thousand won store.”
Gold rolls his eyes and sets them back in the box. "Alright, so when do we make our move?"
Choosing his outfit is simple. He's not supposed to be anyone special, a working-class man looking for some stress relief after a tough week. And that's his story if anyone asks, he's a mechanic, something he knows enough about, and he just got a small bonus that's burning a hole in his pocket. "You're employee of the month," Chimmy had announced tonelessly, "Congratulations."
So some jeans, worn and faded, an older black t-shirt and an oversized dark denim jacket. A pair of work boots and his messy curls shoved out of his eyes. He wanted to wear a ball cap but Chimmy said it would draw more attention that it avoided. "They don't like not being able to see your eyes," he had explained.
The earpiece crackles as he's pulling on his jeans. "Can you hear me?" Chimmy's voice comes through the device, a little tinny, straight into his ear. It was a little unnerving to get used to the first time he used an earpiece like this. Like Chimmy and Vante were speaking directly into his brain.
"Yeah," he responds. "Can you hear me?"
"Crystal clear," Chimmy assures, "I'll be able to filter sound easily on my end, avoid some of the background noise and hear only what I need to. But you can whisper and I'll hear you, try to be inconspicuous though, only talk to me if you have to, and be as discreet as possible. They'll take notice of someone talking to himself."
"Understood," Gold affirms, pulling on his shirt. "I've got the fake ID and cards in my wallet so I think I'm ready to go." Chimmy provides him with many identities for the jobs they take. He has a few he hasn't used yet, so he chose one easily. Lee Woosung doesn't have a lot to his name, which is perfect, a moderate bank balance, with the fresh deposit of his "bonus" to spend on a night out celebrating.
"Good," Chimmy says happily, "Now remember, I'll be able to follow you on the cameras so I can watch your back. And I can loop them if needed, as I said, their security system is infantile."
Gold surveys himself in his mirror, wetting his hair so he can shove his bangs off his forehead. "There aren't metal detectors are there?"
"No, you should be clear. Take something small though?" Chimmy pleads.
Gold hums, shrugging on a shoulder holster. "I'll keep the jacket on, button a few of the buttons. And I'll take the -"
"Something small please," Chimmy interrupts.
"The Firestar," Gold finishes, "It's small." Chimmy doesn't argue and Gold strides to his closet, opening the door and removing a back panel to get to his gun safe. He removes the small 9mm pistol and slides it into the holster.
"Just make sure to keep it hidden, they won't take kindly to a gun in there. Mind how you sit and move -"
"I know how to hide a gun, Chimmy," Gold interrupts, annoyed. He grabs a butterfly knife from a case and shoves it into his boot. "Don't talk to me like I'm an amateur."
There's silence on the other end of the phone for a moment. "I'm sorry. I know you're not an amateur, there's just a lot of variables this time."
Gold pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek and bites down lightly on the muscle. "Should I be worried?"
Chimmy scoffs. "Certainly not, just don't be an idiot and we'll be fine. Good as Gold."
Gold snorts, shaking his head. "I'm heading out in ten. Anything else?"
"Quiet and quick doesn't really apply here," Vante's voice comes over the earpiece. Quiet and quick - their usual mantra, their jobs are usually much sneakier than this. Avoidance, stealth, not walking right into a lion's den.
"Just keep a low profile," Chimmy says eventually. "Blend in and act like Lee Woosung."
Gold shoves his wallet into his pocket, the Woosung identity cards snuggly in place. "For all you know, my name really could be Lee Woosung."
Jimmy erupts into laughter on the other end of the phone. "Oh, sweetie, do you really think we don't know your identity?"
Gold doesn't respond. He doesn't have things under his real name, even his apartment is under another identity. There's no way they could know who -
"We know everything about you Jeon -"
"Enough," Gold interrupts, "I get it. Let's do this."
The casino is imposing, a towering skyscraper of mirrored windows and neon lights, drawing unsuspecting victims like a moth to a flame. He's bowed through the doors by two women in tiny uniforms, smiling and welcoming him. He shows his ID to a man at the inner doors and is welcomed inside. The inside is...overwhelming.
"Breathe," Chimmy purrs into his ear. Gold doesn't react to the voice, just licks his lips. "I can see you on camera, you look like a scared rabbit. I know it's a lot, just relax. You need to blend."
It is a lot, lights and sound everywhere, people all over. Employees mill around, men in suits with clear bulges under the suit coats, easily visible guns to ward off trouble, cocktail waitresses and dealers in tiny skirts beaming smiles at patrons. People of every social class mill around, fill tables, sit at game machines. And there's light everywhere, neon and fluorescent and too bright. There are no windows, nothing to show the passage of time, just the bright lights meant to make you feel like it's the middle of the day.
There's strident bubblegum music, employees speaking loudly to be heard over the sound, beckoning gamblers to their tables. Raucous laughter and cheers, some groans, echo around the room. No one pays him any attention yet, but Gold takes a few moments to mark exits. The one he came in, an elevator to the left near a lobby. The upstairs is a hotel, which must be where the elevators lead. He knows at the far back of the room, through a warren of tables and machines, are doors to the employee area. Kitchens, locker rooms, break rooms, offices, a back exit.
"Can you do this?" Vante's voice this time.
Gold grits his teeth, doesn't respond but takes a step forward. He feels his apprehension melt with every step, settling himself into Woosung's skin and persona. He lets a faint smile curl his lips, sets his face into an excited mask, and slows his heart rate. He begins.
"Let's start with a table, establish yourself. Blackjack first."
It's easy, simple really, to follow the little birdy, or yellow dog, in his ear and play the cards. He keeps his genial smile, makes small talk with the other patrons and the dealers. Woosung is extroverted and outgoing, excited to talk about his bonus. He puffs his chest as he explains how he was named employee of the month and has money to burn. The dealers give him shark smiles. Security pays him no mind. He's no one important. He moves to poker after a while and continues his game.
Time passes easily, Gold is bored, none of this is stimulating, but he goes through the motions and smiles and chatters. He breathes a sigh of relief when Chimmy has him move from the table to the slots. "Take a breather," Chimmy says in his ear. "Push the button here for a bit. We'll get you a big win in about ten minutes so get your excited face ready."
Gold presses the button mindlessly, Chimmy is mostly quiet, though he can hear a murmured conversation in the background. Chimmy and Vante discussing security positions, camera angles, prize amounts, he thinks he hears them decide on pizza toppings at one point. "Win coming on your next button push. Tap the machine twice if you're ready."
Gold taps the machine twice with his index finger and pushes the button. Lights, music, whirling wheels on the front of the machine. A big prize, not big enough to cause a lot of fuss, but big enough to gather a small crowd. Gold presses the little button to cash out, printing a ticket with an impressive number on the front.
An employee comes up to him bowing and smiling, offering congratulations on his win. Gold is suitably surprised and happy, grinning and shaking the employee's hand while waving his ticket in the air. A small crowd congratulates him and then he makes his way, with Chimmy's urging, to the roulette table. "Keep playing for a while, then we'll cash out. I want one more big one."
Roulette is simple, especially with Chimmy controlling the outcome. Gold feels a little like a marionette, Chimmy tugging on his strings as he mumbles into his ear. He's mildly distracted by Chimmy's running commentary, the rumble of Vante's deep baritone in the background, too faint to make out. Speaking of making out, he's pretty sure Chimmy and Vante do that for a little while as he sits on his chair and places bet after bet.
"Okay," Chimmy says after a while, voice bright and clear in Gold's ear. "This is going to be a big one. Pick your lucky number, Goldie. Everything on it."
Gold licks his lips and pushes all his chips toward the black 13 on the table. "Go big or go home," he says cheerily. "My wife will be pissed if I'm not home in an hour, time to see if this is a good night or a bad one."
The patrons around him slap him on the back and wish him luck, the dealer gives him a shark smile. The wheel spins and Chimmy hums in his ear. The spin stops, the ball bounces, Gold uses the surprised face he practiced. There are more slaps to his back, hugs from strangers, the dealer, whose smile seems more fake and forced now, sliding piles of stacked chips toward him. Gold grins and cheers, shakes hands and puts on a very good show.
But maybe it's not good enough.
"Eyes on," Chimmy mumbles a few minutes later when Gold is carrying his precarious mountain of chips to the window to exchange them for won. "You've got two closing in behind you, act natural."
Gold doesn't react, just plasters on a smile and dumps his chips on the counter. The employee behind the desk congratulates him and takes the chips, beginning to count out his winnings. Gold's watching the employee count out impressive stacks of won when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He was expecting it but he still flinches.
"Lee Woosung-ssi," a man says as Gold turns. He's not surprised they know his name. Well, the fake one. Two men are standing there, broad and tall, the bulges of guns clear under their suit coats. More shark smiles.
"That's me," Gold says brightly.
He doesn't react when he hears Chimmy in his ear. "I've hacked into their earpieces, security is on alert. Fuck -" he breaks off and Gold can hear him and Vante arguing, slightly muffled. "They've been tipped off, they're suspicious. Act normal."
Gold smiles blandly as the men congratulate him on his impressive winnings, half-listening as he tries to focus on Chimmy's words without being too obvious. His heart rate ticks up a notch. He wills himself to relax. "Lee Woosung-ssi," one of the men says with another toothy smile. "Would you come with us?"
Gold tilts his head, putting on a mask of confusion. "Have I done something wrong?"
"Relax," Chimmy hisses in his ear. "It's okay don't -"
"Certainly not sir," the other man says with a fake laugh.
Chimmy again. " - panic. They want to take you back to an office, it's through the back hallway. I'll get you out of this. Go with them."
"We just want to congratulate you, and we don't have enough won out here to give you. You'll have to come to the back for that." The man makes a sweeping gesture with his arm.
Gold glances behind him to the window where the stacks of won had been displayed. The counter is now empty, the employee smiling impassively. He turns back and forces a congenial smile. "Well, alright then. Lead the way."
The two men fall in beside him, a little too close. Gold feels corralled and he doesn't like it. He hears Chimmy tell him to calm down and forces his jaw to relax, his fists to unclench. He's escorted through a nondescript door. The hallway seems deserted, but there are hallways branching off, closed doorways. He notices the men share a look over the top of his head, one of them moves a little closer.
"They know," Chimmy's voice comes suddenly. "They know it's you, Gold. I don't know how but they know."
Gold forces himself not to react, to keep moving.
"You have two more leaving an office three stories up, they'll be down in four minutes to..." a pause "interrogate you. Make it count, three minutes forty seconds."
Gold stops walking. The men turn, giving him steely glances, and advance toward him. Gold kicks out with a leg, connecting with the side of one man's knee, hearing the kneecap crack out of place. The man goes down, clutching his leg. Gold whirls to the other just as a punch comes toward him that he barely dodges. He ducks and throws his own fist, connecting with the man's solar plexus. He forces himself to remain calm, to keep his head in the game and not panic. He’s trained for this and he’s been in these kinds of situations before. He takes a deep breath as Chimmy’s voice reappears in his ear.
"Three minutes, five seconds."
The man doubles over but doesn't go down. An uppercut to the jaw sends him reeling against the wall. Gold takes a moment to assess the situation. The hallway is considerably wide, with enough space for him to maneuver around the men without being too hindered. The man he just punched is against the wall to his right, one hand pressed to the surface as he shakes his head. Gold tries to breathe evenly, tries to keep his pulse steady as the other man struggles to his feet, leaning heavily on his good leg. He's reaching under his suit coat. Gold surges forward, grabbing the man's arm and sliding smoothly behind him, pulling the arm with him behind the man’s back. He plants his feet and grits his teeth, tugging sharply, bending the man’s arm backwards to break his elbow. The man screams.
"Two minutes, thirty seconds."
He drops the man to the ground and kicks him in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. He's turning, hands up to defend himself, when pain lances through his head. He goes down on one knee, head whirling as he tries to turn around. The second man is standing over him, arm raised, elbow out. The elbow that must have connected with Gold's temple. His head swims. It wasn't enough to knock him out but it was enough to disorient him. A mild concussion maybe, something he needs to focus through. Gold doesn’t kill unless he has to, usually only disabling or knocking out those who stand in his way, but he’s starting to regret that now, as his vision whirls and he gasps for breath, heart pounding. Anxiety creeps in, he fights it down.
"One minute, five seconds. Take him out."
He is grateful for Chimmy's calm voice and the countdown to keep him focused through the pain and nausea. He focuses his thoughts, if he can just get through this man he can get out, then he’s home free. Sure, they didn’t get the money they came for, but they definitely caused a disruption. Maybe they’ll still get paid and then Gold can take a vacation or something. Right now all he wants is a dark room and his bed.
Gritting his teeth, he shoves himself to his feet and growls as he rushes at the man, bowling into him and slamming him against the far wall. The sound of the man's head thunking against the plaster is satisfying. The man's eyes roll and Gold knees him in the groin as a parting shot. Revenge for the headache thrumming through his skull, the dizziness starting. Head pounding from the sudden movement, Gold brings a hand to his temple and groans.
"Forty-five seconds."
Stepping back, Gold watches the man slide to the floor. He takes a few deep breaths. The sound of an elevator dinging somewhere down a hallway makes him whip his head around. Too fast, the world spins. He steadies himself against the wall, breathing hard.
"We're going to get you out of there, Gold. Just listen to me, do what I say and we'll be good."
Gold grunts in response.
"Keep heading down the hallway, try to act like you belong."
Gold snorts. It's clear he doesn't belong. His knuckles are bloody and he's sure he looks like a mess, hair sweaty and matted, eyes wild.
"Just try," Chimmy says quickly. "Second door on your right, it's a side kitchen entrance."
Gold pushes open the door, the sounds and smells of the kitchen assault his senses. His head reels, he feels himself list to the side but catches himself on a shelf. He clenches his jaw and moves forward.
"Head straight through," Chimmy directs. "There's a back exit to an alley. Just -" he cuts off. "Fuck, Gold, hurry." Another pause, Vante's voice in the background, sounding angry. "Run, Gold!"
There's no hesitation, his body springs forward at Chimmy's words, obeying without questions. His head roars with pain but he shoves it down, keeping his eyes straight ahead, focused on the goal. He loops past a chef, dodges a cart of pastries. He can see the door.
"Stop!"
A deep voice rings out, he can hear a scuffle, other feet behind him. He doesn't turn back, just keeps running. He's so close. There's a crack, a boom. A bullet slams into the wall to the right of the door. Gold curses, doesn't falter. Slamming into the door he heaves on the push bar. Another boom, pain lances through his side. He holds in a scream and shoves through the door.
"Are you okay? Can you keep going?" Chimmy's voice, a little frantic.
Gold swears, pressing a hand to his side and wincing It comes back bloody. "Get me out of here, Chim," he growls.
Pain streaks through him with every step but he doesn't slow, his feet pounding against the asphalt as Chimmy guides him out of the alley. Shouts follow him for a few blocks as he dodges between buildings, down alleys, scales a fence. His body is burning, fire ripping through him. He feels like he’s barely hanging on, fighting with everything he has just to stay conscious. The voices fade into the distance, the back streets around him are deserted, his chest heaves for breath.
“Gold, listen to me,” the voice in his ear beseeches. “We’re gonna get you out of there. I’m sending help, hold on. I -” the voice breaks off and there’s a burst of static. “Fuck, I’m -” more static, “- interference.”
The alley is a welcome reprieve, dark, empty. The brick is rough against his back as he slides down and hits the ground. His head swims, Chimmy is gone. Dizziness threatens to overtake him.
He leans his head back against the wall, cursing himself, his luck. This is why he doesn’t gamble, this is why they don’t take jobs like this. If Gold had to choose a facet of his job he likes the most, he’d say burglary. But the quiet and sneaky kind, when no one is home and he can slip into a villa or mansion, grab his quarry, and make a quick exit. This was none of those things, and with so many variables he felt like they were doomed from the start, especially with a tip-off. Even with how amazing Chimmy is, they were sitting ducks. And now he doesn’t even have Chimmy, his head pounds, and his side throbs. Peeling his hand away from his ribs he hisses and holds it up, blood, a lot of it. He wants to cry.
And then he hears movement, sees the silhouette under the streetlight, footsteps coming closer. He forces himself not to tremble more than he already is, tries to raise his head and appear fine, proud, dangerous. Cat-like eyes stare into his, dark and unfeeling, a flash of straight white teeth in a feral smile when Gold asks if Chimmy sent him. A mistake, he knew it as soon as the words left his lips.
His shaking fingers fumble at his boot, trying to remove and raise the knife he’d stashed there. He thinks the man barely holds in a laugh as he knocks it away. The dirty amber light above him catches on a gun in the man's hand, shiny, deadly. Gold doesn’t know how he lost his own, he knows he didn’t draw it. The man’s voice is deep, taunting. Gold tries to focus on it, to fight the lethargy and pain threatening to pull him under. He doesn’t know if this man is on his side or not, but he’s not betting on him being a friend right now.
The man appraises him, fierce eyes taking stock of him easily. Gold feels stripped bare under his stare, under the teasing quirk of his lips. Silver hair swims in his vision as the man peels his jacket to the side and clicks his tongue.
A voice in his ear again, as whiteness flashes behind his eyes, all he feels is pain as fingers press to the wound on his side, a choked sound leaves his lips. "Gold, can -" static. " - hear me?" He can't respond, his body is slumping to the side, eyes rolling in his head. "Gold, Gold! Jeong -"
His cheek hits the cool ground of the alley, and everything goes dark.