The eroding stench of crispy lead and smoky ash burnt the insides of his nostrils. A heavy smog devoured his senses, his tastebuds until all he could smell and decipher is the bitterness of burning metal. Though it might be a disgusting scent to others, it was a blissful reminder that he was doing exactly what he loves.

Killing people and getting paid for it.

He wasn't a psychopath, no. He just enjoyed the thrill, the blind numbing rush that filled his veins and fuelled his desires. It gave him purpose, an outlet for all the bent up aggression and anger he coils inside him. He used to hide it, the underlying destruction he kept clogged deep within himself, encased in bars with the lock bound tight.

People thought he was strange, a distant child who struggled to empathise with people. He would never smile, never laugh, never interact if it wasn't necessary. He didn't like affection or emotions as to him he saw them as a weakness. Something only used to shield you from the brutality of the world and make life harder than it already is. He didn't deem it important, being loved or cherished.

Not like he knew either of those. Growing up in foster care being thrown from family to family until he got to old-became unloveable didn't give him the gratification or affection a child like him should've had.

The only thing that ever and would ever bring him comfort or any human feeling was the perfection that is death. It was precise, clean and with only one ultimate outcome. He could understand that, death, killing. It made sense. Only one goal, one answer and that was to kill your target cleanly and without rattling any feathers.

A hitman seemed like the perfect job, like it was made for him. It ticked all the right boxes, matched his lifestyle and how he perceives the world. He was able to control what happened around him, his actions alone the deciding factor in weather someone lived or died. He liked that-the power of holding life and death in his hands. The unannounced grim reaper reigning down upon the world, gun at the ready to kill whoever is next on his list.

He became the perfect killer. A ghost who belonged nowhere, who had no one. He wouldn't be missed if he suddenly disappeared. No one would cry, weep or mourn him as no one ever cared about him. And for the first time that worked in his favour. Allowed him to become the man he is, the lethal weapon that could with one swipe of his hand or crack of his knuckles could kill anything dead in less than a second.

A talent endured from years of practice and expert training. It took him a while, he didn't pick up the skills he has now easily but through dedication and passion. He like anyone had flaws, almost failed a few missions, missed a few shots before he got his target but he got there in the end. Becoming one of the best hitman in the business. In his company he is known as the ghost who could get through any security, leave nothing but a shadow and be in and out in less than five minutes.

He was proud of that. Proud he was finally good at something which for once brought him what he believed to be joy. He was happy for the first time in his life and he wouldn't want to be doing anything else.

He heaved the heavy, slick black snipper off the stone edge it hanged from. His shoulder ached slightly from the excess weight it carried but he enjoyed the twinge. It reminded him of what he was doing, of how he wore the gun like a second skin.

He twists the silencer off the head, neatly placing it in his luxurious case he kept all his guns in. They were like trophies to him, something to be idolised and adored. He detached the gun into two pieces, slotting both into their precious homes.

Distant sound of sirens were beginning to grace the air, signalling to him he has to go. He stands up from where he's kneeling, dusting himself off to rid any germs daring to soil his expensive blank slacks. Grabbing his suitcase that homed his gun, he's stalking on foot towards the awaiting car geared and ready for him to slip in and go.

His footsteps were quiet, stealth like so no one could hear him or know he was coming. He's quick in his stride, knowing exactly where the short cuts were, where the cameras were hiding. Using his advanced psychical fitness he jumps over the ledge which dropped down to the parking lot below. His feet land gracefully upon the hard cement, in one swift movement he's bolting up, sprinting to the edge again to jump over and land down on the road leading up the towered parking lot. His legs race underneath him, not even a bead of sweat to be seen.

He's twirling through the air, jumping over heralds not caring about the laws of gravity. The wind blows through the strains of hair peeking out from under his black beanie. With a thump he finally lands on the solid ground floor, eyes catching onto where his car laid in the hidden alleyway right beside the parking lot.

He dumps his suitcase in the seat beside him, switching the ignition on he's pressing his foot down aggressively on the accelerator. Dust is left in his wake, like a ghost to the night he's disappearing into the darkness before any police even arrive.

It was all a game to him, exhilarating like nothing he's ever felt.

"It's done. Whose next?" Jimin talks into his microphone, informing his what they like to call in the business his sponsor he's completed his mission and his ready for a new one. The sponsor is the man who delivers him his orders, his next target and all the information he will need.

Jimin in a way would be lost without him. Wouldn't have the insight he needs to use against his target or the knowledge to know how to seduce and entrap the soul he needs to kill. He's the one person Jimin can say he relies on, he depends on. Though of course he'd never admit that out loud.

"Always so eager, I'll send you all the details I have on him. Be warned Jimin, there's not a lot to go on, it's like the man doesn't exist. A ghost just like you." The man Jimin only knows as Min informs through the phone.

He doesn't know his name nor does he need to, a formality that he doesn't deem important. The only reason his supporter knows his name is he doesn't believe in the stupid code names other hitman use. He thinks they're pretentious and demean the power you yield as an angel of death.

Jimin smiles at the mention of the similarities between him and his now new target. It will make the game more interesting, more surprising if he had to jump through more hoops. If the game was easy then what was the point of playing. The more difficult the target the more entertaining Jimin found it. It helped stimulate his otherwise bored mind. Gave him a reason to wither his time away, gave him something to focus his mind and energy on.

That's why he was the best, he always and only took the difficult cases no one else wanted or had the balls for like he did. And the best part of all he always got his man, always put a bullet right through their skull without any hitches.

Perfectionist in all its glory. He never missed his target or failed his mission.

"He sounds like fun, I'm in. Send me everything, I'll catch this ghost. I grant my money for this kill will be larger than the one I've just done?" Jimin didn't exactly care about the money, not like he needed it as he already had three off shore accounts and several apartments and houses he owned around the world.

There certainly was money in the paid killing business. He'd recommend it to anyone who bored the thirst for blood and had the conviction of a strong man or women. But he of course like anyone had standards. If the target was any less than what he is worth then he wouldn't do it. He only did the most deserving missions-that brought him the most points and bragging power within the company.

He's already racked up quite a number of points, he could parade it around his fellow hitman. Deeming then unworthy, pathetic in comparison to him because ultimately he was the king of assassins. The one un-killable, untouchable who flew through the world unseen and unheard. Though it didn't mean he hasn't come close to death. In fact, he couldn't even count the amount of times death came knocking at his door on his fingers. Far into the double digits by now if not more.

But that was all part of the fun, the near death that reminded you just how easy the thin line between life and death is. How at any moment, any time your life could just be snatched from your grip in one single breathe. That in some psychotic way excited him, made him want to see how close he could really get between the two lines.

Life and death. A mystery to most but a fairytale to him.

"It will. About double if I'm not wrong. The client is very eager for him to be killed, actually is insisting on giving you half of it upfront, to ensure you take out the target." Jimin grins manically at that, this has just become more interesting he thinks.

He hasn't even killed the man and he's already getting his money-well half of it. How could he turn down such an offer? He normally only gets a third up front or so, though it is enough that any average person could live comfortably for years to come.

"Do they? Well I shouldn't be rude, it would be insulting." Jimin makes a sharp turn, his wheels skidding along the tarmac as he drives onto the wide open motorway allowing him speed and devour the night.

His headlights beamed full force, lighting up the darkness which consumed all around him. He rests his hand on the gearshift, veins in his arms protruding as he changes from gear to gear.

"The client wants you to get this done as soon as possible. The target is to be eliminated within the month. I trust you'll be able to do it." Jimin smirks cockily, rolling his eyes thinking of course he can.

"What? In two weeks? Of course! I'm no amateur, I'll get it done." With that Jimin ends the call, tires screeching when he speeds into a private airport where a company jet awaits for his arrival.

The plane is small but elegant, leather seating, expensive interior, spacious and best of all private. Not even the government could catch it on their little monitors. He could fly it anywhere and everywhere without being seen. He loved it-The luxury this job brought along with all the extra perks.

A glass of white wine played in his hand, being twiddled between his fingers while his gaze is set upon his computer sitting before him on the glazed wooden table. The sky outside the small plane window is dark and blurry, wippibg past his unaware mind. He's reading over the very short document his supporter sent him.

He wasn't lying.

There was barely anything if any about this man-his target. He's done missions in the dark before but nothing so blind like this. All the document ultimately contained was minuscule, a few sentences that contained nothing of importance.

His name-Jeon Jungkook
Age-23

Young. Very young he thought.

Occupation-N/A

That's new? No job? Even more interesting.

From-korea

Like himself. Interesting

Appearance-tall, broad shouldered, clean cut black hair, small scar stretching over the length of his cheek bone.

Scar? Well hello, finally something useful.

Jimin takes a polite sip of his what he assumed to be expensive wine. His eyes raking over the one picture given to him. Medicare at best. Not even a decent picture of his target. It had been taken from a distance, like the man didn't actually have any actual pictures. It showed half of his face, a silhouette of him that didn't allow him much to go on. Maybe enough for him to recognise the man if and when he got close enough. At least close enough for him to notice wether they bore the scar that rested on his cheek. But certainly nothing he could really use for an advantage. Though the information on appearance will help narrow down his pool of men he's looking for, he could definitely be able to match him when he compared but it would be tough. Lucky for him he liked it that way. The harder the better.

Last seen-a restaurant called cafe Victor in København yesterday afternoon.

København? Why there? Holiday maybe? Work?-wait no.

Jimin began composing a plan, a scope out on how he'd lure his target out. What tools or tricks he could take advantage of but apparently this man didn't have many hobbies, at least not from the little information given to him. But he supposed it only option was to head to København. Maybe there he'd find his man, maybe it would be as simple as that.

Maybe.