3. The Nuclear Man #9
He caught his breath, and at that moment, Taekjoo slammed a fist in his face.
Boris’s whole body quivered at the blinding pain.
There was no space in his mouth, yet somehow, pained moans still escaped.
Taekjoo grabbed Boris’s cheeks, and the man’s face turned pale.
“Feel like talking now?” Taekjoo asked. Boris shook his head. His eyes were filled with unwavering determination. Taekjoo’s face turned cold as well. Zhenya huffed out a laugh.
Taekjoo’s brick-like fists showed no mercy. After enduring for so long, finally, his head slumped to the side. Even with his mouth stuffed and taped, blood and drool still trickled out. Taekjoo tore off the tape. The lips parted on their own. From the gap, bloody keys and teeth fell out.
“Let me ask you again. Who is the engineer coming over to fix SS-29, and where is he heading?”
Boris grinned through the interrogation and spat straight into Taekjoo’s eye. He didn’t wipe off the bloody spit. Taekjoo just picked up Boris’s knife, which had fallen to the floor.
“Why don’t you step out for a moment?”
Taekjoo asked Zhenya. It was his way of being considerate and giving advice.
“Don’t mind me. Pretend like I’m not here.”
Zhenya chuckled at Taekjoo’s kindness, and as he did, his eyes were filled with excitement, anticipating what was to come.
Suit yourself—Taekjoo muttered as he stepped toward Boris. Boris breathed hard while glaring at Taekjoo. The look in his eyes said he would’ve killed Taekjoo ten times over if he had his way. His spirit remained unbroken, despite all of Taekjoo’s taming and torment. Only one last thing to do, then.
“It’s said Native Americans hunted as many enemies as they could to prove their bravery. And their chosen method was notorious for its cruelty. It subjected their victims to pain until the very last breath. Decapitation would be a kind and humane way of killing compared to that,
since it only entailed brief, momentary pain. You know what Native Americans did? They scalped their enemies alive.”
Taekjoo mumbled as he gently touched Boris’s forehead, pushing the hair off it. Then, Taekjoo drew a straight line above the skin with the knife.
“...Ah!”
Boris, tied to the chair, flinched at the pain of his skin being sliced open. But it was still tolerable—for now. The slit began bleeding.
“First, make a small incision on the scalp, just wide enough to hook two fingers in. Then, slowly start tearing off the scalp. Most victims never survived the full skinning—they went into shock long before it was over. I read that the pain was incomparable to being shot, sliced, or breaking a bone.”
An eerie smile crossed Taekjoo’s face. Things couldn’t get any more interesting than this for Zhenya. For the first time in his life, Boris felt fear. He felt fear from what he’d just heard.
“AAAAAAAAAHHHH!”
Not long after, a blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the empty building.
The doors opened. Unlike Taekjoo, who looked pissed, Zhenya looked like he was having the time of his life. The way Zhenya was walking right behind him on their way to the car bothered Taekjoo.
“Were you actually going to scalp him?” asked Zhenya.
“Goddammit, I can’t shake this off.”
Taekjoo ignored Zhenya and kept wiping his right hand on his pants. The blood had long been wiped away, yet he kept rubbing his hand as if it were still there. Zhenya kept babbling cheerfully, oblivious to the storm inside Taekjoo.
“That was hot. And it was also dangerous—you almost gave me a boner.”
“If it happens again, let me know right away. I’ll gladly scalp you whenever I have the chance.”
Taekjoo growled, his jaw clenched tight.
He was so annoyed he grabbed Zhenya by the collar and pulled him close.
The angelic face was right before Taekjoo’s eyes.
The jade-colored orbs flickered over Taekjoo’s face, then down to his hands.
There was something unsettling in how his eyes moved—cold, deliberate, almost reptilian.
Zhenya peeled Taekjoo’s hand off his collar, and Taekjoo glared in response.
The touch lasted briefly, but it was enough for Taekjoo to tell that Zhenya’s hand was as cold as ice.
Taekjoo flinched before he could stop himself.
He slapped Zhenya’s hand away. Zhenya could’ve felt embarrassed at the open hostility, but he simply chuckled like nothing had happened.
“So, we’re gonna do it next, then?”
Taekjoo nodded instead of answering back. Shall we?—Zhenya asked as he walked ahead. His back looked cheerful as if he was humming and swaying. Taekjoo had to stop moving and stare at the man.
He would go stone-cold serious, then laugh it off the moment Taekjoo caught on. He presented himself as this simple, easygoing man, but he wasn’t afraid to show his true self every now and then. He was a man of destruction, a dangerous monster with the most bizarre sense of humor.
A thin line. There was a thin line between what was normal and abnormal in Zhenya’s world. Taekjoo told himself that it must be why his guard wavered when he was with Zhenya—up, down, then back again in an instant.
Taekjoo’s survival instinct—smarter than his logic—shook its head in quiet warning.