[PROFILE #6]
name: KIM SEOKJIN.
age: 29.
occupation: professional assassin
specialty: seduction and knives.

it really wasn't a lie that kim seokjin could get anyone to sleep with him.

by anyone, it actually means anyone, regardless of orientation or personal preference. it was a funny day, when seokjin was assigned to take out jaejoong. he was sipping wine from a tall glass, spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his tall nose as he swiped on the notification that appeared on his phone. he took his time in scanning the message, reading down to every intricate detail until he thought he could recite it all by memory. his primary thought was: should i just stab him?

bangtan was separated into subunits, if you couldn't tell. there were people in charge of guns, knives, sharp shooting, poison, and seduction. all of these play major roles within the assassin industry, as they're weighed in as part of an assassin's profile. similar to the way applying for a job would have you list your specialties, signing up for a small group or major businesses would have you name off your number of killings, amount of casualties, and killing type.

as he continued to think, he pondered of how many forms he had denied, turned away. many organizations were ready to have seokjin as a part of them, considering his several years of experience and finesse while completing missions. to top this off, he was one of the very few assassins specializing in knives.

he clicked his tongue against his teeth, lips twisted while he tried to think of a possible way to get this over with. multiple scenarios came to mind, mulling them over before turning them away.

then, seokjin realized that there was a way that he could have fun with the killing, his mature mind setting forth a rather peculiar plan. of course, as one of the highest up next to yoongi and namjoon, seokjin was the only one as experienced.

he read over the file a couple more times, noting the fact that jaejoong loved chinese takeout and orders delivery every thursday. since the file had no set date or deadline on it, seokjin decided to wait, pouncing with a precise attack.

maybe, kim seokjin was a double edged sword.

or maybe, people just had too low of expectations for him. whatever the case may be, seokjin was anticipating the outcome.

• • •

three days later.

thursday, june 9th.

kim seokjin was already prepared, a stained uniform of the local chinese takeout restaurant clinging to his heavy frame. he had even received the order, and his nose twitched at the scent of the greasy food; they didn't even put in the right broth, he thought to himself, his nose scrunching as he inspected the plastic bag, disapprovingly shaking his head. he focused back on the road, placing the bag beside him.

his eyes grazed along the residential landscape, his car smoothly turning a corner, coming to face a small home within a cul-de-sac. seokjin opened his car door, stepping out and ruffling his hair, tugging on his collar.

he approached the door, ringing the doorbell a number of times before the door opened to reveal a tired jaejoong. his eyes were droopy, his shirt was barely holding onto his shoulders, and his hair was tastefully messy. seokjin smiled saucily, seeing a pink blush dust his face upon seeing it. "your delivery, sir?" seokjin purred, sheepishly pulling his cap further over his hair. he made an extra point to yank his collar to reveal his collarbones, biting his thick lips. jaejoongs eyes darkened at the delivery boy at his door, pulling him in with a harsh tug to his elbow.

"woah, sir," seokjin whispered, dragging his finger along jaejoong's jaw. the space between them was reduced to a couple of suffocating centimetres, "don't be so rough."

with that, he dropped the takeout on the floor, grabbing a hold of the knife secured into a sheath which was strapped to his leg. he plunged it into his chest, listening to jaejoong cry out, clutching his heart. crimson liquid streamed down seokjin's hand, until jaejoong stopped struggling and finally fell, lifeless and cold, onto the floor.

he pulled out his phone, dialling the familiar number that was burned into his muscle memory. unaware of the prying eyes peering onto his phone.

"namjoon? mission success."