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Dec 16 • 72 tweets • 40 min read

@karaiverse

The Ghost of You - Part 1
~Assassin x Agent~ MA AU
✨Collab with @karaiverse✨
#มายอาโป #MileApo
#MilePhakphum #Nnattawin

“Apo – run!”

Spine paralyzed, his face suddenly stippled dark red from the blood spatter as his comrade fell, crumpled to the ground like a useless rag doll, contorted with lifeless eyes that stared at him, red lines outlined a halo around that head. Gone.

A jerk of his head towards the open front door, there stood a man whose mouth and nose were covered by a black face mask, but Apo could see those eyes. Cold as black ice, callous as stone, zero regard for life as the silencer lifted once again.

The look was of a cannibal that had trapped its prey, ready to skin to pieces for easier consumption, gaze that held a temperament that had Apo wonder if this was a human or a machine. Brutal, cruel, uncaring.

Backing away excruciatingly slow, Apo heard the sickening squelch of matter and blood beneath his foot. A glance down, his stomach churned the obscene color to his white Converse. Painfully swallowed down the bile that gathered in his throat.

Kovit, had been his cohort – one of four - and protected him. He would never been able to thank him for the sacrifice other than to endure. A mental note to search for Kovit’s family, should he live, to give proper condolence.

The click of the safety removed once again. Fuck – he had to move!

Apo was thankful to his body’s response time as his brain was overstimulated. He vaulted over the couch, the sound muffled, and fuzz fluttered the air like little dust balls. The divan singed from the gunshot.

That could have been him.

Heart pulsated rapidly; he felt the irony of dying from a heart attack instead of the hands of the assassin that had been sent to dispose of them. There was no other viable explanation than that, they were the liability.

Apo patted himself, no weapons on his person, fuck he thought; his revolver in the bedroom he shared with Kovit in the tiny two-bedroom safehouse, the other two had gone out for supplies and had yet to return.

The realization that he was alone. No one was coming. The other two were dead. They had to be – no one else knew their secret knock cipher. Each had their own, distinctive one, all memorized, and utilized. A way to identify one another to be let in.

Mali’s knock had been used – a two tap, 10 second pause, and another two. If this unknown knew it, Mali had been disposed of. She was a fighter; she wouldn’t readily expose them all to danger.

The thought suffocated Apo, the weight of being unable to help her felt like a stack of stones on his chest as he heaved.

Had she suffered? Was it quick like Kovit’s had been?

He closed his eyes, the image of his friend’s head thrown back at the sheer force of the bullet that sliced through, total annihilation, collapsed to leave a silhouette of terror.

It was suddenly quiet. Had the man presumed him dead? No, that made no sense. An assassin, hell even as an agent, protocol was to check the corpse. So where had the man gone? Was the respite a mercy? Apo found himself more agitated than relieved for it.

The sound of creaking above, Apo toss his head upward, watched the weak foundation of that ceiling rattle; he recalled joking with his teammates that they would die from the roof collapsing on them than anything else. They smacked his head affectionately.

The devil was looking for something. But what? His brain afflicted, attempted to separate his predicament with the search, leaned against the couch as a droplet of blood dripped off a brow, slid down the bridge of his nose, landed on his collar. Stained.

A bloody tear. Kovit’s or was it Apo’s soul that cried the heady sensation of survivor’s guilt? A hollowed laugh escaped; eyes traced the viable exits within his line of vision from his position. This little house that had given them shelter, now a war zone.

How long had they been there? Perception of time faltered. His mind supplied – 4 months. It felt long and short all at once. His gaze hovered over the rouge on his shoes, legs to chest – paint dapped, reeked the coppery scent of death, eyes closed again.

His agency, the Thai Covert Intelligence – the TCI, a group that provided robust methods in handling exploitation of penurious parts of Thailand. Prostitution, money laundering, drug trafficking, all the legal no-nos.

He took tremendous pride in being selected out of his military unit for the job; Apo wanted to help those that felt smothered out of their life savings, tormented to suicide as alternatives to living in debts, to have an out. A lifeline. Support he never had.

Despite not being a field agent by profession, Apo never slacked off, kept himself built, trained, and maintained for the one day he’d be out. That had been his dream. To venture out, do good, be someone worthy of everything in return.

Instead, he got a nightmare. Inside the dwelling, the decaying smell of his companion’s body as it lingered at the open doorway, hit his nostrils – it was hot at night, the smell would attract animals to feast.

The sick feeling returned. Would the assailant let him parlay to ‘bury his dead’? No, this demonic man was out for blood, got a taste, and would return for Apo’s.

All at once, he remembered. The flash drives.

That’s right. Encrypted files that held a plethora of damaging information for the TCI; their corruption extended inwardly to murdering families, political rivals, topple the dominos all from within for the right price. They had a hand in all the jars.

How many had died, unconsciously, by his own hands? Apo had to settle with the knowledge that he had compensated now. The following months since the leak of information, his team had silently downloaded and fled the city.

Not having a family to leave behind had its ups and downs, it meant he was free to do his work, review each file as they had divvied between them and give back where they could. A tedious process with no reward. And no one to remember him.

Booted feet had stalled above him. His eyes snapped open, body coiled, the time to grieve was over. Emotionally detached, Apo Nattawin Wattanagitiphat had to gather himself, push forward, to survive. Their deaths would not be in vain.

Hopped to his feet, grateful for sneakers to make a quiet exit towards the kitchen, rounded it, plastered to the crevice between fridge and wall. He couldn’t leave without those drives – it would all be for naught. But he needed a weapon.

The glint of a butcher set atop the stove, one that Mali had chided him for never putting away after utilizing it to cook a freshly caught salmon from the nearby stream; he snorted in sadness.

“She’d still be pretty mad at me…”

A knife in a gun fight was not the most ideal situation; however, Apo excelled in nose-to-nose combat, hand to hand allowed him a closer, personal view of his target and allow his strike.

Rapid foot fall came, a wild man bounded down those steps, towards him. Apo thankful for the structure of the old home – he knew every little squeak, creak, groan. Apo threw himself at the stove haphazardly, grabbed the entire set to hug to his chest.

He willed his heart to stop, to remain silent and allow him to tune his ears to the hunter.

The instinct to equally prowl settled into his bones, activated each vertebra in his spine to be erect, stiff yet poised like a viper coiled in the hidden trees.

A couple of low whistles that whizzed by, bullets out of a silencer, hit the lower kitchen cabinets, shattered glass jars inside, had the man thought he’d cower behind tiny cabinets? Apo rolled his eyes; he was limber not a contortionist.

“Come out - now.”

If Apo was being completely cynical, he would almost admire the velvet tone that spoke to him, beckoned him out of the safety of his hovel that could be warm, it could cover anyone with a blanket of protection instead of pain. Pity.

Bam. Down to three, Apo counted each shot; dug through the quick glance over to the weapon that had pointed at him, recollected manuals of weaponry to recall its model, its bullet clip capacity.

Apo could easily whirl out, say fuck it, and give in out of morbid curiosity; however, he knew he had to find a way up to the second level now that the man had returned. His and Kovit’s were up there.

Kovit kept his drive glued to the back of the toilet, assumption no one would look there. Apo gave kudos to the deceased for his quick thinking as it appeared his murderer was at a standstill in its retrieval. Hidden in plain sight.

It appeared that Apo’s lack of response had not succeeded in placating the slayer, booted feet were making their way over to his location, clicked against the worn-down floorboards, he counted again. Like when he meditated.

One, two, three, he managed to get to six when he appeared. The grim reaper clad in all black, ironic considering the patch of skin Apo could observe was pale as a bed sheet, it contrasted. The spatter of blood across that forehead. It worked.

Morbidly, he took all of one minute to trace the outline of this shadow that had snuffed out the candle of life that was his friends. The broad shoulders expanded, strength in them, the grip on the weapon steady, height bolstered if Apo was not of similar gait.

A cruelty to be killed softly by a beautiful bringer of demise. Wasn’t this moment what most romance novels were made from? Admiration of an emotionless porcelain statute of visual perfection, they would melt at the compliment, and they’d run to the sunset.

That concept never made sense to Apo, and it didn’t make sense now. It was the release of endorphins talking fucking drivel as he shook his head, blood long ago dried caked to his cheeks like drawn freckles; he acted.

Hands that held the wooden container, the weight of the knives were heft enough that when he brought them down against the offender’s shoulder, the force toppled the man to his knees, allowed Apo the space to escape.

Long golden fingers wrapped around the hilt of the largest knife, a serrated one, pulled from its sheathe, swung at the other on the floor to stay back, barrel of the silencer faced him now, it would be the end. He miscalculated.

Apo had only incapacitated, not disarmed, and flash of his existence winded by his eyes, a set of onyx eyes also but he chocked it up to staring into them with a defiant glare, the lone finger to trigger and pull.

Nothing. The gun jammed. All of his stars counted as it seemed luck returned to his side, Apo didn’t bother to stay for a repeat attempt, hightailed it out of the kitchen, took the stairs two at a time and knew the other was behind him.

The growl that escaped the brooding figure elicited a triggered shiver, one that propelled him forward into the bedroom, spun to kick the door shut in the man’s face, click of the lock. The force of running into the door had him laugh.

Finally, one up, especially as he had been taken by surprise; he hated being unprepared. Apo heard the slam; the man would break it. He had no time to wait and admire the strength, instead scuffled to the bathroom.

Crouched to the toilet, wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell, Apo wrapped his around at the base, massaged the item and felt relief flood his body at feeling the hard rectangle shaped USB. One down. He snapped his head to the loud bang.

For an assassin, the man appeared unhinged, Apo figured only in movies were they poised, collected, and elegantly cool? Well, when they weren’t chasing him around. Walk to his cot, one of two in the room, flipped it over and stared at the floor in the dark.

Placed his hand to the floor, searched for the little notch he’d carved, hummed then used the knife in his hand to dig the groove and pop up the board. Underneath was the drive, pocketed it in his trousers with Kovit’s, zipped, and the door broke.

Hung on one hinge desperately, Apo popped to hit feet, knife in front of him readily with narrowed eyes, other arm in front to deflect anything this man threw at him. The hair disheveled, a lock over a murky eye, Apo had to refocus.

He was a dead man walking if he lost his mind over the aesthetics, noted the posture was like a lion that had broken out of his chains, stalked, and now approached him, Apo threw his hand forward like a snake that hissed and bit to protect itself.

“Back the fuck up.”

“You have something I need.”

“Walk away and I’ll let you live.”

The howl of laughter was degrading to Apo yet all at once, it sounded like an old soulful song, would it be differently tuned if it was one of happiness as opposed to cruel sarcasm? He wouldn’t know and he didn’t want to find out. He couldn’t.

In two strides of those long legs, their distance broken, and hands reached for his own. The scuffle that ensued had Apo in a swift motion, stabbed air as arms enveloped about his slender waist, cursed at the heft over a shoulder. He shouted at the power.

Under better circumstances, a different person altogether, the electricity that flowed through him would have been one of lust. Apo shook his head free of those absurd thoughts, brought the knife wielding hand down, the blade’s tip ripped through.

It cut the fabric along with the man’s side, he noticed the draw of new blood, heard a pained shout and he was suddenly on the floor. Unable to process too quickly, the boot kicked away the knife from his hand, spraining his fingers as it was pinned down.

The other boot on his chest, Apo yowled at the weight, and he glared up as his hand was crushed, chest bruised, and ribs risked asphyxiation. He could have tossed the man off; except he was stunned a moment. In the fray, a shine glinted off the man’s neck.

Was the man wearing Mali’s necklace? In the dim lighting, that was what it appeared like to him, it was familiar nonetheless and Apo struggled, kicked his legs to try to throw the weight off and instead the leg lifted, presumed to kick his face in and it froze too.

Those eyes, they looked into his now; fully, openly as the shift of moonlight that streamed inside hit his face and he frowned. Before Apo could demand to be let up or be killed quickly, another snap moved both their gazes to the door.

Someone stood there, sweat had dripped into his eyes at that moment, an exchange of words of the man atop him, and Apo felt the heaviness removed completely, his hand captured, pulled into a set of arms. Then darkness.

-TBC-