This was bad. Very bad.
Jaen Songok sat in his car, breathing hard, fighting pain and weakness. His shirt was untucked, his belly exposed to the pale yellow glow of a streetlight. Blood oozed from a jagged vertical gash in his side. Not a great deal of blood, but enough to have trickled down his pants and pooled on the driver's seat, soiling the tan seats. He hoped he could remove the stain.
He'd driven at least a mile from the apartment building on Seongsun Avenue before parking on a quiet side street to inspect the wound. He couldn't tell how serious it was, though it sure hurt like hell.
He sighed, a low wheezing sound that startled him, the kind of sound an invalid would make. He had to admit that the last round of the game had not gone exactly as planned.
