BIA Ch. 13

“Kurt Vonnegut?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Bran looked truly surprised this time.

“Do you like him?”

“Uh… No, probably not.”

Isaiah quickly shook his head.

“The title just suddenly came to me. I just tried to think about what that book was about but I can’t even remember. I just know it’s a war story.”

“Hmm, really?”

Bran responded casually and took a sip of beer.

“What else do you remember?”

Isaiah thought for a moment and shook his head.

“It might be because I’m suddenly trying to remember it. If I take my time and think calmly, something will come to mind.”

“That’s true, but… No, do you really believe that?”

Bran raised his eyebrows, looking at Isaiah’s disbelieving expression.

“Is there any reason not to believe it?”

“But it’s so absurd. It’s not just amnesia. It’s like I suddenly became a different person.”

“If it’s a fugue state, that can happen.”

“What?”

“Fugue state.”

“Wh-what is that… … ?”

Bran gestured with his chin towards Isaiah.

“I’m talking about your current state. Acting like you’ve become a completely different person overnight. It’s a type of dissociative disorder.”

“Is that… different from a split personality?”

“It’s different.”

“How?”

“I’ll explain that later.”

Compared to Isaiah, who seemed eager to ask questions, Bran was extremely calm. He leisurely took another sip of beer, then set the can down and said,

“The gun?”

“Huh?”

“Do you remember how to shoot a gun?”

“No, not at all.”

Isaiah answered immediately.

“I figured.”

Bran nodded, but reached inside his jacket and took out his gun. He then placed it in Isaiah’s hand.

“Shoot it.”

“What…? Here?”

Isaiah was terrified.

“Yes. Shoot it anywhere. No, wait. It would be better to have a definite target.”

“What…”

“Shoot that.”

Bran pointed to the clock on the wall.

“It’s almost nine o’clock, so let’s aim for the number nine.”

His expression showed he wasn’t joking. Isaiah couldn’t believe it. Even Chester, the self-proclaimed orthodox mafia member, had only pressed him to remember how to shoot, not acted so recklessly.

“Um, if I shoot a gun here, the police will….”

“It doesn’t matter. Shoot.”

Bran cut Isaiah off. His tone was becoming increasingly curt, as if he would force Isaiah’s finger onto the trigger if he didn’t shoot immediately. Isaiah wanted to cry.

Chester, you stupid bastard. Who said he wasn’t like a mafia member? He’s totally a mafia member. A completely insane one, at that.

“What are you doing? Shoot.”

The mafia ordered with a hint of laughter in his voice.

“…I can’t.”

Isaiah muttered, clutching the gun with both hands.

“Why can’t you?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

Isaiah shook his head as he spoke.

“I don’t even know how to shoot a gun.”

“That’s not possible. You know very well.”

Bran said in a flat tone.

“There are few people in the world who know how to shoot a gun as well as you do. That’s your job, after all.”

“Right. That may have been true in the past but not now. I don’t even remember.”

Isaiah put the gun in Bran’s hand and stood up. Then his wrist was grabbed again. Pulled with a force stronger than before. Isaiah cried out and fell back down.

Even after Isaiah sat on the sofa, Bran held onto his wrist and wouldn’t let go.

“Please, Bran. It really hurts. Let me go.”

Isaiah spoke almost pleadingly. Bran stared intently at Isaiah’s face and finally released his grip. A red mark remained on his wrist.

“Damn it. Why is he so strong?”

As Isaiah groaned and rubbed his wrist, Bran asked again.

“Then, what about assembly?”

“What?”

Isaiah looked at Bran, dumbfounded. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun, how would I know how to assemble one? Too afraid to voice his thoughts, he tried to convey his feelings through facial expressions, but to no avail. Bran deftly disassembled his gun and laid the parts out on the table.

“Now, put it together.”

“No, I’m saying I can’t…”

“It’s easy. Watch.”

Bran spoke and then, with genuine ease, reassembled the gun in an instant.

“See?”

He then disassembled the gun again, following the same steps and spread the parts out on the table.

“Try it.”

Isaiah sighed and picked up the upper receiver. He first tried inserting the piston into the slide, just as Bran had done. Next, he attempted to install the spring-loaded barrel inside the slide but no matter how he tried, it wouldn’t work. The spring kept popping out.

Finally, Isaiah put down the parts.

“I can’t do it.”

“I showed you.”

“I know. But I still don’t understand.”

Isaiah blurted out. Bran watched him for a moment then picked up the spring Isaiah had dropped and inserted it into the barrel. With the same fluid, natural movements as before, he attached the slide to the barrel. Finally, clicking the magazine into place, Bran said.

“This has nothing to do with losing your memory. You know it when you see it.”

“Right. It’s just that I’m stupid.”

Isaiah spoke in a tone of near despair. Bran, holding the gun in one hand, quietly observed him.

“I’ve never thought you were stupid.”

“Oh… really?”

“Yes. On the contrary, you were quite intelligent. No matter what anyone says, you’re a sniper with the highest accuracy rate. You can’t achieve that with intuition alone. You need to properly understand and apply ballistics.”

Bran’s tone and expression were so serious that Isaiah felt a sense of awe. I was that incredible? But why couldn’t he remember a thing?

“I… I see. I really thought I was stupid. Chester calls me an idiot all the time.”

Unable to think of anything else to say, Isaiah brought up Chester. Bran placed the gun on the table and declared.

“Don’t listen to that idiot. What does Chester know? He doesn’t know much about you either.”

“But he’s my lover…?”

At Isaiah’s question, Bran chuckled.

“Chester said that?”

“What? Then what are we?”

Isaiah stared at Bran with wide eyes.

“Aren’t Chester and I lovers?”

“Well, externally, that’s the relationship we present.”

“Externally…? Then what is our relationship really?”

“Client and contractor.”

Bran stated in a dry tone.

“……”

Isaiah was momentarily speechless. Of course, having infiltrated undercover, he had suspected they weren’t truly devoted lovers. He had vaguely assumed he had been the one to initiate the relationship with an ulterior motive… but to have started as client and contractor?

“Why didn’t Chester… tell me that?”

“He probably thought it would be easier that way. To coax you by pretending to be your lover.”

Suddenly, the conversation in the car came to mind. Chester, who had rambled on endlessly with nonsense even when he asked, “Tell me about myself.” he had thought it was simply because he was a self-centered person, but could it have been because he genuinely had nothing to say? Or maybe we just weren’t close enough for him to share anything in detail?

He was confused. He had accepted that he couldn’t recall anything before waking up but he had believed everything after was real and true.

“Then… then, am I…?”

He muttered as if to himself, and Bran replied.

“You’re a sniper for WD.”

And once again, an unfamiliar term surfaced.

“W-what is that?”

“You don’t know WD?”

Bran furrowed his brow for the first time. Flustered by Bran’s openly skeptical reaction, Isaiah asked,

“What is it? Is it famous? If I belong there, is it like, the military?”

Bran remained silent for a moment. He stared at Isaiah with his clear, jewel-like eyes, then picked up the gun from the table and holstered it inside his jacket.

“White Dove. Simply put, it’s a kind of private mercenary company. It was initially established for that purpose. However, with the fall of ISIS and the end of the counter-terrorism era, it devolved into a simple murder-for-hire organization.”

Ah… Isaiah muttered absentmindedly.